Читать книгу The Parisian Playboy - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 6

‘AND how is the lovely Holly this morning? Had fun over the weekend, darling? You look like a girl who knows how to have a good time.’

As Holly raised her eyes from her word processor she steeled herself to show no reaction at all when she saw Jeff Roberts’s podgy face leering at her from the doorway. ‘Good morning, Mr Roberts,’ she said flatly, her voice dismissive. And then she felt her stomach muscles contract as he sauntered over to her desk.

He was close enough now for his eye-wateringly pungent aftershave to invade her air space, but Holly continued typing without glancing at him again, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

There were basically three ways to deal with the problem of a serial groper in the office, Holly had decided some weeks before, when she had first started work at Querruel International.

One—ignore and avoid the sad individual in question, whilst letting him know by as icy a manner as possible that his advances were not appreciated.

Two—yell sexual harassment and take it as high as it needed.

Three—go for ultimate satisfaction and sock the scumbag a strong right hook on the jaw.

Holly had been trying the rational approach for eight weeks on the scumbag concerned with no visible result, and reporting him was a no-go unless she was prepared to lose her job because Jeff Roberts was the son of the managing director and the apple of his doting father’s eye.

The third option would definitely mean she sacrificed all possibility of a future reference as well as the job—a job which had promised bright prospects and an interesting and rosy future at her initial interview. But—and the but had become increasingly attractive over the last couple of months—it would certainly teach the little wimp a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

He leant over her, reading the report she was copying from the draft on her desk, and his voice was low when he said, ‘I’ve told you before, call me Jeff when there’s just the two of us.’

There was always a faintly musty, almost unwashed odour emanating from his clothes, or maybe his skin, and Holly had to suppress a shudder of distaste. It didn’t help that her tiny office was little more than a cubby-hole off Jeff’s father’s secretary’s office, with one small window and wall-to-wall filing cabinets. There was one other door apart from that opening into the secretary’s domain, and this would have led into the corridor outside but for the fact that two filing cabinets had been placed in front of it. Now necessity dictated one entered and left through the one door; something Jeff hadn’t been slow to take advantage of from her first week.

‘If you are looking for Margaret she should be back from the canteen in just a moment,’ Holly said pointedly.

‘Is that so?’ As she continued with her work he adjusted his position, bending down and reaching across her for a pen and managing to brush the side of her breast as he did so. ‘I’ll just borrow this for a moment, if I may?’

Holly stopped typing, forcing herself to stare up into his sallow, moist face as she said steadily, ‘I’ve told you before, Mr. Roberts, I don’t want you to do that.’

‘Do what?’ He didn’t even bother to try to sound indignant, and when his gaze moved over her breasts and then down to her legs before returning to her face his tongue wet his lower lip.

‘I don’t want you to touch me,’ she spelt out tightly.

‘Did I touch you?’ He smiled, bending closer again and giving her the full benefit of his bad breath as he murmured, ‘Why don’t we go for a nice little drink after work, eh? I know just the place. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

When hell froze over! ‘I’m afraid I’ve got other plans,’ Holly said stiffly.

‘Tomorrow, then?’ Speckled hazel eyes of a muddy hue slithered over her greedily. ‘I’ll buy you dinner too if you’re a good girl. Can’t say fairer than that.’

Where was this man coming from? What did it take to puncture this inflated ego that thought because of his standing in the firm he could behave however he liked? Holly knew from talk she’d heard in the canteen during her coffee breaks that Jeff Roberts pawed whomsoever he could, but most of the other girls worked in conditions where there was safety in numbers.

She stared him straight in the eye as she said coldly, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t go for a drink with you tomorrow or any other time, Mr. Roberts.’

His face changed. ‘I can do you some good here, Holly, if you play your cards right,’ he said very softly, ‘but the opposite also applies. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘I understand you very well,’ Holly returned icily.

‘And?’

‘And my answer remains the same. Now, I need to get this report finished.’

He looked at her for a moment more before straightening up, and Holly was fooled into thinking he was going to leave as her eyes returned to her word processor. And then, for a shocking second, two meaty hands appeared over her shoulders and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them painfully hard before he went to walk away.

