Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian BossTaken by Her Greek BossBlind Date With the Boss

by Kate Hardy

  And, as she climbed beneath the bedclothes, it occurred to her that she wasn’t really like Chloe at all. In her bid for independence, she’d been trying to live Chloe’s life, but now that she’d fallen helplessly in love, Sally understood that it wasn’t living in a big city or living the high life that made a person happy. Building a life together with the one special person you loved was the secret to happiness.

  But Logan had a very different vision and he was so focused on his goal that he wouldn’t recognise a chance for lifelong happiness if it kissed him on the lips.

  Or taught him to waltz.

  Logan fretted and fumed as he paced the white-carpeted length of his penthouse. If ever a man deserved a booby prize for blunders, he did. From the day he’d first seen Sally Finch he’d made stuff-up after stuff-up.

  His frantic gaze flashed to her gown, now lying where he’d flung it, a river of gold flowing over the red sofa. He pictured Sally as he’d seen her last, standing before him like an avenging angel, with her head proudly high, her eyes shooting daggers while she looked utterly divine in her wispy, barely-there underwear. Before she’d sent him packing.

  In spite of his self-loathing, Logan’s mouth twisted in a wry half smile. What spunk Sally had! He was full of admiration for her. She was gutsy and warm-hearted, loyal and kind, clever and sexy—the list could go on and on.

  In a word, she was perfect.

  And he’d rejected her out of hand.

  Tonight, she’d asked: What will you do if you fall in love with someone before the five years are up?

  And he’d told her in all seriousness: That won’t happen.

  Fool! What a simpleton he was. An idiot. An arrogant, totally unthinking moron who’d flirted with an innocent, courageous and perfect girl, and then thoughtlessly seduced her and toyed with her emotions. Had toyed, unthinkingly, with his own emotions as well.

  Realising this, Logan remembered the challenge in Sally’s eyes.

  You’ve never forgiven your father.

  At the time he’d brushed her comment aside. He’d been too tense to stop, to give her accusation any consideration. But was Sally right? Did he hold a long-term grudge against his father? Had he allowed it to sour his life? He feared Carissa would agree. And perhaps his mother would too, even though she’d borne the brunt of his father’s failure.

  Never once had his mother’s love faltered. She’d forgiven her husband for all the hardship he’d brought on her. She still adored the man she’d married.

  Logan’s throat closed over a tight knot of pain. His parents were having the most wonderful time, travelling around Australia together in their little caravan. In spite of everything, life had always been an adventure for his mother.

  Sally would see life as an adventure too. Not as an endurance test, not as one long, dangerous minefield poised to detonate beneath her feet.

  Through the plate glass window that faced the east, he saw glimmering pink threads of dawn. He thought about the sun rising and setting on his life, over and over for the next five years until he was free to throw off his chains and embrace his future.

  Carissa had reminded him that five years amounted to sixty months. It was close on two thousand days.

  A hell of a lot of dawns. Two thousand pink dawns and fiery sunsets.

  Two thousand velvet-black nights which, thanks to his foolproof five-year plan, he would spend minus Sally.

  He had a lot of thinking to do.

  The sound of knocking penetrated Sally’s sleep and she supposed she should try to wake up. She opened one eye tentatively and knew immediately that she was ill. Her head throbbed, her throat was on fire and every inch of her body ached. She was aware of sunlight blazing behind her floral curtains, but she had no idea what time it was.

  Had someone really been knocking? Perhaps she’d dreamed it. It didn’t really matter because there was no way she could get downstairs to open the door. She needed all her strength to reach for the glass on her bedside table and take a sip of water, couldn’t imagine how she would make it to the bathroom.

  As the water forced its painful way down her throat, she remembered that Logan didn’t love her. She remembered everything—his five-year plan, her anger and embarrassment, taking off the dress and flinging it at him and slamming the door. Fiery tears seeped beneath her eyelids and burned down her cheeks. She buried her head in the pillow and told herself to forget about her boss or she might never recover.

