by Nicola Marsh
‘Okay, okay, hang on to your crutches.’
She drained the rest of her favourite drink, placed the takeout cup on the coffee table and stretched. ‘There isn’t much to tell. My first day was uneventful and glitch-free.’
Well, almost, if she didn’t count her run-in with the charismatic Aidan Voss first thing in the morning and the slight mishap with the train display later.
Lana frowned and gave her the same disgusted look she reserved just for her ever since they’d been playmates fighting over the same crayons or dolls.
‘Right. Now tell me the truth. All of it.’
Beth blew her cousin a raspberry.
‘Where do you want me to start? The part where I broke my heel on the way in and got into trouble with the boss? Or the part where I got lost traipsing around that monstrosity? Or the part where I befriended this lovely volunteer in desperate need of a fashion makeover and took her shopping?’
Lana guffawed. ‘So I guess you couldn’t charm or smile your way out of everything, huh?’
‘Hey, it’s only my first day. Give a girl a chance to work her magic.’
Lana rolled her eyes. ‘Now that we’ve established your indefatigable self-confidence hasn’t taken a beating, tell me exactly what happened.’
Beth waved a hand in the air and reached for a melt-in-the-mouth Brunetti’s biscotti with the other. ‘Teething problems, cuz. Everyone has them in a new job.’
‘I know, but I’m bored out of my brain here all day, wondering what’s going on over at the museum.’ She slapped her injured leg and grimaced. ‘I hate being this helpless, this dependent on other people.’
‘You mean me?’
Lana had an independent streak a mile long. Guess it came with the territory of losing her mum early. In a way, her cousin’s tragedy had bonded them as nothing else would. Considering she’d lost her own mum in the same car accident the two of them had clung to each other, a pair of devastated six-year-olds with their worlds turned upside down. And hers had never righted.
‘I know you’re doing your best.’ Lana’s grim expression implied her best wasn’t good enough. ‘It’s just that I don’t think I can last three months sitting around here doing nothing but paperwork.’
‘You don’t exactly have a choice.’
A bit like herself, actually. She owed Lana and if her cousin had asked her to walk on water she would have. Trying her best not to slip up while working at the museum was small payback for everything her cousin had done for her. Not to mention the added bonus of the fact she really needed this job!
Her muse had gone AWOL along with her latest boyfriend, taking her chance of having a display in his gallery along with him. Though she should be grateful: the rat’s actions had prompted her to finally follow her dream and lease her own space. If the powers that be at the stuffy bank ever gave her the loan to secure it, that was.
Renting her warehouse and spending most of her earnings on fashion and shoes didn’t build a great credit rating and, boy, had the bank bigwigs rubbed her nose in it.
‘Good point. So tell me about the boss. What’s Aidan Voss like? I’ve heard on the grapevine he’s a gun.’
Son of a gun, more like it, Beth thought, remembering those slate-grey eyes and their calculating expression as they sized her up.
‘He’s quite impressive.’
An unexpected quiver of excitement skittered down her spine as she contemplated exactly how impressive Aidan Voss was.
‘His credentials, you mean?’
‘I mean the whole package.’
Oops. Beth mentally slapped herself for putting together ‘impressive’ and ‘package’ in her imaginative mind.
A furrow appeared on her cousin’s brow. ‘I don’t like that gleam in your eye.’
‘What gleam?’
She tried her best innocent look and knew it came up lacking when Lana groaned and shook her head.
‘The gleam you get whenever any male under thirty-five and halfway good-looking enters your world.’
Tilting her nose in the air as if she didn’t give a damn, Beth said, ‘I have no idea of his age. From how tense he appears he’s probably ancient.’
‘And the good-looking part?’
Trust Lana not to back down. Damn it, she was like a dog with the proverbial bone. Or in this case, the curator with a dinosaur bone.
‘He’s not bad for an uptight older dude who likes fossicking for boring old artefacts.’
Lana laughed, the sound echoing around her quaint single-storey weatherboard in one of Carlton’s quieter streets.
‘I’m on to you.’ Lana’s laugh grew to belly-shaking proportions. ‘Your version of not bad equates with sex god. So he’s that good?’
Beth nodded, joining in the laughter. ‘Better. Honestly, you should see this guy. Tall, great bod, killer smile, fabulous eyes. A knockout.’
‘Don’t forget the brain behind the package.’
Lana’s not-so-subtle emphasis on the last word had them in fits.
‘You’ll see him soon enough.’
‘If I don’t hack this leg off in frustration over the next few months, that is.’
Her cousin’s laughter petered out so Beth did the only thing possible, the one thing she’d done her whole life to cope when faced with uncomfortable circumstances; made light of the situation.
‘And miss out on seeing Voss the Boss in the flesh? Not likely.’
Lana cringed. ‘You know you just called one of the most influential men in archaeological circles Voss the Boss? Just make sure that little gem stays between us.’
‘You got it.’ She leaned forward, tapped the side of her nose and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Now, would you like me to bat my eyelashes at him to get on his good side? You know, to keep the Walker girls in favour with the boss.’
