CHAPTER ONE

      MAXIM FLEMING was irritable. Seriously irritable. And his sister, at the other end of the telephone line, was being left in no doubt of that fact.

      ‘All I’m asking you to do is find me a temporary secretary, Amanda. I’m not being difficult…’ he ignored the hoot of derision from the other end of the line ‘…I just want a girl who knows what she’s doing.’

      ‘Max—’

      Her attempt to stall his complaint was brushed impatiently aside. ‘Is that such a problem?’

      ‘Max. Darling—’

      He continued to ignore the slight warning beneath the honeyed tone of her voice. ‘Someone who can type accurately, take a little shorthand—’

      ‘Your idea of a little shorthand does not coincide with mine or any of the perfectly competent secretaries I have already sent you,’ she broke in sharply. Then she gave a little sigh. ‘Not many girls do shorthand seriously these days, Max…’ At least not the kind of girls she had sent to her brother, but then she and Max had entirely different agendas—a fact she suspected he had discovered for himself. But she wasn’t admitting a thing. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to haul yourself into the twentieth century and use a dictaphone?’

      ‘Is this an admission that the famous Garland Agency isn’t able to provide a competent secretary?’

      His tone was rich with irony. He definitely knew. But Amanda refused to rise to her tormenting brother’s jibe. ‘I didn’t say that, Max. But you’ll have to give me time. Your standards are so high—’

      ‘I haven’t got time and Garland Girls are supposed to be the best,’ he reminded her crisply. ‘I’m quite willing to pay top rates for a secretary who can type accurately and take dictation a fraction faster than the speed she can write in longhand. Surely that’s not too much to ask from London’s pre-eminent secretarial agency?’

      ‘And your temper is so short,’ she completed, ignoring his question. ‘You’ve been through some of the best secretaries in London in the space of a fortnight.’

      ‘Best!’ He left unsaid the obvious comment that, if they were the best she could offer, he never wanted to be within shouting distance of the worst.

      ‘I have had not one word of complaint, nothing in fact but the highest praise for my girls from anyone else.’ Which was true, but then she hadn’t been mixing work with matchmaking for her other clients.

      Max Fleming made a distinctly disparaging noise. ‘Your public relations does you credit, I’ll give you that. You’ve got every executive in London panting for one of the fabulous Garland Girls. They’re a status symbol, the “must have” in every chief executive’s penthouse office. They look good, they sound good and they mesmerise the men they pretend to work for into thinking they’re privileged to employ them. Well, I’m not impressed by glamour—give me substance every time. Someone with a bit of grit in her character.’

      Good grief—she might have chosen the girls for their looks and charm rather than their skills, but they hadn’t been that bad. ‘Nonsense. Admit it, Max, you’re the problem here. Why should my girls put up with your bad temper and your unreasonable working hours?’

      ‘For the money, sweet sister? Or have you simply been giving them the opportunity to have a crack at mending my broken heart?’

      ‘You don’t have a heart.’

      ‘You know that and I know that, but if you can find a girl