Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed. Sandra Marton
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nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘You can keep that magazine out, if you like.’
She looked at the copy of Business Week, then shook her head and handed it over.
‘Never mind.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s too late for cramming now, anyway.’
The man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ma’am?’
Talia smiled wearily. ‘Nothing. How soon did you say we’d be landing?’
‘Ten minutes, miss.’
‘And then what? Will there be a car waiting, or am I to take a taxi to Mr Miller’s office?’
‘Mr Miller will be meeting you at the airport, Miss Roberts. The pilot’s just spoken with him.’ The man smiled politely. ‘Will there be anything else?’
Talia shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I’m fine.’
Fine, but a little bit nervous. She sat back and looked out of the porthole again, watching as the ground rushed up to meet the plane. Who wouldn’t be nervous in these circumstances? She’d only dealt with Logan Miller via the post, and both times his letters had been curt. He’d never shown his face during the weekend she’d organised; he hadn’t even sought her out to introduce himself.
But he’d been pleased with her efforts. That was what he’d written to John; that was why she was in Los Angeles. The plane bumped gently against the runway. That was a positive fact, wasn’t it? Talia opened her seatbelt as the plane rolled to a stop. Of course it was. And she had some insights into the man, anyway. He liked efficiency and organisation—the steward and the periodical file had told her that. He knew how to delegate authority—look at how he’d turned the plans for the weekend over to her. Everything she’d read had said he was a tough but fair-minded businessman. A smile touched her lips as she got to her feet and walked to the door. He also had good taste in tea. A man like that couldn’t be too difficult to deal with.
The door slid open and warm air swept into the plane. It was always warmer in Los Angeles. Smoggy, too, Talia thought, wrinkling her nose.
What was there to worry about? She knew more than she’d thought about Logan Miller, now that she’d tallied it up. He was probably going to turn out to be a pleasant, if somewhat intimidating old gentleman. And she, for the first time in her life, was going to learn that you didn’t always have to plan ahead for things to go smoothly.
The steps locked into place as the steward stepped up beside her. ‘You can exit now, Miss Roberts.’
Talia smiled at the man. ‘Thank you. If you’d just point me towards where I’m to meet Mr Miller…’
‘He’s waiting just over there, miss.’
Talia looked across the tarmac. A dark green Cadillac Brougham stood opposite, a portly, white-haired man beside it. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
The steward laughed. ‘Oh, no, miss, that’s not Mr Miller.’ He took her arm and turned her towards the opposite side of the tarmac. Talia had a quick glimpse of a sleek black Maserati, a car that looked more like a predator than a vehicle, and the man lounging against it, his arms crossed at his chest. ‘That’s Mr Miller, ma’am. Haven’t you ever met?’
The air seemed to rush from Talia’s lungs. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be…
‘Miss Roberts? Are you all right?’
Talia nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, in a voice unrecognisable as her own, ‘we’ve met.’
And, of course, they had.
Despite the elegant navy pin-striped suit, despite the shockingly expensive sports car, she’d recognised Logan Miller the second she saw him. His mouth curved upward as he uncoiled his lean body and began walking slowly towards her.
Logan Miller and the California drifter who had kissed her in the redwood grove were the same person.
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