Читать книгу A Bride For The Brooding Boss - Bella Bucannon - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN TAYLOR ALIGHTED from the taxi, smiling in surprise. A multi-storey glass and cement edifice had replaced the six-storey building with a bank at ground level she remembered from years ago.

Anticipation simmered through her veins. A rush job. Urgent—which usually meant challenging.

Her initial reaction to her employer’s Monday morning call had been to refuse. She had managed to squeeze in a much-needed week off and had planned on some ‘me’ time—seeing movies, reading in the park, aimless walking... The promise of an additional week on completion of the assignment, plus a bonus, had won her over. A few days of Adelaide in March wouldn’t be too hard to take.

The flight delay at Sydney airport the next afternoon meant it was three o’clock by the time she’d booked into her hotel and caught a taxi to the address. A quick phone call to a brusque Matthew Dalton raised some apprehension but he was the one with the critical dilemma.

Dalton Corporation’s reception area on the eighteenth floor suited the building. A patterned, tiled floor drew the eyes to a curved redwood desk and up to the company name, elaborately carved in black on a gold background. Sadly the lack of human presence, along with the almost complete silence, detracted from the impact. The three doors in her sight were all shut.

Scrolling for the contact number she’d used earlier, she stopped at the sound of a crash from behind the second door along. Followed by a loud expletive in a woman’s voice.

Lauren knocked and opened the door.

A blonde woman stood leaning across a desk, her hands shifting through a pile of papers, a harassed face turned towards Lauren. A document tray and its previous contents lay scattered on the floor.

‘You want Mr Dalton.’ Uttered as a hopeful statement. ‘Sorry about this. I’m usually more organised. Last door on the left. Knock and wait. Good luck.’

Her words heightened Lauren’s unease as she obeyed, instinctively smoothing down her hair before tapping on the door. The light flutter in her pulse at the raspy ‘Come in’ startled her. As did the unexpected allure in the deep guttural tone.

* * *

Without looking up, the man with a mobile held to his left ear gestured for her to enter and take the seat in front of his desk. Matthew Dalton was definitely under pressure. No jacket or tie, shirt unbuttoned at the top, and obviously raked through, thick chestnut-brown hair. He continued to write on a printed page in front of him, occasionally speaking in one-or two-word comments.

Lauren sat, frowning at the oblique angle of his huge desk to the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows with an incredible view of the Adelaide Hills. Made of dark wood, it held only a desktop computer, keyboard, printer, land phone and stacked document trays. The only personal item was a plain blue coffee mug.

The man who’d requested her urgent presence swung to his right, flicking through pages spread on the desk extension. His easy fit in the high-back leather chair with wide arms suggested made to measure. And he needed a haircut.

She continued her scan, fascinated by the opulent differences from the usual offices where she was welcomed by lesser employees. From the soft leather lounge chairs by the windows to the built-in bar and extravagant coffee machine, this one had been designed to emphasise the power and success of the occupier.

The down light directly above his head picked up the red tints in his hair, and the embossed gold on his elegant black pen. She shrugged—exclusive taste didn’t always equate with business acumen. If it did she might not be here.

Reception had been bare and unmanned, the blonde woman agitated. How bad was the company’s situation?

Normally tuning out sounds was an ingrained accomplishment. Today, nothing she tried quite prevented the gravelly timbre skittling across her skin, causing an unaccustomed warmth low in her abdomen. She steadied her breathing, mentally counting the seconds as they passed.

Then the man she believed to be a complete stranger flicked a glance her way. Instantly, with a chilling sensation gripping her heart, she was thrown back ten years to that night.

* * *

The dinner dance after a charity Australian Rules football game organised by interstate universities and held here in Adelaide. Limited professional players were allowed and her parents insisted the whole family come over in support when her elder brother agreed to represent Victoria.

The noisy function seemed full of dressed-to-kill young women draped over garrulous muscular males, many of whom twitched and pulled at the collars of their suits. Though only two or three years separated her from most of them, at sixteen it was a chasm of maturity and poise. Unfamiliar with the football scene and jargon, she blushed and stammered when any of them spoke to her.

