by Ellen March
“Really?” A cheeky smile tugged at Paul’s lips, and he wished Roman wasn’t heterosexual. He was utterly divine and had a body to die for. But unfortunately, Paul was just the gardener and Roman the boss. He guessed trying to shag him was out of the question unless he wanted to be out of a job.
“Wonder what my new secretary will look like,” Roman mused with a wink. It was all he’d been thinking about for the last few hours. He felt like a child at Christmas waiting for his presents.
“With Antonia as the interviewer, she’s got to be as ugly as sin. You were insane to leave that task up to her,” Paul said as he checked his spiky hair in the reflection of the window. His perfectly manicured nails dug into his peroxide blond hair, flicking it up. “But I think we’ll soon find out. Looks like that’s the limo arriving.” He turned to the CCTV camera focused on the car driving slowly through the tall wrought-iron gates.
* * *
Sally peered out of the tinted window as the large gates swung back and the limo rolled up a long, gravel drive. It came to a halt before an enormous stone mansion. Mullioned windows glinted in the sunshine and a mass of cool green ivy draped over the pale grey stonework. Sally’s eyes widened in shock. Hell, it might as well be on a different planet from her flat. She’d seen some nice properties in her time—usually in the magazines she pored over—but Christ, this was something else. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine a place like this. Cool, hot, and oh so expensive.
The journey hadn’t been smooth.
Leaving the metropolis of London, they had zoomed down the motorway. Soon the limo had swung off onto the narrow, twisting lanes of the countryside. It was there that Sally had spilled her drinks.
Twice.
She gave up after the third drink, when the interconnecting window slid down and the driver pleaded with her. He couldn’t bear to watch the carnage going on in the back of his car any longer.
Dreading to look at the mess of sticky coke and orangeade, he wished she had opted for alcohol instead. It was always easier to clean up.
The door opened and Sally stepped out into the sunshine, staring straight ahead. The driver gave her a silent glance of contempt as he pulled her tattered holdall out of the boot. He threw it at her feet and glared at her scuffed trainers and the rest of her in open disgust.
She was debating whether to thank him or tell him to piss off when the front door swung open.
She gazed up at the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life.
He wore a pair of pale blue jeans snugly moulded to slim hips. A tight fitting T-shirt that barely covered his upper body revealed an expanse of undulating muscles. Peering through her glasses, she could just make out the colour of his eyes. They were a rich, melted hot chocolate, and with a deep sigh she wondered who he was. He certainly didn’t look a regular butler, that was for sure.
Roman stared at the woman standing in front of him, wondering what the hell she was doing there, or more to the point, who she was. She looked like a refugee from some impoverished East European country, and he wondered if she even spoke English. Her mismatched clothing hung on her body. A skein of long hair wrapped and spun around her head in a style he’d never seen. At least not since watching the History Channel. He turned in open-mouthed astonishment at Paul, who had come to a halt beside him. He was staring at her with unabashed curiosity.
“Can I help you?” he asked once he realized that the limo had deposited her at his house and was now disappearing down the drive.
“I’m Roman’s new secretary,” stated Sally with more conviction than she felt. She peered with curiosity at the two men before her. They reminded her of night and day. One dark, the other white blond.
“You’re what?” snorted Roman, dumbfounded. He realized that Antonia was possessive, but Christ, this was taking it to extremes. He continued to stare at the tall blonde, who looked like an extra from a budget movie version of Heidi.
Moving forward, Sally held out her hand at the same moment the two German shepherds bounded around the house and straight into her path. She tripped over one and landed on the other with a loud whoosh. Shit!
Roman shut his eyes for a brief second as he listened to the yelps and shouts. Slowly, almost afraid to open his eyelids, he stared at the dogs.
They were placidly licking the strange woman’s face and hands whilst she fondled their ears, laughing at their antics. She was still lying flat on her back.
