At the Boss's Command

by Darcy Maguire

  ‘Oh, I suppose I’m being melodramatic,’ she said awkwardly. ‘It wasn’t that bad. But there were three of them— twin girls and a boy. The girls were much worse. They used to gang up on me and hurt me as much as they could. You know, girl things—pinching, pulling my hair, breaking my things.’

  ‘Girls are expert torturers,’ he said gently.

  ‘Oh, yes. Sometimes they really hurt. They knew what they were doing. And I couldn’t fight back, because the moment I did, they would tell Uncle Jeffrey and I would be punished even worse. They wanted to make me cry, but eventually I learned how to take it without crying. So as they got older, they started using words, instead.’

  ‘What sort of words?’

  ‘Predictable stuff. Why are you so interested?’ she asked with an uneasy laugh.

  ‘I’m interested in everything about you,’ he said. ‘Tell me what they used to say to you.’

  Amy sighed. ‘They used to tell me that my parents committed suicide because they knew I was the Devil’s child.’

  Anton’s eyes widened. ‘That’s pretty good stuff. I had something similar in one place they sent me to. It gave me nightmares for years.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she said, half smiling at him. ‘I used to dream the most awful things.’

  ‘Gore and monsters. I know. What else did they say to you?’

  ‘Oh, that nobody wanted me, everybody hated me. They told me I was ugly and wicked. That sort of thing. It got really bad when…’

  ‘When?’ he prompted as her voice trailed away.

  There was a hot lump in her throat. ‘I don’t think I can tell you about it.’

  Anton put his arm around her unexpectedly and drew her close to him. He drew her head gently onto his shoulder. ‘Try,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘It can only make it better to let it out.’

  The warm smell of his skin was like a drug that intoxicated her senses, making it easier to say what was so hard. ‘When I was twelve or thirteen and my body changed…’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘They found out. They said such awful things. The girls were more or less my age but they hadn’t started yet. I think they were jealous, in a way. I didn’t dare tell anyone, not even Aunt Sheila. I didn’t have a mother. I had to cope on my own. But every month after that was a nightmare, trying desperately to hide what was happening. But they always found out and then they would make life unbearable for me.’

  He held her close, stroking her silky hair with a gentle hand. ‘I’m sorry, Amy.’

  ‘The twins started a year later and then it eased off. They were too busy concentrating on their own adolescence to worry about mine. And around then, they started just ignoring me. They’d done all the hurtful things they could think of. They got bored with the game and started leading their own lives. But I will always remember that as the worst year of my life.’

  ‘But you got through it,’ he said quietly. ‘And now you know that if you could get through that, you can get through anything.’

  She smiled against his shoulder. ‘I supposed that’s true.’ It was heavenly to be cradled in his arms like this, to feel the warmth of his compassion, understanding but not sentimental, surrounding her. ‘But I don’t want to talk about me any more. I want to hear about you, Anton, about the foster homes you grew up in.’

  ‘Changing the subject, I see.’

  ‘Same subject, different viewpoint. You said some of your foster homes were very bad. Tell me about them.’

  ‘The worst one? They wanted to make me as unhappy as they were. They beat me with a strap and locked me in a cupboard for days at a time.’

  She felt suddenly sick. ‘Oh, Anton, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch such a painful memory.’

  ‘I didn’t mind the strap so much,’ he said calmly. ‘The cupboard was much worse. Because I wanted so desperately to go to school, you see. In the end, that saved me. The school sent someone round to the house to see why I was absent such a lot. So they took me out of there. I was kept in an orphanage for the next two years before they tried me with another foster family. The rest of my families were all wonderful. But somehow, after that, I always found myself on the outside, emotionally.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated. ‘What happened to me was nothing like that.’

  ‘It was probably just as bad,’ he said. ‘Inadequate and miserable people are the cruellest. They want to destroy everybody else’s happiness. The worst part is not the insults or the bruises. It’s not feeling loved.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I feel sick to my stomach, Anton. Poor little boy!’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t tell me there’s a weak spot in the armour plating!’

