The Baby Scandal. Cathy WilliamsЧитать онлайн книгу.
status in the company, but there was an interested glint in his eyes, so she sighed and said slowly, ‘I think it’s all been good. But I suppose there’s a little element of having lost the way. I mean,’ she said hurriedly, ‘their articles are so varied that there’s a bit of doubt as to what sector of the market the magazine is supposed to appeal to. Not,’ she felt compelled to add, ‘that I’m in any position to criticise.’
‘Why not?’ he asked bluntly, leaning forward so that his elbow was resting on the table and his eyes bored into her like skewers.
‘Because I’m not an editor.’
‘But you care about the company enough to want to see it improve?’
‘Of course I do!’ When she had joined it had been a fledgling firm, and was even now, and consequently, loyalty was abundantly given by everyone who worked in it.
‘Enough to do your little bit?’ he asked, leaning forward yet further.
‘Naturally I do my best… I can’t write, if that’s what you mean…but I help out…’ She looked at him, bewildered.
‘Good! Just what I wanted to hear.’ He signalled for the bill but kept his eyes on her face. ‘Because I have a proposition to put to you…’
‘What?’ There was enough of a predatory expression on his face to give her a clue that whatever he had in mind was not going to be to her liking.
‘I’ll discuss it with Alison first, but, yes…it’s time for a few changes, and you could be right where it matters…’
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN she arrived at work the following Monday morning, it was to find Alison in her office, door shut, which was a rare phenomenon, and, even rarer still, an atmosphere of hushed efficiency amongst the staff who had managed to pole up for work at a quarter to eight—an hour before their due starting time on a Monday, this was always limited to a handful, which increased as the week progressed.
She walked across to Janet Peters, one of the editors, opened her mouth to ask what was going on and, before she could get the question out, was greeted with a series of facial movements and twitches that left her a little confused.
‘Are you feeling all right, Jan?’ Ruth asked, concerned, and in reply Janet crooked her finger for Ruth to lean forward,
‘Guess who’s in with Alison…’ she hissed. ‘Hence the unnatural deathly quiet in this place…’
‘Franco Leoni, owner of Issues?’ Ruth hazarded, and then grinned when Janet fell backwards in her chair and stared at her with profound consternation.
‘How did you know?’
‘I knew…because…I am possessed of strange mystic forces that leave me with the uncanny ability to see into the other realm.’ She giggled and played with the blunt edge of one of her plaits, a sensible hairstyle that kept her hair away from her face though unfortunately made her look no older than twelve.
‘Be serious!’ Janet said sternly, by which time they had been joined by three others and the atmosphere was drifting inexorably back into cheerful, noisy confusion.
‘How did you know?’ Jack Brady asked, sitting on the desk and giving her a frank and open stare. Jack Brady, who looked only slightly older than twelve himself, with his freckles and thick fair hair, specialised in frank and open stares which fooled no one but the uninitiated.
‘He came here on Friday night, just as I was about to leave. Scared me to death as a matter of fact.’
‘Was that,’ Jack asked, frowning and tilting his head to one side, ‘before or after he asked you to lie prone on the desk so that he could have his wicked way with you?’
‘Before,’ Ruth said with a serious face. ‘I felt fine afterwards.’
‘Ruth Jacobs!’ Jack said, shocked. ‘You’re not supposed to say naughty things like that! Especially looking the way you do, all fetching, sexy innocence with those two blonde pigtails and big, tempting eyes…’ He playfully pulled the ends of both the plaits with his hands, so that she was more or less compelled to incline her body towards his, and it was while they were in this awkward stance, both of them laughing, that Alison’s door opened and there was a general flurry of scattered bodies as Franco stood and watched what was going on.
Ruth and Jack were the last to detach themselves from the situation.
‘An office hard at work,’ Franco said, pushing himself away from the doorframe and strolling towards them with the friendly expression of a barracuda on the prowl for food. ‘Such a reassuring thing to see—especially when I have just finished having a meeting with your boss to work out why the magazine isn’t doing as well as it should.’
He was dressed in a silver-grey suit, which he managed to transform into something elegant rather than functional, and a pale blue and white shirt with a dark blue tie. Very conservative, very traditional yet, on him, shockingly attractive.
Jack, who had been reduced to a state of tongue-tied embarrassment, launched himself into a comprehensive stream of apologies, which Franco, not bothering to look at him at all, waved aside.
He somehow managed to turn his broad back on the assembled eight members of staff now busily working at their desks, heads down, eyes focused, so that he could devote every scrap of uninvited attention to Ruth, who was the last one left still standing and with nowhere to conceal herself.
‘So,’ he said softly, which just succeeded in making his exclusion of the rest of the office from their conversation all the more complete, ‘does flirting list among your dogsbody jobs?’
‘I wasn’t…flirting!’ Ruth protested in a low, heated voice. ‘Jack was just…’
‘Playing with your hair…’
She tried to slide her eyes around him to see whether their tête-à-tête was being observed, but decided that she would rather not know.
‘That’s r-right…’ she stammered absent-mindedly, as her eyes flitted over the downturned heads and rapt faces staring at computer screens.
He clicked his tongue impatiently, ‘Would you mind looking at me when I’m talking to you?’ he snapped, sharply enough for her to literally jump to attention.
‘Of course!’ She nearly saluted, and then had to stifle a giggle at the thought of what his expression would be like if she dared do any such thing.
‘Do you recall our little conversation on Friday?’
‘Which bit?’ Ruth asked cautiously. Her smoky grey eyes wandered away as she tried to recall what they had spoken about. She knew that if she put her mind to it she would have no trouble at all, although the overwhelming impression that remained with her of that night, like a thorn driven deep into her side, was the unwelcome feeling of being bludgeoned into the ground by something much like a steamroller.
‘Could I have your attention?’ he asked in a grim, irritable voice, and she shot him a nervous smile in response.
Did he realise that he had just raised his voice one or two decibels, and that in the small office all those downcast eyes were quietly boring a hole in the back of his neck, and that all those subdued voices would be eagerly anticipating his departure so that they could lay into her with a thousand and one questions?
Having never been the focus of gossip, the thought of it now was enough to bring Ruth out in a cold sweat.
She could hardly tell him to lower his tone, though, so she compensated by reducing the level of hers so much that he had to bend down to hear what she was saying.
‘I am paying attention, to every word you’re saying,’ she whispered furtively, feeling like a dodgy character in a third-rate movie.
‘I’ve spoken to Alison about my little proposition…’
‘What