Читать книгу Out of Hours...His Feisty Assistant: The Tycoon's Very Personal Assistant / Caught on Camera with the CEO / Her Not-So-Secret Diary - Heidi Rice, Anne Oliver - Страница 12

‘YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING me.’ Zack scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling weary. ‘She was coming to California with me. How am I going to get another PA so soon?’ And how could a day that had dawned with such promise have turned into this nightmare?

‘Seems Jill didn’t take too kindly to your attitude this afternoon. She said you shouted at her,’ Monty said from the other side of the booth. His friendly cockney accent rubbed Zack’s last nerve raw.

‘I did not shout at her,’ Zack said firmly, pretty sure he hadn’t. He could barely remember the incident with his PA. He’d been fixated on a certain blue-eyed temptress most of the day. ‘She did a half-baked job on the report I asked for on The Grange’s customer profile. All I did was point it out.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe next time you could point it out with a few less decibels,’ Monty replied amiably, lifting the bottle of beer to his lips.

Zack watched his business manager. ‘Fine.’ He took a swallow of his own beer, let the chilled amber liquid ease down his throat and forced his shoulders to relax. ‘Point taken.’

Jill Hawthorne’s resignation wasn’t worth getting worked up about. He expected one hundred and ten per cent from his staff and paid them the salaries to match. Jill hadn’t been up to the job since the day he’d hired her. It was just bad timing she’d picked today to walk off in a snit. He could have done without the aggravation.

Monty straightened in his chair and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. ‘What were you doing in the office anyhow? I thought you were taking a couple of days off before you headed out to Cally?’

That had been the original plan, thought Zack, aggravated all over again. Until a certain Kate Denton had walked out on him bright and early this morning. After that, he hadn’t been in the mood to hang out in his penthouse. Every place he looked brought back memories of her lush, sexy body and the incredible things they’d been doing to each other most of the night.

‘Plans change,’he said dismissively. He wasn’t about to get into a blow by blow of what an idiot he’d been with Monty. He still wasn’t sure how he’d let Kate get under his skin the way she had. ‘I should let you get home to Stella,’ he added reluctantly, mentioning Monty’s wife. ‘She’ll give me the look next time I see her if I keep you out drinking on your first night back.’

Monty had returned to Vegas late that afternoon after a week of meetings with Harold Westchester, the owner of the hotel Zack was buying out in California. It had been Zack’s idea to meet up in the loud, lively and informal surroundings of the Sports Bar. He and Monty had spent the last half an hour going over the details of the negotiations together before Monty had dropped his bombshell about Zack’s PA.

‘No worries,’ said Monty. ‘Stel understands you wanted the low-down on how things went with Westchester.’

Truth be told, the meeting could have waited till tomorrow, but Zack hadn’t been in any great hurry to go back to his bed alone tonight. And Monty was always good company. They’d been best buddies ever since their early teens, when Monty had tried to pull a short con on Zack one rainy afternoon on London’s Oxford Street.

‘I guess we’ve covered everything for today,’ Zack said. ‘Why don’t you go on home? Tell Stella I said hi,’ he finished, not quite sure where the ripple of envy came from as he said it. Sure, Monty had a beautiful wife in Stella and a real little pistol of a kid in Joey, but that kind of wedded bliss had never been what Zack was looking for in life.

‘I’m good for another round, yet,’ Monty said, glancing at his watch. ‘Look, Zack, there is one other thing I wanted to sound you out on with The Grange buyout.’

‘What?’ Zack asked.

‘Why don’t you tell Westchester who you really are?’

Zack slapped his beer bottle back on the table with more force than was strictly necessary. ‘I told you before. No way.’

‘We could get a better deal out of him. I’m sure of it.’

‘Don’t count on it.’ Zack had been after The Grange for two solid years—the fact that Westchester had no knowledge about their prior connection had been paramount to the old guy agreeing to the deal in the first place, Zack was sure of it. ‘Westchester and my old man didn’t exactly hit it off together. I’m not risking the deal on—’

‘How do you know he blames you for what JP did?’ Monty butted in.

