Читать книгу Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 7
ОглавлениеJOHN DIAMOND examined the tray before him as if the chicken pieces laid out on it might suddenly spring up and attack him. ‘What did you call this stuff?’ he asked, picking up the serving fork and gingerly moving aside a pineapple ring.
Talia smiled. ‘I didn’t call it anything,’ she said, watching as he put some chicken on his plate and cut into it. ‘It’s labelled batch number seven—although the kitchen staff’s been calling it Chicken Hawaiian.’
John put his fork to his mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed and made a face. ‘How about calling it a mistake and letting it go at that?’ he said, pushing his plate aside and taking a long sip from a glass of iced water. ‘Much too sweet—nobody wants anything that sugary today.’ He glanced towards the closed door that connected the executive dining-room to the kitchen. ‘What’s next? Or don’t I want to know?’
‘Something involving artichokes, fillet of sole and capers.’ Her boss rolled his eyes and Talia laughed softly. ‘Well, you asked Staff to come up with some exotic offerings, John.’
‘Remind me to tell them exotic doesn’t mean inedible, hmm?’ John’s mouth drew up in a good-humoured smile. ‘What the hell, that’s what our monthly Surprise Luncheon is for, isn’t it? Better to test out new concoctions on ourselves than on our clients. And we average far more successes than failures.’ He took another sip of water, then set down his glass and looked at Talia. ‘Speaking of successes, I’ve had glowing reports about the Miller Weekend.’
Talia looked up. ‘I meant to thank you for sending me a copy of the letter from the inn,’ she said. ‘I’m glad they thought it went well.’
Her boss shook his head. ‘Not just the inn. I had a letter from Miller himself yesterday.’ He paused as the connecting door swung open and a waitress appeared bearing a covered platter. John sniffed as she set it down and took off the cover, and then he sighed. ‘Capers and artichokes, hmm? Do us a favour, Ann. Ask the kitchen to send out a couple of omelettes, will you? Thanks.’ He waited until the girl had hurried off, and then he covered the offending dish and shoved it aside. ‘You win some and lose some, I guess.’
Talia leaned forward. ‘You heard from Logan Miller?’
Her boss nodded. ‘Yeah. The big man himself.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘He was impressed. Very impressed. Good food, good service, everything planned to the last detail…’
‘As if he’d know,’ she said impatiently. ‘I told you, he never showed up. Well, I suppose he did, I know he was listed as speaker at their general meeting and as chairman at some workshop, but I never laid eyes on him. He wasn’t at the cocktail party Friday evening or the dinner either night or—’
‘No one ever introduced you, you mean.’
Talia shook her head. ‘He wasn’t there, John. You could tell from the way people were acting.’
‘Didn’t you say you only made cursory appearances each evening?’
‘I followed company policy,’ Talia said defensively. ‘Stay in the background, be available if needed—’
John held his hands up. ‘For heaven’s sake, I wasn’t criticising you. You did a great job—didn’t I just tell you that? I’m only pointing out that just because you didn’t see Miller it doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. Anyway, you should count yourself fortunate he stayed out of your hair. Corporate weekends are rough enough without the top brass breathing down your neck.’
Talia nodded. ‘I know. And I’m glad to hear that Mr Miller was satisfied.’
‘More than satisfied, according to his letter.’ Her employer smiled. ‘I knew you’d be pleased; I gather you worked your tail off that weekend. You looked as if you hadn’t slept a wink when you showed up at the office Monday morning.’
Talia nodded as the door swung open again and the waitress brought their omelettes to the table. ‘It was—it was a tough weekend, yes,’ she said slowly.
John peered narrowly at his plate, then picked up his fork and stabbed at his eggs. A smile of relief eased across his face. ‘Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘Eggs unadorned. Remind me to give the chef who cooked this a bonus.’ He took a mouthful, chewed, then swallowed. ‘Of course the weekend was tough. A big job, and your first solo assignment. Why, I remember right after I started Diamond’s, I landed a huge account…’
It was a story Talia had heard before. Only half listening, she picked at her lunch while John rambled on. Talking about the weekend she’d spent at the Redwood Inn had brought a rush of unwelcome memories. Her thoughts drifted far from the small, handsomely appointed dining-room to a narrow trail winding through a shadowed grove of trees, to a man whose arrogant, handsome face had haunted her dreams for the past two weeks.
