His Secretary's Nine-Month Notice (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Cathy Williams

  Violet could feel her skin burning. Had she really been that obvious? Or had the man noticed and retained every small, passing, barely audible remark she had made about some of his life choices? She thought she’d always been so careful, but clearly she hadn’t been nearly as careful as that.

  ‘I... My father...isn’t well...’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Violet. Serious? How old is he?’

  There was genuine sympathy in his voice, and something inside her weakened. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing, but right now she wanted nothing more than to spill her heart out to the man sitting opposite her with his head tilted to one side, his deep-blue eyes speculative and thoughtful.

  ‘How old is he?’ she repeated briskly. ‘Young. Not yet sixty.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘It’s not really relevant, Matt.’ Violet shrugged, ignoring the temptation to say more than she knew she should. Her privacy was so important to her, so much an ingrained trait, that it was almost impossible to shed even when she wanted to.

  It was a habit born from circumstance. Life on the move had put paid to friendships. How easy was it ever to formulate firm bonds with people you met in passing? Especially when you were young, too young to think ahead to the bigger picture. And of course, by the time life had become more settled, that habit had taken root, and those roots ran very deep indeed.

  ‘Of course it’s relevant,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re upset.’

  ‘And you’re imagining things.’

  ‘You don’t have to put on a brave front all the time,’ was his response, and she bristled, not liking the way he seemed to be circling her, making her feel lost and vulnerable. ‘Talk to me. You’ve handed in your notice. I think it’s fair to say that I deserve more of an explanation than “thank you for the opportunity to work for you. I’ve enjoyed my experience at your company, however, I feel that it’s time to move on...”’

  Of course he did. Violet realised that somewhere, deep down, she would have been disappointed if he had accepted her letter of resignation with a philosophical shrug of those broad shoulders, no questions asked.

  She’d worked for him and alongside him for two-and-a-half years and, yes, she had gradually come to see she knew him in ways far deeper than any of the women he went out with. She knew his idiosyncrasies, his quirks. And he, it would appear, knew her far better than she had ever imagined. It was unsettling, to say the least.

  Besides, nothing he could say would change her decision, so where was the harm in a little confiding? She would leave his company and leave him behind and, if he had glimpsed that private side to her, then it wasn’t as if afterwards she would be facing him day after day, having to deal with his renewed curiosity in some awful Groundhog Day loop.

  ‘My father lives on the other side of the world,’ she began, frowning, getting her thoughts in order. ‘Australia, to be precise.’

  ‘How long as he been there? Where in Australia?’

  ‘Melbourne. He’s been there for...nearly six years. He went after... Well, he remarried. My mother died when I was young.’ She chewed her lip and looked away and Matt didn’t say anything. He hated crying women. Just something else she knew about him—and she did her utmost to make sure she didn’t give in to the wave of maudlin despondency threatening to ambush all her good intentions.

  ‘Take your time. I’m in no hurry.’

  ‘Sure you want this kind of conversation?’ Violet lightened her tone, but when their eyes met there was no responding teasing in his. He looked deadly serious.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because you don’t do long, intense conversations with women. I think that’s something you’ve shared with me in the past.’

  ‘How well you know me,’ Matt murmured, with a certain amount of amusement. ‘You’re not one of my women, though, are you? So it’s fair to say that normal rules of engagement don’t apply.’

  Not one of his women...

  Violet felt a sharp pang somewhere deep inside her, a sharp and utterly inappropriate pang. Thank goodness she wasn’t ‘one of his women,’ she told herself. Knowing him as well as she did, that would have been a recipe for heartbreak, because he represented everything she didn’t want in a guy and would never want.

  She might have been a sucker for those sinful, dark looks—who wouldn’t be?—but she was way too sensible to go any further down that dangerous road of attraction.

  She shrugged, expression veiled. To kill time and get her thoughts in order, she offered him a top up on the coffee and, when he politely declined, she reluctantly suggested a glass of wine, which he accepted with alacrity.

  ‘So, you were telling me about your father...the one you’ve avoided mentioning for the past two-and-a-half years...who lives in Melbourne, a place I know well.’

  ‘He’s had problems with his liver, which he’s coped with well enough, but my stepmother died six months ago, and ever since then he’s been getting more and more depressed,’ Violet said abruptly. She needed a bit of wine as well, and she poured herself a glass before sitting back down. ‘He visited for two weeks a couple of months ago and he tried to put a brave face on things, but I could see through that.’

  ‘Liver problems... Drinker?’

  Violet reddened. Of course, he would ask questions.

  ‘He used to be, but as you know, drink is always the devil waiting in the wings when it comes to ex...ex...’

  ‘Alcoholics?’

  She nodded brusquely and looked away. ‘Depression is his enemy and I’m very much afraid that, left to his own devices, he may find that devil on his shoulder just a little bit too tempting.’

  ‘He’s still in Melbourne?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he move back over here?’ Matt looked around the bijou mews house and Violet could see what he was thinking without him having to spell it out.