She didn’t have to think about what to do. She was up out of her chair in the blink of an eye and all her strength was behind the ringing slap she delivered across his face.

He clearly hadn’t expected anything like such a fiery reaction. He staggered backwards for a good few steps, thudding against a filing cabinet before letting forth with a string of obscenities which turned the air blue. As he straightened Holly knew he was going to come at her again and she prepared herself, her blue eyes flashing and her slim, petite body held stiff and tense.

‘What the hell is happening here?’

The voice from the doorway brought Jeff swinging round and Holly’s startled eyes focusing on the tall, dark figure standing in the aperture. She knew instantly who he was, even if the heavy French accent hadn’t proclaimed it. She had heard so much from the other girls about the unique owner of Querruel International she could have described him down to the last eyelash, even though she’d never seen the ruggedly handsome Frenchman in person.

Jacques Querruel. Thirty-two years of age; unattached but with a string of mistresses and affairs that made him the favourite of society magazines and the tabloids, alike; the ultimate playboy except in Jacques Querruel’s case he worked hard as well as playing hard. A self-made millionaire who had risen from the depths of squalor in a Paris slum to become a wealthy and successful industrialist, his original furniture company in Paris now having a string of subsidiaries in France as well as the United States and England.

And he played life by his own rules, as his present ensemble proclaimed. According to office gossip he owned several flashy cars, as one would expect of a young French millionaire, but his favourite transport when he visited England was his Harley-Davidson.

‘Mind-blowing piece of equipment,’ one of the young lads in the accounts department had told Holly dreamily a couple of weeks ago. ‘A Road King in monochrome black ice. You could really reel in the big miles on that beauty.’

‘You ought to see Mr Querruel in his black leathers.’ This had been from one of the females at the lunch table who clearly didn’t want to waste time talking about a machine when it could be used discussing the rider. ‘Everything stops when he walks in, I tell you. There’s not a woman here who doesn’t go weak at the knees. We’re talking pure dynamite, Holly.’

And now she was seeing the pure dynamite for herself, Holly thought a trifle hysterically. And it was dangerous stuff all right. But then her attention was snapped away from the big black figure in the doorway and back to Jeff, when he said quickly, ‘Mr Querruel, I’m sorry you had to be a party to this, sir. It’s inexcusable, I know. I was reprimanding Miss Stanton on the inferior quality of some work she did for me and she reacted badly. I’m afraid I lost my temper when she hit me.’

‘You liar!’ Holly was amazed at his duplicity. ‘How dare you—?’

‘That’s enough.’ As her voice rose Jacques Querruel cut into her protest, his voice quiet but razor-sharp. ‘We will discuss this in Mr Roberts’s office, please. You will both accompany me there now.’

‘Now, just hang on a minute!’ Holly had thrown caution to the wind, she was so mad. She knew what would happen when Mr Roberts Senior got involved in this—she’d be out on her ear quicker than you could say Harley-Davidson. ‘He’s lying. There was no work—’

‘Have I not made myself clear?’ The French accent was stronger than ever. ‘We will discuss this matter in the privacy of Mr Roberts’s office, Miss Stanton. I have already been informed that Mr Roberts is not expected back from a prior appointment for another hour, so we will not be interrupted.’

Had he guessed the reason for her objection? Holly stared into narrowed amber eyes that had all the softness of that solid fossilised resin, and found she couldn’t drag herself away from the translucent gaze. They were unnerving, those eyes. Mesmerising and beautiful but cold, like the predatory surveillance of a wolf or one of the big cats.

And then she mentally shook herself, angry with the fanciful description. What on earth was the matter with her? she asked herself silently as she followed the two men through into Margaret’s office, and then beyond into Mr Roberts Senior’s large and opulent domain.

She just had time to notice Margaret standing against her desk, looking aghast, which implied the managing director’s secretary had heard something of the events which had transpired in her coffee break, but then the door was firmly shut and she was alone with Jacques Querruel and a blustering Jeff Roberts. ‘Really, Mr Querruel, there is no need for you to concern yourself with this unfortunate matter,’ he was saying with ingratiating and sickening servility. ‘You’ve obviously got more important things to do and—’

‘On the contrary, Jeff.’ It was cool, very cool, and as Jacques Querruel indicated for them both to be seated with an authoritative wave of his hand Jeff said nothing more.

