Outbid by the Boss

by Stephanie Browning

  It probably hadn't hurt that the men in the family were all devastatingly good-looking, thought Sam, assuming the portraits lining the panelled walls in the Burton-Porter boardroom were true-to-life. Raven-haired, broad-shouldered, tall, arrogant and cold.

  Just like the one waiting beneath a long-faded advertisement, its white-painted letters barely visible on the wall of the ironmonger's. Chas Porter's expression was as hard as the nails they sold. "Anything you want to say in your defence?"

  Sam shook her head. "Not at the moment." She wanted to ask him if he had been the one bidding against her and, if so, why he had stopped.

  Probably not a good idea.

  "In my experience," he began scrubbing his chin as he spoke, "my employees generally take their extra days to fly to New York to make contacts and educate themselves by visiting galleries and showrooms..."

  "Which they do at your expense..." muttered Sam.

  "You're hardly in a position to say anything right now."

  "I'll replace the money!"

  "You're darn right you will! As for New York..."

  "Oh, for heaven's sakes," Sam interrupted, "you wouldn’t have hired me if I hadn’t been fully qualified. And....just for the record...slinking about New York takes a lot less time than some of your staff members would have you know..."

  Her voice trailed away....challenging authority was a bad habit. Once acquired, hard to lose.

  "Did you know your sentences get longer when you're angry."

  Sam felt her jaw drop. "That's all you have to say!"

  Chas shook his head. "Hardly." He reached into his jacket and pulled out his mobile. "Wait here. I have a couple of calls to make."

  The little glimmer of fear grew and began to gnaw its way into Sam's thoughts as she watched him retreat further into the gloom. Technically speaking, she had used company funds to pay for the candlestick but surely he wouldn't...

  ...call the police. Or the firm's solicitors. Sam shuddered. If only she could lip read. She heard Chas say "send me a text," and then he was on to another call.

  Worst case scenario, she decided, he'd fire her.

  The candlestick was beginning to feel like a dead weight. The only reason she'd even known about this sale was because of a tip from a friend at a rival firm. Small sale in the Midlands, he’d said, squaring the books with Sam for a favour done in the past.

  Sam had visited the auction website, which was feeble at best, read the brief description and realized that not many people would have recognized the candlestick or its history based on the information given.

  So how did Chas Porter end up here?

  Her head ached. With her free hand, Sam reached up and pulled the clip from her hair. As she shook it loose she felt some of the tension ease.

  If Chas been able to get rearrange his busy schedule to attend the sale, he must have been on the lookout for the same silver candlestick. Which meant....what?

  A number of theories flitted through her brain. She needed to talk to Mia. Mia was logical. She was Sam’s best friend at Burton-Porter, and she knew every piece of scuttlebutt worth knowing.

  In the meantime, as far as Sam was concerned, the candlestick was hers.

  She'd bought it fair and square.

  And she was keeping it.

  Part of him, Chas had to admit, felt a tad guilty as he covertly kept his eye on Sam. He had half-expected her to bolt but she was no coward, not by a long shot. With the sun behind her, her hair shone with copper and gold framing her face like a modern-day Madonna.

  Which, he reminded himself sharply, she definitely was not.

  He heard a voice in his ear and the image disappeared.

  "Hello?" he said into the phone. "It’s Chas....slight change in plans."

  Without revealing anything untoward about the day's events, he explained to his secretary why the assistant appraiser in the firm's art department would be going to New York instead of Samantha Redfern.

  "It'll be fine. Tell her to concentrate on her own area of expertise...maybe check out the abstract expressionists while she’s there. And book her into the Park Plaza. Nothing like a five-star hotel to smooth the waters.”

  Chas ended the call.

  His focus shifted back to Sam. One problem down, another to go.

  You had to admire her, thought Chas as he sauntered towards her. He knew how hard it was to stand one’s ground. When he had taken control of the business, family issues had weighed heavily on his young shoulders. The company's good name was everything. He couldn’t risk it then, and he wasn't going to now.

