Christmas With Her Boss. Marion LennoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
work from my hotel suite…
Her face must have changed again. He got it. He always knew.
‘There’s a problem there, too?’
‘Sir, there’s no rooms.’
‘If I have to change hotels I will,’ he snapped, but she shook her head. This was why she’d be fired. It was something she should have foreseen. At the first rumour she should have booked, but she’d missed the rumours.
She’d been frantic in the Christmas lead up, and she’d done her shopping in one crazy rush last night. The shops had been open all night. McMaster had let her go at eleven and she’d shopped until three. Then she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep—and been woken to a demand for clean shirts. She’d sorted it and been back in the office at seven, but her normally incisive scheduling had let her down. She’d missed listening to the morning news.
Fallback position…What was that?
There wasn’t one.
‘There really are no rooms,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘The country’s full of trapped people. You left your hotel before seven this morning. Most people book out later. By eight the rumours had started and people simply refused to leave. If I’d figured this out this morning…I didn’t and I’m sorry. There’s a major Hollywood blockbuster being filmed on location just out of Melbourne. All the cast were due to fly out tonight. They’ve block-booked every luxury hotel in Melbourne and they’re prepared to pay whatever it takes. The cheap places are overwhelmed by groups who can’t get home. People are camping at the airport. There really is nothing.’
She hesitated, hating to throw it back to him, knowing she had no choice. ‘Sir…Do you have friends? Your parents…There must be people you know?’
There was a moment’s loaded silence. Then, ‘You’re telling me to contact my parents’ friends?’ The anger in his voice frightened her.
‘No, I…’
‘There is no way I will contact any friend of my parents—or anyone else. You’re suggesting I ask for charity?’
‘Of course not, but…’
‘To impose myself on someone else’s Christmas…I will not.’
‘Sir…’
‘So, taking away the personal option, where,’ he said in a voice that dripped ice, ‘do you suggest I stay?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
‘You’re paid to know,’ he snapped, his face dark with fury. He glanced at his watch. ‘You have fifteen minutes. I’ll get documents faxed from Berswood to give me work to do over the weekend. Meanwhile, find me something. Somewhere I can work in peace. Now.’
He turned and slammed back into his office and, for the first time in her entire life, Meg felt like having hysterics. Serious hysterics.
Hysterics wouldn’t help. Where? Where?
Somewhere he could work in peace?
She could organise a mattress and a sleeping bag here, she thought, feeling more and more out of control. But even this office…without air conditioning…
No. Her job was so ended.
And more…In a little more than an hour, the train to Tandaroit would leave without her. Christmas was waiting. As well as that, there was hay waiting, ready to spoil if it wasn’t harvested. She must go home.
She made one more miserable phone call, to a dealer in hotel rooms. Unless she’d take the absolute dregs there was nothing, nothing, nothing.
She sat and stared at her hands until exactly fifteen minutes later, when the door slammed open again.
‘Well?’ he demanded. His anger was back under control. He was icy calm, waiting for her solution. And there was only one solution to give.
‘There are no hotels.’
‘So?’
So say it. Just say it.
‘So you can come home with me,’ she said, trying desperately to make her voice bright and confident. ‘It’s the only solution, and it’s a good one. We have a comfortable private spare room with its own bathroom, and we have the Internet. I’ll be on call for your secretarial needs. We can’t have you trapped in the city over Christmas. My family and I would be pleased if you could spend Christmas with us.’
If her boss’s face had been thunderous before, it was worse now. It was as if there were a live hand-grenade ticking between them. The pin had been pulled. Who knew how long these things took to explode?
‘You’re offering me charity,’ he said at last, slowly, carefully, as if saying the word itself was like taking poison.
‘It’s not charity at all,’ she managed, feeling a faint stirring of anger. ‘We’d love to have you.’ Oooh, what a lie.
But what was the choice? Sleeping bags here was a real possibility, awful as it seemed. She could spend Christmas trying to make this office liveable, working around a situation which was appalling. Or she could try and resurrect Christmas.
If he accepted, then he’d spend the whole time in his room with his computer, she thought. Thank the stars she’d set up Internet access on the farm. It cost more than she could afford, but it had made Scotty jubilant and maybe…just maybe it would be the decider.
‘I do not want to be part of anyone else’s Christmas,’ he snapped.
‘You don’t need to be. You can stay in your room and work. I can even bring your meals to your room, if you want to take it that far.’
‘I can’t believe this is the only solution.’
‘It’s the only one I can think of.’
No matter what she did, no matter what she offered, she would lose her job over this, Meg thought miserably, and then she thought—why don’t I quit now? She could walk away and leave this man to do whatever he wanted over Christmas.
But this was the best job. And maybe…maybe he’d even enjoy it. Letty put on a great Christmas. Miracles could happen.
Send me a miracle, she pleaded, starting her Santa list right now.
‘It will work,’ she said, managing to sound much more calm than she felt. ‘This is a genuine offer and we’d be very pleased to have you.’ She glanced at her watch, acting as if it was time to move on. Acting as if the thing had already been decided. ‘You will be able to work. The room has a lovely view.’ Not exactly like this one. ‘You will be comfortable and you will be left alone. If you accept my offer, then my train leaves in an hour. I’m sorry you can’t get home but this is the best I can do.’
His face was still dark with fury.
If he was so angry, why didn’t he contact someone else? she thought. Any socialite in Melbourne would be pleased to be his friend. He was invited everywhere. Surely he didn’t wish to spend Christmas with her.
But it seemed he did.
‘Your house is large?’
That was easy. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘No young children?’
‘No.’ Scotty was fifteen. Surely that didn’t count as young.
‘And I will have privacy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right,’ he said roughly, angrily. ‘I’ll pay your family for my accommodation and I’ll work from there.’
‘There’s no need to pay.’
‘This is business,’ he snapped. ‘Business or nothing.’
‘Fine,’ she said,