Turning the Good Girl Bad

by Avril Tremayne

  ‘You said it was a mistake.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You said you hadn’t planned to kiss me.’

  ‘Actually, I had planned to. Just not tonight.’

  Not tonight? But he had planned to...? What the hell was going on?

  Catherine couldn’t find her voice.

  ‘So?’ he asked, head on one side in curious mode.

  ‘So what?’ Cathy replied. Flustered.

  ‘Well, it happened. So now what?’

  ‘We—we forget it.’

  ‘Forget it? Hmm...’

  ‘Put it down to a fleeting attraction now satisfied.’

  ‘But I’m not satisfied. And you certainly weren’t. I’m going to have to up my game before you’ll let me try again, aren’t I?’

  ‘A fleeting attraction,’ she reiterated, drawing his attention to the salient part.

  ‘Fleeting? Hmm...’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, a fleeting attraction. And because this is a weird situation you lost your head.’

  ‘What’s weird about it?’

  ‘Okay, your losing your head is not that weird. But you being in my house is. As in not being in the office. And I’m wearing this red thing—which I shouldn’t be wearing.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you be wearing it?’

  She stared at him. ‘Um—because look what happened! I mean, come on—personal assistants shouldn’t sashay around like this—’ she plucked at the silk ‘—in front of their bosses.’

  ‘You let me kiss you because you deserved it for flaunting yourself at your boss in red silk? Is that what you’re saying? That’s insane.’ He laughed, as though it really were funny.

  Catherine’s eyes dropped to Max’s chest and stuck there.

  ‘Cathy, you cannot be serious.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Max.’

  ‘It kind of is.’ Pause. Sigh. ‘Are you going to look at me some time soon, Cathy, do you think?’

  Up came her eyes, but it wasn’t easy. ‘There. Now what?’

  He shrugged, a smile lurking. ‘I’ve got no idea. You’ll have to tell me, because I’ve never been in this situation before.’

  That got a scoff out of her. ‘Oh, really? Never kissed your personal assistant before?’

  ‘Never kissed a woman who didn’t want to be kissed,’ he clarified. ‘Even Sian, back in the day, wanted me to lay one on her. I didn’t have to force her. She just didn’t know how.’ He paused, an arrested expression on his face. ‘Is that the problem? Inexperience?’

  She gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not inexperienced.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I think when you start talking about sashaying in front of your boss wearing a peignoir. Hello, Queen Victoria.’

  Her temper spiked. ‘I’m not a virgin, you know.’

  ‘How would I know? You look like one! You act like one. Want to prove to me that you’re not?’

  ‘What—? How—? I— Ohh! Just because I’m not some hot blonde—’

  ‘Well, not blonde, at any rate.’

  ‘—it doesn’t mean I’m de-sexed.’ Quick furious breath. ‘I know enough to identify the difference between a mutual kiss and having one forced on me at any rate. Because I’ve been there!’

  Max had been opening his smiling mouth to say something else, but that stopped him. Flat. His eyes zoomed to hers. Sharpened. Focused.

  ‘You know the difference...’ he said, and Catherine could practically see his brain working. Tick, tick, tick. ‘Okay, it’s not funny any more. Who was it? When? What happened?’

  Catherine was furious with herself. Her damned temper! ‘Forget it. It’s nothing.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to forget that, Cathy, you’ve got boulders in the brain.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve been trying to forget it. I am not going to relive it. Okay?’

  He paced away from her, then back. Away. Back. Dipped his head, looked into her pupils. Long, hard stare that had her holding her breath. And then he said, ‘Oh, my God,’ as though he could see everything.

  He closed his eyes and stood like that for a long moment.

  And everything felt...different. Tense...awful. Even the air felt as if it had been replaced with something heavier, thicker, darker.

  ‘M-Max...?’ she said, suddenly off-kilter.

  He opened his eyes, looking utterly appalled. ‘So now you’ve had two bosses force themselves on you.’