And that was ridiculous. What had happened on that trail had been unpleasant, even humiliating. The man had been brash and vulgar. But the only harm done had been to her ego. Talia knew that, just as she knew she should have long since put the whole incident out of her mind.
But she hadn’t. She was sure she knew the reason: as soon as the man had faded from sight, she’d thought of a dozen cutting remarks she should have made to put him in his place. At the very least, she should have dismissed him on the spot. He’d caught her off guard, she knew that, and she told herself she couldn’t be blamed for not reacting quickly enough to his insults.
By the time she’d hobbled back to the inn, she’d been burning with the desire to strike back at him. She’d shrugged off the concerns of the young couple who’d escorted her to the door, hurried to her room, exchanged her ruined shoes for a new pair and then rushed downstairs to begin her search for the man.
But he hadn’t been there. After a while, when she’d calmed down, she’d realised that there was no way he’d have stayed around. He’d certainly have figured out that she had been going to hand him his walking papers. And he’d never have let her have that satisfaction. He might be a drifter, but he wasn’t a fool.
The next day, she’d thought of asking if anyone knew his name. There was a certain camaraderie among those who drifted along the California coast, searching for the right wave or the right beach, and everyone knew someone who knew someone else. But it hadn’t seemed such a wise idea. People would have wanted to know why she was enquiring about him, and what would her answer have been to that?
She couldn’t have said he’d walked off the job. In this business, people did that often enough and it wasn’t the practice of employers to go looking for them. Nor could she have said he’d been insolent. To do that, she’d have had to explain what he’d done, and she wasn’t exactly sure what had happened to her in that redwood forest.
Besides, what would have been the point? The man had made a fool of her, but the incident was over and best forgotten. And she’d almost thought she had forgotten it, in the rush of activity that the day had brought. There had been no fresh mushrooms for the dinner salads, and one of the cooks had wrenched his back. By the time the day had ended, Talia had been exhausted and drained.
But, that night, she’d had her first dream about him. It had been filled with uncertain images. But the memory of his eyes, blazing with fire, had been as vivid as the memory of his mouth moving with fierce sweetness on hers. She’d awakened suddenly, trembling, stunned by the sharp reality of that kiss. Talia was almost thirty years old, she knew the facts of life—but she had never had that kind of dream before.
What was more upsetting was that what she’d felt in the arms of her dream lover had been more exciting than anything she’d ever felt in the arms of the flesh and blood man she’d been involved with. It had happened quite a while ago, but she still remembered how unfulfilled she’d felt after the relationship had reached that stage. She’d been lonely—that was probably what had made her seek Keith’s comfort. But she’d been even lonelier when she’d found that she’d felt nothing in the intimate embrace of the man who’d said he’d loved and wanted her.
The only positive thing about the brief affair was that it had proved that she wasn’t tainted by her mother’s affliction. The only passion that drove Talia was the passion to succeed.
She had avoided emotional entanglements ever since. There’d been no need for them; the job with Diamond Food Services had come along, and suddenly Talia’s life had been full and rich. Her career had become the passion of her life, her success the yardstick by which she could measure her rapid progress away from the poverty and desperation in which that life had begun.
Now, suddenly, shockingly, her body had betrayed her. She’d felt unclean. When her heart had stopped thudding, she’d thrown back the blankets and stalked to the shower, as angry at herself as she had been at the man who’d invaded her dreams. She’d stood beneath the streaming water for long minutes, scrubbing her skin until it glowed pink, as if the soap would cleanse not just her flesh but her mind and soul.
There’d been no more dreams—until the next night. And the next. To her despair, there seemed no way to stop them. The fantasies were never really clear, they were more like mirages shimmering distantly in a hot desert wind—but they always ended the same way, with Talia clasped in the stranger’s powerful arms, her body moulded to the heat of his, her mouth blooming under the passion of his kiss.