‘Drop it, Mont.’ Just thinking about telling Westchester made Zack feel edgy.

‘Fine, I tried.’ Monty threw up his hands. ‘It’s your choice.’

‘That’s right. It is. Now, do you want another beer or not?’

‘Just one. Then I better shoot off.’

Zack picked up a handful of mini-pretzels from the bowl of bar snacks, glad to have at least one thing settled. He turned to signal their waitress when something caught his eye across the darkened bar. He stared in the half-light.

Another waitress was dishing out drinks to a group of guys over by the pool tables, her blonde hair shone white in the harsh neon light. He squinted, trying to focus. It couldn’t be, could it?

She walked back towards the wait-station, her empty tray dangling from one hand. Her voluptuous figure looked ready to spill right out of the uniform all the female bar staff wore.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he murmured.

He’d recognise the soft, seductive sway of those hips anywhere.

Kate was floating. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself as she pushed through the crowd of people at the bar, her head throbbing in time to the electric guitar whining from the sound system and her heels and toes burning in the shoes she’d borrowed for the evening. She’d gone past exhausted about an hour ago, entering an alternative reality where her many aches and pains were buffered by a sea of numbness—sort of.

She dumped her tray on the wait-station and shouted out her latest order to Matt, the barman. Matt waved, not even attempting to be heard above the din, and went off to fill it.

Pushing an annoying tendril of hair behind her ear, Kate swayed slightly. She gripped the bar, steadied herself, forcing her knees to lock, and took another glimpse at the clock above the bar. The stupid thing had to be broken—the hands had barely moved since the last time she looked. Still over an hour to go till her shift ended.

She groaned, the next couple of weeks spreading out before her in a never-ending kaleidoscope of spilled drinks, overeager hands, dirty toilets and unmade beds.

Kate forced back the depression settling over her like an impenetrable fog. It could only be tiredness. So the next few weeks were going to be murder while she held down the two jobs she’d talked her way into. She’d worked this hard before. When she’d been seventeen, and newly free of her father’s influence, she’d held down three jobs to keep afloat. She could do it again. All she needed was a decent night’s sleep.

Thanks to the night flight two days ago, the bedroom Olympics she’d indulged in with the very creative Zack Boudreaux last night, a day spent changing sheets and cleaning toilets and the last four hours spent tottering around on heels that were two sizes too small, Kate reckoned she’d managed about four hours sleep in the last fortyeight.

She glared at the clock again, willing the hands to move faster.

Extreme fatigue was the only reason the picture of Zack and his insatiable body kept popping back into her brain. She didn’t regret her decision to turn down his insulting offer one bit. She would never be any man’s kept woman, no matter how gorgeous he looked or how fantastic he might be in bed. Her mother had done that and look what had happened to her.

She let go of the bar. When she stayed upright, she pulled a long fortifying breath into her lungs. Only an hour to go, then she could collapse into bed. She vowed she wouldn’t so much as twitch her little finger until ten minutes before her housekeeping shift started at six tomorrow morning.

‘Katie, Katie.’ Marcy, Kate’s fellow waitress, elbowed her way towards Kate on ice-pick heels, her chocolate-brown eyes beaming. How did she walk in those shoes, Kate wondered, without dislodging a kidney?

‘Honey, you hit the jackpot.’ Marcy slapped her tray down on the bar and snapped the gum she was chewing.

‘Oh really?’ Kate said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. She liked Marcy. She was so perky she made Mary Poppins look like a killjoy. But right at the moment Kate could barely string a coherent sentence together, let alone have a conversation with someone as full-on as Marcy.

‘Oh, yes, really,’ Marcy said, mimicking Kate’s accent, her smile so bright it was practically radioactive. ‘You’ll never guess who’s in my Number Four booth and just asked to have you serve him his next beer?’

‘Who?’ Kate asked, sure she didn’t want to know unless the guy was Rip Van Winkle.

