Outback With The Boss. Barbara Hannay
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single most important thing in her life! Somehow, she dragged her eyes upwards again to find Mitch studying her. His hands were now shoved deep into his trouser pockets. If he was going to fire her, she wished he would get it over quickly.
‘Do you want to see this project through?’
‘Huh? I—I mean I beg your pardon?’
‘New Tomorrow. You want to stay on the team?’
‘Yes, I do. Very much. I’m actually very committed to New Tomorrow. I—’
‘You want to work with me?’
For a fraction of a second she hesitated, but it was long enough to elicit another of his quick frowns.
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
Mitch picked up the offending magazine and tossed it into her waste-paper basket. Then he began to pace the small square of carpet in the middle of her office. ‘Okay. We’ll forget about this, Grace.’
Grace? He’d dropped the Ms Robbins?
‘I don’t have any problems at this stage,’ he continued. ‘If you have problems you should get them off your chest.’ He shot a questioning glance her way.
She shook her head.
‘You’re quite sure?’ he persisted.
Of course she had objections about Mitch Wentworth. She had a list as long as both his arms. But what could she do with them?
Especially now, when he’d skilfully backed her into a corner?
How could an employee criticise her boss for the way he’d bulldozed his way into taking over George Hervey’s little film company? As for her other problems—there was no way she could lambaste a man for his killer good looks.
She really had no choice but to offer an olive branch. ‘I have no complaints,’ she told him. ‘And—and I apologise. You were never meant to see the silly doodling on that magazine. I admit…I’ve been…rather thoughtless.’
He half turned and eyed her speculatively, his hands resting on his hips, pushing his suit coat aside. He was still too damned good-looking to be let loose in small spaces.
‘But,’ she finished defiantly, ‘can you spare me another speech?’
He chuckled and, for the briefest of moments, his eyes danced before his frown slid quickly back into place. ‘No, Grace, I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me for a little longer. You see, from now on, people will have to get used to following my orders. And the New Tomorrow project must dominate everybody’s thinking. It’s my single focus and it’s got to be the focus for everyone else on the team. For anyone who’s not on that wavelength, there’s going to be a lot of pain and suffering. And if heads have to roll…’ his own head cocked to one side and he glared at her ‘…then so be it.’
‘I understand,’ Grace responded, a little flush mounting on her cheeks. How dared he suggest she wasn’t focused? She’d always taken great pride in her professional commitment. ‘I’m quite well aware that I’m playing with the big boys now.’
Perhaps she had gone too far. Grace squirmed uneasily as Mitch’s jaw clenched and his frown lingered while he studied her face. ‘The big boys…’ he repeated softly. His dark eyes linked for an uncomfortably long moment with hers. They moved to her mouth.
And Grace felt as if she’d stepped into quicksand.
How did he do it?
His hands were now lodged firmly in both trouser pockets and he was standing a good metre and a half away and yet, the way his eyes touched her—she felt as if his mouth was caressing hers—intimately.
This was ridiculous!
She tightened the lips he seemed to be studying so intently. And, her mind racing, she began to talk—anything to cover her turmoil. ‘I—I think you’ll find that I’ve been networking successfully on the location options, Mr Wentworth. I’ve already contacted the property owners in the Tablelands and Gulf regions. I’ve been inundated with offers of accommodation from tourist operators in the north. I have contour maps from the army, information on the roads…The internet is invaluable…’
Mitch held up his hand. ‘Hold it. Okay, I’m impressed, but I don’t need an itemised account just yet. I’m sure it’s all in your report.’
Her eyes blazed. ‘How can I help babbling? You make me nervous when you…when you keep staring at me…like that.’ A swift flood of heat rushed into her cheeks.
Mitch took a step closer and, for a breath-robbing moment, Grace thought he was going to touch her. ‘You don’t like men looking at you?’ he asked lazily.
‘Of course I don’t,’ she snapped while her heart thundered.
His eyes left her then, and he turned to the opposite wall, but an annoying little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘No woman does!’ she said indignantly. What was so darned amusing?
‘Ogling women is certainly inappropriate in the work-place,’ Mitch agreed, while he appeared to examine with fascination a ‘Save the Rainforest’ poster on her wall. ‘I apologise if I seemed to be staring. You have an intriguing…face.’
Grace gulped, uncertain how to react.
He moved to the door then stopped. With his thumb, Mitch traced the straight timber edge of the door frame.
Grace’s heartbeats continued to trouble her. He hesitated as if he still wanted to tick her off about something and she wished he’d get it over and done with.
A dreadful thought struck and her hands clenched so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. Surely he wasn’t about to announce that he’d recognised her after all? He knew she was the hussy in the wispy triangles of black lace?
Not now?
But when his eyes swung back to hers, although they glinted with secret amusement, he merely nodded his head and said with studied politeness, ‘Nice to meet you, Grace. I’ll look forward to reading your report.’
He turned and left and Grace’s knees buckled. She sank onto a chair.
Groaning, she tried to reassure herself that Mitch couldn’t have known about last night in Henry’s flat. She was panicking about nothing. If he’d recognised her, he would have brought it out in the open—the way he had with the magazine.
Yikes! The magazine! With a moan of despair, she buried her face in her hands. The magazine! The underwear! How could she cope?
Staring through her fingers at her keyboard, Grace knew the full meaning of regret. But, she decided after a few minutes of blistering remorse, what she regretted most was that the human brain wasn’t more like a computer. If only there was a safe way to wipe a man’s memory…and get away with it.
CHAPTER THREE
MITCH closed Grace’s preliminary report on location options for New Tomorrow and placed it carefully on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at his watch and stretched his arms above him. He was surprised that it was already seven p.m. No wonder his stomach was growling with hunger. In the past three days since he’d arrived in town, there’d been so much work to get through that he’d stayed back in the office each night, then grabbed a snack from the sandwich bar next door rather than eating properly in the hotel’s restaurant.
He allowed his arms to drop again and inter-linked his hands behind his neck. It was his favourite position for thinking.
And he needed to think about Grace Robbins.
This report she’d submitted was impressive. The clear, concise writing, the maps and illustrations, the impeccable layout and thorough attention to detail showed beyond doubt that Grace was absolutely professional. She was one smooth