One Night with Her Brooding Boss. Cathy Williams
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Break out of your little-girl body when you’re feeling in a big-girl mood, ran the legend on one pack of matching bra and girdle.
Well, she wasn’t a little girl, but she was definitely in a biggirl mood, Magenta decided, conjuring up a vision of Quinn as she broke the seal on the packaging.
It was almost impossible not to think about the new owner of the business, Magenta realised, opening the towel she had wrapped around her body to give her twenty-eight-year-old figure a critical review. She was sitting on the bed facing the dressing-table mirror and she sat up straight immediately. Would he like real women with real bellies, or would his tastes run to something younger and slimmer? Not that she could do much about it in the short time at her disposal. And why worry when her naked body was in zero danger of becoming an issue between them?
She picked up another pack and studied it. What do you wear under your action-wear? Action Underwear, of course…
But there wasn’t going to be any action.
She put it down, picking up something called the Concentrate girdle.
Concentrate on what? Holding her stomach in the whole time?
I don’t think so.
And she certainly didn’t need the Little Fibber bra—one of the only benefits of getting a little older and a little rounder, Magenta thought dryly, tossing the formidable-looking steel-girder-style bra to one side. Strange to think the so-called liberated women of the twenty-first century made so little of her breasts. Breasts were never flaunted at the office in case you were thought of as brainless, as if having lactating glands in common with a cow meant you automatically shared the same IQ. Perhaps that was the reason she had never worn form-fitting clothes to the office before, though she doubted a man as focused on business as Quinn appeared to be would even notice.
She hunted for some sheer tights in her drawer, only to discard them in favour of stockings. Underpinnings were everything, an actress friend had told her—those and shoes. If you didn’t get that right, you stood no chance of playing a period piece convincingly.
She picked up another box and quickly disposed of it with an unwelcome shiver of arousal. Damsel in Undress was a definite no-no. The slightest hint to a man like Quinn that she was adopting a compliant ‘men rule’ mindset to go along with her sixties outfit, and she’d be in big trouble. He’d already given her a flavour of his management style. Gray Quinn definitely didn’t need any encouragement. He was shaping up to be the original alpha-male. No, this was one occasion when she would be sixties on the outside and bang up to date in her head. But she would consent to wear a provocative cone-shaped bra to achieve the authentic hourglass shape—not forgetting control pants for the belly problem.
And a suspender-belt and stockings were fun.
Having dressed, she slipped on her stiletto heels and immediately felt different. She walked differently too. She tried a few steps up and down the bedroom and found herself sashaying like a famous actress in a hot sixties television programme. She smiled, thinking her actress friend had been right. The shoes and the clothes were like a costume that put her right back in the era, and that was fun.
It was even more fun when she started on the make-up—pale foundation and big, smoky eyes outlined so that they appeared even larger. And some Un-lipstick, as it was called, in Shiver Shiver pink.
She certainly shivered as she tasted it. What would Quinn make of that?
Not that he would ever get a chance to find out, Magenta told herself firmly. This was all about dressing up and fantasy. Pressing her lips together, she blotted them in the manner prescribed on the pack and then applied a second coat.
Not bad.
She was ready.
Ready for pretty much anything, Magenta decided as she checked her appearance one last time in the mirror.
She waited for Tess’s call and when it came she travelled to the office by taxi to find all the lights were out. Just as Tess had promised, there was no sign of Quinn—exactly what she wanted. Well, it would be, once she had stifled her disappointment. All that effort put into grooming for nothing.
At least she could concentrate on work, Magenta told herself firmly. This was a great opportunity to put the finishing touches to the campaign. Having set out her papers on the large desk in her office, she slipped the lock on the door, feeling safer that way in an empty building. She’d make some coffee later to keep herself awake.
She was halfway through drafting a strap line for a sixties hairpiece when she had to stop. She could hardly keep her eyes open and just couldn’t get it right: the hair fashion that goes on when you go out…
And drops off when you least expect it to?
Magenta…examined the yard-long ponytail made out of synthetic hair and tossed it aside. Some of the products being used to inject fun into the campaign were odd, but this was downright ugly. Surely no self-respecting woman would want to wear a hair-tugger on top of her head that weighed a ton, looked gross and at a guess took a whole card of hair grips to hold in place? If you weren’t bald when you started your evening out, you certainly would be by the end of it.
And yet it was a genuine sixties product, Magenta mused, leaning her cheek against her folded arms as she stared at the unappealing hairpiece and waiting for inspiration to strike. She’d been so enthusiastic up to now, seeing only the good, the fun and the innovation of the sixties. But, realistically, how many other things about that time would have got right up her nose?
‘Magenta…Magenta! Wake up!’
‘What’s wrong? ‘ Magenta started with alarm as someone grabbed hold of her arm and shook her awake. Well dressed in sixties style, the girl looked smart and bright—and totally unfamiliar. Magenta felt like she had the hangover from hell—and, not having had a drop to drink, that was a serious concern. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ Her neck suddenly didn’t seem strong enough to lift her ridiculously heavy head from the desk.
‘Magenta, you have to get out of here now.’
‘Why? Is there a fire?’
‘Worse—Quinn,’ the girl explained with what sounded like panic in her voice. ‘He mustn’t find you here.’
‘Why not?’ Magenta stared in bewilderment around her office, which seemed to have been cleared of all her creature comforts while she’d been asleep. But it wasn’t just the flowers, the coffee machine, the bottles of water or the family photographs that were missing. ‘Hey, where’s my laptop?’ she said, shooting up. ‘Has there been a robbery? ‘
‘Magenta, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know you have to get out of here now.’
‘All right, all right!’ Magenta exclaimed as the girl took her by the arm and physically dragged her towards the door. ‘I’m sure I locked this door last night.’
‘I used my key.’ The girl shook a spare set in her face.
‘What’s the rush? I’ll need my mobile phone, and where’s my tote, my handbag, my briefcase?’ Magenta demanded, glancing back at the vastly changed room.
‘No more questions,’ her new friend hissed frantically, tugging at Magenta’s arm. ‘We don’t have time. Quinn will be here any minute.’
A multitude of thoughts and impressions were slowly percolating through Magenta’s sluggish brain. This was a new girl, possibly someone Quinn had brought in. She seemed nice, though, confusingly, she seemed to know Magenta when Magenta was certain they had never met before. ‘Did Quinn get my list?’ she said, clinging on to priorities while her brain sorted itself out.
‘What list? You didn’t give me a list.’
‘No, that’s right—I gave it to Tess.’
‘Tess?’
This girl didn’t know Tess? ‘Sorry,