CHAPTER ONE
âWAIT for me!â
Talie Calhoun sprinted across the marble lobby of the Radcliffe Tower as the lift doors began to close. The occupant of the lift obliged by holding the doors, and she beamed a grateful smile in his direction.
âThank you so much! Itâs my first day and I am sooo late,â she said, all in a rush as she checked her wristwatch and let out a tiny wail of anguish before looking up at her fellow passenger. Nothing unusual there. Looking up was what she did, mostly. Her grandmother had warned her. If she didnât eat up her spinach and crusts she wouldnât grow tall and her hair wouldnât curl.
One out of two to granny.
Oh, good grief. It was just her luck that the man was a serious babe magnet. Slate grey eyes, cheekbones to die for, a mouth that you just knew would melt your bones. If you were in the market to have your bones melted, that was. In short, the kind of man that you wouldnât want to meet unless your make-up was perfect, your clothes elegantâbut sexyâand your hair totally in control. Instead, she was pink in the face, dishevelled and flustered. She wasnât even going to think about her hairâ¦
âThatâs not good, is it?â she said, offering a smile. But if sheâd been hoping for reassurance, she was out of luck.
âIt does suggest a certain lack of enthusiasm,â he replied coolly.
Would it have hurt the wretch to smile?
âWhich floor?â he enquired.
âOhâ¦â She consulted the card she was holding. âThirty-two, please.â Then, as her knight errant pressed the button for her floor, âItâs not true, you know,â she said. âI am incredibly enthusiastic.â
He lifted his left eyebrow no more than a millimetre. It expressed a world-weary lack of belief that she found totally galling.
âNo, honestly!â she protested. Then, âBut youâre probably right. This may be the shortest temp job in the entire history of temping.â
âIf it was important, maybe you should have set your alarm a little earlier.â Her outraged response to this calumny was still a fledgling thought when he said, âWho are you going to work for?â
âThe Finance Director.â
âThen you are in trouble.â
A twinge of unease tightened her stomach. She couldnât be that unluckyâ¦
âLook, it wasnât my fault. My alarm was set for six oâclock. I was almost here an hour ago.â
âI should perhaps warn you that the Finance Director never accepts âalmostâ as good enough.â
âPlease⦠Tell me that youâre not himâ¦â
âNo. Youâre safe for another couple of minutes.â His smile was definitely worth waiting for. Tiny creases appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes to demonstrate that, although it was more ironic than ha-ha-ha, it was the genuine article.
âWhew!â she said, flapping her hand as if to cool her cheeksâactually, it wasnât wholly pretence. âThat would have been a really bad start.â
âLate is bad enough. Have you got a good excuse prepared? Delay on the Underground is a favourite, I believe.â
âWith good reason,â she declared. âBut it wasnât anything that simple. I wish it was.â
The eyebrow did its job again, inviting her to elaborate. Or maybe in disbelief⦠âLook, itâs just me, okay? I seem to have this fatal attraction for calamity, mayhem and misadventure. Today it was some poor man having a seizure down in the Underground.â
âThatâs a reason for him being late, not you,â he pointed out.
âYes, but I will get involved.â
âOh. I see.â
For a moment she suspected that he was laughing at her. No, his mouth was perfectly straightâ¦
She dragged her gaze from the kind of lower lip that sent a rush of hormones to her brain.
âHeâd, um, collapsed on the platform. People were walking right past him. I suppose they thought heâd been taking drugs or something. It wasnât exactly a rerun of While You Were Sleepingââ
âIâm sorry?â
âThe movie? Where the girl rescues the guy when he falls onto the track and then everyone thinks sheâs his fiancéeâ¦â She stopped. Clearly he hadnât a clue what she was talking about. âObviously I couldnât just leave him there.â
âObviously,â he said. And then he did smile. Really smile. He was clearly killing himself with the effort not to laugh out loud.