Holly had expected the Frenchman to seat himself behind the massive oak desk which dominated the room, but instead he perched easily on the edge of it, the piercing eyes surveying her critically.

She forced herself not to fiddle with her hair or make any other nervous movement, but it was hard. Especially in the circumstances and with Jeff sitting a foot or so away. But there was absolutely no way she was going to give any ground over this. She raised her small chin at the thought, her eyes stormy.

‘So…’ Jacques’s compelling gaze moved from her flushed face to Jeff’s sulky one, and the amber eyes took full note of the unmistakable handprint etched on the other man’s plump cheek. ‘I think there is a problem, yes?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle, Mr Querruel—’

‘Yes, there darn well is!’ It was Holly’s turn to cut across Jeff’s voice and she did it vehemently. ‘I have asked Mr Roberts to keep his hands to himself on several occasions and today was the last straw. The man’s a pervert and I refuse to be mauled by him one more time.’

Dark eyebrows lifted and the carved lips twitched a little before Jacques said, ‘Do not beat about the bush, Miss Stanton. Say what you feel.’

So he thought this was funny, did he? The flare of furious resentment in Holly’s eyes turned the blue purple as she glared at the illustrious head of Querruel International, and in that moment she didn’t care a jot who he was. She stood to her feet, her voice shaking with rage as she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Querruel. That’s exactly what I intend to do. Your managing director’s son is a liar as well as a lech. There is nothing wrong with my work and far from reprimanding me he had taken his molesting of recent weeks to a new high. That was why I slapped his face and he was lucky to get off so lightly.’

‘This I can see.’ It was a quiet murmur.

It wasn’t the moment to think that he had the sexiest voice she had ever heard, richly seductive in spite of the disparagement, Holly thought with a strong burst of self-disgust.

‘That’s all utter rubbish.’ Jeff decided he’d been out of the conversation long enough and he glared up at her, spite prevalent in his voice as he said, ‘The actual fact of the matter is that Miss Stanton is not up to the job for which she was employed but I felt sorry for her. I’ve given her endless chances over the last weeks and realised too late she had misconstrued my kindness as personal interest in her. When I had to make it clear I did not appreciate her flirting with me she suddenly went crazy. A woman scorned and all that.’

Jacques Querruel’s steady gaze moved over the fat, greasy-haired individual sitting in front of him before returning to the lovely young woman standing in front of the desk. She had hair the colour of dark, rich chocolate, smoothly groomed into a shoulder-length bob, eyes as blue as cornflowers and the sort of cheekbones many a model would have killed for. And she was mad. Boy, was she mad. It was as likely she’d made up to the slug in the chair as the pope marrying. He smiled. ‘Do I take it you refute Mr Roberts’s explanation?’ he asked silkily.

Her nostrils flared. ‘Darn right I do.’ He was aggressively good-looking, hard and chiselled with no sign of softness about him at all. Funny, but from the other woman’s gossip she’d pictured him as more pretty-boy handsome than anything, especially when they’d gone on about the tan and the jet-black hair and wickedly thick eyelashes. He had got all those things, and the eyelashes were gorgeous enough to be utterly wasted on a man, but there was nothing remotely boyish about Jacques Querruel. In fact she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had been born six feet two and radiating power and authority. He couldn’t ever have been a helpless baby or vulnerable little boy.

‘It would appear we have something of a stalemate.’ The piercing amber eyes looked from one face to the other. ‘Have either of you proof of what you claim? I take it Miss Stanton’s work bears evidence of her ineptitude?’ he asked Jeff smoothly.

‘She—er—I mean, by the time it’s been corrected…it’s eventually brought up to scratch,’ the other man finished lamely.

‘And you, Miss Stanton? You have witnesses to Mr Roberts’s over-familiarity?’ The dark eyebrows rose again.

