At the Boss's Command

by Darcy Maguire

  Miles cut across her panicked thoughts. ‘Sam looked so woebegone. I thought he’d certainly be off school today and want you with him. If you need to be there for him, just put seven and a half hours down for today regardless and go home.’

  Jemima couldn’t quite believe Miles had just offered to pay her for a day she didn’t work. She’d never let him do that. It was kind, but…

  Why would he do that for her? He hardly knew her—and the fact that her best friend was marrying his best friend hardly constituted a friendship.

  ‘He’s fine. Really.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ He must feel really sorry for her. Jemima hated the way everyone seemed to feel so sorry for her. She was so…tired of being an object of pity. It irked her that she had been forced to accept so much help. It was kind of everyone, but…

  Couldn’t they see that only part of the reason behind her trying to build some kind of career for herself was financial? The other part was a desire for independence. She wanted to prove to herself, to her family…to Russell…that she could manage perfectly well on her own.

  Miles must have been able to read something of what she was thinking because he added quickly, ‘If it would help I could send you home with a couple of audio tapes and you could email everything through later on.’

  Jemima shook her head. ‘That’s really nice of you, but Sam’s absolutely okay and back at school.’ She nodded as though to emphasise the truth of what she’d said, then walked over and sat behind her desk. There was no need to add that it wasn’t an option anyway since her computer, like her car, had given up the ghost.

  ‘I’m glad he’s feeling so much better,’ Miles said, straightening up and pulling a hand through his hair. She then watched, fascinated, as a smile twisted his sensual mouth. ‘I suppose,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m still haunted by the prospect of him actually using the ice cream tub—’

  She went to speak, but Miles stopped her.

  ‘—even if it did have a lid.’

  Jemima felt a bubble of laughter form in the pit of her stomach. ‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

  ‘Really?’

  His eyebrows lifted the merest fraction, but it brought her laughter to the surface. ‘Okay. No, you’re right. I was going to say that,’ she conceded. She pulled back a wayward strand of hair and re-clipped it tightly in her simple hairgrip. ‘But the lid is important. It keeps—’

  ‘I get the picture.’

  Jemima laughed again and leant forward to boot up her computer.

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment and then he asked, ‘Have you had a chance to speak to your plumber this morning?’

  She shook her head, before keying in the password. ‘I did try his mobile before I got on the tube but it was switched off. I left a message and I’ll give it another go when I go for a coffee break later.’

  ‘If there’s any problem with getting him to come back, I’ve got the number of my plumber with me. He’s good. I’ve worked with him on the last three projects. His name is Steve Baldock.’

  Jemima looked up. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’s in my briefcase. Let me know if you want it.’

  ‘I will, thanks.’

  ‘It makes sense to ring the man you used first. If he’s to blame he’ll have to put it right without charging you.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  Miles hesitated, as though he would like to have continued talking. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Strange. Then he pulled a hand through his dark hair again. ‘I suppose I’d better get on,’ he said abruptly.

  Perhaps he felt uncomfortable about the change in their relationship. He needn’t worry. She wasn’t about to take advantage of the fact that they had mutual friends.

  ‘I’ll grab a coffee, if that’s okay? Then I’ll get started on all this,’ she said, indicating the large pile of files and papers he’d placed in her in-tray some time between when she’d left on Friday and now. ‘I missed breakfast this morning. Hopefully the caffeine will stave off my craving for chocolate until lunch time.’

  ‘Was it a rush to get out?’

  Jemima stood up. ‘It’s always a rush in my house. This morning it was a particular disaster because Ben suddenly remembered he’d forgotten to learn his spellings for a test they’re having today. He should’ve done them over the weekend but, of course, he was with Russell.’

  ‘Couldn’t he take them with him?’

  ‘He could, but how many eight-year-olds do you know can manage to organise their work like that? Ben forgets about things like homework the minute he walks out the school gate.’ She paused at the door. ‘I’m going to have to remember to make a point of asking him when I get in. Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘That would be great. Thanks.’ Miles stepped back and closed the door to his office. What was happening to him? He couldn’t quite believe he’d offered to pay her for a day she didn’t work. He thrust a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to say that; the words had seemed to say themselves.