Escaping from the hot, crowed room, she found a secluded spot outside, at the end of the long balcony. Hidden by tall potted plants, she gazed over the river wishing she were in her hotel room, or home in Melbourne. Or anywhere bar here.

‘Hiding, huh? Don’t like dancing?’

The owner of the throaty voice—too much enthusiastic cheering?—was tall. Close. Much too close. The city lights behind him put his face in shadow.

She stepped back. The self-absorbed young men whose interests were limited to exercise, diet, sport, and the women these pursuits attracted held no appeal for her. Men like her brothers’ friends who teasingly came on to her then laughed off her protests. Never serious or threatening, merely feeding their already inflated egos. Shy and uncomfortable in crowds, with a tendency to blush, she was fair game.

‘I saw you slip out.’ She detected a faint trace of beer on his breath as he spoke. When he took a step nearer, causing her to stiffen, a fresh ocean aroma overrode the alcohol. Not drunk, perhaps a little tipsy.

‘We won, you should be celebrating. You do barrack for South Australia?’ Doubt crept into the last few words, the resonance telling her he’d be more mature, maybe by two or three years, than she was. So why seek her out when there were so many girls his age inside?

‘Y... Yes.’ How could one word be so hard to say? How come her throat dried up, and her pulse raced? And why did she lie when she didn’t care about the game at all?

He leant forward. ‘I did kick two goals even if I missed out on a medal. Surely I deserve a small prize.’

He was like all the others. Her disappointment sharpened her reply.

‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed inside.’

‘But an elusive prize is much more rewarding, don’t you think?’

Before she could take in air to answer, he gently covered her lips with his.

And she hadn’t been able to take that breath. Hadn’t been able to move. Hadn’t been able to think of anything except the smooth movement of his mouth on hers.

The urge to return the kiss—have him deepen the kiss—had shaken her. Terrified her. The quick kisses from the boys she knew were just being friendly had been gentle, nice. Never emotionally shattering.

Why did she sigh? Why were her lips complying, pressing against his, striving to be in sync? Until the tip of his tongue flicked out seeking entry and she panicked.

Frantically pulling away, she fled past him to the safety of the packed ballroom and a seat behind her parents and other adults in a remote corner. As she drank ice-cold water to wet her dry throat, she realised all she could recall was a glimpse of stunning midnight-blue eyes as his head had jerked back into the light.

* * *

The same midnight-blue eyes that had fleetingly met hers a moment ago.

Why was she so certain? She just knew.

Would he recognise her? He’d had a drink or two and it had been dark. She finally had a reason to be thankful for her mother’s instructions to the hairdresser. Darker colouring with extensions woven into a fancy hairdo on top, plus salon make-up, had altered her appearance dramatically.

She’d been a naive teenager who’d panicked and run from an innocent kiss. He’d been an experienced young man who’d have known scores of willing women since.

Gratitude that she hadn’t seen his face flowed through her veins as she studied the man to whom she’d attributed so many different features over the years in her daydreams. If, along with those memorable eyes, she’d imagined high cheekbones, a square firm jaw and full lips, she doubted she’d have slept at all. Even his lashes were thicker and darker than she’d pictured.

She dipped her head whenever he looked at her, wasn’t ready for eye-to-eye contact. Forced steady breathing quelled her inner trembling.

Matt Dalton’s mind ought to be totally focused on the information he was receiving. Instead his eyes kept straying to the brunette sitting rigid on her seat, politely ignoring him. The one who’d caused a tightening in his gut when he’d glanced up at her.

In an instant he’d noted the sweet curve of her cheek framed by shoulder-length light brown hair. If she hadn’t dropped her gaze, he’d also know the colour of her eyes.

Shoot! He asked the caller to repeat the last two figures. Blocking her out, he carefully wrote them down. After ending the call, he clipped all the pages together, and dropped them into a tray.

He could now concentrate on this woman, and her technical rather than physical attributes. Her employer’s high fees would be worth it if she found out what the heck had happened in the company’s computer system.

‘Ms Lauren Taylor?’ He pulled a new document forward.

She turned, and guarded brown eyes met his.

He immediately wished they hadn’t as a sharp pang of desire snapped through him and was instantly controlled. Women, regardless of shape, colouring or looks, were off his agenda for the foreseeable future. Probably longer. Betrayal made a man wary.