‘It’s not over-familiarity,’ Holly said tightly. ‘It’s downright groping of the most intimate kind, and he thinks he can get away with it because he’s the managing director’s son. All the girls avoid him when they can. And, no, I haven’t got any witnesses—Mr Roberts has always made sure of that. Stuck in that little box out there I haven’t exactly got a way of escape or a camera whirring to record his goings-on, have I? And if you are going to ask me if any of the others would come forward to back up what I say, I don’t know. Possibly, if they want to continue working here, the answer would be no.’

‘A somewhat jaundiced view, Miss Stanton,’ he drawled, his accent making her name sound very different.

‘No, merely realistic,’ she snapped back quickly. She was not going to bow and scrape to this arrogant individual like everyone else; neither was she going to be intimidated into saying anything less than the truth. No doubt Mr Roberts Senior would produce half a dozen female staff to swear that Jeff was approaching sainthood, along with suggesting to Margaret that her new assistant wasn’t quite on the ball, but she couldn’t do anything about that. Whatever, her days at Querruel International were numbered, which was a shame. She had fought off some stiff competition to secure the job and for it to end like this…

‘So you have no faith in company procedure for this kind of incident?’ Jacques Querruel asked softly.

Holly raised her head, her glossy curtain of hair shimmering with the movement. His keen appraisal was making her feel isolated and insignificant but those feelings weren’t new to her and she was adept at hiding them. She swallowed, aware of tension tightening her jaw, but her voice was firm and steady when she replied, ‘I have only been in this company’s employ for eight weeks so I cannot answer that in a general sense.’ She paused. ‘However, with regard to this particular incident, and taking into account the person involved—’ she shot Jeff a glance of pure loathing ‘—I would say it would be very naïve of me to think justice would be done.’

‘I see.’ Twice in the last few minutes Jeff Roberts had gone to speak and twice a commanding hand had motioned him to silence. Now Jacques Querruel turned his gaze on the other man as he said even more softly, his voice cold behind the velvet tone, ‘And you, Jeff. Do you think justice will be done?’

‘I have every faith in company procedure,’ Jeff said pompously.

How could a man like Michael Roberts, a man he had every respect for and who was damn good at his job, have a son like this? And moreover think the world of him too? Jacques stood up, hiding his irritation at the situation and himself as he did so. He had known some time ago that he didn’t want Michael’s son to be a permanent fixture in the company, but the man had seemed efficient enough and there had been no reason to suggest getting rid of him.

Jacques walked over to the massive plate-glass window, staring down into the busy London street below for a moment. He should have followed through on his gut instinct, had Jeff Roberts transferred over to the French office for a few months so he could see how Michael’s son functioned away from his father’s protective hand. Of course, he hadn’t known about this other side of the man… His mouth twisted sardonically. And now he was paying for his procrastination.

He turned, his mind made up. ‘Suspension on full pay for the time being, Jeff, while this matter is fully investigated.’

‘But—’

‘No buts.’ The words were crisp and without expression. ‘This is the policy, as you know.’

‘But I thought…’ Jeff’s voice trailed away. And then he made the mistake of continuing, ‘You can’t think there’s any truth in this girl’s story? She’s a typist, and I’m…’ He stopped abruptly as Jacques looked straight at him, the Frenchman’s eyes amber flares of light. ‘I mean, my father—’

‘Will appreciate the need for absolute integrity in a matter of this kind,’ Jacques finished smoothly.

Holly knew her mouth was slightly agape just a second after the devastating gaze swung her way, and although she brought her lips quickly together she saw the acknowledgement of her amazement touch the hard mouth in a slight smile.

‘Have you anything further to say for the moment, Miss Stanton?’

Had she? Lots, probably, but right now her brain was as scrambled as an omelette. She shook her head dumbly.

‘Then perhaps you would like to go into your…little box and write out a full statement of exactly what you allege occurred today, along with any other incidents which are relevant. Dates and times as far as possible, please. Mr Roberts will be doing the same in here with me.’ He reached over and pressed the buzzer on the desk as he finished speaking, and Margaret appeared immediately like a genie out of a bottle, indicating the managing director’s secretary had been burning with curiosity.

‘Coffee, please, Margaret,’ Jacques said pleasantly as Holly began to walk out of the room. ‘And a cup for Miss Stanton too, if you would be so kind? She will take hers in the little box.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Querruel?’