  No matter how awkward the next few days might be.

  Or pleasurable, he thought, as he took in the light dusting of freckles across Sam's nose and the flecks of gold in the green eyes warily tracking his approach.

  "Well?" she asked. "What's the verdict?"

  "The jury is still out....however, as I'm on my way to Derbyshire to catalogue an estate sale," he continued blithely. "And since you evidently know more about Georgian silver than even I realized, you will be my assistant."

  "But I'm expected in New York!" Sam blustered.

  He waggled his mobile in her direction. "Not anymore. Helen Chalmers will go in your stead. In fact, as I understand it, she only bowed to your persistent campaign to be the one to represent the firm because you offered to give up a day at Christmas. And yet here you are..."

  "But..."

  "A last minute decision, was it?"

  "That is so not..." Sam sputtered.

  "Fair?" Chas prompted. "As in taking it upon yourself to delay your departure to attend a sale and using your expense money to pay for a personal purchase....that kind of fair? We call it fraud here by the way..."

  Sam shook her head. "I can't go...you'll have to get someone else."

  "And why is that?"

  A myriad of emotions crossed her face. "I have a rental car to return and, as you well know, a little banking to attend to..."

  "Both of which are easily solved," countered Chas. "We can drop your car off at their office in Coventry, and grab a bite of lunch…I'm assuming you used the company account," he waited for her nod, shook his head and said, "then it's a good thing you're coming with me. You'll be able to work off your debt in no time."

  "But...."

  "What?" He hardened his gaze, silently daring her to take him on.

  A brief flash of mutiny and then the realization dawned. She was trapped and they both knew it.

  There were times, Chas reasoned as he steered her towards the high street, when one needed to spill a little ink.

  In the best interest of the company, of course.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Trust Chas Porter to go for the quiet elegance of a luxury car, fumed Sam, as she zoomed out of the car park in her budget rental and tucked in behind the sleek grey sedan. Almost immediately, his relentless blue eyes sought hers in the reflection of his rear view mirror. Sam tightened her grip on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. He could check up on her all he liked. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not with her luggage safely stowed, at his insistence, in the back of his car.

  After fifteen minutes crawling up the high street, Sam decided a little space was in order. Easing her foot off the accelerator, she dropped back to where a delivery van had been patiently waiting for a break in the traffic. Sam flicked her lights. The driver waved his thanks and nudged into the lane ahead of her.

  Effectively blocking her from Chas’ view.

  Score one, Samantha Redfern.

  The morning had started out full of promise. After months of searching for the match to her grandmother’s candlestick, she’d found it, only to have the most disturbing man she had ever met turn her life upside down.

  Her eyes drifted to the passenger seat where the candlestick lay nestled in a soft scarf at the bottom of her purse. Along with her maxed-out credit card, an empty Burton-Porter envelope and the shreds of her pride.

/>   Sam frowned. It was mortifying, the way her boss had purposefully taken over the bidding and then left her holding the bag. Yes, she’d screwed up, and yes, she would have to make up for it, but really, several days in a remote part of England when she could have been in New York City?

  Think about it, the goddess of single women whispered in her ear.

  You’ll be stuck in an English manor house with a broad-shouldered, handsome millionaire; it’s the stuff of dreams.

  Sam shivered. She remembered the rock hard feel of Chas Porter’s chest when she had collided with him at the auction hall, the way he’d raked her over from head to toe when she had stepped back and the sudden leap of fire in his eyes when she challenged him. For a moment, she was dazzled by the possibilities. Phooey on the goddess and her theories. Chas Porter was not a man to be trifled with. “Well, I’m not someone to be trifled with either,” Sam said aloud, her voice sounding a little hollow even to her own ears. The man might be all steel and fire, but she was...determined. A survivor. Someone who knew how to win with her hard-earned smarts and dogged persistence.

