Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Boss?

by Nina Harrington

  ‘Yes. But here’s a suggestion.’

  Scott grabbed a light padded jacket from the back of a chair stacked with unopened packages. ‘Before I set out on a survey I always check that I have the equipment and essential supplies that I need. Food and drink are up there on the top five. As it happens, there are a few things about the city that I do miss when I’m working in the field.’

  ‘Soap and hot water?’

  ‘No. Although those things can be few and far between. But right now I was thinking about real coffee made from ground coffee beans. And something laden with fat and sugar to help me get through this jet lag.’

  ‘Well, I know the local terrain fairly well. Willing to risk having a local guide?’

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  * * *

  ‘Two-shot Americano,’ they both said at the same time as the barista took their order and then jumped back at the sound of each other’s voice.

  ‘Seriously?’ He turned and peered at her, arms folded. ‘I would have thought that some elegant green tea would be a more suitable hot beverage for a portrait painter. All elegance and refinement and artistic expression.’

  Toni snorted out loud. ‘Ah, you’re back to the stereotypes again. I think it’s my solemn duty to flip that illusion and pronto.’

  She pressed her right forefinger to her chest. ‘A two shot Americano is perfect for a part-time portrait painter who has a day job as a commercial photographer. You get the instant hit from the caffeine but it’s not quite enough to bring on a bad case of the jitters. And, believe me, there are some days I’m run so ragged that one coffee has to keep me going for a long time.’

  ‘Aha. So you don’t paint portraits full-time. Interesting. Well, that explains a few things.’

  ‘Really. Such as? Please carry on. I would hate for you to keep all of that valuable insight to yourself. What gave the game away?’

  To her astonishment, Scott reached across the table and picked up her hand and looked at it, fascinated. Then turned it over and brought it up to his lips.

  That simple movement was bad enough, but Toni wasn’t prepared for the rush of heat she got from the touch of his full lips on the sensitive skin at the centre of her palm which had nothing to do with the fact that she had chosen a table right next to the radiator.

  It was so unexpected that she took a second before reflex action kicked in and she tried to slide her hand back. No luck. It was locked solidly in his grip of iron.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she muttered between locked teeth. ‘Stop that right now. People. Are. Looking. At us.’

  She smiled over to a group of girls who were giggling at her on another table while she tried to tug her hand away without making it look too obvious.

  ‘Answering your question. So stop struggling. You see, I like hands too. And yours tell me so much about you. No paint under the fingernails or ink or charcoal ground into your palms.’

  He pressed his lips to her knuckles and then lowered her hand to the table. ‘Your skin smells of shower gel. Not linseed oil or acrylics and it is certainly not used to outside work. A studio photographer. Now, that makes sense.’

  ‘How very observant. I like to think I am creating portraits of a different sort. But—’ she took a sip of the scalding-hot fragrant coffee ‘—you have a point. My first sketches can be taken from a photograph rather than a live sitting straight onto the canvas. That’s the way I work. I think about how I want the sitter to look in the final piece. Not always easy.’

  He coughed just once and picked up his drink when one of the waitresses nudged him accidentally and the hot coffee splashed on to his bandaged hand, which was resting on the table.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

  ‘No harm done,’ Scott reassured the young girl.

  Toni waited until she was gone before looking up at Scott over the top of her cup. ‘Do you mind if I ask—how did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘For a girl, of course! Why else would a man throw himself on to frozen sea ice and let his fingers go anywhere near ice water?’

  ‘Wow. Sea ice. That’s astonishing. Scary. Wild. And a bit mad’.

  ‘It’s my life. And Dallas does have the most amazing blue eyes.’

  ‘Well, she must have to make you go to those sorts of lengths. Is she okay now? Your Dallas?’

  ‘My Dallas is having the time of her life being pampered and well fed by a whole survey team of boys. Probably not missing me one bit.’

  ‘Not missing you? After what you did for her! That’s a bit ungrateful.’

  ‘Probably. Doesn’t stop me from missing her. She’s been a good friend.’

  ‘Well, in that case the lady is forgiven. Good friends are hard to find. And I hope you finish your business here soon so that you can get back to her charms.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that. To Dallas. See you in six months, girl.’

  Six months. Interesting.

  Toni lifted her cup of steaming coffee. ‘Six months—is that how long you have to turn the business around?’

  ‘Less. That’s how long I have committed to. Different thing.’

  ‘Any ideas about what you’re going to do?’ Toni asked over the top of her coffee. ‘I mean, apart from finding a new office to work from. Because, I have to tell you, I did not see any sign of modern technology just now and I think you might need a few more things besides paper and pens.’

  ‘Maybe. I’m a scientist. And don’t look at me like that. It might be hard to believe. But it’s true. Before I make a decision I like to know the facts.’

