He forced his attention to her feet.
Cowboy boots looked back at him. Brown, pointy-toed, wedge-heeled with patterns worked on the leather. He felt the reluctant smile tug at his mouth. He wondered if there were spurs to match, or if she had a whip—other than her tongue, which he was quite sure was capable of giving a good lashing.
Her CV had ‘wanderer’ all over it—your typical instant-gratification girl. She’d stick around while the sun shone but any hint of a cloud and she’d be off. A shining example of the ‘what’s in it for me, me, me?’ gender. Daniel was all too familiar with women—they upped and left uncaring of whatever disaster they left behind. No sense of loyalty, responsibility, reliability. Which was precisely why he upped and left them before they had a chance to. Ordinarily, he’d have enjoyed saying no to her. But in this instance he didn’t require endurance, he required immediate and short-term. Her self-confessed flightiness shouldn’t be a problem.
He looked back to her face. She was staring at him. He could feel her willing him to take her on. But it wasn’t the bold challenge that got him. It was the glimpse of someone desperate for the chance, concealed under the confidence. As a lawyer he’d seen that look many times before. The hidden desire—wanting someone to listen and take a risk. Even though they knew there was really no chance and they were just waiting for the refusal. It was the look that had him taking on clients when his caseload was already too full to handle. Pro bono at that. The kind of cases that had the senior partners frowning at him.
She was talking again. ‘You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s nearly five now—if you want someone to start tonight I’m your only bet. I can do this. Let me prove it to you.’
He glanced at his watch. She was right; it was nearly five. No time to hit another agency. Certainly not if they were all as inept as the receptionist in this one was. So what choice did he have? He had to have someone in there tidying up the mess tonight.
Her green eyes burned into him. He saw passion there, with defiance and determination. The words were out before he realised he’d even thought them. ‘I’ll give you three weeks. We go to the club now.’
The look on her face was one he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. The sultry, sarcastic covering lifted to reveal a truly genuine pleasure—her smile wide and terrific and impossible not to respond to. His heart lifted. And then the delight shown in her full lips affected him in another region altogether. Groin region.
Not good. ‘Right now.’
He stood, expecting her to do the same. She was on her feet in a flash, papers tumbling from her bag as she did so. She stuffed the CVs in, creasing them. He watched, heart cooling, thinking that if she was usually that clumsy she might need them again sooner than she thought.
A woman walked in from the back office. ‘Sorry, I was longer than I—’ She broke off as she saw Daniel. ‘I’m sorry. Can I help you?’
He raised his brows at her, giving her the supercilious-lawyer look he reserved for smart-mouthed petty crims, happy to teach her a lesson in customer service. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late.’
She looked nonplussed.
His new bar manager followed up by giving her an evil smirk. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have time to complete all these forms. I have a job already.’ She put the long strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘Shame. You missed a good commission.’ Then she bent and lifted something else she had parked beside her seat. A violin case.
He stood back and watched as she passed him, a swaggering cowgirl looking in complete control. Completely confident. He glanced back registering the dismayed expression on the agency worker’s face.
‘You know you’re making a big mistake. It’s much better to go through an agency for temporary workers.’ She practically tut-tutted.
‘For whom?’ Daniel flattened. ‘Employer, employee or middleman who needs the introduction buck?’
He turned and joined his temp who was now waiting for him on the street. They headed in the direction of the club. It was only a five-minute walk through the funky end of town. Students, buskers and suits vied for space in the cafés they passed.
‘So is it a violin or are you actually Mafioso?’
‘You think I’m concealing a dangerous weapon?’
He had the feeling she was a dangerous weapon, full stop. ‘You know, you’re amazingly trusting.’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t even know my name.’ He had hers. Lucy Elizabeth Delaney. Twenty-four years old. Bachelor of Music, second class honours. Held current driver’s licence together with own ancient car according to registration details. Exclusive private boarding-school and not much advertised in the way of extra-curricular activities. He had the feeling she might have been too busy having some kind of social life to be tied down to the debating team or the hockey team or the school choir.
She ran a sharp eye over his suit. ‘You don’t look the dangerous type.’
‘Appearances can be deceiving.’ A little piqued, he decided to hit where he knew it would hurt. ‘You don’t even know how much I’m going to pay you.’
This time her glance stabbed. ‘I know the going rate.’
He realised then that he didn’t. Wouldn’t have a clue. He didn’t know a lot about this business—other than the price of a decent glass of wine. If he wasn’t careful this woman would have him over a barrel. She might not want to stick at any job for long, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sharp.
‘So what is your name?’ She was staring down the street.
‘Daniel Graydon.’
Outside the club he pulled the keys from his pocket, jangling them in his hand for a moment. Was he really going to hand these over to a woman he’d known precisely twenty-seven minutes? Heart sinking, he realised Lara had left him in one hell of a mess. He had far too great a sense of obligation and responsibility and she knew it. She knew he would never let her club sink. He was going to have to stick around to make sure this was going to be OK. He was going to have to keep a close eye on his new employee.
