Читать книгу The Boss's Convenient Bride - Jennie Adams - Страница 8

‘I’M THIRTY-TWO years old, and tired of being fêted and pursued as one of Sydney’s most eligible bachelors.’ Nicholas Monroe, millionaire owner and boss of Monroe Global Security Systems, leaned back in the leather desk chair and crossed his suit-clad arms.

His gaze was sharp, direct and controlled, save for a very mild hint of irritation Claire would have missed if she hadn’t come to know the enigmatic face so well in the past six months.

‘I can see how that could become wearying after a while.’ Claire’s imagination went into overdrive, conjuring situations he might have endured. ‘All those women jumping out from behind pot plants to accost you, telling you they want to have your babies—and all for the sake of your money, really. Not that I’m saying you aren’t appealing in your own right.’

She smoothed her chainstore pleated skirt across her knees, and hoped the pulse that beat at the base of her throat wasn’t visible beneath the crisp white blouse.

He was attractive, all right. Far beyond what was fair and reasonable in her opinion. All dark hair, tanned skin, and interesting angles to blend with the deep, velvety voice. He even smelled good, in a way that made her want to bury her face in him and just breathe him in for the next century or three.

The thought caused a familiar little catch in her chest, right about where her heart was located.

‘There haven’t been hordes of pot-plant-hiding females.’ His mouth curved. ‘But I’ve had my share of unwanted attention. And, contrary to what the media seems to believe, I really don’t enjoy having my name on every Top Ten Bachelor list in existence. Frankly, it’s an annoyance I could do without.’

‘Especially as you move into this new, more settled phase of life that you want.’

Claire hoped she looked and sounded intelligent, understanding, enlightened. Anything other than completely oblivious as to where he was headed with this conversation and wholly besotted by him into the bargain.

Aside from all the happy-fuzzy feeling he brought out in her, she struggled just to ignore the way his shirt stretched across his muscled chest. Which probably made her as bad as all those pot-plant-hiding women.

To have muscles like that, he had to work out regularly. She pictured him sleek with perspiration, doing bench presses in some trendy city gym, and stifled a groan.

‘Do you plan to announce a big change of lifestyle to the media in the hope it will get them off your back? Some actors take up an interest in monk-like religion for a while. Something like that would certainly prove a deterrent, since it would take you out of the running for a relationship.’

‘That’s an interesting option.’ The look he gave her suggested he might think she had rocks in her head. ‘I have to confess I hadn’t actually thought of taking to any kind of priesthood to solve this particular set of challenges, but thanks for the thought.’

‘I can’t imagine you celibate, myself,’ Claire blurted, then wondered if she should just bite her tongue off now and be done with it. Crushes did that to people. Made them say and do things they normally wouldn’t.

Much good it did her to have this crush, anyway. He wasn’t her type, and certainly wouldn’t be interested in her. Millionaire bosses didn’t fall for clerical pool upstarts. Not in the real world. No matter how gooey those upstarts might feel about their boss.

What had made Nicholas speak of personal things anyway, this fine January morning, ensconced in the opulent Sydney office suite overlooking the harbour? His life had been the key topic for the last five minutes. Plans, aspirations, intentions. All of them private, not business-related.

It made her uncomfortable. What had she to do with his desire to ‘settle his life, move on to a new phase’?

‘Are you really on every list?’

‘Every one.’ He gave a tight upward tilt of his firm lips. ‘Apparently there are others who can’t imagine me being happy alone, either.’

‘I guess it’s supposed to be kind of flattering, finding yourself on bachelor lists. Women who read those lists would want to…’ Spend hours making slow, languorous love with you. She coughed. ‘Get to know you better, I’m sure. If they had a chance. You know. Nice women. Ones who don’t hang around behind potted palm trees.’

Claire Dalgliesh. Shut up this minute. Before you stick your foot any further down your throat.

‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He smiled that killer smile that sent her insides crazy every time. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever given it a lot of thought.’

