The Millionaire's Agenda. Kathryn Ross
Читать онлайн книгу.
here for your appointment around five-thirty.’
‘Great—another late evening.’ Steven’s voice was dry.
‘Oh, and I ordered the bouquet of flowers to be delivered to your house on Wednesday afternoon. A dozen red roses, as you requested.’
‘Thanks.’
He must be going to deliver the roses in person, she thought. Chloe wondered fleetingly about this latest development between him and his glamorous girlfriend Helen. She had organised many a bouquet for his women over the last two years but never red roses. Then again, according to the grapevine in the office, none of the women he had dated since the death of his wife three years ago seemed to have lasted as long as Helen Smyth-Jones.
Chloe tapped her pencil against the diary as she waited for him to spring into action. After two years she knew her boss fairly well, had learnt to judge all his moods so that she could evaluate pretty accurately what was coming next.
She knew now, for instance, not to be misled by this quiet, reflective stance. When Steven Cavendish fell silent he was usually at his most dangerous, the quicksilver of his mind regrouping, planning ahead and about to burst forward with some earth-shattering remark or whirlwind of activity.
She flicked over the pages of the diary as she waited for him. It was best to adopt a laid-back attitude when Steven was like this. To try and hurry him into signing the letters, or indeed to try and swing the conversation towards her pay rise, would be a big mistake at the moment.
‘It’s Beth’s sixth birthday next week, isn’t it?’ she reflected softly. It was an observation, not a reminder. Chloe spent her time reminding Steven about appointments and schedules but she didn’t have to remind him about his daughter. Beth was the one person who took priority in his mind over business.
‘Yes, it is. You remember everything, don’t you?’ Steven turned around then and looked at her, his dark eyes skimming sketchily over the glasses she always wore and the way her honey-blonde hair was severely drawn back from her face. Chloe was used to him looking at her like that, as if he was seeing her but focusing on something else.
‘Well…I write everything down. And it’s my job to remember everything,’ she said quietly.
He nodded. ‘Well, we can’t stand about talking all day,’ he muttered. ‘Better get these letters signed.’
Chloe smiled to herself. She had been right; Steven was focused on something else, and as usual it was work.
‘Did you ask John Hunt what he wanted to talk to me about?’
‘Yes, it’s the normal problems at the Cavendish Cuisine Restaurant,’ Chloe answered. ‘He said to tell you that the chef there may be a creative genius, but he’s as mad as the proverbial March hare.’
Steven grunted and pulled out his chair to sit back behind his desk. ‘John is the damn manager there; I pay him to take care of those problems. Send him an e-mail and tell him I said to just deal with it.’ There was a steely note in the firm voice. Steven Cavendish wouldn’t tolerate anyone who couldn’t pull his or her weight. Chloe didn’t rate John’s chances of lasting long within the company if he didn’t start showing some initiative. The boss was not renowned for being sentimental when it came to weeding out any dead wood from the company. In fact, there were times that Chloe thought Steven could be quite ruthless, but then, she supposed you didn’t get to be a self-made millionaire by the age of thirty-eight unless you could play hard-ball.
Steven finished signing the last letter and then pushed them across the desk towards her. ‘Is everything set for the board meeting next week?’
‘Yes, and I ordered some refreshments from the Galley Restaurant. Just sandwiches and a few assorted cakes from the continental selection in their bakery.’
‘What, not baking them yourself?’ Steven looked up, a glimmer of teasing humour lighting his dark gaze for just a moment.
‘Give me Monday morning off and I’ll see what I can do,’ she retorted swiftly.
He laughed. ‘Touché. Sorry, Chloe, didn’t mean to sound patronising. It’s just that you never cease to amaze me; you are always so clued up, so in front with everything.’
This was it, her opportunity to ask for her increase in salary, and she jumped in quickly before the moment was lost. ‘I’m glad that you’re pleased with my work, Steven. But if you have a few moments there is something I’d like to discuss.’
‘Fire away.’ Steven put down his pen and waved her towards the chair opposite. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘No problem as such,’ she said brightly, and tried not to think about the massive demands for immediate payment that lay on her desk at home.
‘Good. Things have been pretty hectic around here, haven’t they? It’s unfortunate timing with you planning a wedding soon.’ As he spoke Steven was riffling through some papers on his desk, looking for something. ‘How’s that going, anyway?’ he asked absently. ‘Are you any nearer finalising the purchase of your new house?’
‘Well, we’ve paid the deposit…’ Chloe felt herself tensing up. She wasn’t surprised that Steven hadn’t noticed she was no longer wearing her engagement ring. She supposed she should say something…tell him the relationship was finished, that the purchase of her new house would not be going through…but they only ever discussed their personal life in passing, and even then in the most offhand way.
She couldn’t just tell Steven that her fiancé had run off and left her with a load of bills for a wedding that would now never take place, plus he had emptied their joint bank account. All Steven was concerned about in relation to her was her work, and that was fine by her.
Now, for instance, he had asked her questions, but he wasn’t waiting for her reply—he was more interested in looking for something on his desk.
‘What are you searching for?’ she asked him as he flicked through the papers again.
‘The notes from that last meeting with Renaldo,’ he muttered. ‘You haven’t seen them, have you?’
‘Blue folder underneath,’ she told him and watched as he went straight to the relevant papers.
‘Thanks, Chloe.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘Well, I—’
The phone rang on his desk and with a brief apology he snatched it up. ‘Steven Cavendish,’ he said briskly.
Chloe sat back in her seat and tried to relax. It was always like this in here; there was rarely a space to breathe, let alone talk.
She wondered why she felt so incredibly tense.
The worst that could happen was that Steven would say no to the pay rise, and if he did she had an alternative option. The company she had worked for previously two years ago had recently contacted her and asked her to come back, had offered a ten per cent increase on whatever Cavendish were paying.
Trouble was, she didn’t really want to go back there. She liked working for Cavendish. She felt her career was going places here; it was much more go-ahead. The money was pretty good here as well; if it weren’t for this damn situation with her finances she would be quite content to leave the status quo.
Her eyes rested on Steven’s face. ‘I need a little more information before I answer that,’ he said. ‘OK, well, just get the figures and I’ll look up the report; phone me back.’
‘Who was that?’ Chloe asked automatically as he put the receiver down.
‘Nothing—just the accounts department; they want some clarification on one of the Renaldo restaurants in Paris.’
‘They will want the list I printed out yesterday; it’s in my desk.’
‘Well, it will do later.’ Steven leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch. ‘Renaldo doesn’t