‘Yes.’ Hesitant with an undertone he didn’t understand.

He’d requested her services on a recommendation, without any consideration of appearance or demeanour, which for him were unimportant. The female colleagues he’d associated with overseas were well groomed, very smart, and always willing to offer their opinions. His equal on every corporate level.

Lauren Taylor was neatly dressed in a crisp white blouse under a light grey trouser suit, and wore little make-up. With her reputation, she ought to project confidence, yet he sensed apprehension. Was it a natural consequence of her temporary assignments or the confidentiality clause creating a desire to keep a distance from company employees?

No, this ran deeper, was more personal. He cleared his thoughts, telling himself his sole interest was in her technical skills, conveniently discounting his two reactions towards her.

‘I’m Matt Dalton. I contacted your employer because I’m told you’re one of the best computer problem investigators. My friend’s description. Was he exaggerating?’

A soft blush coloured her cheeks, and her eyes softened at the compliment. They were actually more hazel than brown with a hint of gold flecks, and framed by thick brown lashes. He growled internally at himself for again straying from his pressing predicament.

‘I don’t...I rarely fail.’ She made a slight twitch of her shoulders as if fortifying her self-assurance.

He gave a short huff. ‘Please don’t let this be one of the times you do. How much information were you sent?’

‘The email mentioned unexplained anomalies a regular audit failed to clarify.’

‘Two, one internal, one external. The detectable errors were fixed but no one could explain the glitches or whatever they are, and I need answers fast.’ Before his father’s condition became public and the roof caved in.

‘May I see the reports?’ Again timidity, which didn’t fit the profile he’d received, though to give her credit she didn’t look away.

‘In the top drawer of the desk you’ll be using along with a summary of our expectations, file titles et cetera. I assume you can remember passwords.’

She frowned, making him realise how condescending he sounded. Was he coming over as too harsh, overbearing? Her impression of him wouldn’t be good either.

‘Staff turnover has been high in the last two years, sometimes sudden with no changeover training. Recently I found out passwords had been written down and kept in unlocked drawers.’

She waited, and he had the feeling he was being blamed for some personal misdemeanour. He decided he’d divulged as much as she needed to know to start. Anything else necessary, she’d learn as the assessment progressed.

‘Most of the errors were from incorrectly entered data, exacerbated on occasion by amateur attempts to fix them. Apparently not too hard to find and correct if you know what you’re doing.’

‘But surely the accountant...?’ Her hands fluttered then her fingers linked and fell back into her lap. ‘Why weren’t they picked up at the time?’

Damn, she was smart. And nervous.

‘The long-term accountant left, and was replaced by a bookkeeper then another. Neither were very competent.’

Her eyes widened in surprise. For a second there was a faint elusive niggling deep in the recesses of his mind. As her lips parted he forestalled her words.

‘I’d like you to analyse from July 2014 up to the present date. Everything your employer requested is in the adjacent office. How soon can you start?’

Too abrupt again but it was imperative he find out what had been going on. The sooner the better. Four weeks ago, at his original inspection of his father’s company accounts, would have been best.

‘If I can see the set-up now then I can begin early tomorrow morning. Being a short week because of Easter doesn’t allow much time.

‘Are two days enough?’

‘Doubtful if I’m a last resort. I have a family commitment in Melbourne for the weekend then I’ll come back.’ She made it sound like an obligation rather than a pleasant reunion.

‘That’s acceptable.’ He flicked his hands then put them on the edge of the desk to push to his feet.

‘Human error and deliberate action are different. Is it the latter I’m searching for?’

He sank back into his chair. She was too smart.

Lauren had been in critical corporate situations before and recognised desperation, even when well hidden. This man was heading for breakdown. His taut muscles, firm set lips and weary dark eyes all pointed to extreme stress.

And her question had irritated him so he definitely suspected fraud, probably by someone he’d trusted. She certainly wasn’t going to push it now. Not when she’d behaved like the skittish child she’d thought she’d conquered years ago.

‘I won’t make guarantees I might not be able to keep. I can only promise to do my best. Having the straightforward errors already adjusted helps.’