‘Give me a minute.’ Marcy winked and shouted out an order to Matt for two bottles of premium beer. She turned back to Kate, her face still beaming excitement. ‘Only the big boss man.’ Marcy pointed out one of the booths near the entrance. ‘He’s over there with Monty Robertson, his business manager.’ Marcy touched Kate’s arm. ‘Mr Zack “Gorgeous Butt” Boudreaux, no less.’

At the mention of his name, Kate felt the headache gnawing at her temples roar into life. Then her stomach rolled over, the burn in her feet flared up and the dull ache in her back shot straight up her spine. So much for numbness.

‘Honey, he’s taken a real shine to you. He asked for you special.’ Marcy nudged her, still talking a mile a minute, but the words barely registered on Kate.

‘Here you go, babe, three margaritas.’ Matt placed the drinks Kate had ordered on her tray. As Kate thanked Matt Marcy whisked the tray away.

‘I’ll take care of these for you.’ Marcy checked the tab and hefted the tray onto her shoulder. ‘You take the beers over to Boudreaux’s booth when they get here.’ She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, grinned. ‘This could be your lucky night, hon.’

Before Kate could form a protest, Marcy waltzed off, weaving expertly through the crowd as she balanced the tray of margaritas on one hand. Kate stared dumbly at Marcy’s back, her jaw clenched so tight it was a miracle she didn’t crack a tooth.

‘If I get any more lucky, I might as well shoot myself,’ she grumbled.

Zack was fuming, but he was keeping a lid on it.

What was she doing working tables in the Sports Bar? If she had set out to torment him she couldn’t have done a better job. Just when he was trying to get her off his mind there she was, all hot and luscious in a skimpy skirt that showed her panties every time she moved and a too-tight V-neck sweater that pumped up her breasts. She might as well have been naked, the amount of flesh she was displaying to the whole bar. Watching her walk towards him and Monty, the tray of beers held high, her head down and tantalising little wisps of hair framing her cheeks, Zack had to force his eyes to stay on her face. He guessed he must be the only guy in the place who wasn’t staring at her butt.

‘Wow, she’s built,’ Monty murmured, confirming Zack’s suspicions.

‘Keep your eyes to yourself,’ Zack snapped, ‘or I’ll tell Stella you’ve been checking out other women.’

‘I wasn’t checking her out,’ Monty said, sounding offended. ‘I was just stating the obvious. What’s between you two anyway?’ Monty wasn’t dumb—he’d already asked the question twice since Zack had called their waitress over and asked her to send Kate back with their beers.

‘Nothing,’ Zack said, determined to prove himself right, even if his mouth was drying up and his muscles tensing the closer she got. The ache in his crotch didn’t mean a thing either. It was just residual heat from last night. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle, making his eyes go blank as she stepped up to the booth and slid the tray onto the table.

‘Hello, Kate,’ he said, his voice as bland as a slice of white bread.

‘Hello.’ Kate gave him a brief look before concentrating on putting the bottles on the table without spilling them.

Even in a plain black T-shirt and worn jeans the aura of power pulsed around him, intimidating her. But worse than that was the wet heat that had pooled between her thighs and the parched feeling in her throat brought on by the sight of his lean, solid length relaxed against the leather bench seat.

Her eyes connected with his. She must not show any weakness. He was watching her, the handsome planes of his face defined by the light coming from behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a slow, measured voice as if he wasn’t really all that interested in her reply. ‘I thought you were working for Pat today?’

‘I did work for Pat today. I’m working here tonight.’

A muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘I see,’ he said, still in that controlled, indifferent monotone. ‘You know, I don’t think I want you hanging around my hotel.’

Heat seared Kate’s cheeks at the callous words, the assessing, dismissive once-over he gave her.

‘In fact, I’m sure of it,’ he said, slinging his arm casually across the back of the booth.

He looked confident and in control. Probably because he was. The rat.