  She needed to sleep. Needed to sleep for a week.

  The next time Sally woke, the telephone was ringing downstairs. There were long shadows in the room, so she decided that it must be late afternoon. Chloe had never had the phone connected upstairs and Sally’s automatic response was to try to get out of bed to answer it, but she was hit by a wave of dizziness and sank back on to the pillows again.

  Who could be calling? She had no choice but to lie helplessly and listen to the shrill bell below, ringing on and on.

  It was dark the next time the phone woke her. She didn’t make it downstairs in time, but she went on shaky legs to the bathroom, found some aspirin and replenished her glass of water, crawled back into bed again.

  She had only just settled when her mobile phone on the bedside table rang. Blindly, she groped for it. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Sally, it’s Anna.’

  ‘Oh, Anna. Hi.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you? You sound awful.’

  ‘I’m sick. I think I must have the flu.’

  ‘Ooh, that’s terrible.’ There was a pause. ‘I was ringing to see if you’d like to come for lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘Sorry. Too sick.’

  ‘You poor thing. Do you need anything? How are you off for food?’

  ‘I don’t need anything. I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You sound as if you need looking after.’

  ‘No.’ Sally shook her head and winced when it hurt. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’d hate you to catch this.’

  ‘I must admit I wouldn’t want to give the flu to Oliver.’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right. I just need to sleep.’

  ‘Make sure you take plenty of fluids.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What a waste of a weekend, though,’ Anna said before she rang off.

  There was one distinct advantage to sleeping all weekend, Sally decided as she drifted off again. She couldn’t think too much about Logan.

  The weekend was the most frustrating Logan had ever known. As far as he could tell, Sally had gone away for the entire two days, leaving him to endure hours and hours and hours in gloomy solitude.

  But if he thought the weekend was bad, Monday morning was worse. It began with Sally’s conspicuous absence from the front desk and went rapidly downhill from there.

  Everyone at Blackcorp had either seen him dancing with Diana Devenish on television, or had heard about it, and he was showered with congratulations and questions, especially about Sally’s involvement. Logan did his best to defend Sally and his choice of her as his dancing instructor, but it was all rather embarrassing and difficult.

  Coming on top of Maria Paige’s departure, the possibility that he and Sally might be in a relationship would send the gossips at the water-cooler into a total frenzy.

  Of course, everyone expected him to know why Sally wasn’t at work today. He had no idea, but her absence worried him. Really worried him.

  He was in Janet Keaton’s office, where he was firming up strategies for securing Maria’s replacement, when he learned that Sally had phoned in sick.

  ‘Sick?’ The possibility had never occurred to Logan. He needed to loosen his shirt collar, which was suddenly way too tight. Sweat broke out on his brow. Was Sally honestly sick? Or was she avoiding him?

  ‘When did this happen?’ he asked Janet.

  ‘Sally’s been sick all weekend, apparently. With the flu.’

  He couldn’t bear to think that was true. He’d spent hours over the weekend staring at the drawn curtains over Sally
’s windows. Surely she hadn’t been lying inside the house all that time?

  ‘I thought you must have known,’ Janet said. ‘Sally spent Friday night at the Hospital Ball with you, didn’t she?’

  ‘She did.’ Logan frowned. ‘And she was perfectly well then.’

  ‘I’ve heard on the grapevine that she taught you to waltz.’

  Logan’s response was a distracted nod. He was picturing Sally, lying helpless and alone in that house, behind those drawn curtains, all weekend, too ill to answer the door or come to the phone. The poor girl.

  He charged out of the office.

  ‘Logan,’ Janet called after him, ‘don’t run off just yet. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

  An annoyed sigh escaped him and he hovered in the doorway, one impatient hand on the frame, ready to launch out of there. ‘What is it?’

  With infuriating calm, Janet left her chair and came to stand next to him. Arms folded comfortably, she slid him a shrewd sideways glance. ‘Am I right in guessing that my blind date strategy grew into something bigger?’

  ‘What blind date? What are you talking about?’