Paul stood beside Roman, staring in disbelief. The dogs were aggressive, unpredictable, and loyal only to their master. And they were rolling on the floor with a stranger? He was beginning to wonder if she had some magical qualities. She could certainly pass for a witch. He was convinced she’d cast a spell over his dogs. Aggressive with any stranger and yet docile as lambs with her? Something wasn’t right.
“I don’t know what I find the biggest shock. Your new secretary on her back, or her rapport with the hounds from hell,” said Paul as he slapped Roman’s shoulder.
Roman felt shell-shocked. All day he’d looked forward to getting his new secretary on her back, but this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He swore Antonia was going to regret her latest stunt.
Chapter Three
At last Sally managed to untangle herself from the dogs. She struggled to her feet and saw the shock on the faces of the two men. Oblivious to the dog hair sticking to her clothes, she rubbed the saliva off her hand against her baggy track suit bottoms. She wished, more fervently than ever, that she was beautiful.
She felt a painful ache deep down in her stomach, only too aware that the dark-haired man wouldn’t look twice at her. No one did unless it was to do a double-take at something she was wearing or some destruction she had caused.
“Nice to meet you …?” said the blond man. He tilted his head slowly, scrutinising her, but he didn’t move towards her. His pale blue eyes were fixed on the two dogs that sat on either side of her, leaning comfortable against her legs while she scratched behind their ears.
“I’m Sally.” With a hesitant smile, she took a step forward to shake the blond man’s hand, unsure why he appeared so nervous almost to the point of fright. She’d never had that effect before. “It’s Sally Friday.”
“Er, if you don’t mind, can you leave those behind?” He gestured to the dogs.
“Why?” she asked, a frown line of confusion crossing her forehead. Why would anyone dislike them?
“They’re guard dogs,” said Roman, now wishing he’d gone to the interview instead of getting carried away with his dick. His mind was already racing ahead to how he could get rid of her.
She burst out laughing and Roman stared in horror at the braces she wore, glinting in the morning light. He was definitely going to have it out with Antonia when she arrived. He still couldn’t believe she’d sent him this abomination of a woman.
“Not very good at their job, are they?” Sally said, her fingers grazing their ears and playing with the softness.
“Generally they are very good.” He shot the traitorous dogs a reproving look. He didn’t like this woman’s attitude, and for some unknown reason he felt his own hackles rise.
“Well, anyway, as you know, I’m Roman’s secretary. And you two are?” She stooped to retrieve her battered holdall and held it in front of her.
“I’m Paul the handyman-cum-gardener.” Paul introduced himself, relieved that the dogs had at last moved and were lying in the shade. “And trust me, I can be very handy.” He gave her a cheeky wink. “But don’t worry, love, I bat for the other side.”
“Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand and felt the softness of his skin. He must wear gloves, she thought. “And don’t worry; I’m not bothered by your sexual preferences as long as they don’t include me.” A loud raucous laugh at her own joke erupted from her mouth, her cackle breeching the silence. Neither of them laughed, and it was clear her joke had gone over their heads.
Turning to the tall, dark-haired man, she raised one eyebrow. “And let m
e guess, you’re either the cook or …. hmm.” She chewed on a broken nail, an idea registering. “Ah, I’ve got it. You’re a couple!” she cried, pointing at them and trying not to sound disappointed.
Even if he wasn’t gay, he was still out of reach for the likes of her.
Paul’s eyes crinkled with laughter, his pale face bright red as he hugged his stomach in glee.
Roman glared down at her. He’d been called a lot of things in his life, but never gay. “As a matter of fact,” the words blasted out on a stream of iciness, “I’m your boss, Roman Daniels.” He waited for the grovelling apology that would inevitably follow.
“Really?” She took the news in stride. “Well, I’d better get my things indoors. Don’t suppose you know where my room is?” Her arm ached from clutching the holdall and she drummed her fingers against her thigh, waiting.