Holly left them to it, shutting the door behind her before she dived across Margaret’s office and into hers. She sat down at her word processor, glancing about the small space and aware her heart was beating like a drum and tears born of reaction weren’t too far away. She took several deep breaths, willing herself to keep calm. It was a little box. He might not have liked the terminology, but, nevertheless, that was what it was, she told herself militantly as she forced her mind away from the main trouble of the day and on to Jacques Querruel’s last words.

Margaret appeared in the doorway a moment later and her homely, middle-aged face was a picture. ‘So what’s happened?’ she whispered urgently, adding inconsequentially, ‘I’ve ordered the coffee.’

Holly told her as quickly and concisely as she could whilst they both kept an ear cocked for any movement from Mr Roberts’s office, and when she had finished the older woman amazed her by putting a comforting arm round her shoulders as she said, ‘He’s a nauseating little bug, Holly, and he’s needed squashing for a long time. I’ve never had any trouble with him, of course—’ Margaret had been happily married for three decades and had two grown-up children ‘—but I know at least one girl who’s left rather than cause a fuss when he kept bothering her. I’ve tried to speak to his father about it on a couple of occasions but I met with a blank wall. Mr and Mrs Roberts lost two children in a road accident before Jeff was born the following year, so he’s always been able to do nothing wrong in their eyes.’

‘Whatever happens, I’m not going to be the flavour of the month with him, then, am I?’ Holly commented miserably.

‘Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be all right,’ Margaret said bracingly, and then as one of the canteen staff entered her own office with the coffee she gave Holly another reassuring pat on the shoulder before bustling away.

She had better start looking for another job right now, tonight. Holly sat staring at the dingy grey filing cabinets for a moment or two, and then, as Margaret came in with her cup of coffee, began typing out her statement. Just her luck to end up in a place where the company lech was the son of the managing director!

She found she had to concentrate very hard on what she was doing over the next hour or so. Not that she couldn’t remember all the details of the incidents over the last weeks—she could. Even though some of the dates escaped her. But it was more the fact that the image of an aggressively masculine face kept getting between her and the keys.

She checked everything twice before she printed the pages out, and then once the report was in her hand she checked it again. She hadn’t elaborated or exaggerated anything, she decided at last. She hadn’t had to. The bare facts were bad enough. Seeing it all in black and white like this made her wonder why she’d waited so long to give Jeff his come-uppance! She loathed bullies, and he was one of the sickest kind.

‘It is that bad, yes?’

Her head jerked up from the papers in her hand to see Jacques Querruel standing watching her. One dark eyebrow was quirked mockingly and there was a disturbing gleam in the amber eyes. He had taken off his leather biking jacket, she noticed dazedly, and the plain charcoal T-shirt he was wearing sat on broad, muscled shoulders. He must work out every day to have a physique like that.

She felt her heart thudding against her ribcage and it annoyed her, along with his air of relaxed authority. He’d be fully aware of the effect he had on women, she thought hotly, expecting every female from Margaret’s age down to fall at his feet in worship. For a moment she just sat there, dry-mouthed and silent, but then his arrogance sent the adrenalin flowing fiercely. He might be the sacred head of Querruel International, and drop-dead gorgeous to boot, but he had absolutely no effect on her at all, she told herself vehemently. Added to which she had the distinct feeling she wouldn’t be working here much longer anyway.

She straightened, aware of the hectic colour staining her cheeks but unable to do anything about it. ‘Judge for yourself,’ she said curtly, knowing it wasn’t at all the way to speak to the ultimate kingpin but unable to help herself.

The smile had been wiped off his handsome face, Holly noted with some satisfaction as he walked over to her and took the papers she was holding out. And she didn’t know why but she made very sure their fingers didn’t touch.

She had hoped he would take the report back to his office and read it there, but instead he idly brushed some papers out of the way and perched on the side of her desk. Her little cubby-hole had never been big by any standards, as she’d already made abundantly plain to him, but now it seemed to shrink away to nothing. He was so close she could smell the exclusive, subtle odour of his aftershave, and that, together with the leather trousers stretched tight over lean male thighs, was making her face burn in the most peculiar way.