  What was the candlestick to him anyway? Surely, he had more than enough antique silver of his own.

  A horn tapped behind her, breaking her reverie. Traffic was moving again. Sam mentally shifted gears. Her curiosity would have to wait.

  The dusty van rumbled up the crest of the hill, and then swung off the main road, leaving Sam back where she’d started. Trailing sedately behind her boss, broke, indebted and indentured. Even her little black dress was being held hostage.

  And there was nothing she could do about it.

  Or was there?

  Another large traffic circle lay ahead. They were nearing the outskirts of Coventry. Chas yielded to the traffic and signaled his intention to head northeast.

  Sam moved into the slip lane behind him. His world, his rules. Angry with herself for submitting so easily, she shifted gears and sped up.

  She intended to follow him, she really did, but at the last possible moment, she roared by the turn. Not indentured. Not following meekly. She went round the traffic circle a second, and a third time, putting enough distance between her and Chas Porter to flaunt her independence. He could think what he liked. She’d had a lot more riding on this trip to New York than Sotheby’s, and she refused to fall into line like some recalcitrant schoolgirl.

  After double-checking the map displayed on her dashboard, Sam glanced at the side mirror then deftly shifted lanes. Learning how to drive on the opposite side of the road had been a good investment, especially when it came to dealing with traffic circles. You miss your turn, you simply go around again.

  Point made, Sam reached up and popped open the sun roof. The rush of cool air tousled her hair and calmed her overheated emotions. Zipping past the turnoff had been childish and she knew it, but cutting loose had made her feel better. Back in control of her own destiny, even if only for a short time. She’d spent months keeping her natural exuberance under wraps while she made her mark at Burton-Porter. No question, Chas Porter had the pedigree and the business acumen to be the star of the show. Her place was to flawlessly assess value, draw attention to overlooked treasures as antique silver collections became available, and ensure that the firm’s, and his, reputation were unassailable.

  Having been raised to know that reading the needs of the powerful was a survival skill, Sam carried herself accordingly – always wearing well-cut suits, the odd piece of silver jewellery, and just enough pressed powder and lipstick to feel good about herself. Not that she’d ever been one to put herself on display. Sam knew her thick, auburn hair was her best feature, but even that was kept in check. The rest of her was, well, a constant reminder not to overdo the cream cakes and double lattes.

  Her stomach gurgled in response.

  Sam groaned aloud. She really was hungry.

  There was a pub ahead on the right, its sign swinging in the breeze. Sam eyed it longingly, but nipping in for a quick sandwich would only make things worse. Especially when the rental agency was just up the road. Even from this distance, Sam could see Chas lounging against the back of his car with his arms crossed. His stance was that of a predator biding his time, relaxed yet with muscles coiled ready to spring. Sam shivered. The dark glasses he wore made him look even more commanding…if that were possible.

  If she was going to keep both the candlestick and her job, she would have to act as though she were in the showrooms at Burton-Porter dealing with a well-heeled client, instead of raging against the ruggedly handsome man now orchestrating her every move.

  At least, he was easy on the eye. With disquieting warmth, Sam remembered how she had felt when he had briefly held and steadied her. In that instant she had felt safe. No man had ever made her feel that way before.

  Sam braced herself for whatever was to come and turned into the parking lot.

  Carefully nosing into a vacant space, she cut the ignition and set the handbrake. She grabbed her shoulder bag with its precious cargo off the passenger seat and slipped out of the car.

  “Waiting long?” she asked Chas politely.

  The dark glasses swung her way. “Long enough to settle your account.”

  “Just add it to my tab,” said Sam archly. She began walking towards the small building which housed the offices of the rental car agency.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” barked Chas.

  Without breaking her stride, Sam stretched out her arm and jangled the car keys.

  “I told you I’d already settled the account.”

  Sam spun around to face him. “Don’t they have to check the car for damages?” she asked, forcing herself to smile sweetly.