‘Um, no.’ Good one, Claire. Comparing women to pot-plant-lurkers. Of all the inane things she could have said. ‘I don’t suppose you would have.’

He leaned back in his chair in the seemingly casual pose he had used a hundred times before, but his eyes were watchful. Assessing. ‘You and I have worked together closely for the past six months, since Clerical moved you up to fill in as my personal assistant.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it.’ His change of subject was off-putting. She hoped he wasn’t about to tell her she was no longer needed. That would be an utter disaster. She couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him every day. Not talking with him, or laughing with him. ‘It’s a great job. I’ve valued the opportunity to get involved in the company at this level.’

‘And Clerical did the right thing in recommending you for the position. You’ve done well.’ He pulled a file from the top drawer of his desk, flipped briefly through its pages, and dropped it in front of him.

Claire recognised her personnel file, and her heart started to thump. He was going to dismiss her back to her old job in the pool. But why?

‘In fact, you’ve not put a foot wrong since you started in the downstairs division three and a half years ago. Your record’s impeccable.’

‘Thank you.’ Her brain jittered around, weighing up whether it should fly into a full-blown anxiety attack or not. So far the odds were for the attack. ‘I do my best.’

He nodded, as though pleased. ‘I’ve come to know you, Claire. You’re honest, reliable, straightforward.’

At that, Claire felt a twinge of discomfort. She had worked hard, and had been completely transparent in every way possible. But she wondered what he would think if he knew she was keeping secrets from the law, and paying off a blackmailer into the bargain.

‘I try to do my work to the best of my ability. I’m committed to Monroe’s.’

‘And I’m committed to the plans I have in mind for the future, Claire.’ He leaned forward. ‘I want you to be clear about that.’

‘Clear. Yes. Certainly.’ She nodded and hoped that she looked clear, for in point of fact she was still mystified.

‘I’ve said that I want to change my life. The bachelor-related attention is a side issue.’ He dismissed those hundreds, probably thousands of women with a flick of one elegant wrist. His steely gaze pinned hers. ‘What matters to me is that I settle my future the way I want it to be settled. It’s something I feel is past due. In short, my plan is marriage. To a suitable woman. Of my choosing.’

‘Marriage?’ The last solution Claire would have imagined he’d choose. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them again. Moved to smooth her already smoothed skirt, and stopped herself, jerking her hands back into her lap to clench around her notepad. ‘I’m sure you’ll find marriage very helpful if you want to become more settled.’

But what did it have to do with reviewing her work performance? Nevertheless, he wanted to get married, and that had ramifications of its own.

As the idea sank in, a jealous, possessive part of her objected violently. She didn’t want him to marry. Didn’t want to see some wife hanging off his arm at every turn. Fair enough that Claire herself couldn’t have him. She knew that. But did he have to rub it in so thoroughly?

Suddenly, illumination struck. There could only be one reason for him to tell her all this. He must want her to help him make it happen. He wasn’t going to send her back downstairs. He’d talked up her efficiency and other qualities, so she would do her best for him with this, too.

Diabolical man. Just how much was a temporarily promoted admin assistant with a stupid crush supposed to be able to take? A lot, apparently. And she would take it, drat him, because she always did her professional best.

She lifted the notepad and poised her pencil above it. ‘What sort of help can I give you? Do you have a lady in mind already? Or shall I get up a list of likely candidates? A few names come to mind, and I suppose I could scan the society columns for more.’

Would you like to see X-rays of their teeth? Hip span measurements? To hear their views on plastic surgery and liposuction for possible future reference? I can arrange all that, and more. Maybe if she remained flippant she wouldn’t be tempted to cry.

‘What particular attributes are you looking for?’

‘No.’ The solitary word cut across her questions. ‘Let me explain the rest.’

He paused. In anyone else Claire might have believed it was a glint of vulnerability that flashed through the sharp hazel eyes, and as quickly disappeared. But Nicholas Monroe? Vulnerable? The idea was ludicrous. He simply wouldn’t suffer from that kind of weakening attack. He wouldn’t allow it.