Roman paused, wondering if he’d heard right, and shook his head. He was used to women falling all over themselves to get his attention yet this sorry excuse for a female didn’t bat an eyelash. “As this is my house, I’m sure I can find it. Come on, follow me.” Turning, he led the way inside.
Sally ambled behind, her gaze hooked around the huge hall with a mosaic tiled floor and sparkling chandelier. The crystals sent out a myriad of effervescent lights dancing on the high, domed ceiling. A rich burnished table took centre stage, adorned with a large vase of freshly cut flowers. The air smelled of beeswax and jasmine.
Sally pulled on her holdall, throwing it over her shoulder, and closed her eyes when she heard the crash.
Roman turned and raised his eyebrows at the broken figurine shattered on the floor, then studied his new secretary’s face. Her eyes remained shut tight.
“Oh my goodness. I-I’m so sorry,” she stuttered, at last opening her eyes and peering down at the mess.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Do me a favour, Paul, can you clean this up while I take her to her room?” Roman didn’t bothering to refer to his new secretary by name. She wouldn’t be staying long enough to be on first name terms.
“Was it expensive?” she felt compelled to ask. It was like peeking ahead to the ending of a good book; she was desperate to know even though she realized that knowing might spoil everything.
“Just ten,” he said, walking ahead.
“Oh, thank goodness. I’m so glad it didn’t cost much.” She breathed with relief, thinking that a tenner didn’t matter, yet she was surprised the figurine cost so little.
“Ten thousand,” he said for clarification, with a brief look down into her darkened glasses. Spinning around, he strode towards the double doors leading to the stairs. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
Sally cringed at the price he was so flippant about. It appeared money was no object to him. She walked behind him up the stairs, dragging her holdall. She’d noticed he hadn’t offered to carry it.
He may be rich and good looking, she thought, her heated gaze stabbing into his back, but he was at the end of the queue when it came to giving out manners.
She scanned the pictures adorning the walls and wondered if they were originals. She recognized three by Lowry, with his familiar industrial themes. The typical dark matchstick figures stark against a backdrop of factories and terraced houses. Sally loved art with a passion, and as she wandered past these paintings, she saw that they were genuine. She made a mental note to steer clear of them.
“This is your room.” Roman tried not to swear as she cannoned into his back. He wondered what her problem was, because so far she was a walking disaster.
“Sorry,” she muttered, staring up into his dark eyes. A girl could drown in their depths, she thought, more than aware she wouldn’t be invited in, even for a paddle.
He took the handle and swung open the door.
With cautious steps, she edged forward and was stunned at the size of it. This one single room was bigger than her entire flat.
“Wow. This is something else.” She eyed the huge four poster bed covered with a mantle of gold and chocolate brown. A large window took centre piece. A swathe of curtains dropped over it, the deep russet stark against the pale of the room. Another huge picture, this one a Tom Thompson copy, filled the wall. The Jack Pines, a vision of blocked artwork in sync with the room.
“I’m sorry there’s no en suite, but the bathroom is only next door,” he said, indicating with his head. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Once you’re ready, come downstairs and I can show you the rest of the house.”
Sally didn’t reply, still in shock at her opulent surroundings. Without speaking, she slammed the door shut. Hearing him yell, she realized too late that he hadn’t moved. The door had hit him squarely in the face. She opened it slowly and cringed in horror at the blood spurting from his nose.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” She moved towards him.
Roman held an arm out in warning. “Don’t come anywhere near me.” His voice was low and nasally as he glanced down at the blood on his hands. “I’ll sort it myself.”
“Are you sure?” Sally asked, not sure what she could do, then thought she’d already done enough. She was thankful that the bleeding didn’t seem to be all that bad.
“Positive!” he snapped. Snatching the handle, he slammed the door shut himself before she hit him again.
* * *
Paul was in the kitchen when Roman stormed in, a wad of tissue held to his nose. He looked up in surprise from the magazine he was reading. “What the hell happened to you?”