Last night, she’d awakened remembering his words. ‘Until we meet again,’ he’d said. Her heart had skipped erratically. It had only been a figure of speech, she’d assured herself. There was no way their paths would ever cross, they came from worlds so far apart, there was no sense in even attempting to envisage their meeting. Talia’s world was ordered and controlled; it was her safe way to face life. His—his was chaos and anarchy. It was the antithesis of everything she believed in.
Not that it mattered. She hated him. She only dreamed about him because he’d upset her—that was easy enough to understand.
Then why did she tremble in his arms every night? She wasn’t even asleep when he came to her. As soon as she climbed into bed and put out the light, he was beside her in the dark, his mouth a curl of flame on hers, his hands a silken glide across her skin…
‘Talia?’
She blinked and looked up from her lunch, her eyes focusing on her employer seated opposite her. John Diamond gave her a wry grin. ‘I knew you’d be pleased, but I didn’t think my news would bring a glow to your cheeks,’ he said.
Talia blushed. ‘I’m sorry, John. I must have been daydreaming. Did you say something?’
Diamond laughed. ‘Did I say something, indeed!’ He shoved his empty plate aside, learned forward, and put his elbows on the table. ‘When did you tune out, sweetheart? Before the request from old man Miller, or after?’
Her teeth closed lightly on her bottom lip. ‘Request?’ She groaned dramatically. ‘Don’t tell me he’s planning another executive weekend. I’ve hardly recovered from the last.’
‘Ah, ye of little faith, what do we care about executive weekends when we can establish executive dining-rooms?’ John grinned. ‘Your mouth’s fallen open, Talia. You really didn’t hear a bit of what I said a few minutes ago, did you?’
‘Executive dining-room? Logan Miller wants us to set one up?’
Her boss nodded. ‘That was what his letter said.’
‘But I’d have thought they already had one in their Los Angeles offices. A company like that…’
John shrugged. ‘I gather they’re opening new offices and they want us to do the honours.’ He paused, then smiled slyly. ‘Actually, it’s you the old boy wants, lovey. He made a special request for Miss Talia Roberts.’
Talia’s pulse leaped. The weekend really had gone well. To have made such a positive impression on a new client was more than she’d hoped for. ‘Really?’
Her boss laughed. ‘Really.’ He pushed back his sleeves, then raised his eyes to hers. ‘In fact, the old man will tell you that himself in less than five hours.’
‘He’s coming here? To our office?’
‘Now you’re letting yourself get carried away, Talia. I mean, it’s one thing to believe in good fortune, but miracles are another story. Logan Miller doesn’t come to the world, it comes to him.’
‘But you just said—’
John pursed his lips. ‘I said you’d be seeing the old boy in just a few hours.’ He paused, then leaned towards her. ‘And you shall. In his office, in LA. His secretary called this morning. You have a dinner appointment with him.’
‘What?’ Talia stared at her employer in disbelief. ‘I can’t, John. I have a meeting scheduled in an hour. Anyway, I’d never get a flight at the last minute. And I’d have to change my clothes—’
‘Changing your clothes is the only thing on your agenda.’ John Diamond shoved back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Someone else will take your meeting. As for flight arrangements, the old boy’s sending his Learjet for you.’ He grinned as he walked around the table and grasped the back of her chair. ‘Pretty impressive, hmm?’
Panic fluttered its wings in Talia’s breast. What kind of nonsense was this? John knew she didn’t work this way—he’d teased her about it often enough, but she knew that he admired her for it, too. She was a person who believed in planning. That was the way you took control of a situation. But that took time and preparation, and her boss—and Logan Miller—were giving her neither.
‘I can’t do it,’ she said. The expression on her boss’s face made her swallow. ‘I mean, I’d rather not do it this way. I—I work best when I have the chance to get myself organised, John. You know that.’
Diamond’s smile faded. ‘Listen, sweetheart, I’d love to play this your way. But there isn’t time. Miller said he wants to see you tonight.’
John pulled back Talia’s chair and she rose slowly. ‘Yes, but what’s the rush? The meeting can wait a day or two. I’ll telephone Mr Miller and explain—’
‘He’s leaving for South America tomorrow. Brazil or Chile, I don’t know, I’m not certain what his secretary said. Frankly, I was too busy pinching myself to make sure it was happening.’ John took her hand and tucked it into his arm. ‘Do you realise, Talia, that if you can pull this off, Diamond will have its first really classy account?’
