by Maggie Cox
“Live for the moment, Morgen. Hmm?”
His arms sliding seductively round her waist, Conall wished fervently that he could banish every trace of sadness from her beautiful green eyes. He couldn’t ever remember feeling that way about any other woman, and he’d dated many.
“So, Miss McKenzie…where do we go from here?”
It was difficult to think straight with the sudden rush of blood to her head. Her expression revealing her anxiety more candidly than she knew, Morgen glanced nervously up at Conall. “Where do you want to go from here?”
He overwhelmed her with another sexy smile, and the strong arms around her waist tightened a little. “Want me to be frank with you?”
Morgen nodded.
“Your bed would be good.”
For several years MAGGIE COX was a reluctant secretary who dreamed of becoming a published author. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t have her head in a book or wasn’t busy filling exercise books with stories. When she was ten years old her favorite English teacher told her, “If you don’t become a writer I’ll eat my hat!” But it was only after marrying the love of her life that she finally became convinced she might be able to achieve her dream. Now a self-confessed champion of dreamers everywhere, she urges everyone with a dream to go for it and never give up. Also a busy full-time mom, who tries constantly not to be so busy in what she laughingly calls her spare time, she loves to watch good drama or romantic movies, and eat chocolate!
Maggie Cox
IN HER BOSS’S BED
To my wonderful brother Billy, loved but not lost.
I will hold you in my heart forever.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
THE voice in her head seemed to come from far away, and had a sense of urgency about it. Irritated at the interruption to her dream, Morgen mentally willed it away, longing for the dream to come back. But to no avail. It was gone, like leaves scattered by the wind. As the fog in her head began to clear it became painfully apparent that she had pins and needles in her hands—the same hands that her head was resting on, on her desk.
‘Oh, my God!’
Lifting her head, she briskly rubbed her palms together, then flexed her fingers, her heart racing slightly as the blood began to circulate again. It started racing even more when she saw the stony-faced expression of the man standing on the other side of the desk, disapproval bracketing a mouth that looked as if it smiled just about as often as Morgen had dinner at the Savoy.
She started to rise to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Was wasting the firm’s time? By my calculations it’s at least another hour until lunch, and I’ve been told that most of the staff in this office grab a sandwich and eat it at their desk. Obviously you have other, less strenuous ideas for using your desk, Miss…?’
Hateful man! For a couple of moments Morgen struggled to get a handle on her anger, not to mention humiliation, but then, taking a deep breath and tucking her hair behind her ear, she straightened her shoulders and rallied. How dared he cast aspersions on her character by insinuating that she fell asleep at her desk on a regular basis? And who, in God’s name, was he anyway?
‘My falling asleep like that has never happened before, Mr…?’
‘You first.’ He ran an impatient hand through hair the colour of rich dark caramel, and Morgen couldn’t help noticing that he looked in urgent need of both a haircut and a shave. Besides that, there was an edge about him that made her stomach knot. This was a man who would never suffer the indignity of being ignored, she concluded, not in this life. And it wasn’t just because of those jaw-dropping good looks, either.
‘McKenzie. Morgen McKenzie.’
‘And—apart from being employed by this firm to do apparently not very much—you work for Derek Holden, is that right?’
Swallowing with difficulty, Morgen felt the slight burn of heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m his assistant, yes.’
‘Then where the hell is he? I had a meeting booked with him in the conference room at ten-thirty. I got an earlier flight back from the States to make sure I was here on time, I’m jet-lagged, in dire need of a shower and something to eat, and there’s no sign of your boss anywhere. Care to tell me where you think he is, Miss McKenzie?’
Right now, what she actually cared to tell Mr High-and-Mighty-I’m-so-much-better-than-you standing in front of her was probably unprintable, but she was equally angry with Derek. Why hadn’t he briefed her on the fact he had a ten-thirty appointment with this man, whoever he was? She’d checked the diary thoroughly before she’d left last night, as she always did, and there had been no meeting in the conference room at ten-thirty pencilled in then. What the devil was he playing at?
Her heart sank at yet another painful reminder of her boss’s slow and steady decline. Once a smart up-and-coming young architect, since his divorce Derek Holden had turned more and more to the bottle in search of comfort. In the past six months Morgen had seen him turn into a sad, shambling wreck of his former self. It was a good job that she was quick-witted and smart herself, because she had saved his bacon on more than one occasion—taking over work that was definitely not in the province of a mere personal assistant. She concluded that Derek must have known about the meeting for a while but had forgotten to tell her about it.
Now, as her fingers turned over the wide pages of the desk diary, hovering over the blank space next to ten-thirty, Morgen frowned down at it, rapidly scanning her brain for the best excuse for his absence she could possibly come up with. Sensing the man’s irritation grow more acute as the seconds ticked by, she reflected that this handsome Goliath in front of her was going to take a heck of a lot of convincing.
‘Unfortunately Derek has been taken ill,’ she explained smoothly, assuring herself she wasn’t too far off the mark. He usually didn’t show up until around ten most days anyway, but because it was now almost eleven-fifteen she assumed he must be feeling even more the worse for wear than usual. He probably wouldn’t show up today at all—which might be for the best, considering the glowering face before her.