“That clumsy ox upstairs. She’s bloody dangerous,” shouted Roman, tossing the blood-soaked tissue into the nearby bin. He grabbed a fresh one from a nearby dispenser and continued to dab at his nose. “She slammed the door in my face!”
“Why, what did you do? You didn’t try coming onto to her, did you?” Paul raised his eyebrows in worry, because if he had tried to come onto her then his standard was slipping.
Roman shot him a glare. “Are you for real? Give me some credit, will you? No, she shut the door before I had a chance to move. Smack in my face.” He inspected his injury in the mirror.
“Hmm, perhaps you ought to have your reflexes tested?”
Roman narrowed his eyes further.
“Well,” Paul added quickly, “she’s a strange creature, all right. And did you hear her name?” Paul thought back to her introduction. “I mean, who has the surname ‘Friday’?”
“I didn’t catch that. But I’m beginning to wonder if this is some kind of wind up and the real one will turn up,” muttered Roman, pulling a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge. He filled a large glass.
“Do you think she can type?” Paul mused, debating whether to get back to work or stay and watch for any more disasters. Many things the girl isn’t, but she is without a doubt entertaining. And she has Roman rattled, he thought with satisfaction. He loved the fact that Roman’s customary cool arrogance appeared to be firmly buried.
“I doubt it, or at least I hope not. I can send her packing before she causes any more damage,” said Roman with a growl. “And just wait till I get my hands on that bitch Antonia.”
“Seems like it won’t be long,” said Paul. His attention switched to the small screen showing the driveway. Antonia’s gleaming black sports car cruised through, pulling up outside the house. He decided he wouldn’t leave just yet. He wanted to see the fireworks.
Antonia breezed into the kitchen, dressed in her usual immaculate style. She wore a short, tight-fitting skirt, along with a low-cut top that showed off her small cleavage to maximum effect. She flung her bag onto the breakfast bar and moved in close to Roman.
“And how is my boy today?” Her hand dropped down and covered his crotch, stroking him. She was unconcerned by Paul’s presence.
Roman didn’t move. His face resembled granite as he glared down at her, removed her hand, and dropped it with a quiet disgust. He’d had enough of this cloying bitch. She acted as if they were in a steady relationship, and she was beginning to suffocate hi
m. He’d let it go on too long, and he didn’t like her familiarity.
The sex had been too easy and convenient, but it was time to put a stop to it. He needed to make it clear that their intimate moments were now well and truly over.
Antonia ran an immaculate painted nail across her lip, a hint of worry in her gaze. “What’s wrong?” she asked with customary bluntness.
“The secretary, for one,” he said, his voice low and his temper simmering. He knew she’d picked the ugliest girl she could lay her hands on.
“Oh, is that all?” she said, breaking into relieved, tinkling laughter. For just an instant she’d thought it was something serious. “She is a little different, isn’t she?”
“Antonia, I know damn well why you picked her. And it’s not for her looks. I’ve had it up to here with your jealousy.” He slashed a hand across his neck. “From now on we have a strictly working relationship. No more sex. And if you don’t like it, then get out.”
“B-but Roman,” she stuttered. Her hand flew to her throat and her pale eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You can’t mean that. If this is just about the girl, we’ll get rid of her. Get someone else.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded high and pleading. She clutched at his arm, begging him to listen.
Roman shrugged it off. “But I do mean it. Now what’s it going be?” His words were cold and stiff. He was unmoved by her tears. He hadn’t built a multimillion pound business by being soft.
“It can’t be over between us. You love me.” She stood in front of him, eyes pleading.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” He laughed in genuine amusement.
“But you must have, after all we did together.” Antonia moved closer to him, determined to make him see sense.
“What we did together was fuck. Nothing more, nothing less. I used your body for my satisfaction as I do with any woman.” Roman was getting tired of repeating himself. First the blonde and now her. “I don’t do relationships and I categorically don’t do love. Now do you get the message?” He was yelling now, unable to understand the mentality of women.