  Scott put down his coffee and nodded back towards the Elstrom building, just down the street. When he spoke it sounded to Toni as though he was simply speaking his thoughts out loud rather than having a conversation. ‘Top of the list is to create some operating income. If things are as bad as Freya thinks they are, it could be a shock at the bank tomorrow. Right now, I have no clue about what has happened to our archive of valuable documents—instruments, maps, sea charts going back almost two hundred years. There has to be something left.’

  He shrugged and took a long drink before going on. ‘I need to make an inventory of the entire stock. Once I know what we have left, I can start work. Sell some items to specialist dealers. Loan others to museums for a fee. That should give me enough time to put together a long-term plan. But I need to work fast. Clear the office. Make space to work. Then I need to create a brilliant sales catalogue in weeks, not months, and...’

  Scott’s voice faded away and his eyes narrowed and focused on Toni so intently that she glanced around the room before putting her coffee down.

  ‘What? What have I done now?’

  ‘It’s not what you have done, Miss Baldoni. It’s what you are going to do.’

  He stretched both arms flat on the small table and leant forwards from the waist until he was close enough for her to touch him. ‘I need someone who can photograph my stock and create a sales catalogue. Someone with experience as a studio photographer would be absolutely perfect. What do you say?’

  Toni gulped down some coffee so fast that she almost choked.

  ‘What do I say?’ she replied, blinking. ‘I say that Freya paid me to paint your portrait, not work as your commercial photographer.’

  Scott slid backwards but his attention was still completely focused on her.

  ‘You wanted to stick around and make character studies. I’m giving you the chance to do that. For the next seven days you can photograph anything you like, including me. On one condition. You help me out with the business side at the same time. Do we have a deal?’

  He stretched out his hand across the table and tilted his head slightly to one side.

  Toni took a breath, her heart pounding and her mind racing.

  Seven days? He was offeri
ng her seven days to take the photographs and make the sketches she needed to paint him. And something else. Something even more important. The chance to get to know him a little more.

  It was the one thing that had been drummed into her from the very start of her training with her father. To be a real painter, she had to capture the essence of the sitter in paint on the canvas. That was the extra-special quality of a Baldoni portrait. Without that? She might as well just take his photograph and be done with it.

  Scott coughed low in his throat and she looked up into eyes which she knew she could paint in a heartbeat. But the rest of him? Somehow, she got the feeling that she had only just touched the surface of the real Scott Elstrom.

  So why was she hesitating?

  A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth and her heart rate sped up just enough to answer that question perfectly.

  She had known Scott less than a day and she was already far more attracted to him than she had any right to be.

  The last time she had worked alone with an attractive man on a project had been the few weeks she’d spent on assignment with Peter. She had fallen and fallen fast and look how well that had turned out. He had lied to her, betrayed her and broken her heart.

  Could she trust herself to be more careful with Scott?

  But what choice did she have? She needed this work.

  Toni looked into his face, then at his hand, and then back to his face again before sighing out loud and placing her hand in his. It was like being crushed in a vice.

  ‘Fingers! I need the fingers!’

  Shaking the blood back into her crushed fingers, she exhaled slowly. ‘Well, Mr Scott Elstrom. What have I just let myself in for?’

  His reply was an evil chuckle that would have been perfect for a horror movie. ‘You saw my dad’s office, Antonia. Wait until you see the archive. The Elstrom family take hoarding very seriously.’

  A shudder ran across Toni’s shoulders. More hoarding! Oh, no. She was an expert on the topic. She had a whole house of her own clutter to clear.

  ‘Come on, girl. Let’s make this happen. And on the way I want to hear how you plan to make those dusty old maps of mine look a million dollars. Shall we?’

  And with one tiny nod he stepped back and gestured towards the exit. She peered at it for a fraction of a second before rolling her eyes and waving towards the counter. ‘Could we have the same again, please? And make that four jam doughnuts this time. I think I’m going to need them.’

  SIX

  It was almost eight on the Sunday evening when Scott eventually turned the key and staggered into the hallway of Freya’s house.

  What a day! He would cheerfully take a hard day in the field any time compared to the chaos that was Elstrom Mapping.

  The financial situation was not just bad—it was shocking.

  His father really had given up. It was obvious from the few decent bank records that he had managed to find, that several valuable items had already been sold to specialist museums so that the loyal skilled staff could have the generous redundancy packages that they deserved.

  Damn right. The small team at Elstrom had been the best in the business. Most of them were well beyond retirement age and simply loved working in the old place. The others had been given excellent references and were already working elsewhere.

  But the really shocking thing was that all of this had happened over the autumn. A quick call to Freya confirmed what he had started to suspect. That piece of silvery tinsel paper he’d found in one of the drawers was a souvenir from the very last Christmas party that Elstrom would ever hold.

  It was enough to bring tears to his eyes. They had always been such amazing parties. Everyone, from corporate clients to solo adventurers and oil exploration companies, would usually be in London for Christmas and found the time to come to Elstrom Mapping to raise a glass.

  It was shocking to think that he had missed such a momentous event. And, more than sad, it was tragic to imagine his father sitting in that chair on New Year’s Day. Alone. In the wreckage of the business he seemed to have given up on.