  “Not if they want our business.” They glared at each other across the tarmac, but the expression on Chas Porter’s face brooked no protest.

  “Fine,” said Sam. Chin up, she strolled back to the rental car, tossed the keys inside, and then paused to draw a calming breath. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, she decided silently, then that’s the way it would be. She’d pushed her luck enough for the moment.

  “Now that that’s done, I suggest we stop for a bite to eat.”

  “Fine,” Sam repeated. At least she wouldn’t suffer the embarrassment of a rumbling stomach in his lordship’s company.

  Sam gave him a wide berth and strode up the side of the sedan, half-expecting him to open the door for her. Obviously, he was not as gallant as she’d thought. He hadn’t budged.

  A deep chuckle reached Sam as soon as her hand closed around the door handle.

  “Planning on driving my car as well, were you?”

  Face burning, Sam snatched her hand away. Nearly two years in England, a brand new British drivers licence, and in her seething fury, she’d forgotten which side of the car she was supposed to be on.

  “My apologies,” drawled Chas as she marched past his grinning face to the passenger side. “I thought you had purposely driven around the roundabout an extra time or two just to spite me…but it turns out you really don’t know where you’re going, do you?”

  She’d behaved like a fool, thought Sam.

  And they both knew it.

  Thirty-love, Chas Porter.

  By the time they arrived at the elegant inn he had chosen for lunch, Chas found himself more than a tad irritated. Not only had this new version of Miss Redfern barely spoken during the twenty minutes it had taken them to reach their destination, she had slipped out of the car the second they got there. Without waiting for him to reach her door. His scowl softened as he watched her approach the inn’s weathered steps and then pause as if suddenly unsure. Caught by the way the sunlight burnished her hair with flares of red and gold, Chas felt his body tense. He had to force down the enticing image of what it would feel like to wind his fingers in the soft curls and pull her into his grasp. She turned to him then, one eyebrow arched enquiringly and he felt the heat crackle between them. The soft skin at the base of
her throat took on a blush that rose to her face, highlighting the creaminess of her flawless complexion and the emerald green of her eyes.

  Hiding the pressing surge of awareness, Chas gestured toward the door and said gruffly, “Shall we go in?”

  Sam nodded and went ahead, hesitating for a moment at the entrance when the formally clad maître d’ came forward to greet them.

  The only sign she gave that this wasn’t an everyday lunch was the telltale up tilt of her chin as they were ushered past elegant arrangements of orchids to a table set with pristine linens and gleaming silverware. She smiled pleasantly and took her seat, barely moving until the waiter had poured their ice water.

  Bemused and somewhat wary to find his firm’s ever-so-cool silver appraiser was as prickly as a hedgehog, Chas kept his eye on Sam as she drained the last of her water. When she’d let out a satisfied sigh, he asked. "And are you hungry as well?"

  "Starving."

  She exchanged her empty glass for a menu, blithely holding it in front of her face so that it shielded her from view. "You?" she asked.

  "Famished," replied Chas. Miss Redfern was definitely turning into a rather unexpected personality. She had flouted his orders in every possible way short of outright rebellion and he was not entirely sure he liked it. His work required focus and held no place, personally or professionally, for a woman who zigged and zagged. He wanted the women in his personal life to sparkle with elegance and charm without ever outstaying their welcome. Professionally, he wanted his employees to act like…well, like Samantha Redfern had until the candlestick had come into her possession. Chas’ lips tightened. He had no intention of encouraging Miss Redfern’s sudden show of independence. Yet how to explain this insane desire to take her under his wing?

  "Their steak and kidney pie is excellent," he informed the top of her head. "And it comes with a salad."

  "Thank you." Sam lowered her menu, snapped it shut and set it to one side, carefully aligning its spine with the edge of the linen tablecloth.

  In spite of his determination to regard her as just another employee, Chas noticed that her fingers were long and tapered. She wore no rings, just a slim silver bracelet on her right arm, wristwatch on her left.