Breaking the Boss’s Rules

‘Then I’ll …’

‘Then you’ll what?’ he asked. ‘I think you may need to consider whether your loyalty lies with Graham Forrester or with Langley.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘It’s friendly advice.’ Rubbing the back of his neck, he surveyed her for a moment. ‘Peter described you as an important part of the company—if you walk out to support Graham, or undermine my position so I’m forced to let you go, the company will lose out.’

Dammit, she couldn’t let Peter and Harry down—however much she wanted to tell him to shove his job up his backside. If she were still here maybe she could do something to prevent further disaster … though Lord knew what. Plus, on a practical note, she couldn’t add unemployment to her list of woes.

‘I’ll stay. But for the record I totally disagree with you letting Graham go.’

‘Your concerns are noted. Now, I need you to reinstate Langley’s presence at the awards ceremony. We’re going.’

‘What?’ Imogen stared at him. ‘You can’t possibly mean to go.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it will look odd for Graham not to be there. And you being there is hardly going to send out a good message; it’s advertising that Langley is in trouble.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s acknowledging that Langley is in trouble and showing we’re doing something about it. The head in the sand approach doesn’t work.’

The words stung; she knew damn well from personal experience that the head in the sand approach didn’t work. ‘My head is quite firmly above ground, thank you.’

‘Good. Then listen carefully. Whether you believe it or not, I am good at my job. Me being at these awards will reassure everyone that Langley is back on its feet and ready to roll.’ He leant back and smiled a smile utterly devoid of mirth. ‘So we’re going. You and me.’

Say what? Imogen stared at him, her chin aiming for her knees.

Joe nodded. ‘You worked on the project, you liaised with the client—it makes sense.’

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b780839c-b554-533d-b0aa-3e3e38840cc0)

IMOGEN PACED HER best friend’s lounge, striding over the brightly flowered rug, past the camp bed she was currently spending her nights on, to the big bay-fronted window and back again. ‘Makes sense!’ She narrowed her eyes at Mel and snorted. ‘Makes sense, my …’

Mel shifted backwards on the overstuffed sofa, curled her legs under her and rummaged in her make-up bag. ‘Imo, hun … You need to calm down. Joe is in charge and you have no choice.’ Holding up two lipsticks, she tilted her blonde head to one side in consideration. ‘It may even be fun.’

‘Fun?’ Imogen stared at her, a flicker of guilt igniting as her tummy did a loop-the-loop of anticipation. ‘Fun to spend two hours working late with Joe and then going to an awards ceremony with Joe. That’s not fun. It’s purgatory.’

Mel raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘Imo! Imo! Imo! Methinks you protest too much. Methinks you fancy the boxers off the man.’

There was that fire of guilt again. How could she be so shallow as to have the hots for such an arrogant, ruthless bastard?

‘Youthinks wrong,’ Imogen said flatly. ‘And why are you looking at me like that?’

‘A) Because you couldn’t lie your way out of a paper bag and B) because I’m hoping you aren’t planning to go to the awards ceremony looking like that.’

Imogen looked down at herself. ‘What’s wrong with this? I wore this to a big client dinner with Steve a few months ago.’

‘Exactly.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Imogen, sweetie. That dress is dull. It’s grey and it’s shapeless and it’s boring. It’s how Steve liked you to dress because he was terrified you would run off—like Simone did.’

‘That’s not true. I chose this dress because …’ She trailed off. ‘Anyway, it will have to do. In fact with any luck no one will notice me. I mean, it’s wrong to go to the awards ceremony when Graham did most of the work.’

Mel frowned. ‘It sounds to me like you did your fair share. Plus, Graham can’t go because he doesn’t work for Langley any more. Plus, you said that Joe said he would still be credited.’

‘Humph …’ Damn man had an answer to everything.

‘So you are going to this ceremony to display to the world that Langley is alive and flourishing. If you go dressed like that everyone will think Langley is on its last legs and you’ve bought a dress for the funeral.’

‘Ha-ha!’ Imogen exhaled a sigh as she contemplated her best friend’s words. Mel knew all there was to know about clothes, and she had a point. ‘OK. How about my little black dress with …?’

‘It’s more big black bin-bag, Imo. I have a way better idea. You can borrow one of my dresses.’

‘Um … Mel. You know me. I really, really don’t want to be …’

‘The focus of attention? Yes, you do. And I’ve got the perfect outfit. Wait here a second.’

Imogen exhaled a puff of air—of course she wanted to do the right thing for Langley, but she knew Mel, and her friend’s fashion taste was nothing like hers. Imogen’s taste was more …

More what? In a moment of horror she realised she didn’t know. In all her twenty-six years she’d always dressed to please others.

Eva Lorrimer had had very firm ideas about what a young girl should wear, and at her insistence Imogen had obediently donned plain long skirts and frilly tops. It had seemed the least she could do to make her mum a little bit happy. Plus, anything for a quiet life—right?

Then Steve … Well, was Mel right? Had she let him dictate what she wore? Steve had always said he hated women who flaunted or flirted when they were in a relationship. He had told her how Simone had always done exactly that. So she’d worked out what he approved of and what he liked and taken care to shop accordingly. Because it had made her happy to make him happy. Plus, anything for a quiet life—right?

Mel waltzed back into the room. ‘What do you think?’

Imogen stared at the dress Mel was holding up. If you could even call it a dress. For the life of her she couldn’t work out how she would get into it, or where all the lacy frou-frou would go, or even how it could even be decent. The only thing that was clear was the colour—bright, vibrant and sassy.

‘It’s very … red.’

OK. It wasn’t what she would choose. But if she had the choice between something in her wardrobe chosen by her mum or Steve and something chosen by Mel, right now she was going with Mel’s choice.

‘I’ll wear it.’

Mel blinked. ‘Really? I was prepared for battle.’

‘Nope. No battle. Though you may have to help me work out how to put it on.’

‘I’ll do better than that—I’ll lend you shoes and do your make-up as well.’

‘Perfect. Thanks, sweetie. You’re a star.’

Surprise mixed with a froth of anticipation as to what this New Imogen would look like.

An hour later and she knew.