Assignment: Seduction. Cathy Williams
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There were cries of delight all round and Robert flashed her a pained expression which she knew meant nothing at all. Had he forgotten that she had seen him in action over the years and knew that he was as humble and vulnerable as a barracuda on the prowl?
‘See what I have to put up with?’ he addressed no one in particular, and Melissa folded her arms and looked at him, gimlet-eyed.
‘Yeah. Well, it beats Allie at the office,’ one of the bearded men commented morosely. ‘Sixty if a day and a shrew with it. Surprised I ever get any work done.’
‘You don’t work, mate. You draw.’
‘You’re an artist?’ Melissa asked, side-tracked.
‘Architect. For my sins.’
‘With a face like that,’ Robert said gravely, ‘he had to go in for a job that kept him away from the public eye.’
Melissa felt a wicked urge to smile and had to remind herself that there was nothing to smile about because she had been rudely yanked from her privacy for what was fast appearing to be no reason at all. That was the problem with Robert Downe. He could move from infuriating to funny in the space of seconds with no recovery period in between.
‘At least yours truly here doesn’t have to rely on pretty-boy looks to get places,’ he replied, grinning at Robert and winking at Melissa.
‘Oh, my loyal secretary doesn’t find me in the slightest bit good-looking, do you, Mellie?’ He gave her one of those scorching stares from under his lashes. It was a look she had seen him direct at his leggy beauties from time to time, and she raised one eyebrow cynically.
‘Which,’ she said to her small audience, ‘is why I’m still working for him.’
‘You wouldn’t swap me for all the tea in China. You know that,’ he said huskily and she clicked her tongue impatiently.
‘Work?’ she reminded him. ‘The reason I’m here?’
‘Oh, if you must. Don’t you want to relax for a few minutes?’ He flashed her a winning smile which she returned with a warning frown. ‘It’s Harry’s birthday today,’ he said, tilting his head in the direction of a bearded hulk at the bar, and drinking straight out of the bottle. ‘The big forty. The daddy of the lot. We’ve got a bit of a surprise for him.’ Robert leaned over confidentially.
Melissa felt a twinge of unease at his closeness. Without consciously realising it, the lines between them were important to her. She needed the sanctuary of her home life, the untouchability of her privacy to keep his forceful personality at bay. She could handle him in a work capacity, where she was sure of herself and of her role but here, in a darkened bar, surrounded by his cronies, in an environment that stripped them of the invisible labels that defined them both, she realised that she was exposed and vulnerable in a way she didn’t care for.
‘Birthday cake,’ Robert confided. ‘Of the surprise variety. You know, one of those large affairs that house an attractive semi-clad woman who’s a dab hand at a song-and-dance routine.’
‘Oh, so nothing very chauvinistic then,’ she said tartly. ‘Is that why I’m here, Robert?’
‘No, no, no!’ He waved his hand vaguely at her. ‘You’re worse than a minder,’ he muttered ungallantly under his breath, while his friends watched them, avidly curious. ‘Face of an angel, heart of a born dictator.’
Melissa flushed. Only because you don’t know me, she wanted to retort, but instead she drew in a deep, steadying breath.
‘Okay, we’ll use Al’s office. Half an hour and you can be on your way, back home so that you can tuck yourself neatly into bed and settle down for the night.’ He stood up, towering over her, six foot one of sheer, unbridled masculinity.
Wealth had given him access to whatever he wanted. He could afford to liberally adorn his house with the most expensive paintings and rugs and he frequently indulged a taste for opera which seemed so out of keeping in someone who had probably never been to the theatre until he was a man, let alone an opera. But however much money and power he wielded, neither could subdue that hard restless edge which could be as intimidating to adversaries as it could be sexually arousing to women.
He had fought every inch of his way up and it showed in the aggressive, uncompromising angles of his face. He looked like a man who was afraid of nothing. In fact, the opposite—a man who was accustomed to instilling fear whenever it suited his purposes.
Happily, Melissa was thoroughly unimpressed by this particular quality. She looked up at him, one eyebrow expressively raised as he manoeuvred his way around the table and the clutter of chairs.
‘When’s the wedding, Robbo?’ one of his friends asked and there was a round of bawdy laughter.
Melissa watched as dark color surged into her boss’s face and for a few seconds, she witnessed one of those rare occasions when he appeared to be rendered temporarily speechless. It didn’t last long.
‘Ah, I wouldn’t want to end up like you lot for all the money in the world. Henpecked, the lot of you!’ He grinned cheerfully at them.
‘That’s only because you haven’t found the right woman to henpeck you into blissful submission. Yet. Although, the little lady next to you does show…’
‘Right. Think I’ll leave you bunch on that high note. Back out in an hour.’ He reached down to the bottle on the table and then straightened with it loosely in his hand.
From a couple of feet away, Melissa watched him with peculiar intensity. Over the years, she had seen a fair amount of him outside work, but never totally relaxed as he was here. She had seen him in his capacity as her boss, entertaining clients, had even accidentally met him at the theatre once in the company of one of his glamour women. Always, he had been immaculately and expensively dressed in one of his many hand-tailored suits, only that primitive sensuality giving away his unpolished background.
Here, he was in faded jeans and a checked shirt which hung over the waistband and was rolled to the elbows, exposing his sinewy forearms. She looked away, idiotically ruffled by his blatant masculinity.
Al’s office turned out to be a smart little affair, at odds with the rough-and-ready atmosphere outside. There was a small wooden desk, on which a computer terminal lay at rest and on another thin desk which protruded at right angles from this, were a fax machine, two telephones and several files, neatly stacked. The carpet was thick and cream and the walls were painted an unusual shade of green that gave the room a pleasant, leafy atmosphere. Robert took the chair behind the desk and gestured for Melissa to take a seat on one of the two facing him.
She had already removed her coat and draped it over the back of the spare chair. Now, she waited in silence, hands folded on her lap, legs crossed, for her boss to fill her in on whatever he had summoned her to say.
At least the slightly wild look had vanished from his face. At this moment in time, an unpredictable boss was something she could do without. In some of her more introspective moments, it occurred to her that there was something sad about her inability to cope with any shows of excessive behaviour. Hysterics, drunkenness, passion, intensity, they all fell into the same uncomfortable category, one that she was not equipped to handle. Restraint had been her mother’s guiding principle and while a part of Melissa resented the limitations that placed on her behaviour, she was incapable of changing it.
‘So,’ he drawled, leaning back into the chair, which obligingly tilted back, affording him ample room to stretch his denim-covered legs onto the side of the desk. He linked his fingers together behind his head and proceeded to stare at her.
‘What do you think of my schoolyard friends?’
Melissa looked steadily at him. ‘They seemed very likeable.’
‘My perfect model of restraint,’ he said lazily, his eyes half closed as he continued to survey her. ‘Do you ever shed your secretarial garb?’ he enquired.
Melissa