  ‘At the team-building workshop. When I paired you with Sally.’

  Puzzled, he shook his head. So much had happened since that workshop, he’d almost forgotten it. But it was the first occasion he and Sally had spent time together. He’d told her then that he couldn’t dance and everything else had unfolded from there.

  If they hadn’t been paired off, none of the rest would have happened. He’d be free of this torment now. But he would have missed the joy of knowing Sally, the bliss of making love to her.

  Janet’s eyes lost their amused sparkle. In all seriousness, she said, ‘I knew you and Sally would be good for each other.’

  Logan’s chest squeezed so tightly it hurt him to breathe. ‘How did you work that out?’

  ‘I’ve seen your personality profiles.’ Janet spoke as if the answer was obvious. ‘Sally’s an extroverted feeling type, which means she’s tactful, friendly, but a little too sensitive. And you’re an introverted thinker. You’re logical and organised, but disinclined to trust your instincts.’

  Instincts?

  His instincts had been leading him a merry dance ever since that first time he’d met Sally after the baby had crawled under his desk.

  Logan shook his head. ‘What’s the point of these personality profiles? What do they prove?’

  ‘That you and Sally complement each other perfectly.’

  To his surprise, Logan found this idea incredibly cheering and he realised suddenly that he was grinning. Quickly, he looked away, making an embarrassed, throat-clearing sound. ‘Right…well…er…I know there are other matters we need to discuss, Janet, but I’m afraid we’ll have to deal with them later.’

  Without looking back to see her reaction, Logan hurried away.

  Sally could hear noises coming from downstairs in the kitchen.

  She sat up quickly, clutching at the bed sheets and pulling them up to her chin as she listened to footsteps on the tiles, a cupboard door squeaking on its hinge and something banging against a pot. Her heart began a frantic canter. She had been feeling much stronger this morning. She’d had a bath and washed her hair and put fresh linen on her bed, but she was still too feeble to deal with an intruder.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Her cry was so weak she was quite sure it wouldn’t carry all the way downstairs. Perhaps, if she remained very quiet, the burglar would help himself to whatever he wanted and leave.

  No. That wasn’t going to happen. The footsteps were coming up the stairs. Oh, help!

  She scanned her bedroom quickly, wondering what on earth she could use as a weapon. She’d intended to go to self-defence classes when she came to Sydney, but she hadn’t got around to it yet. Memories of that night with Kyle Francis at the ball filled her head. Those vile masculine hands constraining her, that brutish, repugnant body forcing her down…

  Could she escape? Hide under the bed?

  ‘Sally, don’t be frightened. It’s only me.’

  That was Logan’s voice.

  Was it really him? Her heart took off like a rocket. How could Logan be here? She felt too shocked to respond. Her hands flew to her hair. She looked terrible! Logan mustn’t see her like this.

  But it was too late to get tidy—he was already in her bedroom doorway. And, despite her misery over everything that had happened between them, she feasted her eyes on him and felt a rush of mad joy, swiftly followed by a cold splash of sanity. And then an ache that settled in the hollow around her heart.

  Logan was dressed for work in his usual dark business suit, but there were dusty white smudges on his jacket sleeves and his trousers. His shirt collar was undone and the knot of his tie was skewed to a rakish angle, making him look less like a businessman and more like a film star. A terribly worried film star.

  ‘Hi there,’ he said, smiling shyly.

  ‘Hello.’

  What did you say to a lover you’d thrown out three nights ago?

  Sally tried again. ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘I climbed over your back wall.’

  Good heavens. That explained the smudges of whitewash on his clothes. But why on earth had he gone to so much trouble?

  Uncomfortably self-conscious and confused, Sally tugged the bed sheet closer to her neck. ‘What—what are you doing here?’

  It was an important question, but Logan ignored it. ‘How are you, Sally?’

  ‘Great.’

  He frowned at her. ‘Come on, be truthful.’

  ‘Well, I’m alive.’

  ‘You look pale.’

  ‘You get that with the flu. Why aren’t you at work?’