The object of her thoughts cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, I don’t believe in romance. I’ve observed a lot of relationships, and I’ve seen what happens when people think they’re in love. Their personalities alter. They go from sensible to irrational, seemingly overnight.’

‘I see.’ Beyond those two words she didn’t know how to respond. Couldn’t imagine anything that she could possibly say that would be even mildly appropriate. He was discussing love. Disparaging it, in fact. How did one respond when one’s boss did that?

‘Yes.’ He laced his fingers together on top of her file. The gesture looked almost possessive, but Claire rejected this thought as soon as it formed. She was becoming fanciful. Imagine how much her boss would dislike that!

‘When people believe they’re in love,’ Nicholas went on, ‘every sane thought goes out of their heads. Simple matters become the most complicated on earth. If their partner wakes up grumpy one morning, they worry it’s the end of the relationship. They tell lies because they’re afraid the other person will fall out of love with them if they’re too truthful.’

Claire’s heart thunked into her shoes for a second, before she reminded herself this wasn’t about her. She wasn’t a liar, anyway. Keeping your own counsel about your problems was another thing entirely. But how could he feel like that?

‘All right. I guess you obviously don’t want those sorts of complications in your life.’ She hoped her tone was sufficiently bland that he wouldn’t guess that his attitude had shocked her.

‘Correct. What I want is someone sensible, who won’t be swayed by silly emotional ups and downs. Someone I’ll be able to tolerate at my side for decades to come. A woman who respects, as I do, that the concept of being in love is an illusion.’

‘Tolerate. Yes, right. And no being in love.’ This was more like the man she knew and worked for. The vulnerability angle summarily banished, she wrote the words ‘Must be able to tolerate husband who does not love her’ at the top of her notepad.

With effort, she held off from adding anything about liposuction or teeth. Then, with a confidence that was born purely of blind hope, she added, ‘We’ll find someone appropriate for you. Don’t worry.’

Claire could do this. It wasn’t as if she really cared about Nicholas.

‘I’ve already found her.’

Who is she? I’ll rip her throat out. Claire’s pencil drew a deep, squiggly line across the page and tore through to the pages below. She forced her hand to stop, and looked up, feigning a calm expression she didn’t feel. ‘You have?’

‘Indeed.’ He seemed quite pleased about it, too. ‘You understand, Claire, that I’ve been very impressed with your work performance?’

They were back to that again. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘We’ve tested our ability to get along with each other.’ Abandoning his connection with her file, he unravelled his long, lean fingers and began to tick points off on them. ‘At times we’ve disagreed on subjects, solutions to problems, ways to move on a matter.’

The first time that had happened Claire had worried for a whole day that she might have blown her job. She conjured up what she hoped was an agreeable sort of smile. ‘We have. But we’ve always managed to work things out.’

‘Exactly.’ He carried on with his points. ‘Sometimes I’ve been short with you. At other times you’ve been frustrated with me. We’ve weathered the crises, the deadlines, the days when everything went sour. We’ve coped well because we’re both straightforward people, and particularly because neither of us has brought our emotions into the working relationship. I admire that about you, Claire.’

‘You do?’ She tried to clear the croak out of her throat. ‘Um, that is, you do?’

He nodded. ‘You keep a cool head. You look at things in a sensible manner. Business partnerships thrive on sensible, unemotional standards, and so will the kind of marriage I have in mind.’

‘I’m…glad…you feel that way.’ I’m stunned you feel that way. That you have such a cynical view of love. That you believe people devalue themselves somehow if they allow their emotions to come into play. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable in the kind of relationship you have in mind.’ With whatever poor woman you believe will fit your criteria. Claire was beginning to believe that she, herself, really would be better off out of it.

‘Then perhaps it’s time I told you exactly who I have in mind for this relationship.’

She unconsciously straightened. ‘Please do.’

‘You, Claire,’ he said, ‘happen to be the only woman I can imagine filling the role of my wife.’

