Buttoned-Up Secretary, British Boss. Susanne JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
had to be let go. I’m sure you’ve heard the term.’ She paused. ‘It means that I was sacked for being too highly qualified and they could no longer afford to pay me on that level—and I was not prepared to accept the rather demeaning position I was offered instead.’
She hesitated before adding, ‘The salary which the agency told me you were prepared to pay the right person encouraged me to try and persuade you that I could be the one.’ She swallowed, realizing how awful that must sound, avaricious and money-grabbing. She might as well explain now, she thought desperately. ‘It isn’t that I want the money,’ she said quietly. ‘I need the money. And I’ve decided that I have to aim high.’ If only he knew, she thought. They had just acquired their first house—their first real home after always living in rented places—and with it a rather crippling mortgage.
He paused for a moment before speaking, his observant eyes noting the rosy flush which had swept her cheeks, and his heart warmed instinctively at her words. He liked honesty in a woman—in anyone—and she had just been childishly direct. She could have made any other excuse for wanting to try something different. He looked down at the papers again.
‘I see that you have all the necessary business skills, and are more than computer literate,’ he said. ‘Which is an essential requirement, because computers and I are often not best friends.’ He looked up at her again briefly. ‘A note pad and pen are usually sufficient for my own needs but unfortunately my agent, and my editor, both require something more technical from me—and, I suppose, something more legible,’ he added.
Sensing that the interview was going quite well, Sabrina said calmly, ‘I am well acquainted with most office machinery, Mr McDonald, but of course I would like some idea of what else the job might entail.’
There was silence for a few moments while Sabrina studied the carpet beneath her feet as she waited for him to answer her.
‘Are you married, Miss Gold?’ he asked bluntly, looking across at her again. ‘Have you family? Children?’
‘I am not married,’ Sabrina answered. ‘I live with my sister.’ She paused. ‘It’s just the two of us,’ she added. ‘And last year I decided—I mean, we decided—to buy our own house, which I am desperate not to lose.’
He nodded. ‘Does your sister work?’ he asked.
Sabrina looked away for a second. ‘Um, well, not all the time,’ she said carefully. ‘She has always been somewhat fragile, and succumbs to minor things now and again which tend to set her back. When she’s well enough, she runs aerobics classes, and teaches dance and keep-fit very successfully.’ She swallowed. She was not going to tell him that Melly was a brilliant dancer, and fabulous singer, and that she’d auditioned twice for his brother but had never been successful, had never managed to hit the big time in the theatrical world.
Alexander had been watching her as she’d spoken, watching the fleeting expressions which mirrored her thoughts. He sat forward suddenly, picking up a pen and twirling it between his finger and thumb.
‘What I’m actually looking for, Miss Gold, is a PA,’ he said. ‘And I have to say that the hours are not necessarily nine to five. If there’s a deadline I’m having difficulty with, I’d expect you to stay late sometimes. You know what I do; I write books on all kinds of subjects.’ He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. ‘My last assistant, who’d been with me for many years, finally admitted defeat and retired.’
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘She now spends all her time in her garden, where she keeps some chickens—a lifelong ambition of hers, apparently.’ He shook his head slightly, as if marvelling at the vagaries of human nature. ‘Anyway, my filing system is wrecked and I need a reader, an editor, someone strong enough to cope with me when I’m frustrated. I need someone to type up my work when I don’t feel like doing it, someone to field almost all my telephone calls and to be able to find all the things I keep losing.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid I’m somewhat a nightmare to be around at times. Do you—do you think you’re capable of meeting all those requirements?’
Sabrina let his words float into the air for a few moments before a slow smile spread across her features. In spite of herself, she was beginning to like Alexander McDonald.
‘Mr McDonald,’ she said in the gentle tone she had often used when dealing with disturbed clients, ‘I think you could safely leave everything to me.’
Putting his pen down, he stood up immediately and came around the desk, holding out his hand. ‘Then it’s a done deal,’ he said, looking down at her solemnly. ‘Can you start next week?’
Sabrina automatically slowed her steps as she walked up the short path of their modest semi-detached house on the outskirts of the city, admitting to feeling both elated and disturbed by her encounter with Alexander McDonald. He was undeniably drop-dead gorgeous, she thought. Did she really want to be working so closely with someone like him? Did she dare risk it, dare risk her feelings being churned up all over again? Because she was honest enough to realize that it was a distinct possibility—something she could well do without.
As she went inside, her sister was just coming down the stairs, dressed to go out.
‘Hi, Sabrina,’ she said briefly. ‘Any luck on the job front?’
‘Um, well, yes, actually,’ Sabrina said guardedly. ‘But it may only be temporary, for a few weeks. I’ll see how my new boss and I get on. He’s a writer,’ she added, not bothering to mention his name. She went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘Are you just off to your aerobics class?’
‘Yes—and I had a phone call this morning asking me to take over two dance classes later on—the usual girl has gone down with something—so I won’t be home until about eight o’clock.’
The two girls were not very much alike to look at; Melinda was tall, dark-haired and brown-eyed with strong facial features, while Sabrina was only five-foot-three with a more delicate bone-structure and widely spaced eyes.
‘I’m making something hot for our dinner,’ Sabrina said, pouring boiling water into her mug. ‘Will lasagne and salad do?’
‘Brilliant,’ Melinda said, going out and slamming the front door behind her.
Staring thoughtfully out of the window as she sipped her tea, Sabrina cast her mind back to the morning’s interview, and to her new employer. To her, he seemed the typically self-assured alpha male, exuding British masculinity with just a hint of ruthlessness somewhere. There was also a brooding, slightly mysterious air about him, as if behind those black, magnetic eyes there was a tantalizing secret he’d never share with another human being.
She realized that she knew nothing at all of his past, whether he was, or had ever been married. In the press or society magazines, she’d never seen him pictured with a female in tow. His brother seemed to be the Lothario of the piece, frequently seen surrounded by pretty women.
Sabrina narrowed her eyes as her thoughts ran on, her analytical mind informing her that Alexander McDonald undoubtedly had a many-layered personality which wasn’t necessarily going to be easy to cope with. She shrugged inwardly. The money he was offering would be a powerful incentive to keep her head down and do as he demanded.
Later, as Sabrina was frying the steak for their lasagne, her mobile rang and, frowning, she went across to answer it. She hoped it wasn’t Melly in some sort of fix.
The dark tones which reached her ears made her senses rush. ‘Miss Gold? Alexander McDonald here…’ As if she needed telling! ‘I was just thinking, there are still two working days left in the week—could you start earlier than we agreed? Like tomorrow?’
Without stopping to think, Sabrina said, ‘Yes—I think so. Yes, all right, Mr McDonald.’ He didn’t need to know that she’d actually intended to go in to town to buy one or two things to add to her wardrobe. She hadn’t been shopping for a while but, tough, he’d have to accept her as she was with not much of this year’s fashion on show.
‘Good—about