Manhattan Boss, Diamond Proposal. Trish Wylie
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tear herself up about it. She was digging her own grave. Quinn simply felt it was his responsibility to take the shovel out of her hand.
‘C’mon, if they’re so desperate they can’t find a date without your help, then—’
Disbelief formed in her eyes. ‘Is it so very difficult for you to believe that some people might simply be sick to death of trawling the usual singles scene? Not everyone has the—’ she made speech marks with crooked fingers ‘—success you have with women…’
Quinn ignored the jibe. ‘I s’pose that means I should expect to find long lines of Ugly Bettys and guys who still live with their mothers arriving in here every five minutes from here on in?’
If she thought for a single second he was going to be happy about that she could think again. He hadn’t batted an eyelid when she’d matched up friends of mutual friends outside of work, but the line had to be drawn somewhere. And he was about to tell her as much when she pushed the chair back from her desk and walked to the filing cabinets.
‘Don’t worry, Quinn. If word keeps spreading as fast as it has these last few months, then pretty soon I’ll be making enough money to be able to afford my own office. And then it won’t be your problem any more, will it?’
‘You’re quitting on me now?’
The thought of the endurance test involved with breaking in another PA made him frown harder. Prior to Clare he’d gone through six in almost as many months.
‘If you needed a raise all you had to do was say so…’
Clare continued searching the drawer. ‘It’s got nothing to do with getting a raise. It’s a chance to build something on my own. And if I can help make a few people happy along the way, then all the better.’
Okay, so he could understand her feeling the need to stand on her own two feet. That part he got. But he’d been pretty sure the arrangement they had had been working for both of them. Why rock the boat?
Stepping over to the desk, he turned on his heel and sat down on the exact same spot Clare had, schooling his features and deliberately keeping his voice nonchalant.
‘You’ve obviously been thinking about this for a while. So how come I’m only hearing about it now?’
‘Maybe because you’ve never asked…’
‘I’m asking now.’
It couldn’t possibly be taking so long to find whatever it was she was looking for. Not with her hyperefficient filing system. Half the time he only had to think about information he needed and the next thing he knew, it was in front of him. She was avoiding looking at him, wasn’t she?
‘O’Connor—’
‘You know, if you’d bothered reading the schedule I just gave you you’d see you have a meeting in less than twenty minutes…’
Nice try. Setting the schedule down, Quinn pushed upright and took the two strides necessary to bring him close enough to place his hands on her slight shoulders, firmly turning her to face him. When her long lashes lifted, her eyes searching each of his in turn, he did the same back before smiling lazily.
‘Working for me proved too tough in the end, did it? If you recall, I warned you at the start I was no walk in the park.’
Clare’s full mouth quirked at the edges—they both knew she dealt with him just fine, even on the days every other person on the planet would have avoided him.
‘Well, I won’t say there aren’t days I have to bite my tongue pretty hard. But it’s got nothing to do with the work—it’s something I need to do for me. If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.’ Her smile grew. ‘That’s how the song goes, right?’
Quinn fought off another frown. ‘So how much notice are you giving me?’
‘Oh, I’m not handing in my notice just yet.’
But it was coming, wasn’t it? She was serious. And her job had long since exceeded the usual remit of personal assistant. She was his girl Friday—co-ordinating the Clubs, making sure staffing levels were sufficient, putting together promotions, booking live acts, filling in when someone was sick even if it meant working for fifteen hours straight…
Everyone who worked for him had even taken to calling her ‘Friday’, and she always smiled when they did, so Quinn had assumed she was happy in the role she’d taken on. The thought that she wasn’t happy irritated him no end. He should have known if she wasn’t.
And how exactly was he supposed to list all she did for him in a Help Wanted ad if she did quit?
Realising his hands had slid downwards, his thumbs smoothing up and down on her upper arms while he thought, Quinn released her and stepped back. ‘You’d miss all the craziness here, you know.’
Her voice softened. ‘I will. I’ve loved it here.’
Despite the fact she’d just allayed one fear, it was the fact she hadn’t used ‘I would’ or ‘I might’ but ‘I will’, that got to him most.
But he hid behind humour. ‘I’d better think about making a trip to Tiffany’s on my own to get one of those blue boxes for you, then, hadn’t I?’
The smile lit up her face, making the room immediately brighter than it already was, with the summer sun filtering in between the Manhattan high-rises to stream through the large windows lining one wall.
‘You should probably know I have a wish list…’
‘And I’ll just bet there’s a diamond or two on it.’
She nodded firmly. ‘Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, they say. But don’t go overboard.’ She patted his upper arm. ‘I haven’t had to suffer my way through the usual broken heart required to get a blue box from you.’
Files in hand, she walked back to her desk, silently dismissing him even before she lifted an arm to check her wristwatch. ‘Twelve minutes now—and counting.’
He stepped over to retrieve the schedule, and his gaze fell on the bright daisies she had in a vase on her desk. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, they were everywhere she spent any time—the simple flowers almost a reflection of her bright personality. Anywhere he saw daisies they reminded him of Clare.
When he didn’t move she looked up at him with an amused smile. ‘What now?’
‘I can’t stand in my own reception area for five minutes if I feel like it?’
‘No—you can’t. I have work to do. And my boss will give me hell if it isn’t done.’
Another frown appeared on his face while he went into his office to retrieve the jacket he’d left lying over a chair, remaining in place until he stopped at the glass doors etched with his company’s name.
‘We’re still going to Giovanni’s later, right?’
Clare’s head lifted and there was a brief moment of hesitation while she studied his face, confusion crossing her luminous eyes.
‘Of course we are. Why?’
‘Want me to come back for you?’
‘No-o. I think I can manage to make it back to Brooklyn on my own—always have before.’ She dropped her head towards one shoulder, still examining his face. ‘Did you get out of some poor woman’s bed on the wrong side this morning? You’re being weird.’
‘That’s what I get for trying to be thoughtful? No wonder I don’t do it that often…’
Clare lifted her arms and tapped the face of her watch with her forefinger, silently mouthing the words, Ten minutes…
‘You see, now—that I won’t miss when you’re gone.’
She smiled