The words did pass through her eardrums. It was just that her brain would only absorb them to a certain degree. All she knew was he wanted to get married and he already had the woman picked out. He hadn’t needed to mention any of this to her, and make her heart break out in chilblains, let alone make her think she would have to measure hip spans.

A spark of anger flared. So what? She didn’t even care. ‘I’m sure that would be exactly—What?’

Did she have wax in her ears? Claire could think of no other explanation for mishearing him so completely.

‘Pardon me, but I thought you just said that I—’

‘I said it.’ He lowered his head and proceeded to stare her down through the lock of thick black hair that had flopped over onto his high, intelligent forehead. Waiting. Expectantly. For her to say something.

She did. And she hardly had to work at all to keep her hand from reaching for that errant lock and smoothing it in one long, sensual, inviting sweep. The man had asked her to marry him.

How wonderful! To marry the boss, the man of her dreams. Her stomach did a backflip. Panic stirred to life somewhere at the centre of her psyche and threatened to shut down all systems permanently. She couldn’t comprehend this.

‘Right. I see. You think I would be the best choice for the position of Mrs Nicholas Anthony Monroe, now that you’ve decided there should be one? A Mrs Monroe, I mean.’

Even as she spoke she expected him to laugh and tell her this was all some sort of joke or something. He had to laugh, right? But he didn’t. Her boss really had just asked her to marry him.

Her lungs did their best to fold in on themselves, but Claire forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly through her nose. She could deal with this. It was a piece of cake.

No, I can’t deal with this. It’s mad. Insane. Totally off the planet. And he has to know it.

She scrambled to pull her stunned thoughts together. There had to be some way to understand this. To get it to make sense. He wanted to marry her. Out of the blue. Without any warning whatsoever. It was fantastic. Unbelievable. Terrifying.

It was a completely unemotional invitation. Claire’s joyous bubble popped. He might as well have asked her to pull a report, or update the virus software on their inter-office computer network. ‘Why?’

‘Why you, Claire?’

Yes. Out of all the women he could have asked, why ask her? She nodded mutely.

‘I’ve come to know you, and I’ve realised what a trophy you would be. I want you at my side.’

‘I see. A prize. Sans emotions, of course.’ She tried to make it sound as though she were amused.

It was true that she had a brain like an electronic organiser, but that was a small, insignificant part of her overall make-up. She was also caring, emotional, feeling. What a way for him to describe her. She might as well go out and throw herself off the edge of a cliff right now.

But he wasn’t finished with her yet. ‘You’re also naturally charming, and capable enough to cope with any hostess duties that might come your way.’

‘Thank you.’ She took care to keep the sarcasm from her tone, but there was something innately insulting in such a cold assessment of her character. In this man thinking she would appreciate being seen as nothing more than an animated wife-doll who would stand at his side and make all the right noises.

‘You’d have anything you wished, of course—within reason.’ He waved a hand. ‘As my wife, you would enjoy a wealthy lifestyle.’

All those millions, offered so casually. Had he any idea what he was throwing out there? She wasn’t avaricious, but he couldn’t know that. Couldn’t know just how driven she was in the money department at the moment.

Nothing was worth sacrificing her ideals about love and marriage, though. Not even a convenient way to end her cash problems a little more quickly. Not that she would ever take advantage of marrying him to get money. Besides, her efforts to take care of the situation were going okay. She was getting there. Slowly.

Nicholas was, ironically, the key to her plan, but as her high-paying boss, not as a potential life mate conveniently loaded with the green stuff. Claire was well shot of him, too, if this was the best he could offer.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Or perhaps she just didn’t know how to say it. Or whether there would be consequences to saying it. She had seen him crush business opponents who got on the wrong side of him. Just how would he react to her turning him down? It was the smart choice. Despite everything, her heart protested at this. But she quelled the reaction.

‘Don’t you, Claire? I believe you’ll say yes.’ His gaze held hers briefly before it dropped away. One long finger drummed on the desktop, then stopped abruptly. ‘It’s a valid offer. One I think you’ll understand and appreciate.’