Damn.
She climbed the stairs ahead of him. He kept that close eye on the way her curves filled out the denim jeans, on the way her hips swayed as she smoothly mounted each step.
Double damn.
Had he, for the first time in his life, just made a decision using his body rather than his brain? His brain was telling him to let her go and get on with it, but his body was telling him to grab hold and see what magic she could do. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and stroke her.
She walked into the middle of the floor space, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floor. He went to the bar and flipped the lights. Wanting rid of the late-night, fun feel. Back to business. She paid him no attention. Instead she took in the fridge behind him, noting the lack of stock.
‘When did you want this open again?’
‘I was hoping for Friday.’
He saw her swallow as she looked around some more. ‘We have a lot to do by then.’
He turned the screws a little. ‘No. You have a lot to do. I have work of my own to be getting on with.’
She turned to him. ‘Accountancy or law?’
He wondered which she viewed as the lesser evil. From the way she’d covered the question in sarcastic flavouring he guessed she regarded both as less than marvellous options. ‘Law.’
‘Hotshot, huh?’
Modesty stopped him from answering that one honestly. ‘Hard-working.’
She nodded. More to herself than him. As if he’d confirmed her worst suspicions.
She focused on the room again. ‘Where are the current staff?’
‘I’m really not sure. There’s a list in the office at the back of the bar. I rang them to let them know it was closing for a couple of days and that the new manager would be in touch.’
‘I’ll get onto that right away.’ She picked up a stained coaster from the nearest table. ‘It could do with a little freshening.’
‘
Freshen away. Just don’t do anything drastic.’
She raised her brow at him and he didn’t like the cunning in her smile.
He glanced at his watch. He needed to get back to the office before Sarah thought he’d run out for ever. But he didn’t want to leave this woman alone in the club. Not yet. He needed to get to know her a little. He was used to reading people. It was part of his job. Not only did he have to understand the law and be able to apply it, but he had to understand people as well—understand the motivations, desires and reasons behind drastic action. But he’d yet to get a handle on her. She seemed a contradiction. Edgy on top, eager underneath. ‘I have to get back to the office to grab some files.’
‘Files?’
‘I thought I’d catch up on work here while you start to get things sorted. Be here to answer any questions you may have.’
‘I thought you didn’t know anything about running a club.’
‘I’m a good guesser.’
Lucy stood firm and stared down her new employer—again. He didn’t trust her.
‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘Go get them. I’ll chase up the bar staff.’
He hesitated.
She gave him a withering glance. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to hock off all the furnishings in the half-hour you’ll be gone.’
The thing was, he seemed to think she actually might do just that. She couldn’t for the life of her think why he’d just employed her. Not when it was so obvious he thought she was a flake. It must have been a spontaneous decision and one he was already regretting. She could see it a mile off. He didn’t even want to leave her in the club on her own for five minutes for fear she’d what—run off with the remainder of the stock?
She felt annoyed. Really annoyed.
OK, so she’d never held a job for more than three months. That wasn’t because she wasn’t a good worker. It had always, always been her decision to leave. Usually because she was bored. Because there was somewhere else she thought she wanted to be. And, OK, she mouthed off a bit. Sometimes. Most of the time. Like always. That way she could keep people at bay. Keep their expectations low. Keep herself protected.
She eyeballed him. Damn his judgments. He could stand there in his immaculate suit with his immaculate face that she was not noticing; he could stand there and just watch her.
He didn’t think she could do this. Well, screw him. And that, she conceded, was the problem. She wanted to. Lust like you wouldn’t believe. She wanted to strip him, lay him bare and watch the frozen look go up in flames. Utter foolishness. Lucy had learned long ago to at least try to put the brakes on foolish notions.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. ‘Call me if there’s any problem. I’ll lock the door behind me on the way out.’
She reached out, the casualness of her gesture totally undermined by the intensity of their sparring stares. Again, she had to look away first. It was like staring into the eyes of a lion—and she couldn’t help feeling he was capable of the kill. She watched him leave. Listened to his sure steps heading down. Waited for the sound of the door closing firmly behind him. Then she expelled the breath she’d been holding onto for what felt like hours.
This was huge. Huge. How on earth was she going to pull it off?
She needed help. She flipped out her mobile, wincing at the single bar left on the battery indicator. Knowing she’d already IOU-ed the pre-pay provider and had about thirty seconds’ worth of time left. She pressed the number and hoped for the best. Fortunately Emma picked up straight away. ‘It’s me. I need your help. Phone me back on this number, will you?’ She rattled off the number, thankful her sister had scarily good mental recall.
A minute later the phone in the club rang.
‘Lucy, is everything OK?’
‘Yep. Actually things are great. I got a job.’
‘Another one? Where are you now?’
‘Wellington.’
‘What happened to Nelson? I thought you liked it there.’