  ‘I’m not armour plated as far as you’re concerned,’ she said softly. ‘Always remember that, when you feel like teasing me.’

  ‘I will. And please don’t ever be afraid of telling me things,’ he went on. ‘I understand you better than you can know.’

  ‘I believe you do,’ she said, lifting her head to look at him. ‘Thank you for listening—and for telling me about you.’

  He kissed her mouth lightly. It was like a touch of velvet, but she drew away swiftly, as though she had been burned. ‘Well, we’re a couple of hard cases, aren’t we?’ he said, smiling at her with those amazing blue eyes.

  Not trusting herself to reply after that kiss, Amy cleared away their trays and dumped everything in the service locker. Talking to him about her childhood, and catching a glimpse of his, had touched nerves deep inside her. She found that her hands were trembling with emotion. How strange to relive those memories here, high in the dark night, flying to France!

  When she returned, Anton had produced blankets and pillows. ‘Sleep beside me,’ he commanded softly, ‘in case nightmares come.’

  ‘I won’t have nightmares tonight,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not talking about you.’ He reached up and turned off the overhead lights so that the cabin was in dimness.

  The arm rest between the wide seats lifted up, and the backs went down, to produce a large and very welcoming bed. Amy kicked off her shoes and lay down beside him. His strong arms surrounded her, drawing her close. Though she was fully clothed in trousers and a blouse, and he in his customary jeans and silk shirt, the contact was as electric to her as though they were naked.

  ‘We’re the same, you and I,’ he murmured, his warm breath brushing the sensitive skin of her throat. ‘Always got our noses pressed to the window. Fogging up the glass and seeing things in a rosy, fuzzy glow.’

  ‘I have no illusions, Anton.’

  ‘You like to think you’re so tough, Worthington,’ he growled. ‘Every day you get up and add another layer to that suit of armour you clank around in. I wonder if you can even see out of it any more.’

  ‘It’s safe in here,’ she said. But lying in his arms she did not feel safe—not very safe at all.

  Chapter Six

  AFTER the ceremonial presentation of the macaw—which Henri Barbusse seemed enchanted by—the negotiations began in a large, featureless hotel in Marseilles. It commanded panoramic views of the sea and had excellent conference facilities, but was otherwise about as exciting as a shoebox inside.

  But the negotiations were fascinating. Sitting beside Anton and making sure he had all the papers he needed, Amy was in a perfect position to observe the subtle and not-so-subtle intricacies of the debate. In another time and place, Anton and Henri Barbusse might have been two generals commanding rival armies, and instead of millions of dollars, the profit and loss might have been in human blood.

  As Anton had predicted, Henri Barbusse, a small, square-bearded man in his fifties, was offering a very large amount of money. His style was very different from Anton’s; where Anton was relaxed and casual, Barbusse was a dandy, always impeccably starched and cufflinked; where Anton acted and spoke spontaneously, Barbusse was always smoothly produced, something of an actor. He reminded Amy of one of his own beloved birds, small, neat and always
preening his feathers.

  The main area of debate centred around exclusivity. While buying out the refinery, Barbusse wanted to prevent the Zell Corporation from building any similar plants for anyone else in France.

  Anton smilingly conceded that the point was an important one. He seemed so relaxed about it that Amy began to be afraid he would give away too much. But watching how Anton, with apparent casualness, worked the deal to his favour was an education in negotiation at the highest level.

  By the second afternoon, Barbusse had conceded that Zell France would receive a royalty on every gallon for five more years, and Barbusse Resources Inc. had to order at least one more refinery within two years, and discuss the possibility of a third and possibly more plants. The additional refineries were to be installed at locations already belonging to Zell France or its partners, and Barbusse was to compensate Zell accordingly.