Kate slung the tray under her arm. Her fingers fisted on the hard plastic. She’d like nothing better than to pick up his fancy bottle of beer right now and pour it over his head. ‘You’re the boss,’ she said, annoyed beyond belief by the quiver in her voice. ‘I’ll leave.’

She turned to go, but he snagged her wrist.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, his fingers clamped tight. ‘We need some more pretzels first.’

Kate tugged her arm loose and glared at him. She wanted to tell him where he could shove his pretzels so badly she could taste the words.

She savoured the image for a moment, then let it go. Bonedeep weariness and despair rushed up to replace it. She nodded. ‘I’ll go get them,’ she said.

‘Eh-hum.’ Monty cleared his throat loudly. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what the bleeding heck that was all about? Who is that girl?’

‘No one.’ Zack ignored his friend, still staring after Kate as she made her way back to the wait-station. Something wasn’t right.

The idea had been to goad her, get her to rise to the bait and then slap her down. It was still bugging him that she’d dumped him this morning to do drudge work. But he didn’t feel the satisfaction he’d expected. In fact, he felt like a jerk. Her face had been cast into shadow by the overhead light, but she’d sounded resigned, weary even. It wasn’t like her to take an insult lying down. He ought to know.

‘All right, why don’t you pull the other one?’

Zack looked at his friend. ‘What?’

‘If there’s nothing going on between you two, I’m Bugs Bunny. And you know carrots make me hurl.’ Monty sipped his beer and skewered Zack with a look.

Zack sighed. He knew that look. It was Monty’s only-dynamite-will-make-me-drop-this-now look.

‘We slept together last night, okay?’ Zack said at last. He took a long swig of his beer, hoping it would ease the dryness in his throat. ‘Although there wasn’t a whole lot of sleeping going on.’ He put the bottle on the table, his throat still dry as a bone. ‘Then she decides this morning she’d rather scrub johns than date me. End of story.’

Monty studied Kate’s retreating figure, then turned back to Zack. ‘She dumped you?’ He gave an astonished chuckle. ‘You’ve got to be joking?’

‘I’m real glad you find that amusing.’

‘Not amusing, mate, more like miraculous.’ Monty laughed again, his eyes darting back to the bar. ‘Oh, fab, she’s coming back. Maybe I’ll get to see her give you the kiss-off again.’

Zack jerked his gaze up, not finding Monty’s teasing at all funny. As he watched Kate approach the familiar tightening in his crotch only aggravated him more.

Kate concentrated on staying upright and channelling Mahatma Gandhi as she approached Zack’s table, the mini-pretzels balanced precariously on her tray. Somehow she had to get him to let her stay till the end of her shift. She hated being a pushover, but she didn’t have the energy to fight and she needed her share of tonight’s bar tips. If she left an hour early, she might not get them.

‘Your pretzels,’ she said, putting the small bowl on the table and keeping her eyes down. Maybe if he didn’t mention her leaving again she could just carry on.

‘Thanks,’ Zack said, sounding surly. What did he have to sulk about?

She picked the empty bowl up from the table, intending to make a quick exit, when the man sitting across from him spoke. ‘Don’t run off, love,’ he said, his broad cockney accent surprising Kate. ‘It’s Kate, right?’

His smile was charming and somehow cheeky at the same time. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d been at the table earlier, but then she’d been wasting her attention on Zack. She took his hand, feeling her anxiety ebb as his grin widened.

‘Yes, that’s right, Kate Denton,’ she said.

‘Lovely to meet you, Kate,’ he replied chummily. ‘I’m Monty Robertson.’ He let go of her hand, settled back into his seat. ‘Do I detect a touch of the old country in your accent?’

She nodded.

‘Londoner, right?’ he asked, the warmth in his soft ebony eyes putting her at her ease.

‘Chelsea, actually,’ she replied, feeling ludicrously grateful to be talking to one of her fellow countrymen.

‘Very la-de-dah. I’m honoured,’ he said, then his face fell comically. ‘You’re not a bloody Chelsea supporter, are you?’