  ‘No, I’ve had one,’ she said. ‘You didn’t force yourself on me because that kiss was mutual. You are nothing like that—that—’

  Stop. Regroup. Calm down.

  ‘I wouldn’t be working for you if you were anything like him. You are nothing like him. Nothing.’

  And wasn’t that becoming more obvious with every passing second? RJ would have had his hands all over her by now. He’d have been coercing her, then threatening her. Max, by contrast, looked as if he was going to make a dash for the carving knife she’d threatened him with earlier and slash his own throat—over a kiss she’d been dreaming of for months.

  Time to get back to basics. ‘I’m not bringing a sexual harassment suit against you, if that’s what’s worrying you,’ she said.

  He stared at her as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. ‘That’s not what’s worrying me, Catherine. I’m what’s worrying me. What I did to you.’ Hands in his hair. ‘You should have slugged me. Next time just take a shot. In fact, take one now. Slug me one.’

  ‘I’m not taking a shot.’

  ‘I’d feel better if you did.’

  ‘And I’d feel worse.’

  And somehow, suddenly, the words were just...there. Tumbling out.

  ‘Of course if you do something like...like making a time for me to come to your hotel room to discuss a work problem...then answering the door wearing nothing but a towel...then locking the door and dropping the towel...and trying to make me come over and pick it up...I’ll slug you then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or if you sidle up to me at a staff party and complain about the erection I’ve given you just by being there—one so gigantic you can’t get up and make your speech—and then you grab my hand and force me to feel the evidence—then I’ll slug you.’

  ‘I—God!’

  ‘And if you and Damian ever share a disgusting, filthy smirk because Damian comes into your office while you’ve got me backed against the wall, trying to put your hand up my skirt while I’m trying to get away... Yep, I’ll slug you.’

  ‘Catherine—’

  ‘But I’m not slugging you for a kiss I wanted.’ She realised her whole body was trembling. ‘And now I need to sit down.’

  ‘Let me help you.’

  ‘I can walk to my own couch!’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I want to help you.’

  She stared at him, shook her head in disbelief. ‘Don’t tell me you, of all people, have a Sir Galahad complex!’

  ‘Ha-ha,’ he said, and pulled her quite roughly under his arm. ‘Come here and shut up.’

  Okay, that was typical Max! Impatient, pretending to be bad-tempered, just because he cared and was embarrassed to show it. She was about to talk about the most hideous episode in her entire life—something she didn’t even discuss with Luke—and because Max had said exactly that, pulled her in just like that, somehow it felt...right.

  So she let him lead her to the couch. Let him plump the cushions. It reminded her of how he’d coddled her after her fall in the filing alcove.

  When the couch was prepared to Max’s satisfaction he gestured for Catherine to sit. ‘Can I get you something?’ he asked, all gruff. ‘Water? Booze?’

  ‘What—are you the homeowner and I’m the g
uest?’ she asked, choking on an unexpected laugh. ‘No? Then come here and shut up.’

  He laughed as he sat beside her. And then he patted her hand. God, there would be a lap rug and a crochet pattern coming her way soon.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Galahad, I am okay.’

  ‘So...do I need to kill him for you?’ Said as though he was just going to pop out for a coffee.

  Oooohhhh... How could you not fantasise about such a man?

  ‘He—my ex-boss, RJ Harrow—would say it was all my fault,’ she said. ‘So why should he be punished?’

  ‘All your...?’ Max was looking horror-struck. Too horror-struck to finish that.

  ‘And I have to say that at the very least I was guilty of criminal naivety, because it took me a few months to notice... Well, nothing concrete. Just a...a feeling. A few grandiose compliments but with a certain look when he gave them. Too many checks of my computer screen over my shoulder. An accidental nudge in the corridor a little too often. All explainable. But then it moved on to other things. A shoulder massage while I was typing, even though I asked him not to. Hello and goodbye hugs which were almost...unbreakable. And things kept escalating and escalating, and...well...’