She forced her eyes upwards a little, where they fell on to his hands. They were powerful, with long, strong fingers and short, clean fingernails. An artist’s hands, or maybe a musician’s… And then she caught the thoughts angrily. He was neither of those things, for goodness’ sake, she told herself irritably. She knew from office gossip that he was a ruthless, hard and inexorable businessman, who gave no favours and asked for none. He liked fast cars and motorbikes, and even faster women—so she had heard—and was a millionaire many times over. Not exactly the type of man to sit painting watercolours!

The chiselled profile was frowning when she looked at his face, and he raked back his hair—as black as a raven’s wing—a couple of times as he read. Even sitting quite still as he was now vitality radiated from him; she had never come across such a disturbing man before. It was probably quite unreasonable, because to date she had to admit he had been pretty fair in the circumstances, but she didn’t think she liked Jacques Querruel one little bit.

He was on the last page of the statement; he’d obviously got to the bit she’d written about the incident that morning, and to her surprise she heard him swear softly under his breath. She didn’t speak French but there was no doubting the content of the muttered expletives. He turned his head, his amber eyes meeting her blue, and his tone was almost an accusation when he said, ‘Why the hell did you not do something about this before? You are not the type who cannot say boo to the goose.’

The fact that his perfect English had let him down just a fraction gave Holly a disproportionate amount of satisfaction as she said coldly, ‘I was hoping to deal with it myself with the minimum of unpleasantness.’

‘Then you have not succeeded.’

‘That’s hardly my fault, is it?’ she snapped back angrily. Hateful man! He’d be blaming her for everything in a moment. ‘I wanted to keep my job; that’s not a crime.’

‘Indeed it is not, Miss Stanton,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘I understand you have only been with Querruel International a few weeks?’

‘Eight,’ she clarified militantly. ‘And if you say Mr Roberts has been with the company for a lot longer without anyone complaining before that’s not because there haven’t been grounds, I assure you.’

‘I see.’ He stared at her consideringly and she made herself stare back without flinching. ‘I was not going to say that, Miss Stanton.’ He lifted the hand holding her statement. ‘I may keep this?’ he enquired softly.

She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s finished.’ Just as she was finished at Querruel International. It might take a week or a month or six months, but sooner or later Jeff’s father would find an excuse to get rid of her, however this thing turned out. And she wouldn’t want to continue working so close to him as his secretary’s assistant now anyway. The job had gone sour.

Jacques Querruel stood up, and once more she found herself pinned by his gaze. ‘For what it is worth, I despise the type of man who threatens a woman in this way,’ he said quietly. ‘I can assure you I will investigate this matter very thoroughly, Miss Stanton, and rest assured Jeff’s position in this company will not affect the outcome.’

Oh, come on, who was he kidding? He flitted here, there and everywhere, but Jeff’s father ran this place for Jacques Querruel, and people were hardly going to slate his son knowing once the big boss left they would have no protection against any comeback from daring to speak the truth.

Holly wasn’t aware her face was speaking volumes, not until the big, dark man in front of her said softly, ‘You do not believe this?’

‘No,’ she said, because there was no point in lying. ‘At least, I believe you’ll do your best to get to the truth, but you won’t. You see, everyone likes Mr Roberts Senior as much as they dislike his son, and they know how much he and his wife think of him. Also…’ She paused, wondering if she should go on.

‘Yes, Miss Stanton?’

‘You are not here most of the time,’ she said baldly.

‘Ah, this I see.’ The beautiful eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Then my enquiries will have to be in confidence and no names mentioned to Jeff’s father, apart from yours, of course.’

Oh, great, wonderful. The sacrificial lamb. Still, it was only what she had expected after all; it just grated doubly that he seemed so unconcerned.

‘That’s all right, then.’ She tried, she really tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum but she was so angry she could spit.

Like before, he read her mind perfectly. The firm, slightly stern mouth suddenly twisted with the nearest thing to genuine amusement she had seen in the last caustic hour or so.

‘You are not in awe of me, Miss Stanton,’ he said softly.