‘Don’t you dare!’
Lana’s eyes widened in horror behind her tortoiseshell glasses and Beth chuckled.
‘Don’t worry, cuz. I have no intention of flirting with the boss.’
However, she had to resist the urge to squirm under her cousin’s speculative glance as she quickly pushed aside the thought she already had.
Beth ignored the wolf-whistle of a passer-by as she strolled down Lygon Street on her way to meet Bobby, her friend—and date for the evening.
Not that catching up for a drink with Bobby was a date exactly. In fact, the thought of seeing the lanky, red-headed drummer as anything other than friend material brought a smile to her face.
So she’d dressed up? No big deal. She’d needed to slip into her favourite black mini and shimmery aubergine top to feel halfway normal again after spending all day in a suit, stylish as it was.
As she passed her favourite gelateria and studiously avoided looking in the window to stop from drooling all over her top, her mobile rang and she scrambled in her bag, hoping Bobby wasn’t standing her up. She was really looking forward to a drink, some light-hearted conversation and the inevitable laughs that spending an evening with a good mate entailed.
It had been way too long since she’d had a good night out; she, the party girl of Melbourne, had spent too many evenings lately holed up in Lana’s place, swotting up on the museum. Bor-ing. Time to live a little, just as she used to.
Staring at the caller ID and not recognising the number, she hit the answer button. ‘Beth Walker.’
‘Hello, Beth. Aidan Voss here.’
She stumbled and would’ve sprawled onto the nearest café table if a kind waiter, with the deepest chocolate-brown eyes she’d ever seen, hadn’t reached out to steady her.
Mouthing ‘thanks’ at the waiter, whose wink had her beaming back at him, she continued walking while furiously trying to think up something fabulously witty to say, anything other than, ‘What do you want?’
‘Sorry to ring you after hours but I need to see you.’
Great, he needed to see her. Some first impression she must’ve made.
Unbidden
, the memory of the way he’d looked at her that morning sprung to mind and she wondered if the sizzle of something between them wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.
‘I can come in early first thing tomorrow,’ she said, banishing her ludicrous thoughts and trying to keep her tone businesslike.
‘I need to see you now.’
‘Oh.’
Damn, that one tiny syllable came out on a sigh and she quickly reassembled her wits.
‘Sorry, no can do. I have other plans.’
‘This isn’t a request, it’s an order.’
His silky-smooth voice did little to disguise the thread of steel beneath. Here was a guy used to making people jump, people who probably asked how high.
‘I’m meeting someone,’ she blurted, gnawing at her bottom lip the instant the words left her mouth, realising how stupid it sounded as an excuse. As if high and mighty Aidan Voss would care if she had a date or not.
‘Far be it from me to disrupt your love life, but this is important and it can’t wait till morning.’
‘Bobby’s just an old friend,’ she said, refraining from slapping her head, just, as another corker popped out of her mouth without her thinking.
Damn it, what was it about this guy that rattled her so much? She usually handled guys with finesse, flirting with them while keeping them at arm’s length, using quips and witty repartee rather than blurting the first thing that came into her head.
‘I’m glad.’
He paused and for one insane second she hoped he might be glad she wasn’t on a real date—before realising why the heck would he care? She was just an employee, a lousy one at that if his unimpressed tone and his order to see her immediately was any indication.
‘That means you can take a rain check and Bobby won’t be disappointed. I’ll meet you in the museum foyer in an hour.’
Cupping her hand over the phone, Beth sighed. She was so tempted to tell him where to get off, but the bank needed proof of a reputable job before considering her application for a loan to secure the gallery’s five-year lease, so she had no option but to do what he wanted.
Removing her hand, she said, ‘Fine. I’ll be there. Though the least you can do is tell me what this is all about.’
‘That episode with the train display today? The child’s mother has lodged an incident report and we need to discuss it.’
Incident report? Great, just great. As a first day on the job this one sucked, big time.
Clamping down on the flicker of fear that this pending meeting couldn’t be good for her job security, she mustered her best contrite tone. ‘No problems. See you in an hour.’
‘One other thing.’
‘What is it?’
‘Don’t be late.’
He hung up before she could respond and with a resigned sigh she snapped the phone shut and flung it into her bag.
If it weren’t for Lana and her dream gallery at stake, she would walk away from this less-than-appealing situation and never look back.
She wasn’t a tour guide, she was an artist, and having to follow someone else’s rules didn’t sit well with her. She was used to creative freedom, to being her own boss, not jumping to someone else’s tune.
As she passed a bright, airy shopfront filled with exquisite paintings and sculptures she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
She wanted that.
Her very own space filled with her work, with the autonomy to do what she wanted when she wanted. Recognition for her talents, recognition of any sort if she were completely honest with herself, something she’d craved from her dad and never got considering he’d spent the bulk of her childhood traipsing around the countryside.
Casting one last longing glance at the mini-gallery, she tucked her bag tighter and picked up the pace.
She could do this.
She had a job to do and she’d better do it well.
Achieving her dream depended on it.