  The papers were ready to sign and a Press conference was called to showcase the agreement. Media interest was high, and TV cameras as well as a bevy of newspaper reporters were on hand to film the signing and tape statements from both Anton and Barbusse.

  To celebrate the conclusion of the deal, the next night Henri Barbusse took the whole negotiating team out to a magnificent dinner which began with Marseilles’s most famous dish, bouillabaisse, which—as Anton took great pleasure in telling her—was made from the deadly stonefish, proceeded through lobster thermidor, and concluded with an assortment of liqueurs and nougat.

  Amy was wearing a stretch dress in dark blue which flattered her figure, and she could tell she was getting a lot of male attention, which pleased her ego. Among the male eyes which dwelled on her curves were Anton’s. He had not seen her in going-out clothes, she realised; in Hong Kong she dressed very formally, for the office; and when they were in the field, she wore loose casuals in khakis and browns. By the expression in his eyes, he was enjoying the glimpse of her curves which the blue dress afforded!

  After dinner they were taken to a cabaret, which was funny and sophisticated, and then on to a club. It was a delightful evening and she was very taken aback when Henri Barbusse asked her to dance in between numbers.

  On the crowded dance-floor, Barbusse was unexpectedly flirtatious. ‘Where did my friend Anton find such an angel as you?’ he demanded.

  ‘I assure you, he doesn’t consider me an angel, Monsieur Barbusse!’

  ‘You are divine, my dear. A symphony in blue and gold! I have been watching you for these past two days. If conditions with Zell are ever less than heavenly, you come straight to me, OK? I will make all your dreams come true!’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said tactfully.

  ‘You do that.’

  Barbusse had gyrated her into a corner of the dance-floor from which there was no escape and now he closed in. Amy found herself enfolded in octopus arms, with an insistent pelvis bumping hers suggestively.

  ‘You do that, little bird,’ he said hoarsely into her ear. ‘Bear me in mind!’

  ‘I will, I promise.’

  Wishing she knew some jiu-jitsu, she tried to evade the amorous millionaire. A scented beard brushed her cheek. ‘Do not fly away, my little bird,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me what Zell pays you. I will double it.’

  ‘I’m happy with my salary!’

  ‘I will make you happier.’

  ‘But I like living in Hong Kong,’ she replied, trying to squirm out of the embrace.

  A hand closed around her breast. ‘You will grow tired of it—come and live in Paris!’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she repeated, jerking the hand away from her breast.

  ‘Take my card, little pigeon,’ he murmured, ‘you have the most beautiful bosom I ever saw.’ He produced a gilt-edged card with his number on it and tried to slip it into her cleavage. She intercepted it as gracefully as she could. She managed to evade both the scented beard and the exploring pelvis at last, and when the number ended scampered back to Anton with relief.

  Anton was smiling lazily at her. ‘What was that interesting dance you were doing with cher Henri?’

  ‘It’s called Dodge the Oil Magnate,’ she said breathlessly, adjusting her dress.

  ‘Or maybe, Dances with Wolves?’

  ‘Right. Or In a Tight Corner with a Tycoon.’

  ‘And what was he whispering in your shell-like ear?’

  ‘He was offering me a job at twice what you pay me.’

  ‘No, really? It looked like he was demonstrating some of the perks of the job, too.’

  ‘You are a pig,’ she said, and he laughed out loud.

  ‘Weren’t you tempted by the generous offer?’

  ‘Of course I was tempted. He gave me his card.’

  ‘Yes, I saw him post something down your front. Such a delicious letter box. But I’m surprised Henri’s little offering didn’t get lost in the recesses of your costume.’

  ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d worn something less décolleté,’ she said ruefully.

  ‘If you’ve got them, flaunt them. Especially if they’re doubling your salary every time you trot them out.’

  ‘They’re not that big, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Pushing them in Henri’s face probably made them look larger,’ he said, deadpan.

  ‘I was not pushing them in his face!’

  ‘Yes, you were. You can push them in my face now, Worthington. Unless you’re too out of breath?’