It was a statement, not a question, which was just as well because Holly was beyond speaking at that moment. He had leant forward as he’d spoken, both hands resting on the desk and his body close enough for the warmth and smell of him to surround her. She felt her senses quivering and was furious with herself for being so weak and trembly.

‘And that is unusual,’ he continued thoughtfully, almost as though he was speaking to himself now. ‘I am surrounded by a whole host of sycophantic beings, Miss Stanton. It comes, as they say, with the territory. The people who really speak their mind to me I can count on one hand and I would not use all my fingers.’

She didn’t know what to say and so she said nothing.

‘This was a…novelty at first. Perhaps even satisfying, I am ashamed to admit, in the early days.’

He didn’t look ashamed, Holly thought, and she had no doubt he loved every moment of the power he was able to command so effortlessly, especially where the fairer sex was concerned. She had seen men like him before, men who considered themselves nothing less than demi-gods with the ability to direct and control other people’s lives. Admittedly none of the others had looked as good as Jacques Querruel, but that would have to have made him more puffed up in anything.

She became aware he was waiting for her to speak. She pulled herself together and said evenly, ‘So it isn’t satisfying now, Mr Querruel?’

He looked at her for a moment without speaking and she wondered if she had gone too far, even though her tone hadn’t been openly acidic. And then he grinned. ‘Occasionally,’ he admitted softly. ‘Yes, occasionally it serves a purpose.’

Oh, wow! Oh, wow, oh, wow, oh, wow. Where had all the natural arrogance gone? If the other girls thought he was dynamite normally he had just moved up to nuclear-missile potential.

Holly cleared her throat, thinking that if she had known this morning she was going to have such an amazing, one-in-a-million day she would have worn her new suit and given more attention to her hair and make-up. And then she suddenly realised where her thoughts were going and checked herself firmly. It wouldn’t make any difference if she was covered from head to foot in Dior and diamonds. Jacques Querruel was as far removed from her orbit as the man in the moon! Not only that, he was a heartless so-and-so.

‘Margaret tells me your work is more than acceptable,’ Jacques continued after a moment. ‘In fact, “excellent” is the word she used.’

Good old Margaret!

‘How old are you, Miss Stanton?’ he asked with a directness that took her by surprise.

‘Twenty-five.’ She frowned. ‘Why?’

He liked that in this young woman, the candidness, but she was something of a paradox and he did not like that. He did not trust what he did not understand, and one of his strengths was that he could sum people up very swiftly. She appeared to be strong and determined, one could almost say aggressively so, and yet several times now he had seen something else behind those great blue eyes. She intrigued him, and it had been a long time since that had happened.

‘Why?’ He repeated the word and then didn’t answer her question, saying instead, ‘Have you ever considered working abroad, Miss Stanton, or are you bound to home shores by family or maybe a boyfriend?’

Holly blinked. What had that got to do with anything? She stared at him, wondering how they had arrived at this from his initial reading of her statement. He was watching her coolly and she envied his detachment as her nerve-ends began to prickle. Her wary expression seemed to amuse him. His amber eyes glinted and a faint cynical smile twisted his lips. ‘Well?’ he prompted lazily.

‘I…I wouldn’t be averse to travelling in the future,’ she said carefully, hating the little stutter at the beginning of her words and warning herself to show no weakness before this man.

‘And family commitment? Love commitments?’

His French accent gave the last two words a sexy intonation an English voice couldn’t hope to compete with. Holly hoped the heat which had surged in her blood wasn’t reflected in her face, but she had the nasty feeling she was a definite shade of pink. ‘I live alone in rented accommodation, Mr Querruel,’ she answered primly, ‘and I have some good friends but not a special man-friend if that’s what you mean.’

He surveyed her for a second more as he straightened and then he said quietly, ‘Mr Roberts has already left the premises so you can relax. I have some business to deal with but I would like to see you again before you leave tonight, Miss Stanton. You will not forget this?’

She wanted to ask why. He had her statement, and there was nothing she was prepared to add or delete from it. But, in view of the way he had successfully deflected any unwanted questions to date, she didn’t bother, inclining her head as she said, ‘Of course not, Mr Querruel. In Mr Roberts’s office?’

‘Just so.’

And with that he was gone.