‘Really? Then why in hell’s name didn’t someone let me know?’ The deep, resonant bellow almost made Morgen jump out of her skin. ‘Why didn’t you let me know, Miss McKenzie? Isn’t that what you’re paid to do?’
‘If you’d care to tell me who you are, I might be able to—’
‘Conall O’Brien. Obviously you weren’t even aware that your boss and I had a meeting, were you? Care to explain why?’
Her head hurt at the relentless barrage of questions, but her pulse nearly careened to a halt like a car coming upon a sudden hairpin bend when he said his name. Conall O’Brien. The charismatic head of O’Brien and Stoughton Associates—premier architects with offices in London, Sydney and New York. Although Morgen had worked for the London office for just over a year now, she had never set eyes on the man himself. However, his awesome reputation preceded him.
It was well known that he took no prisoners and showed little leniency to anyone having personal problems—a fact that had been made abundantly clear to her already. He absolutely hated tardiness and expected one hundred and ten per cent from the people who worked for him. He mostly worked out of the New York office, and occasionally Sydney, but she had never known him to come to London in all that time—he had always sent a representative. How on earth could
Derek have forgotten to brief her on something so important? His love for the bottle might have finally put both their jobs in jeopardy.
A single mother with a six-year-old daughter and a mortgage to pay, Morgen couldn’t afford to lose her job right now. Her day had started badly, because she’d been up all night nursing Neesha’s cold. Then falling asleep at her desk due to exhaustion—could this day get any worse? she wondered. While she was contemplating this, eyes the colour of a freezing Atlantic Ocean in a squall bored unmercifully into hers, and Morgen knew she had a long way to go to redeem herself in front of this man.
‘I know this doesn’t look good, but Mr Holden has been working terribly hard lately. Yesterday he definitely looked under the weather. I’m not surprised he isn’t in today.’
‘Never mind that. Why weren’t you aware that we had a meeting? Dammit, it was arranged only last week. Presumably you and your boss do communicate?’
To Morgen’s alarm he shrugged off his trench coat and threw it on a chair beside the window that reflected the impressive high-rise vista of the city of London. He was dressed from head to foot in bespoke tailoring that screamed quality and money. The suit was a deep dark blue with a very faint pinstripe, matched with a royal blue shirt and silk tie, and its wearer exuded the kind of power that mostly only those born to wealth and privilege could effortlessly carry off. Coupled with that watchful intelligence in those ‘I’m not missing a damn thing’ arctic blue eyes, and those intimidatingly broad shoulders, he clearly wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Though right now Morgen wasn’t trifling at all. She was fighting for her life in deadly earnest.
‘Of course we communicate. Derek—Mr Holden obviously meant to tell me to put it in the diary, but because he was so busy he unfortunately forgot. I can assure you it’s very unlike him, Mr O’Brien. Why don’t I pour you a cup of coffee and maybe send out for some food, if you’re hungry? And in the meantime I could ring Mr Holden at home and tell him you’re here. He could jump in a taxi and be here in about twenty minutes or so, I’m sure.’
‘From that comment I take it that he’s not exactly at death’s door, then?’
Feeling her face burn, Morgen dissembled. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any details at present.’
‘So go get the coffee, then get me Holden on the phone—I’ll talk to him myself. Don’t worry about food—I’ve got a lunch appointment at one, so it will keep.’
Pulling out a chair from the wall, he dropped down into it opposite Morgen’s desk, his impressive frame all but dwarfing it. Yet she would swear there wasn’t so much as an ounce of superfluous flesh on that awesome physique. Intensely aware of every single thing about the man, she didn’t miss the yawn he swiftly suppressed or the faint look of weariness that briefly glimmered in those quick-witted blue eyes.
She couldn’t help but be relieved when she escaped from the room into Derek’s office, to pour some coffee from the percolator that was always kept on simmer. As far as Morgen was concerned the air around Conall O’Brien was far too rarefied for her liking, and she wondered how the people in his office coped with the man. When Conall said ‘jump’, did they all jump automatically? Probably…either that or risk being fired.
Crouching down in front of the cabinet where she kept the best crockery, only used when Derek was in conference with VIPs, Morgen cursed softly as several empty whisky bottles fell out onto the thick grey carpet and rolled towards her feet. As she quickly started to gather them up the door opened quietly behind her, and she found herself in the humiliating position of being caught red-handed.
‘Very unlike your boss to “forget” our appointment, you say, Miss McKenzie?’ His voice dripping with icy disdain, Conall fixed his unforgiving gaze on Morgen. ‘I guess if I had a belly full of whisky I’d be inclined to forget my commitments as well…wouldn’t you agree?’
Her startled green eyes widened as she glanced up at him, and her stomach turned decidedly queasy at the fact that poor Derek’s unhappy drinking problem was no longer exclusively their little secret. ‘If you’d—if you’d like to wait outside I’ll just get rid of these and make your coffee.’
