Lovers In The Afternoon. Кэрол Мортимер
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everything she did making her more nervous, and consequently more klutzy, than ever.
She determinedly opened her briefcase, going through the fabric book she had brought with her, wondering what sort of colour scheme the President of the company would favour. She had thought of a few ideas, but basically she just wanted to hear what his tastes were.
She became so engrossed in matching paints and fabrics, the books strewn over the floor, that for some time she managed to forget she was marooned in a lift eight-and-a-half floors up. It was almost five-thirty when she heard the sound of banging from above, a voice that sounded strangely hollow calling down that the lift would be working shortly.
Leonie stood up, her legs stiff from where she had been sitting on the floor for over an hour, losing her balance as the lift began moving almost immediately, jerking for several feet before moving smoothly, Leonie flung about in the confined space, falling to the ground in a sprawled heap as it shuddered to a halt and the door miraculously creaked slowly open.
The first thing Leonie saw from her floor-level view was a pair of well-shod feet, the man’s black shoes made of a soft leather, a meticulous crease down the centre of the grey trouser legs. Before she could raise her gaze any further Mrs Carlson was rushing into the lift to help her to her feet, the black shoes and grey-covered legs turning away.
‘Bring her into my office as soon as you’ve helped her tidy up,’ ordered a curt male voice.
Leonie turned sharply to look at the man as the other woman fussed around her, but all she saw was the back of the man’s head as he entered a room at the end of the corridor.
‘Have you been in here long?’ The middle-aged woman helped her pick up her sample books from the floor, a tall capable woman who had been secretary to the last President of the company for over twenty years. Leonie had met her when she worked here last, and although the other woman tried to be distant and authoritative, her warm brown eyes belied the role.
Leonie liked the other woman, but she wasn’t sure she liked anyone seeing her sprawled on the floor in that undignified way. ‘An hour or so,’ she dismissed distractedly, pushing the books into her briefcase, anxious to get out of the lift.
Stella Carlson followed her out into the corridor. ‘In all the years I’ve worked here I’ve never known any of the lifts break down before,’ she shook her head.
Leonie grimaced, brushing her skirt down. ‘I have a strange effect on lifts.’
‘Really?’ the other woman frowned. ‘Well as long as you’re all right now…?’
‘Fine,’ she nodded dismissively. ‘I’m too late for my meeting, so perhaps you could explain the reason for my delay to your boss and I could make another appointment for tomorrow?’
‘Didn’t you hear, you’re to go in as soon as you feel able to.’
She thought of the man with the black shoes and grey trousers. ‘That was the new President of the company?’ she dreaded the answer, although she knew what it was going to be.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Carlson confirmed.
Oh David, Leonie mentally groaned, I didn’t trip and slide across his desk into his lap, but I did lie sprawled at his feet on the floor of a lift that never broke down! David would never understand, things like this just didn’t happen to him. They didn’t happen to any normal person!
‘Now seems as good a time as any,’ she said dully, knowing her dignity was past redemption. ‘I’m sure I’ve delayed you long enough already.’
‘Not at all,’ the other woman assured her as they walked side by side down the corridor. ‘Things have been a little—hectic, here the last few weeks.’
The new boss was obviously giving the employees a shake-up, Leonie thought ruefully, her humour leaving her as she realised she would probably be in for the same treatment. After all, if she hadn’t been ten minutes late in the first place she wouldn’t have been in the lift when it broke down. Or would she? As she had told Mrs Carlson, she had a strange effect on lifts. She had a strange effect on most inanimate objects, things just seemed to happen to them whenever she was around.
She smoothed her skirt down as Mrs Carlson knocked on the office door, unaware of the fact that her hair was sadly in need of brushing after her fall, that the fullness of her mouth was bare of lipgloss where she had chewed on her lips as she looked through the sample books. Not that she would have worried too much about it if she had known; she couldn’t possibly make a worse impression than she had as she grovelled about the lift floor!
Mrs Carlson opened the door after the terse instruction from within for them to enter. ‘Miss Grant, sir,’ she introduced quietly.
Leonie stared at the man seated behind the desk, the man that belonged to the black shoes and grey legs, the rest of the dark grey suit as impressive, the waistcoat taut across his flat stomach, the tailored material of the jacket stretched across widely powerful shoulders, the white shirt beneath the suit making his skin look very dark.
But it was his face that held her attention, a harshly attractive face, his chin firm and square, the sensuality of his mouth firmly controlled, his nose long and straight, ice-grey eyes narrowed on her beneath darkly jutting brows, silver threading the darkness of his hair at his temples and over his ears. Anyone who was in the least familiar with the businessworld would recognise Adam Faulkner from his photographs in the newspapers, one of the most successful—and richest—men in England today. He was also——
‘Miss Grant,’ he stood up in fluid movements, the coldness instantly gone from his eyes, his voice warm and friendly, his hand enveloping hers in a grip that was pleasantly warm, not too firm and not too loose; the exactly right handshake for a businessman to instil confidence in the person he was dealing with.
But why he should waste his time on such a gesture with her was beyond her, she was——
‘I hope your unfortunate delay in our lift hasn’t disturbed you too much,’ he continued smoothly, releasing her hand slowly, leaving the imprint of his touch against her flesh.
Leonie was stunned at his obvious concern. ‘I—I have that effect on lifts,’ she mumbled the same lame excuse she had given Mrs Carlson, conscious of the other woman still standing in the room with them.
Dark brows rose questioningly. ‘That sort of thing happens to you often?’
Colour heightened her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she bit out. ‘Look, I don’t think——’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to conduct our business meeting after your ordeal in the lift,’ he assured her. ‘I suggest we make another appointment for tomorrow,’ he looked at Mrs Carlson for confirmation. ‘Some time in the afternoon,’ he instructed as she left the room to consult his appointment book.
‘Please, I——’
‘Please sit down, Miss Grant,’ Adam Faulkner instructed when he saw how pale she had become. ‘Let me get you a drink. Would you like tea or coffee, or perhaps something stronger?’ He pressed a button on his desk to reveal an extensive array of drinks in the cabinet situated behind Leonie.
Leonie just kept staring at him, too numb to even answer.
‘Something stronger, I think,’ he nodded derisively at her lack of response, striding across the room to pour her some whisky into a glass. ‘Drink it down,’ he instructed her firmly as she made no effort to take the glass from his lean fingers.
She took the glass, swallowing without tasting, reaction definitely setting in.
Adam Faulkner moved to sit on the edge of his desk in front of her, dangerously close, the warmth of his maleness seeming to reach out and engulf her. ‘Terrible experience, getting caught in a stationary lift.’ He took the empty glass from her unresisting fingers, seeming satisfied that she had drunk it as instructed. ‘I’ve been caught in several myself in the past,’ he added dryly. ‘Although not lately.’