Kate laughed. ‘Of course I am—best team in London. You’re not one of those saddos who—’ The thump of a bottle hitting the table made her head whip round.

Zack was staring at them. ‘I need another beer,’ he said, his voice deadly calm.

Tension knotted at the base of Kate’s neck. A snide retort came to the tip of her tongue, but the sudden wave of exhaustion caught her unawares. She stepped back, trying to counterbalance the wobble in her legs and stumbled.

‘Hey, love, are you okay?’ She could barely hear Monty’s urgent question over the buzz saw in her head.

The tray clattered onto the floor. She tried to grab the table, scared of falling, but then Zack was towering over her. His fingers grasped her upper arms, holding her upright.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

She frowned, confused by the temper in his voice. What had she done now?

The familiar scent of him assailed her, she tried to pull away, but he held firm. He turned her body and the neon light from the bar shone on her face, making her squint.

He cursed. ‘You look like hell.’ His voice came from miles away. ‘When’s the last time you slept?’

She tried to lift her hands to shake him off, but someone had tethered ten ton weights to her wrists. ‘I’m fine,’ she said feebly, but she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

‘The hell you are,’ he said, still sounding angry with her.

She wanted to argue with him. Wanted to tell him to get lost, but all that came out of her mouth was a pathetic whimper.

The world tilted and suddenly she was floating for real, her cheek rubbing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, her limbs weightless.

‘Mont, tell the bar staff she’s taking the rest of the night off. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She heard the words but couldn’t quite process them. All she could see was the strong column of his neck, the shadow of stubble under his chin. Embarrassment washed over her as she felt his arms tense under her knees and across her back. For goodness’ sake, he was carrying her. The harsh light of the casino hit her as he walked out of the bar. She wriggled, tried to lift her head away from the rock solid shelf of his shoulder blade.

‘P-put me down.’Where had that stammer come from? And why was everything whirling around?

‘Forget it,’ he said, sounding even surlier. ‘If you can’t look after yourself, someone else is going to have to do it.’

Her mind tried to grasp hold of the indignation, the humiliation she should be feeling. But she couldn’t shake the thought that she was in a chilling fog and the only warm, solid thing there was him. She couldn’t push him away yet, or she’d be sucked into nothingness. Shivers of exhaustion raked her body.

His arms tightened around her and she heard the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. ‘Relax, Kate,’ he said, his voice gentle now, coaxing. ‘You’re okay, I’ve got you.’

‘Don’t drop me,’ she pleaded, too tired to care if she sounded pathetic.

‘I won’t,’ he said.

She softened into his strength, shut her eyes and let the fog envelop her like a warm, comforting blanket.

Zack felt Kate grow heavy in his arms. The machine-gun shots of his heartbeat finally began to slow as the deep, steady rhythm of her breathing brushed his neck. He tucked her head under his chin, adjusted her weight as he pushed the elevator call button.

He’d just lost ten years off his life.

Shock had propelled him out of the booth when she’d staggered in the bar. But as soon as he’d felt the tremors raking her body, seen the bruised smudges under her eyes, a cruel rush of guilt had replaced it. She looked shattered.

They’d got all of two hours’ sleep last night and while he’d been lying in bed most of the morning, feeling put upon, she’d been working in his hotel trying to make up the money she owed. Maybe she was nuts, maybe she drove him nuts, but the woman had guts.

The elevator button pinged and she stirred. ‘Shh,’ he hummed as if comforting a child. She relaxed against him. She wasn’t exactly light, but still she felt fragile. He tightened his hold, stepped into the elevator and nudged the button to the penthouse.

He ought to take her to her own suite, but he couldn’t do it. He wanted her with him, and not just for the obvious reason. He wanted to keep an eye on her. The urge to protect her surprised him, but he didn’t question it. He’d been right on the money earlier. If she couldn’t look after herself, someone else would have to do it. And at the moment, whether she liked it or not, it looked as if that someone was him.