‘Leave them.’
‘It’s all right. It will only take a minute, then I’ll—’
‘Leave the damn bottles, Miss McKenzie, and get that feckless boss of yours on the phone, pronto!’
Morgen’s knees were shaking as she got to her feet. Her lips pursed, she turned away from the accusing glare of a pair of wintry blue eyes and went to reach for the phone on Derek’s desk.
‘Wait a minute.’
‘What?’
‘On second thoughts, right now I need a caffeine fix more urgently than I need to tell your dear Mr Holden his services are no longer required.’
Her heart sinking, Morgen replaced the phone shakily back in its cream-coloured rest. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘What?’ A briefly amused quirk of perfectly sculpted lips brought the first glimpse of a smile, but Morgen steeled herself against falling into such a trap. He wasn’t going to lure her into any sense of false security so easily. ‘You don’t believe I need a caffeine fix?’
‘It’s not that. I just—I mean, you can’t fire Derek! He’s a good man. Honestly…he’d do anything for anybody. His wife left him recently, and he hasn’t coped with it very well. I’ve no doubt he’ll turn things around, given the chance.’
‘Spoken like a loyal and true assistant. Is that all you do for your boss, Miss McKenzie? Help him in the office?’
The insinuation was so blatantly obvious that for a moment Morgen was dumbstruck. Then, with trembling hands, she drew the black lapels of her suit jacket together over her blouse and, with all the dignity she could muster, raised her gaze to look Mr High-and-Mighty O’Brien straight in the eye.
‘I don’t care for your crude implications, Mr O’Brien. If you knew Derek Holden then you’d know that he only had eyes for Nicky, his wife. And if you knew me then you’d also know that I make it an absolute rule never to get involved with anyone at work.’
‘Never?’ The brief smile suddenly became teasingly wider, revealing perfectly white teeth against his tan, and Morgen had to concentrate hard so that she could think.
Folding her arms across her chest, she deliberately didn’t smile back. How dared he? How bloody well dared he make casual sexual insinuations when she was in fear of losing her job as well as her boss? But then she guessed that not many people would dare stand up to this man without fearing the consequences. Well, perhaps he’d met his match in her. Because, as much as she needed this job—and God only knew how much—she wasn’t about to cower in a corner because this man had the power to intimidate.
‘Absolutely never, Mr O’Brien. Now, if you’d care to wait in the outer office, I’ll get you that coffee you’re apparently so desperately in need of.’
For a long tension-filled moment, during which Morgen would swear the only thought in his mind was to give her the sack on the spot, Conall treated her to one of his hard, unrelenting stares, then surprisingly turned away to move towards the door.
‘Strong and black, Miss McKenzie—no sugar. You don’t mind if I use your office to do some work?’
‘Go ahead.’
Feeling like a deflated balloon, she almost sagged against the desk when he’d gone. When she next saw Derek…she couldn’t decide whether she’d read him the Riot Act or simply wring his neck.
Conall drew out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and rubbed at the pain throbbing in his temple. If he didn’t catch up with some sleep soon they’d have to carry him out of there on a stretcher. It wasn’t because he was unaccustomed to a long working day, or even working seven days a week—it was all grist to the mill as far as he was concerned. That was how he’d built up the business when his father had retired to ‘let his son take the reins’. But, having had non-stop meetings five days running and then two consecutive long-haul flights—one from California to New York, where he’d touched base at the office, th
en from New York on to London—his body needed sleep like a prisoner on Death Row needed to stay awake.
Taking another mouthful of the strong black coffee Morgen had brought him, he stopped reading the writing on the page in front of him and thought about the woman he’d just met. Where he lived they used the expression ‘hot’. As far as her figure and her face went, Morgen McKenzie was on fire. Even though his rage at her boss’s ineptitude, as well as finding her asleep at her desk, had almost made him lose it big time, his hormones wouldn’t have been in prime working order if he hadn’t reacted to the beautiful girl in front of him. And, God knows, he’d reacted.
When he’d discovered her on her knees in Holden’s office, trying to hide the blatant evidence of the man’s drinking problem, it had taken just one dazzling glance from those big green eyes of hers to almost make him forget what he was there for. It hadn’t helped matters either when the vee of her blouse had gaped a little, unwittingly giving him a very sexy glimpse of her gorgeous cleavage, white lace bra and all. He’d received a sexual charge so acute that for a moment his thoughts had been scrambled to the four corners of the earth.
Of course he couldn’t help being angry that she’d been asleep at her desk. He had a reputation for being hard but fair to his employees, and could be generous to a fault to the people who deserved it, but he absolutely deplored slackers—workers who didn’t pull their weight. One look at Morgen and he’d hazarded a guess that the lady had been burning the candle at both ends—no wonder she was tired! With looks like hers she doubtless had a queue of admirers going round the block—what reason would she have to stay home and mope when she could be out on the town every night? Never mind the effect it had on her performance at work. The thought made his blood boil. Who would blame him if he gave her her walking papers along with her boss?