  He took her hand, and, breathless as she was, she went back on the floor with him to dance.

  Dancing with Anton was much nicer than dancing with Henri Barbusse. He was graceful and light on his feet and made no attempt to paw her. When the music changed to a slow, dreamy number, he took her gently in his arms and held her lightly but firmly against his strong body. He danced so well that she could almost forget that she had feet at all, and just drift along to his rhythm.

  ‘So?’ he asked her. ‘Has Marseilles been interesting?’

  ‘I’ve learned more in the last couple of days than in the past five years,’ she said.

  ‘What have you learned?’

  ‘For one thing, that Anton Zell can have it all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you came here to sell your share in a refinery. But it’s ended up that you’re still going to share in the profits for five more years, build up to two new refineries, and sell some very expensive industrial real estate. You’re a very clever man.’

  He brushed her cheek with his. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’

  ‘I’m not flattering you, Mr Fox. Merely commenting on your cunning.’

  ‘Can I comment on your beauty?’

  ‘Flattery will get you nowhere. But go ahead if you must.’

  ‘You are by far the most beautiful woman here,’ he said, his breath warm against her neck. ‘But that’s the least of it. You’re probably also the most beautiful woman in France tonight.’

  ‘Only probably?’

  ‘There are twenty-five million others. One has to be cautious in business estimates.’

  ‘Oh, so this is a business conversation we’re having?’ she said, feeling his powerful stomach muscles brushing against hers.

  ‘A wage negotiation.’

  ‘Am I in line for a raise?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want you going over to the opposition. I like you just where you are.’

  ‘I don’t plan on going over to Henri Barbusse any time soon.’

  ‘But you have kept his card.’

  ‘A girl has to have a back-up plan.’

  ‘I see. So what do you want, Worthington? More money—or more perks?’

  Her breasts pressed against his chest as they moved together. ‘Tell me about the perks.’

  ‘I tried to give you a jade bracelet, but you turned me down flat.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she said wryly. ‘Don’t think I didn’t get the symbolism of that particular perk.’

  ‘Symbolism?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Her hair brushed h
is cheek. ‘You wanted to put a bangle carved with a dragon around my wrist.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Giving everybody the message that I belonged to the big dragon himself.’

  ‘Or maybe that the big dragon belonged to you.’

  ‘Hah! That’ll be the day!’

  His mouth touched her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. ‘But I was trying to tell you how beautiful you are,’ he murmured. ‘That dress suits you perfectly. Are you wearing any underwear beneath it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It doesn’t show.’

  ‘It’s very expensive underwear.’

  ‘So I’m clearly already paying you too much.’

  She lifted her face to his to retort, but he didn’t give her a chance. His lips sealed hers with a firm, possessive kiss that made her bones melt. ‘Mr Fox,’ she whispered, looking up at him with shining eyes, ‘you are taking liberties!’

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, ‘talking about your underwear—or the absence of it—made me lose my head for a second.’

  ‘“I lost my head” is a very feeble excuse.’

  ‘Better than, “I lost my underwear”.’

  She burst out laughing. Luckily the slow number ended, and the pace picked up, and she was able to beg him to let her go back to the table for a drink.

  The party was still going strong in the early hours of the morning, when Amy started to droop and begged for permission to go back to the hotel to bed.

  ‘I’ll take you,’ Anton said.

  ‘Oh, please don’t leave the party,’ she replied, ‘I’ll go back to the hotel on my own, there’s no need for you to escort me!’

  ‘I’ve had enough too, honey bunny. And I think Henri wants an excuse to get back to his exotic birds, n’est-ce pas, Henri?’

  ‘It is rather late,’ Barbusse said with a smile, ‘and you had better get your own bird of paradise back to her nest before she puts her beautiful head under her wing and goes to sleep!’ He kissed Amy’s hand lingeringly. ‘I will see you tomorrow, Anton.’