‘You think I’ll agree?’

A part of her was tempted. The part that was still stupidly attracted to him, against all odds. But one irrefutable fact remained. A fact that happened to be important to her. Nicholas didn’t love her. His feelings came nowhere near that. From his attitude right now, she imagined they never would.

Her chin lifted in determined defiance. She didn’t love him, either. Oh, maybe a little…But, no. She really, really didn’t love him. At all. He attracted her, yes, but it wasn’t the same thing. Those other little twinges hadn’t meant anything. Really. At least she had been smart enough not to fall for him completely.

She put her notepad and pencil down on the edge of the desk as her heart began to beat hard again. ‘Theoretically, if I didn’t take you up on this offer, what would happen?’

‘Examining all the angles, Claire? You never can contain that thoroughness, can you?’ Again his gaze sloughed over her and slid away, and again his face closed into an arrogant, confident mask.

‘Not really, no. It’s too ingrained in my nature.’

She had always been the thinker, the one to worry about consequences, while Sophie took life by the throat and couldn’t care less.

The chalk and cheese sisters, their parents used to call them, and it was apt. Sophie still played at life without a safety net. And Claire still worried about, and dealt with, consequences.

Hence Sophie’s stupid action of ‘borrowing’ money from her boss to fund the high-flying lifestyle she thought would impress the man she wanted to marry.

Sophie had lost track of the extent of her borrowing. She had snared Senator Tom Cranshaw in the end, but a month before the wedding was due to take place the man she was working for had discovered what she had done and decided it would be a good opportunity to blackmail her.

Either she met his demands to pay instalments of money that added up to far more than what she’d stolen, or he would reveal her actions to both the police and the press. Sophie would go to jail for embezzlement, and, because he was about to marry her, the Senator’s career would take a hit from which he would probably never recover.

Sophie had run crying to her sister, of course. Confessing all and begging for help. That had been over a year ago, and Claire was still working her way through the mess, with one final payment to take care of three months from now.

She didn’t like that Sophie had hidden the truth from Tom—any more than she liked that her sister had dumped almost all of the financial responsibility for this onto Claire. But it was too late now. They were in too deep. There was no going back.

‘If you declined my marriage offer, you’d go back to the clerical pool earlier than planned.’ Nicholas’s words brought her train of thought to an abrupt halt. ‘After today’s discussion, I would prefer to go onward working with someone less aware, shall we say, of my personal aspirations.’

He delivered this verdict on her fate without a blink, even though he had just issued her with a devastating and thoroughly untenable ultimatum. His shoulders tensed beneath the suit. ‘Not that I expect a negative outcome.’

What was she supposed to do now?

You’ll be able to fix it, Claire. You always know what to do. Sophie’s words rose to haunt her.

I love my sister, and I will protect her, and one day she’ll realise how much I care about her and love me back. She loves me even now. She just isn’t very good at showing it, that’s all.

Claire would figure a way out of this—because Nicholas couldn’t send her back to the clerical pool yet, and that was all there was to it. ‘Why demote me if I say no? It would result in a massive pay-cut for me. That doesn’t seem fair.’

Now that she had her feelings under a bit more control, it frustrated her that she was trying to be noble, not to have a mercenary bone in her body. And here was Nicholas, threatening to take her nice fat paycheque away from her unless she married him.

As administrative assistant to the boss she received five times her normal salary, and she needed every cent.

‘Janice isn’t due to return for ages yet.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ His reserved tone matched the cool green flecks in his eyes. The jut of his jaw sent warning signals blasting over her. ‘Just as you’re aware that this position has never been guaranteed. You could have found yourself back in the clerical pool at any time, for any number of reasons. Or for no reason, if I happened to decide I wanted to make a change.’ He sat forward in his chair with a jerk. ‘Let’s get to the point. What’s your answer?’