  ‘I heard you were sick. I had to come.’

  He had to come? She felt tears threaten and hoped she didn’t cry. ‘I suppose everyone’s talking about us after Friday night.’

  ‘Let them talk.’ He came into the room, crossing the floor all the way to her bed, and Sally feared she might hyperventilate.

  ‘You’ll get my germs,’ she felt compelled to warn him.

  Ignoring her again, Logan sat on the edge of her bed and frowned thoughtfully as he placed his hand on her forehead.

  Sally flinched at his touch and he flushed, took his hand away quickly and frowned more deeply. ‘Have you been eating?’

  ‘Not much.’ Yesterday she’d crawled downstairs and found a packet of dry crackers and a two litre carton of orange juice. ‘I haven’t been very hungry.’

  ‘I’ve brought you some chicken soup. It’s heating on the stove.’

  But why? Nothing about this made sense. Logan had thrown her out of his life and she’d thrown him out of her home and now he was fussing in her kitchen like a nursemaid.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Logan.’

  His dark eyes glowed and he smiled sternly. ‘Don’t go away. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Heart thumping madly, Sally listened to his footsteps as he went back down the stairs. She heard the sounds of pots and crockery being moved about in the kitchen. She felt light-headed with unexplained happiness and told herself that was not sensible. Logan hadn’t come here to make her happy. He was in protection mode. He was overriding Friday night’s unceremonious eviction and he’d come to boss her around.

  Just the same, it was wonderful to see him.

  He was back as quickly as he’d promised, bearing a wooden tray with a large white bowl filled with soup, a silver soup spoon and a pink gingham napkin, all of which he must have found in her kitchen. He put everything on her dressing table, came to her bedside again and smiled down at her. ‘Let’s rearrange these pillows so you can sit up comfortably.’

  It had to be the flu that made her so dreadfully tearful. She couldn’t bear Logan’s kindness, but she mustn’t cry. As he fetched her tray, she swiped at her eyes and drew in a long, deep, steadying breath, then let it out very slowly.

  ‘Now—’ he sat on the edge of he
r bed, far too close to her, and his dark eyes were heartbreakingly gorgeous as he lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips ‘—try some of this.’

  Sally protested, ‘I don’t expect you to feed me.’ But she knew her hands were shaking and she couldn’t manage the soup without spilling it on the bedclothes.

  Logan tilted a spoonful into her mouth. The soup was light and delicious and slipped down easily. It tasted wholesome and nourishing and Sally quickly found that she was starving.

  He fed her carefully and patiently, with the tenderest smile in his lovely dark eyes.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘It doesn’t taste like soup out of a can.’

  ‘That’s possibly because it’s not soup out of a can.’

  ‘Did your housekeeper make it?’

  He shook his head and smiled. ‘I woke Michel.’

  ‘Your chef friend? You woke him? Logan, you shouldn’t have.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was high time he got up.’

  ‘But he works long hours at night.’

  ‘Stop fretting, Sally. Once I explained that it was you who needed this soup, Michel couldn’t have been more helpful. We both have videophones, so he was able to give me step by step instructions without setting a toe out of bed.’

  ‘So you made this soup?’ Her voice echoed her surprise.

  He tried to shrug nonchalantly, but Sally could see that he was rather proud of his efforts. She ate some more, enjoying succulent pieces of chicken, carrot and celery and light traces of herbs. ‘I feel as if I’m getting better already.’

  It wasn’t quite true. She actually felt dizzy. She had no idea why Logan was being so kind. He’d told her once that he never made romantic gestures, but didn’t he understand that his kindness now was more touching, more upsetting than any bouquet of roses?

  Tears threatened to spill again, but she ate her way stolidly to the bottom of the bowl. Logan took the tray and set it back on the dressing table.

  ‘There’s plenty more,’ he said as he returned once again to sit on the edge of her bed.

  ‘I couldn’t eat any more just now, but thank you so much for that. You’ll pass on my thanks to Michel, won’t you?’