The Millionaire's Mistletoe Mistress. Natalie Anderson
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A chance to meet and talk through any issues or questions you may have before I start in my official capacity tomorrow. I’ll talk for a bit, and then you can ask some questions, and then we’ll have coffee—okay?’
Great.
She moved to a seat near the back. Tried to avoid Shona’s concerned look, but clearly failed, as her line manager came and took the seat next to hers. Imogen was never late. She was never flustered. And yet here she was—late and flustered and wearing a whole new outfit.
‘What happened? You left ages ago,’ the older woman said in an undertone as everyone found seats.
Imogen had indeed left in plenty of time, intending to call in at a shop on the way to get a quick sandwich. The humiliating accident on Victoria Street had ended that idea. ‘I fell.’
‘You okay? You were all red a minute ago, and now you’re all pale.’
Imogen nodded. ‘Just feel like a dork.’
‘Hence the new outfit?’ Shona was smiling.
‘Complete with grazes.’ Imogen held up her palm, just thrilled that someone found it amusing—and Shona only knew half the story.
Her mentor chuckled now. ‘The colour suits you.’
Imogen searched out Ryan as Shona echoed his words. Surely he couldn’t have heard the comment? But when his gaze intercepted hers the sardonic tinge in his eyes suggested he had.
He was too young. He was far, far too young. Was he even thirty? Even if he was, he was too young to be taking control of Edinburgh’s premier department store. Yes, Mr Mackenzie had been ancient, but this guy was too young and too good-looking.
He talked to a couple of her co-workers who were already seated, asked their names. He’d obviously done his homework because he could match the name with the job position immediately. He moved around the room, learning faces with names as he went. Frozen, she watched as he came closer—until he was right there, by Shona and her. Saw his lips twitch that little bit as he looked her over—very quickly, so quickly you almost wouldn’t have noticed. But she was hypersensitive, and very, very focused on him.
He shook hands with Shona, nodding, as they’d already met. All too soon it was her turn. His eyes didn’t waver from hers, and there was almost a smile in them.
She took in a deep breath, determined not to reveal wobbly voice syndrome. ‘I’m Imogen Hall.’
‘Imogen.’ He repeated, clearly turning through the personnel files in his head. ‘You’re the—’
‘Accounts administrator—yes, Mr Taylor.’ She couldn’t call him Ryan. Ryan was too intimate. It made her think of his naked dripping torso and his muscle definition and … Mr Taylor it had to be.
‘Accounts,’ he drawled, very softly, the veil lifting for a moment and showing her that dry humour again. ‘As in number-crunching?’
‘That’s right.’ She nodded. She was Shona’s second-in-command trainee, and had been given too good an opportunity to lose it now.
‘Well …’ His teeth flashed as he murmured, only loud enough for her to hear, ‘I guess your work should make for interesting reading.’
Her cheeks were on fire, and she went on defence. ‘Ordinarily I’m good with numbers. Just not when stressed … I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘We’ll have to take care not to stress you out, then, won’t we?’ His eyes lasered through her. ‘Imogen.’
Mortified by the fact that she’d been having fantasies about a stranger who was in reality her new boss, she couldn’t return his oh-so-polite smile, couldn’t register the slight emphasis on her name, couldn’t match his intensity any more. She ducked her head. He didn’t seem at all uncomfortable about having met one of his new employees while almost starkers … about having flirted with her so boldly … and having her flirt right back. Oh, no. He probably thought she was hopeless at her job. An all boobs, brainless bit of fluff. Wasn’t that what George and all his family had thought?
‘I always like to sit at the back of a meeting, too.’ He stepped away and took the chair two along from Imogen.
The rat. Surely he knew she wanted to get away from him?
Of course he did. Because for one second before he began his well-prepared speech, there was an unholy grin on his face. One she’d seen before—in the hall, as he’d glanced down her body.
Pen in hand, she stared at the complimentary hotel stationery in front of her as Ryan smoothly talked through his vision for the store. Now she was even more apprehensive about the change. Things had been going well for her at Mackenzie Forrest. She wanted to be able to continue the study course that Mr Mac had agreed to. She could only hope that the staff development programme wouldn’t be dropped now that the famous Edinburgh department store had been bought out by the American company owned by the exclusive and reclusive Taylor clan.
Mr Mac had stressed how pleased he was the store was being taken on by a family, rather than a publicly held company. Imogen was cynical about that—family-run didn’t always equate with family values or high morals and a decent work ethic. In her experience family-run meant keeping things close, protecting the family at the expense of the company. Blood was thicker than water—even if it was bad blood.
Imogen Hall. Ordinarily good with numbers. Ordinarily looking gorgeous. Ryan tried to marshal his thoughts, but all his mind was interested in focusing on was that glimpse of one very scarlet bra and the luscious breast it had contained.
Not ideal. Not when he was meeting the team he was to lead for the first time and she was one of the players. He had to soothe their concerns. Mackenzie Forrest was an Edinburgh institution. Loyal customers, loyal workers. Locally owned since its inception, it had now been taken over by his family—and he knew the idea of foreign ownership hadn’t been entirely welcomed.
‘Taylors is a family-run business.’ He saw the flash of cynicism on her face and it derailed his thoughts again. Why was she so defensive? Surely not the parochial thing? That was no Scottish accent she’d spoken with.
He got back on course, but his blood pumped faster. It was a real shame she was an employee. He could kick himself now for his comment on what colour suited her in the elevator. If he’d known, he’d never have said anything.
It had taken a decade of hard work for Ryan to gain the respect of not just his family but outsiders as well. Being one of the East Coast Taylors had many advantages, but it came with disadvantages, too. Being the ‘spare heir’, he knew people had preconceptions and misconceptions about him and his ability to actually do the work. Precisely why he’d stayed out of the family business and done his own thing on the continent. But now his brother and his sisters had asked for his help—and both they and he knew he had more than the required credentials for the job. They needed his expertise and it was on his terms. But he’d just muffed it with one of his new staff.
He had no intention of getting a reputation for being a Lothario boss. He always kept his flings outside of the office environment. It was easier that way. And he had no problem meeting women. He had more of a problem getting to know them—and with them being able to see through the Taylor mystique to the reality of him beneath. Hence flings. Not relationships. Never a relationship.
So he was just going to have to work hard and jettison this attack of the lusts. Because he had no time for it here. But he couldn’t stop his attention sliding, watching as she sat absently clicking and unclicking her pen. Her green eyes accented by the depth of colour in her shirt. Her curves subtly hinted at by the way the soft material sat over them. And all he could see then was her lying back, siren-like in her scarlet underwear, eyes gleaming through heavy lids, a smile on her lips. A smile like that smile she’d given him as they’d stepped out of the elevator—suddenly confident, suddenly sassy, and so enticing.
He looked down at the table and extracted some