‘Oh. All those hours of sunshine. I started to go crazy.’
Emma’s laugh floated down the line. ‘Stir crazy, huh, Luce. When are you going to stick at something longer than a few weeks?’
‘When it rains men. This is a big job though—bar manager.’
‘Really? Fab. What do you need me for?’
‘I’ve got to get up to speed with the stock management systems and pay rolling and spreadsheets, Emma. Spreadsheets.’ She hated the things.
Emma laughed. ‘What systems are they using?’
Lucy looked at the computer and read out the programs on the desktop.
‘Piece of cake, Luce, you’ll crack them in no time,’ Emma encouraged. ‘Look, I’ve a spare laptop. I’ll load the software on and send the guide with it by courier tomorrow.’
‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Lucy gave her the club address. ‘Controlling the ordering out front is no problem, it’s the backroom stuff I need the handle on.’
‘Good Lord, Luce. You know what?’
‘What?’
‘You sound motivated. Actually motivated.’
Lucy stared at Daniel Graydon’s business card. ‘I guess I am. I’m going to nail this job, Emma.’ Because it was the last thing he expected. Three weeks was time enough to prove a point. She wouldn’t just do the job, she’d shine. And once she had? Why, then she’d have a holiday.
‘Good for you.’
She hung up, buoyed by the brief conversation. She walked back into the bar and stood in the middle—surveying her new domain. The club was up one flight of stairs, darkened windows overlooking the busy downtown street. A large pool table stood in one corner. Cosy nooks and comfy seating scattered around the edges, a small dance floor on one side of the bar with the DJ stand on the far wall. The space was small, intimate. It was made for selected entrants. It should be exclusive. Hip. She’d target the young, urban, wealthy—fashion designers, media lovies, movie technicians—and mingle them with the up-and-coming darlings of the political and judicial worlds. Wellington—New Zealand’s city of power and privilege, flavoured with a touch of Hollywood.
And cool. Undeniably cool. Lucy understood the power of cool. Not that she was, but she could fake it as well as the rest of them. She could spot a trend. She’d suggested themes and altered décor a little in many of the bars and hotel restaurants she’d worked at over the years—and been successful.
Back in the little office she rooted amongst the chaotic paperwork for a list of staff details and started dialling. An hour later and she’d contacted all but one of them. A couple had already found other work, thinking the club was to be closed for a while, but the others were keen to get back to it. It meant she was short, though—and missing a doorman. But she could work long hours to cover the gap and she knew of the perfect bouncer. She might have been out of town for a year but she had some old friends she knew she could call on. She’d do all the calling necessary to make this work.
Her new employer provided premium incentive. For whatever reason—probably desperation—he’d offered her the chance. More to the point he’d laid down a challenge. Now it was up to her. And her appreciation of his stud factor was going to have to take a back seat to her proving him wrong.
CHAPTER THREE
You find putting things in order satisfying
‘PULL together the files on the Simmons case, will you?’ Daniel watched as Sarah, his junior, jerked up from contemplating her computer screen.
‘I’m going to work off site for a few hours. Maybe a few days.’ He could keep an eye on what was happening down at the club—just to be sure Lucy was going to be able to do the job she said she could.
‘Off site?’ Sarah echoed in disbelief. ‘As in not in your office?’
He grimaced, her incredulity hitting a nerve. So he spent long hours in his office. Month after month he racked up the most billable hours in the firm. On top of that he did his pro bono work. Then he tutored and guest lectured at the university—they were nagging hi
m to join the faculty full-time. He achieved—at a cost. The price was long days, every weekend. But he’d made the decision years ago to dedicate his energy to his career.
Sarah gathered the relevant documents while he ensured his laptop had the data necessary. He could always download more remotely if he had to.
‘Are you needing me to come with you?’ Sarah looked right into his face. He had the suspicion those brown eyes of hers were offering a little more than her legal services. He grimaced again. No. Daniel never needed a woman. He might want one, in which case he’d have her, and then he’d move on, certainly never stopping to develop anything resembling a relationship. His parents had pointedly proved there was no such thing as for ever. No such thing as dependability or reliability. So Daniel had chosen career. He was focused and loving it.
He shook his head at Sarah. ‘I can email you with any requests I may have.’
Early evening he climbed the stairs to the club, with an increasing sense of trepidation. She appeared at the top before he’d hit halfway. The hint of anxiety tightening her face faded as she saw it was him.
He raised his brows. ‘Everything OK?’
She nodded. ‘Staff are all organised and I’m just starting the clean-up.’
‘You want a hand with that?’
She looked amazed.
He clarified. ‘You could call in one of the bartenders to help you.’
‘No. It’s not that big a job and if I do it myself then I know it’s done and I know exactly what’s there and where it is.’
He heaved his bag onto the corner of the bar. It landed with a thud. ‘A good manager delegates.’
‘A good manager leads by example and is capable of doing everything herself that she asks her staff to do.’
Mistress Under Contract Page 2