He relaxed a little, and his lips curved at the corners, almost but not quite forming a smile.

‘Thank you.’

He rose to an impressive height, letting his chair roll away, indicating a door to her left.

‘Through here.’

Lauren picked up her shoulder bag and followed, wishing she were one of those women who were comfortable in killer heels all day. And an inch or two taller. Having to tilt her head gave him the advantage. When he suddenly stopped and turned, her throat tightened at the vague familiarity of his cologne. Not the same one, surely? Yet she recognised it, had never forgotten it. And this close, the lines around his mouth and eyes were much more discernible.

‘I apologise. I should have offered you a coffee. Do you—?’

‘No. No, thank you.’ The sooner she was out of his presence, the better. Then she could breathe and regroup. ‘You’re obviously busy.’

His relief at such a minor point enforced her opinion of the strain he was under.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe. Any answers you find will be extremely welcome.’

He opened the door and ushered her in, the light touch of his fingers on her back shooting tingles up and down her spine, spreading heat as they went. Unwarranted yet strangely exciting.

The décor in the much smaller room matched his office, and included two identical armchairs by the window. But the position of the desk was wrong, standing out from the wall facing the door they’d entered. She walked round to check the two desktops and a keyboard, all wired up ready to go. He followed, stopping within touching distance.

‘Your employer asked for the duplication. Easier for comparisons, huh?’

‘Much. What’s the password?’

He told her. While she activated the computer, he removed a blue folder from the drawer, and placed it on the desk.

‘Anything else you require?’

‘I’ll need a copy of the report for highlighting and a writing pad for notes.’

‘Help yourself to anything in the cupboard. The copier is in Joanne’s office off reception.’

‘The blonde lady?’

‘Yes, currently we don’t have a receptionist. If you have any questions regarding your task ask me. If it’s office related Joanne or any one of the other five employees can help.’

He walked out, not giving her a chance to say thank you, leaving his heady sea-spray aroma behind. Did he treat everyone in the same offhand manner?

Lauren felt like pounding the desk. She’d handled ruder employers who’d been under less pressure with poise and conviction. I’m-the-boss males with autocratic, archaic, even on occasion sexist, views were certainly not an endangered species. It didn’t wash with her. They were in a predicament and she was the solution so she made it clear: no respect and she walked.

The personal aspect here had shaken her composure, giving the impression she doubted her abilities. She’d show him. Tomorrow she’d be the perfect detached computer specialist.

She selected stationery from the cupboard, skim-read the printed files, then spent ten minutes perusing the computer data prior to closing down. The few pertinent notes she’d written would save time in the morning.

Carrying the audit reports, she tried the door leading to the corridor. Finding it locked, she went into Matt Dalton’s office. He was standing, sorting papers on his desk. His gaze was less than friendly to someone he’d hired to solve his problems.

‘I’ll copy these then I’ll be leaving. What time is the office open in the morning?’ Polite and stilted, following his lead. The fizz in her stomach could and would be controlled.

‘I’m here from seven. Do you need transport?’

‘I’ll sort that out.’

‘Good.’ He returned to his papers.

She swung away, heat flooding her from head to feet at his dismissive action. All her fantasies came crashing down. Spoilt, rich, I-can-take-what-I-want teenager had become arrogant, treat-hired-staff-with-disdain boss. Was that why people had left without notice? She’d never wished bad karma on anyone, but she was coming close today!

Long deep breaths as she went out helped to settle her stomach and stop the trembling of her hands.

Before re-entering Mr Dalton’s office, printouts in hand, she reinforced her prime rule of contract work. Never, never, ever get involved. Someone always ended up heartbroken.

Swearing the oath was easy. Sticking to it when confronted with those hypnotic blue eyes that invited her to confess her innermost secrets was tougher than she’d expected. Especially when his lips curled into a half-smile as he said goodbye.

She stabbed at the ground-floor button, angry that she’d smiled back, dismayed that even his small polite gesture had weakened her resolve. The thrill of the chase ought to be in his computer files, not in dreaming of—She wouldn’t dream of anything. Especially not midnight-blue eyes, firm jaws or light touches that sent emotions into a frenzy.