Her Impossible Boss. Cathy Williams
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was distracted sufficiently from her own agonising to shoot him a look of frank horror. ‘You work from seven-thirty in the morning to eight at night? Every day?’
‘I cut myself some slack on the weekends.’ Matt shrugged. He could think of no one who would find anything out of the ordinary about those working hours. The high-fliers in his company—and there were a lot of them—routinely had punishing schedules and thought nothing of it. They were paid fabulous sums of money and quid pro quo, after all.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Where are you going with this?’ Matt asked irritably. ‘You’re straying from the topic.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tess breathed. ‘I just feel so sorry for you.’
‘Come again?’ Matt could hardly credit what he was hearing. If they haven’t been discussing something so important, he would have laughed. Never, but never, had anyone felt sorry for him. Quite the opposite. Being born into a legacy of wealth, power and influence had opened a thousand doors. Without siblings, the task of taking hold of the family fortunes had fallen onto his shoulders, and not only had he looked after the billions but he had gone several steps further and dramatically increased their worth. He had diversified and invested in areas his father would never have dreamed of, and in so doing had attained a position of impenetrable power. He was virtually untouchable. The economic and financial crises that had seen off so many of his rivals had skirted harmlessly around him. It was a situation he had engineered, and one he enjoyed.
‘I can’t think of anything more horrible than being slave to a job, but you’re right. I’m getting off the subject. I was just wondering why you didn’t cover the schoolwork with Samantha yourself if you think that the home-tutoring doesn’t work, but I can see that you don’t have the time.’
Was it his imagination or was there a hint of gentle criticism there?
‘Good. I’m glad we agree.’
‘Would you mind me asking you something?’ Tess ventured, clearing her throat. When he tilted his head to one side she said, tentatively, ‘When do you have time for your daughter, if you work such long hours?’
Matt stared at her in disbelief. The directness of the question put him soundly on the back foot—as did the fact that he was seldom in a position of having to field direct questions of a personal nature. Women just didn’t go there. But she was waiting for an answer.
‘I fail to see what this has to do with the job,’ he said stiffly.
‘Oh, but it has lots to do with the job! I mean, I’m sure you have special times set aside, and I would want to know that so that I didn’t intrude. I just don’t see where those special times would fit in if you’re working from seven-thirty to eight every day, and only taking a bit of time off over the weekends.’
‘I don’t have a structure for the time I spend with Samantha.’ His voice was cold and uninviting. ‘We very often go to The Hamptons so that she can see her grandparents on the weekend.’
‘That’s lovely.’ Tess was unconvinced.
‘And now that we’ve covered that, let’s move on to your hours.’ He tapped his pen absently on the desk, beating a staccato rhythm that made her feel as though she was being cross-examined rather than interviewed. ‘I’ll expect you to be here every morning no later than seven-thirty.’
‘Seven-thirty?’
‘Does that pose a problem?’
Torn between truth and tact, Tess remained silent until he prompted, with raised eyebrows, ‘I’m taking that as a no. It’s a requirement of the job. I could occasionally request one of my housekeepers to cover for you in an emergency, but I would hope that the occasion doesn’t arise.’
Tess had always been punctual at all her jobs—the very many she had had over the years—but it had to be said that none of them had required her to wake up at the crack of dawn. She wasn’t an early-morning person. Somehow she knew that was a concept he would never be able to understand. She wondered whether he ever slept.
‘Do all your employees work long hours?’ she asked faintly, and for some reason Matt had the strongest inclination to burst out laughing. Her appalled look said it all.
‘They don’t get paid the earth to clock-watch,’ he said seriously. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve never worked overtime in your life before?’
‘I’ve never had to,’ Tess told him earnestly. ‘But then again, I’ve never been paid the earth for anything I’ve done. Not that I mind. I’ve never been that interested in money.’
Matt was intrigued, against his will. Was this woman from the same planet as he was? He should stick to the programme, but he found himself strangely willing to digress.
‘Really?’ he said with scepticism. ‘In that case, I applaud you. You’re one of a kind.’
Tess wondered whether he was being sarcastic, but then, looking around her at the luxurious surroundings of his penthouse, where the old sat comfortably with the new and every hanging on the walls and rug strewn on the floor screamed wealth, she realised that he would be genuinely mystified at her indifference to money.
It had very quickly struck her, the second she had walked through the front door of his apartment, that Matt Strickland was a man who moved in circles so far removed from her own that they barely occupied the same stratosphere. The people he mixed with would share the same exalted lifestyle, and it was a lifestyle that could not be achieved without an unswerving dedication to the art of making money.
But Tess had been telling the absolute truth when she had told him that money didn’t interest her. If it had, she might have been a little more driven when it came to a career.
Nor did she have a great deal of respect for someone who put money at the top of their list. Someone, in short, like Matt Strickland. Even though she could appreciate that he was clever and ambitious, there was a hard, cutting edge to him that left her cold.
She sneaked a quick look at that striking face, and her heart beat a little faster and a little harder in her chest.
‘You’re not saying anything. I take it that you disapprove of all of this?’ He gestured sweepingly with one hand. This was a woman, he realised, whose silences were as revealing as the things she said. It was a refreshing trait.
‘It’s all very comfortable.’ Tess tiptoed around telling him the absolute truth—which was that expensive furnishings and investment paintings all came at a price.
‘But…?’
‘I prefer small and cosy,’ she admitted. ‘My parents’ house is small and cosy. Obviously, not that small. There were five of us growing up. But I think that their entire house would fit into just a bit of this apartment.’
‘You still live at home with them?’ His sharp ears had picked up on the intonation in her voice and his curiosity was instantly roused. What was a twenty-three-year-old woman still doing living at home? And, he noted distractedly, a strikingly pretty twenty-three-year-old girl? Huge green eyes dominated a heart-shaped face that even in moments of thought carried an air of animation. Her long hair was the colour of caramel, and.
His eyes drifted lazily downwards to the full breasts pushing lushly against a small cropped vest, the silver of flat stomach just visible between the vest and the faded jeans that moulded slim legs.
Annoyed at being distracted, Matt stood up and began to prowl through his office. Originally a library, it was still dominated by the hand-made wooden bookcase that stretched along the entire length of the back wall. A rich Oriental rug, handed down through the generations, covered most of the wooden floor. The only modern introductions were the paintings on the walls and, of course, the high-tech paraphernalia essential to his work.
‘I…at the moment I do,’ Tess mumbled, with sudden awkward embarrassment.
‘And