  The house might not be a mansion, but it was big enough for two. It was certainly worth a lot of money and could easily be sold and something bigger purchased in a less flashy postcode.

  ‘Money issues?’

  ‘If there were money issues I wouldn’t be living in a place like this.’

  ‘Which brings me to the question I’ve been meaning to ask since I walked through your front door...’ He paused for a heartbeat, then continued with more urgency in his voice. ‘I don’t give a damn how you’re managing to afford the rent on a place like this. Maybe you have a thing for small, expensive houses and would rather sacrifice your monthly pay cheque renting one of them than throwing your hard-earned cash away on holidays, fast cars and designer clothes. Your business. Bottom line is, if you can’t afford to support your father if he returns here, then say the word.’

  ‘Holidays, fast cars and designer clothes?’ Violet parroted faintly, wondering if he was actually talking about her.

  ‘You know where I’m going with this. If it’s money you’re after, then I’m prepared to throw as much as you need your way. We can call it a loan with zero interest rate.’ He raked his fingers through his hair and stared at her. ‘I never thought I’d beg for any woman.’ He shot her a crooked smile that did all the wrong things to her nervous system. ‘But I’m big enough to concede that there’s always a first time for everything.’ This time his expression was serious. ‘No one has ever worked so well with me before. You understand how I think and you don’t go into a tailspin if I get too close to you.’

  Violet knew that there was a huge compliment in there somewhere, but all she could think about was you don’t go into a tailspin if I get too close to you. He could say that with certainty because the unspoken rider was that they both knew he could never find her attractive, so why would she be affected by him the way other, more suitably blonde and busty women might be?

  Gossip over the years had informed her that the only PA who had ev
er stuck it out with him—and she had stuck it out for a lifetime—had been a sixty-year-old married grandmother who had taken early retirement, leaving him in the lurch three years previously. Before Violet had come along, the vacant spot had been filled by an unsatisfactory procession of attractive potentials because, one of the girls in Accounts had confided after a couple of after-work drinks, he’d decided he liked a bit of eye candy.

  ‘Not very PC,’ Violet had responded, and Amelia had burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh, Matt wouldn’t even be aware of it! No, that’s just the conclusion we all reached after a while. Problem is, he’s a hunk, and girls go into a tizzy when he’s around. Even bigger problem is that he really doesn’t get it. Which is why he’s kept making the same mistake over and over.’

  Until me, Violet had thought.

  ‘I’m very flattered,’ she said now, banking down all negative thoughts about her appearance. ‘But it’s nothing to do with the money.’

  Violet sighed and resigned herself to the fact that he would be shocked at a past she had always kept to herself. She stood up, opened one of the drawers and pulled out a photo album, which she handed to him, because in this case, pictures would speak so much more clearly than words.

  He opened it. Flicked through the pages. Sat up just a little bit straighter and flicked through the pages again, more slowly, inspecting each and every one. Then he looked at her with astonishment.

  ‘Your father is Mickey Dunn?’

  ‘Real name Victor. I’m surprised you’ve heard of him.’

  ‘Who hasn’t? Burnt out young. Drink and drugs.’

  ‘Stop looking at me like that,’ Violet said irritably. She drained her glass and felt the buzz of alcohol race to her head. She barely drank. A legacy from being around people who did very little but.

  ‘I would never have guessed that you were the daughter of a hellraiser like Mickey Dunn,’ Matt murmured, unashamedly curious. He glanced round the kitchen as though seeing it for the first time. ‘That explains this place,’ he said slowly. ‘And all the while, I thought you were saving hard to buy somewhere, being careful with what you earned, avoiding holidays like the plague because a mortgage was more important. And then I figured you were renting. Presumably, you own the place lock, stock and smoking barrels?’

  ‘I never lied to you,’ Violet said defensively, and he just looked at her with the sort of shuttered expression that made her feel as though she had, somehow, deliberately deceived him, which of course she hadn’t.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, in a voice as smooth as silk. There was a coldness there that went to the very core of her, making her realise how used to his teasing she had become, to the warmth of those fabulous deep-blue eyes, to the respect that was always there whenever he addressed her.

  Things she had taken for granted and, although it hardly mattered now what he thought of her, it was just too painful not to try to justify herself, to set the record straight, even though there was no need.

  ‘My father bought this place for me before he left for Australia. He didn’t like to think that I might be staying anywhere...dangerous. I always made it clear that I didn’t want any money from him but he dug his heels in.’ She smiled. ‘You’d think he would have been a lot more relaxed about stuff like that, considering his misspent youth, but he wasn’t.’

  She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘My mum died when I was eight. In a motorcycle accident. My dad was driving and he never really recovered from the fact that she was pillion, even though he hadn’t been drinking. Just skidded. Wet night... Took a corner too fast.’

  ‘Where were you at the time?’