‘We have lots of good accounts, John. You know that.’
Her boss shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, ‘we’ve got some good stuff. But nothing as up-scale as Miller. And you know this business, sweetheart. One good client leads to another.’ Diamond smiled as they walked to the door. ‘Don’t look so woebegone, Talia. Anybody would think I was sending you off on something terrible instead of giving you the chance to bring home a fat contract.’
Talia smiled weakly. John was right. Yes, Logan Miller had a formidable reputation and yes, she had already formed a negative impression of him—but the fact was that he’d asked for her especially because he was pleased with her work. As for preparation, the flight to Los Angeles would give her time to read up on Miller International. Maybe she could even dig up something about the new offices they were planning.
She drew in her breath. ‘You’re right. And I’m grateful for the vote of confidence.’
Her boss smiled. ‘I knew I could count on you, sweetheart.’ He opened the door and they stepped into the corridor. ‘I’ve arranged for a car to drive you home so that you can change and get whatever else you need. If Miller asks any questions you can’t field—legal stuff, whatever—just tell him to have his lawyers call ours.’ Talia’s boss looked at her. ‘You’ll do fine, kid. You’ll see. I know you don’t like this last-minute kind of thing, but you’ve already dealt with Logan Miller and come out ahead.’
‘I didn’t deal with him, John. I didn’t even see him.’
Her boss put his beefy arm around her shoulders and began walking her slowly towards the street door. ‘Yeah, but you impressed the hell out of him. With a guy like that, that’s half the battle.’ He squeezed her shoulders as they reached the door. ‘You’ll do fine.’
Talia smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Break a leg, sweetheart.’
She winced as she stepped into the crisp San Francisco afternoon. Some day, she thought, she had to convince John Diamond to find a better way to wish her good luck.
* * *
Talia sighed as she closed the copy of the Wall Street Journal and lay it on the seat beside her, where it joined a stack of other Journals, a copy of the International Herald Tribune, and several back issues of Business Week magazine. There was an ache in her temples, and she lay her head against the soft leather seat-back and closed her eyes.
She tended to get headaches when she flew—a friendly flight attendant had once told her it was from insufficient oxygen in the cabin air—but she had the feeling that the pain in her head this time had more to do with all the reading she’d done the past couple of hours than with anything so mundane.
For one thing, the cabin of Logan Miller’s private jet wouldn’t suffer from insufficient oxygen or anything else. Everything about the plane was plush, from the glove-leather seats to the walnut panelling. It was stocked with all the luxuries of home—not hers, Talia thought wryly, and not anybody else’s she knew. Even John Diamond’s handsome apartment was spartan compared to this.
‘Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Roberts,’ the steward had said as soon as she’d settled into her seat. ‘May I bring you something? A sandwich, perhaps? Or a salad? Or—’
‘Tea,’ Talia had said. ‘Tea would be lovely.’
Moments later, she’d been sipping a fragrant brew—’Specially blended for Mr Miller, Miss Roberts, I’m glad you like it’—from what was surely a Limoges cup. An assortment of biscuits, arranged on an antique Sheffield platter, had accompanied the tea. When she’d finished, the steward had reappeared, offering headphones, a compact-disc player and her choice of musical selections, a rolling library of books or, if she’d preferred, the latest in films.
Talia, who’d only managed to find and read one short article about Miller International before hurrying to the airport, had shaken her head. ‘Thank you, no. I don’t suppose you have any material about the Miller corporation, do you?’
The steward had smiled, walked to the walnut-panelled bulkhead, and had touched his hand to it. A door had slid open, revealing neatly arranged rows of materials, magazines and newspapers all chronologically organised, each marked to indicate what article contained therein dealt with Miller International.
Talia had been impressed. ‘You’re very efficient,’ she’d said, smiling at the man.
He had grinned. ‘I can’t take credit, miss. This was Mr Miller’s idea. He likes things well organised.’
Well, Talia had thought, settling back with the earliest of the newspapers, at least she and the head of Miller International had that in common.