  She paused, yanked her hair back, rolled it tightly into a bun and reached for the pen on the coffee table.

  ‘The final straw happened in Washington, D.C.,’ she continued, shoving the pen through the bun. ‘I was in charge of organising an important dinner for VIPs, media and corporate customers. Warned that everything had to be perfect—including me. So RJ gave me a clothing allowance.’

  Max leapt to his feet and started pacing, as though he had too much energy to keep still.

  ‘Shall I stop?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘No! No, I just— No. Keep going.’

  ‘Well...I was so anxious about everything being perfect that when he called me to complain about the mess I’d made of the seating plan, demanding I come to his hotel room to sort it out, I ran straight there.’

  She winced, remembering how clueless she’d been.

  ‘But it was just a ruse to get me alone and off-balance. Because the seating plan was perfect. And so, apparently, was I, in the new dress he’d paid for.’

  Pause. She hated this part.

  ‘So of course RJ couldn’t be expected to resist me. That’s what he said. My fault for looking like that. And he kissed me so hard he split my lip. He had his hands— His hands— He tried to—’ Another pause. ‘He tore that dress right down the front in the struggle. But at least I got away—more or less unmolested.’ She gave Max a strained smile. ‘And that was the end of my career at Samawi Air.’

  Max’s pacing had come to a stop. ‘The clothes,’ he said. ‘I bought you clothes—like he did.’

  ‘It’s different.’

  ‘I kissed you against your will.’

  ‘That wasn’t against my will. I wanted it to happen.’

  He started that edgy pacing again. ‘You didn’t even touch me, let alone kiss me. Not once. I did all the touching.’

  Catherine blinked at him. All the touching? Max had done it all? No. No, she wouldn’t believe that.

  ‘It was mutual,’ she insisted.

  ‘You don’t need to do your “there, there” routine with me—patting my head and kissing it better.’ He winced. ‘Ugh. Wrong choice of words.’

  ‘No, kissing is the right choice,’ Catherine said. She jumped to her feet, walked over to Max. ‘Let’s settle it. Kiss me again. I’ll kiss you back. Then we’ll know.’

  He stared at her as though she was insane. ‘I’m not kissing you again. It’s bad enough I crossed the line once.’ His hands went digging into his hair. ‘Hell, I didn’t cross it. I somersaulted over it!’

  ‘You’re not that good a kisser.’ Which was a lie, but someone had to ratchet back the hyperbole. ‘Let’s call it a toe nudging the line.’

  At least that seemed to sting him out of the doldrums, because he said with a slight huff, ‘If I’m not that good, why would you want me to kiss you again?’

  Catherine shrugged...very casual. ‘To prove a point.’

  ‘It will ruin things.’

  ‘Things are already ruined. So, come on—pucker up.’

  ‘No. We’d be better off forgetting tonight ever happened.’

  Which was what she’d originally suggested, of course, but it hadn’t suited him at the time! Well, it was too damned late now. A woman didn’t get called a block of wood—and a virgin at twenty-six years old—then turn up for work with no hard feelings.

  Catherine suddenly didn’t care about crossed lines. She was somersaulting over the line herself—with three twists, a tuck and a swivel!

  She fixed Max with a steady eye. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this—your ego is massive enough already—but Luke is not Alex Taylor. Damian, Carl, Rick—nope. You are. Just you. Alex Taylor.’ She drew herself up, very grand. ‘Now what do you say?’

  ‘Nice try.’ He shook his head. ‘I know the way you operate, Cathy—all psychological and kind if someone is having a hard time. It’s one of the things I love—’ He stopped, cleared his throat. ‘Well, one of the things. But I don’t need to kiss you again to know you didn’t kiss me back the first time. So don’t worry. I won’t overstep the line again.’

  Catherine threw her hands in the air and spun away from him with an inarticulate half-scream of frustration. They were going round and round in circles.

  ‘So, Catherine—your call. What happens next?’ Max said, and she spun back to face him.