  That was some start to the New Year.

  The only bright spark in his day had been Antonia Baldoni. The girl who had started off as just another nuisance had turned out to be the most astonishing office manager that he had ever met. Not that he was an expert in the subject, but she had worked wonders.

  He had been totally sceptical when Antonia suggested clearing one heap of papers at a time and sorting them by date and subject. What difference could it make?

  How wrong could he be? In a few hours that bustling brunette bundle of energy and purpose had cleared everything from the huge partners’ desk using a battered old tea tray she’d found in the kitchen, giving him space to work.

  He had peeked into the boardroom when his back became too stiff to sit any longer and found her sorting every sheet into neat stacks on the boardroom table. And the stacks made sense! She had even found some empty boxes and loaded up the old brochures and pamphlets in case he wanted them for inspiration about future projects.

  A single in tray from one of the mapping rooms held everything that needed attention and all of the unopened mail.

  He had taken one look at the pile and the fact that Antonia was wearing her hat, coat and gloves to work in and decided that his first executive decision was to try and get the heating working in at least the first floor of the building before she froze.

  It had taken him almost an hour to coax the ancient gas boiler down in the freezing dark basement back into life. At least that hadn’t changed. It was as temperamental as ever and the tangle of electrical wiring looked as though a toddler had been at play but he could be as stubborn as Antonia when he wanted to be. Any gas engineer would probably condemn the old kit, but right now? That was what they had to work with. And by six she had taken off her hat and coat. So he had achieved something positive today. Maybe tomorrow she could work without the gloves?

  Good news was in short supply. He would take what he could.

  Starting with Antonia Baldoni.

  Apparently he hadn’t noticed how messy the house was that morning when he’d left but there was a lot of clearing up still to be done after her birthday party. So she had left the office earlier to tidy up the house.

  Scott strolled into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He could smell something delicious and savoury cooking in the oven and the room felt warm and cosy. Hanging up his coat, he lifted one arm and then the other towards the ceiling, wincing as the tense muscles complained.

  Nothing that about ten hours of decent sleep wouldn’t fix.

  Yeah. Like that was going to happen. Not in that bedroom. Too many memories. The ghost of his ex-wife was right there every time he’d woken from a restless dream of falling through the ice. He didn’t need a photograph to bring back her beautiful face. Just walking into that boardroom at Elstrom had been traumatic enough.

  How could he tell Antonia that his last memory of that room had been finding his wife having sex with his stepbrother on the boardroom table?

  Not something a man forgot in a hurry. And definitely not an image he was going to share any time soon.

  He closed his eyes for a second then blinked awake.

  Get over it.

  There was no sign of Antonia so he slowly dragged his weary body up the stairs and had only taken a few steps towards his room when the door to the large family bathroom opened.

  And through a cloud of hot fragrant steam a small figure emerged.

  Antonia was wrapped in a white bath towel which was just large enough to cover her chest to the top of her thighs.

  But it was what the towel was not covering which rocked him back on his heels and lighted a fire in his belly hotter than any gas boiler could manage.

  Her spectacular
arms and shoulders were slick and steamy from the bath and her face was flushed pink and absolutely gorgeous.

  Problem was, she was winding a smaller towel around her head as she strolled out on to the landing, with her feet pushed into those silly fluffy slippers she had been wearing the night before.

  This meant that her arms were lifted, stretching the towel around her chest and making it slip a little lower, then lower until it was heading for her waist.

  So what if he was a boob man and proud of it?

  As a gentleman, he should probably say something...but as a man? Strange how it took a few seconds before his brain took over from the other parts of his anatomy, which were waking up on their own and enjoying the view way too much.

  The scent of her warm body and her sensuous movements started turning on switches which he had started to believe Alexa had turned off for good.

  A hot flush of desire hit him hard and then hit him again. Apparently he still had what it took after all. That was a relief. He had started to wonder. It was hardly surprising—Antonia was absolutely stunning!

  Just for a second a totally off-the-wall idea flitted through his brain.

  Would she be interested in him?

  A week was not long enough for anything serious but a short casual fling could be just what he needed to bring some spice back into his life. He had barely looked at another woman for the last two years but, now he was back in London, maybe it was time to find out if he was ready to share his life again.

  A fling. No strings. No commitment or promises and definitely no emotional mess. Just two people enjoying one another for a casual affair.

  He was certainly enjoying her right now. Thank you, Miss Baldoni!

  Maybe it was time to play fair.

  ‘Hello,’ Scott said and Antonia gasped and flung herself back towards the bathroom.

  ‘I didn’t mean to startle you—’ he coughed ‘—but...’ He gestured towards the towel with his head and she immediately hoisted it higher.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ She tugged the towel a little closer to her chest. ‘I don’t have any hot water in my house at the moment. The plumber has the flu. Won’t be back to work for another few days. And I like a bath.’ Her tongue flicked out over her hot lips and every male hormone in his body pinged to attention. ‘Sorry.’