Now, two hours later, her head hurt from all the facts she’d tried pounding into it. She knew a great deal about the company, but, for all her reading, she knew little more than she had about Logan Miller. He was described in one article as ‘A man fiercely determined to keep his privacy’, and, from what Talia could see, he’d certainly managed. The closest she’d come to any information about him was in an article that dated back four years. It had mentioned possible serious illness.
Talia sighed as she looked out of the porthole at the cloudless blue sky. Either Miller had made a rapid recovery or the writer of the article had been misinformed. A man who’d set such a gruelling schedule for his executives at the Weekend Retreat had to be in good health—unless he hadn’t participated and had simply watched his people work themselves into a lather. Sighing again, Talia reached for the next magazine, one dated six months after the last.
‘Changes Ahead for Miller International?’ said the cover. Perhaps she could learn something here, she thought, flipping the magazine open. Headache or no headache, she had to keep reading. There had to be some thread that would explain the man before they met…
‘Miss Roberts?’ It was the steward, smiling apologetically. ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes. I’m afraid I’ll have to secure the cabinet.’
Talia nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘You can keep that magazine out, if you like.’
She looked at the copy of Business Week, then shook her head and handed it over.
‘Never mind.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s too late for cramming now, anyway.’
The man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ma’am?’
Talia smiled wearily. ‘Nothing. How soon did you say we’d be landing?’
‘Ten minutes, miss.’
‘And then what? Will there be a car waiting, or am I to take a taxi to Mr Miller’s office?’
‘Mr Miller will be meeting you at the airport, Miss Roberts. The pilot’s just spoken with him.’ The man smiled politely. ‘Will there be anything else?’
Talia shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I’m fine.’
Fine, but a little bit nervous. She sat back and looked out of the porthole again, watching as the ground rushed up to meet the plane. Who wouldn’t be nervous in these circumstances? She’d only dealt with Logan Miller via the post, and both times his letters had been curt. He’d never shown his face during the weekend she’d organised; he hadn’t even sought her out to introduce himself.
But he’d been pleased with her efforts. That was what he’d written to John; that was why she was in Los Angeles. The plane bumped gently against the runway. That was a positive fact, wasn’t it? Talia opened her seatbelt as the plane rolled to a stop. Of course it was. And she had some insights into the man, anyway. He liked efficiency and organisation—the steward and the periodical file had told her that. He knew how to delegate authority—look at how he’d turned the plans for the weekend over to her. Everything she’d read had said he was a tough but fair-minded businessman. A smile touched her lips as she got to her feet and walked to the door. He also had good taste in tea. A man like that couldn’t be too difficult to deal with.
The door slid open and warm air swept into the plane. It was always warmer in Los Angeles. Smoggy, too, Talia thought, wrinkling her nose.
What was there to worry about? She knew more than she’d thought about Logan Miller, now that she’d tallied it up. He was probably going to turn out to be a pleasant, if somewhat intimidating old gentleman. And she, for the first time in her life, was going to learn that you didn’t always have to plan ahead for things to go smoothly.
The steps locked into place as the steward stepped up beside her. ‘You can exit now, Miss Roberts.’
Talia smiled at the man. ‘Thank you. If you’d just point me towards where I’m to meet Mr Miller…’
‘He’s waiting just over there, miss.’
Talia looked across the tarmac. A dark green Cadillac Brougham stood opposite, a portly, white-haired man beside it. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
The steward laughed. ‘Oh, no, miss, that’s not Mr Miller.’ He took her arm and turned her towards the opposite side of the tarmac. Talia had a quick glimpse of a sleek black Maserati, a car that looked more like a predator than a vehicle, and the man lounging against it, his arms crossed at his chest. ‘That’s Mr Miller, ma’am. Haven’t you ever met?’
The air seemed to rush from Talia’s lungs. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be…
‘Miss Roberts? Are you all right?’
Talia nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, in a voice unrecognisable as her own, ‘we’ve met.’
And, of course, they had.
Despite the elegant navy pin-striped suit, despite the shockingly expensive sports car, she’d recognised Logan Miller the second she saw him. His mouth curved upward as he uncoiled his lean body and began walking slowly towards her.
Logan Miller and the California drifter who had kissed her in the redwood grove were the same person.