  She opened her mouth to say, Kiss me—that’s my call, but Max was already rolling right along. Typical!

  ‘Maybe you’d prefer to work for one of the others. Only...’ Pause, frown, shake of the head. ‘I don’t think Damian is the right fit for you. And Carl... Well, Carl...no. Just no. Get that thought out of your head. But of course if you want to go to one of them...’

  Yep, he was making a lot of sense!

  ‘Or, on the other hand, if you want to stay working with me,’ he continued, as though he hadn’t just banned her from going to one of the others, ‘we can play it by ear, make sure you’re comfortable. But skip Queensland, obviously. I’ll send a courier in the morning to pick up the clothes from Sandra’s. I can’t believe I—’ He stopped, ran a hand over his eyes. ‘Anyway, take the week to think about what you’d prefer, and I’ll accommodate whatever option you want.’

  If Catherine knew one thing it was that she was not skipping Queensland. Max’s modus operandi for dealing with mistakes was to lop the experience off like a dead tree limb and spread fertiliser on a new plant. Well, she was not giving him time to lop her off. And if any plant was going to be fertilised it was going to be her!

  Drastic action required, obviously. ‘So you’re punishing me for what you did?’

  ‘What? No! I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I just— Dammit, Cathy, of course I’m not punishing you. I’m trying to look after your interests.’

  ‘You said you’d accommodate any option I chose. Well, that’s the one I’m choosing. You know, it could be considered passive-aggressive behaviour to take this opportunity away from me. Now I think of it, all those trips you’ve been taking lately, sending messages for me through Damian—passive aggressive. Textbook. Are you trying to get me to resign?’

  ‘I only— I mean, I was doing that because—’ He broke off. Sighed. Twice.

  Oh, my God, he was so adorable. Confused, bemused, bossy, earnest, controlling, tortured, with absolutely no idea how desperately she wanted to throw herself at him. At this point, however, he’d probably have a coronary.

  ‘Just tell me I can still go to Queensland,’ Catherine said.

  She didn’t want to have to take things up a notch and guilt-trip him w
ith a few tears, but she’d do it if she had to. Because she was not—not!—going to sit in the office for a week, imagining Max entertaining a parade of blonde bimbos while having an occasional piece of typing lobbed at her via Damian. Not after tonight.

  ‘Okay.’ Max sounded goaded past bearing. ‘But if you change your mind at any time just say the word. If I say something stupid that makes you uncomfortable just tell me, okay? Because I will. Say something stupid. I know that much about myself.’

  ‘I promise to tell you if you say something stupid, the way I always do, because you are always saying something stupid. You’ve said a lot of stupid things already tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe with a little less alacrity,’ he said, his unaccustomed hair shirt slipping off one shoulder.

  ‘All right. Less alacrity when I’m pointing out that you’re being an idiot. The way you are now.’

  He looked as if he was going to snap, and she waited hopefully, but he got it under control. And Catherine had a sinking feeling that ‘control’ was going to be his middle name from now on.

  Ruined! Completely. If he’d kissed every inch of her three times over and whisked her off for an all-night orgy with his favourite sports team things couldn’t have been more ruined.

  ‘Okay, I’m going,’ he said. ‘Just don’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ Catherine assured him.

  He headed for the door, looking suicidal, and Catherine hurried after him.

  ‘Did you hear me? I’m not worried!’

  He opened the door, stopped. Turned to her, very grave. ‘Catherine, we don’t need to talk about it again. But just to tie everything off: I was at fault—not you; it won’t happen again, and we’ll get things back to normal.’

  ‘Things were never normal,’ she pointed out.

  His lips tightened. ‘All right, back to abnormal,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Just don’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not worried!’ she said again, nice and loud and exasperated.

  But the words bounced off the door that Max had quietly closed.

  He was gone.

  ‘Well, that went well,’ Catherine said aloud.

  And then she kicked the door.

  * * *