Aidan paced the empty entrance hall of the museum and wondered what the hell he was doing.
He’d had a very bad day, starting with a pile of boring financial reports and ending in a complaint from an irate mother.
Though officially his day hadn’t been all bad and it hadn’t exactly started off with those reports considering he’d laid down the law to the new tour guide first thing.
Ironic, he’d be ending his day the same way he’d started: glancing at his watch and shaking his head at Beth Walker’s lack of punctuality.
He shouldn’t even be here.
Confronting her over the train-display drama could’ve waited till morning, but something had prompted him to ring and order her back tonight.
He muttered a curse, knowing exactly what that ‘something’ was: fascination.
She had him wound up tighter than a DNA strand and he needed to see her now for no other reason than to reassure himself that his absorption with her when he should’ve been focussing on those reports had stemmed from interest in the skills of a new employee and not an underlying fatalistic attraction he couldn’t act upon.
As if on cue a loud tapping sounded on the glass door in front of him and he flicked the lock, sliding a finger between his collar and neck while doing so.
He needed some air, fast.
His lungs had seized the second he laid eyes on Beth in a shimmery purple top, full make-up, blonde hair sleek and a black mini skirt that would keep him up all night.
Correction, the memory of her long, tanned legs on full display in that skirt would do that.
‘Let me guess. You’re going to tell me off for being a few minutes late.’
The full megawattage of her smile hit him as she flicked her hair over her shoulder in a gesture suggesting habit rather than an attempt to capture his attention.
Not that she needed to do anything other than stand there to do that.
‘I saw you staring at your watch just before I knocked.’
‘Occupational habit.’ He ushered her in and locked the door, trying not to inhale too deeply at the tempting fruity fragrance in her wake. ‘I like things running to clockwork. It’s the way I’ve always worked.’
‘I never would’ve guessed.’
Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her lips curving into a dazzling smile that slammed into him with the force of a tumbling pyramid.
‘Come on, let’s go. We have business to discuss.’
‘So you said on the phone.’
Her smile faded and, irrationally, he was disappointed.
‘Let’s wait till we reach my office so you can read the complaint for yourself.’
He found his gaze unwittingly drawn to her shoes as she fell into step beside him. The frivolous, fancy, feather shoes with barely there straps completed this outfit much better than the suit she’d worn earlier and the ‘sex kitten’ label instantly sprang to mind again.
Damn, he shouldn’t be thinking this way, shouldn’t be noticing things like sexy shoes or her alluring outfit or the way the shimmery silver on her eyelids highlighted the vivid jade depths beneath.
‘You don’t fit the image of the average tour guide.’
She chuckled, her soft laughter as enticing as the rest of her. ‘So what does an average tour guide look like?’
‘Not you,’ he muttered, glad they’d reached his office.
Most of the lights had been turned off at closing time and walking along the narrow corridor hip to hip with her had him wishing he hadn’t suggested this after-hours meeting.
Proving to himself he wasn’t interested in her was great in theory. Pity the practice did little more than show him up for fraud.
He was her boss. Which meant she was a no-go zone. Now he just had to remember it.
Eager to get this over and done with, he flung open the door and gestured her to enter before him.
Bad move.
If that itty-bitty skirt highlighted her incredible legs, it did amazing things to her butt.
‘Okay, let me have it.
’
He wrenched his gaze up to meet hers in record time, but the knowing smile curving her lush mouth spoke volumes: she’d caught him checking her out and was enjoying every minute of it.
Irritated by his slip-up, he strode to his desk and handed her the written complaint.
‘Here. Read this, then we’ll discuss it.’
She sped-read it, anxiously gnawing at her bottom lip while he tried to ignore the crazy urge to do the same.
When she reached the end, she ran a shaky hand through her hair, inadvertently draping it over a delectably bare shoulder.
‘So what do you want to do about this problem?’
Furious he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand and off trifling observations like the subtle glimmer of bronze dusted on that bare shoulder, he gestured for her to have a seat while he perched on the edge of the desk.
‘This problem is indicative of a larger one, namely you.’
Her eyes flashed emerald fire while her bottom lip wobbled ever so slightly. ‘I wasn’t a problem when your father hired me. He thinks I’ll be an asset to the museum.’
‘And do you feel the same way?’
‘Of course.’
While that tremulous bottom lip suggested she was quaking inside, she locked stares with him, challenge in her green depths, taunting him to break the deadlock and look away first.
Like hell he would.
‘My father may have hired you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fire you.’
He dropped the magic F word and she dropped her gaze in record time.
Well, well, looked as if Miss Fancy Feet valued her job more than she let on.
‘The train thing was a misunderstanding.’ She handed him the complaint pro forma and sighed. ‘It wasn’t my fault the little monster—uh, cutie-pie—was fiddling with the display.’
How did she do that—undermine his annoyance with a hint of a smile and a blunt response?
Nothing was remotely funny about this situation—the written complaint highlighted a day filled with her incompetence—yet he had to hide his amusement before responding. ‘It’s an interactive display. Kids are meant to fiddle with it.’
‘How was I supposed to know that?’