  ‘At home. Home was a hotel room in... I can’t even remember which country. Abroad. Paid babysitter. They partied hard but, when mum was alive, weirdly not as often as you’d think. Sometimes they took me but usually they were good at making sure that someone responsible was looking after me. I remember I woke up in the morning and nothing was the same after that. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the life of a rock star made him go off the rails completely. He lost himself in drink and drugs, even though he carried on doing his best for me. It was just that sometimes his best was a little...erratic.’ She felt the tears welling up but she didn’t dare make eye contact with her boss, just in case.

  ‘He played music, and had his adoring fans, and we travelled the world, but I saw him when he was on his own. I saw the sadness. Eventually, of course, the band stopped touring, and for a while my dad wrote music for other people. By then, he was in and out of rehab and I had long become his carer. Of sorts.’

  ‘His carer...’

  ‘These things happen.’ She shrugged. Thankfully, that moment of wanting to burst into tears had gone, and she was back in control now. The past was the past and she had come to terms with it a long time ago. She might not have had a normal childhood, but it had been colourful, and whatever the distractions, her dad had always been there for her. In his own way.

  ‘So...’ She began the process of winding up the conversation. She had said far more than she had anticipated and was thinking that it was just as well that their time together was numbered. Matt Falconer recognised no boundaries when it came to digging deep, and her story would have stoked his curiosity, no doubt about that. His spade would be at the ready, and she quailed at the thought of what her life would have been like if she’d carried on working for him indefinitely.

  ‘My plan is to rent this place out and go to Australia for a while to be with my dad. He doesn’t want to return to London to live. He enjoys Melbourne and he’s made friends over there. He likes the weather and the laid-back lifestyle. But I need to make sure that he’s okay while he goes through this temporary blip.’

  She waited for him to say something, but he was worryingly silent.

  ‘It would have been different if Caroline, my stepmother, was still around.’

  Silence.

  ‘He’s on the waiting list for a liver transplant, if you must know.’

  Way too much confiding, Violet thought, angry with herself.

  ‘He met her when he was in rehab. She was a member of staff there.’

  She clicked her tongue impatiently and wondered whether she would just keep babbling into the silence until every thought she had and every feeling she’d ever felt had been laid bare. This wasn’t like her at all. This wasn’t the cool, private, detached Violet Dunn he was accustomed to.

  ‘Are you just going to sit there, Matt?’ she found herself compelled to snap.

  ‘You were his carer...’ Matt repeated, still pensive and still staring at her in the sort of intense, focused way that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. ‘Something must have been sacrificed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The way it usually works,’ he said slowly, as if piecing together a complex problem that could only be solved through a series of careful stages, ‘is the carer gives something up. Am I right? I’m guessing your education would have been erratic, to say the least, which incidentally says a lot about the fact that you still managed to attain so many qualifications. You must have burnt the midnight oil as a teenager.’

  Violet’s mouth tightened. If only he knew the extent of the role reversal that had characterised her life! She had not really given it a second thought, growing up, but she had often looked back over the years and gazed at the adolescent who had stayed at home, head in a book, while her dad had been out getting drunk, doing drugs and staggering back in to flop in a heap on the sofa. She had been the one admonishing him about late nights and preaching about the dangers of drugs. She had made sure he took his vitamins and had his five a day whenever possible. By the time the touring had come to an end and the rehab visits had started, she had been very much used to running the household.

  So had she given things up?

  Had she ever! And top o
f the list was the carefree, reckless joy of adolescence.

  ‘I enjoyed studying,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s time you left. You asked me to explain why I had to resign and I have.’

  ‘I’m not ready to go.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’re not ready to go?’

  ‘I’ve spent two-and-a-half years wondering what made my überefficient secretary tick...’ He leant back in the chair and looked at her from under lowered lashes. ‘You’ll have to excuse my curiosity. Also, I’m still in the game of trying to get you to change your mind. Likewise, you’ll have to excuse my persistence.’

  ‘Can we talk about this in the morning?’ she asked wearily.

  ‘You mean when you’re in your prim little suit, sitting behind your desk with your professional hat firmly flattened on your head? I think I prefer this slightly less formal Violet Dunn.’

  ‘I don’t care what you prefer!’

  ‘I’ve just taken on two start-up software companies and one of them happens to be in Melbourne. Small start-up in the city. Did you know Melbourne is right up there when it comes to density of small businesses? Getting a foothold there is a coup for me. Lots of promise there and I’m going to nurture this baby. I feel this goose might lay a few golden eggs with the right backing, expertise and encouragement.’

  ‘What does this have to do with me?’ Violet queried, standing up and hovering when he didn’t automatically follow suit. She dimly recalled those two companies, because the very young directors in search of investment had been brought over to discuss details, and they had been full of it.

  She walked to the kitchen door and rested her hand lightly on the doorknob.

  ‘You need routine,’ Matt said in a soothing voice that made her grit her teeth together in exasperation. How was it that he could manage to make something as laudable as needing routine sound like a dismal admission of failure?