Did she have a choice? It would be madness to accept him. Yet how could she say no? She had to have that extra money.

‘What you’ve outlined,’ she ventured, knowing it was a last-ditch effort to stave off the inevitable but unable to stop herself anyway, ‘doesn’t sound a very cosy sort of relationship.’

Heat sparked into his eyes for just a moment, in a wave of scalding intensity. ‘Oh, I think you’d find we’d be perfectly cosy.’

The sheer sensual power of his statement stole her breath. She reacted to him with a responding wave of sexual heat. She might have disabled her emotions, but her hormones were a little more difficult to subdue, apparently.

‘I never realised you—’ She broke off, and this time her sense of panic was even greater.

Things were spiralling out of control. She felt as though she had accidentally climbed onto a roller-coaster on top of a high building—wind blasting her, everything whirling around, nothing firm beneath her searching feet.

‘You weren’t meant to realise.’ He laid his hands on the mahogany desk. Large, well-formed hands, that had never touched her beyond the brushing of fingers to give or receive a file, or to pass a telephone.

Hands that, if she married him, would travel her body in all the ways she had imagined and more. But in lust, just lust, she reminded herself.

‘Until I made the decision to marry you,’ he said, ‘it would have been a mistake to let you see that.’

‘I understand. I guess that’s—ah—a level-headed outlook to take at this point.’ She barely knew what she was saying, but she would need to be level-headed if she hoped to find a way through this situation that wouldn’t end in disaster.

That meant she had to overcome her panic. To get her heart to stop thundering and her senses to untangle from the swirling uproar they’d got themselves into. ‘You’ve taken me by surprise with all of this.’

Unable to endure looking into that magnetising face a moment longer, she rose from the chair and moved to the bank of floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the bay. The seas of Sydney Harbour outside appeared calm, virtually unruffled.

In contrast, Claire was a churning cauldron of panic and stress and disillusionment. ‘Do you really never want love? A melding of hearts as well as minds?’ She kept her back turned, addressing the words to his shadowy reflection in the glass. Surely some small part of him longed for those things? ‘Don’t you believe that can happen sometimes? To some people at least?’

‘No. Love—the kind you’re referring to—is nothing more than an illusion.’

His words were clipped and she continued to stare through the glass of the high-rise suite, oblivious now to the harbour activity below.

‘People want to believe in some fairytale ideal, to believe that some transitory feeling can actually keep their marriages together.’ His tone harshened. ‘In truth, marriages survive or not, depending on the level of determination of the partners to make a go of it—and on their suitability in the first place.’

‘How sad.’ She spoke the words beneath her breath, and then turned to face him. To search for the reason he held such an unrelenting, rejecting view on the subject. ‘Your parents are divorced, aren’t they? Is that why—?’

‘Don’t think I had a disastrous childhood, Claire. I didn’t.’ He inclined his head, all sign of emotion carefully locked away once more behind the corporate mask. ‘Yes, my parents are proof that what I say is true, but I would have formed that conclusion anyway. Given the divorce statistics, it’s the only logical thing to believe.’

‘And logic is everything?’ Had he wrapped himself so deeply in reasoning that he could no longer see the emotional side of life? She didn’t want to believe it. There had to be a live, feeling man in there somewhere.

Just waiting to be rescued with the warmth of a woman’s love? With the warmth of her love? She would have to be crazy even to try it. Doubly crazy to try it in her current circumstances.

‘That’s right.’ Unaware of her thoughts, he gave her an approving glance. ‘Compatibility is what counts. If two people can work together for the same goals, that makes them a really strong team. We’ll have that, Claire, and we’ll be happy. I’m certain of it.’

‘Happy.’ But love could happen. He was wrong about that. Not that it made any difference to her now. She searched the aristocratic face, with its winged brows and firm, straight nose, and forced herself to accept the dictates of fate—and her situation.

They would never reach marriage, she would make certain of that, but she would have to agree to the idea for now. She drew a deep breath and willed her voice not to quiver.

‘I accept your proposal.’