  Jemima had changed, but more worryingly he had changed. The truth was he didn’t know anything about how eight-year-olds organised their homework. He’d never before experienced the slightest interest in the subject, but he found he was very interested in Jemima. By extension that seemed to mean he was interested in her sons. And he certainly felt an overwhelming compulsion to try and help her.

  Why was that? He liked to think he was a fairly compassionate person, but Jemima’s problems were just that—hers. He shouldn’t be trying to think of ways to make her life simpler. She was a grown woman, more than capable of finding an alternative plumber by herself if she needed one.

  Miles frowned and walked across to the window. There was nothing much to see, just a narrow London street typical of the area. He let out his breath in a controlled stream.

  He hadn’t known what to expect from this morning. From Jemima or himself. How he would feel about working with her, seeing her…

  He’d told her that he hadn’t expected her to be at work today, but actually that had been a lie. He had expected her to be there. In fact, he’d been watching the clock and listening out for her arrival—not consciously, but he’d known the minute she’d walked into the office. He’d heard the door open and had been on his feet.

  Jemima, he’d decided, was big on duty. If she said she’d do something then it would have to be something truly catastrophic to make her break her word. She’d come in to work— and he’d wanted to make it easy for her to go home again.

  But…offering to pay a temporary secretary for a day not worked was surely taking it all a bit too far.

  Of course, he hadn’t liked the idea of Sam being sent to a childminder and desperately wanting his mum—and he knew why that was. It was an uncomfortable echo of his own childhood and Sam’s small pale face peeking out from a blanket was a haunting image.

  But it was none of his business. Jemima Chadwick was a friend of a friend, his very temporary secretary, and her life was absolutely none of his business.

  Damn it! Miles turned abruptly from the window and went to sit down at his desk. He picked up his pen and idly started to twist it between his long fingers. Jemima was also a single mother with responsibilities. And that was the one reason above all others why he shouldn’t be contemplating any kind of relationship with her.

  Miles started drawing straight lines on his pad of paper and then put in the horizontal ones. He needed to focus on how hurt children could get when the adults in their life brought home new partners. He’d been hurt when his own mother had done it.

  Miles shaded in a couple of the small boxes. He wasn’t even particularly comfortable with finding a mother sexually attractive. There was something wrong with that somehow. As though the two things were, or at least should be, mutually exclusive.

  But, astoundingly, he was attracted to Jemima. No question about that. She’d returned to her work uniform—but it wasn’t as good a camouflage as before. Her hair mig
ht be pulled straight and drawn back in a way that concealed how stunning it could look, but he wasn’t fooled. Beneath the conventional and dull clothes was someone altogether more interesting.

  And he knew what it felt like to kiss her…

  The door opened and he had to watch Jemima as she carried in his coffee. He remembered her green eyes wide with surprise and the small gasp she’d made as he’d finally closed the distance between them. Then there was the way her body had felt so soft and inviting, the way she’d responded.

  Jemima placed his coffee carefully on the leather coaster— and it was difficult to make his throat work. ‘Thanks.’ His voice sounded husky.

  He couldn’t quite place what it was that had made that kiss feel so special. He’d kissed many, many women over the past two decades, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced anything quite like it. There’d been a…sweetness about it— and he wanted to kiss her again.

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s an addiction, though.’

  Jemima smiled at him and he felt his mouth curve into an inane grin. ‘I know.’ It wasn’t just the coffee that was addictive. ‘And I’m told it stains my teeth.’

  Her mouth quirked with suppressed laughter. ‘Who dared tell you that?’

  ‘Some people have no ability socially, so one has to make allowances,’ he said, loving the sparkle that appeared in her usually serious eyes.

  Miles twisted the pen in his hand. There was nothing contrived or artificial about Jemima. How had he missed that? He should have been able to see past the unflattering clothes to notice how beautiful she really was from the very beginning.

  ‘It’s quite true that coffee stains your teeth, though,’ Jemima said, turning back towards the door. ‘I read it somewhere. Did you also know that champagne gives you halitosis?’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘No idea. Bit depressing if it is.’

  Miles let the laughter warm his eyes. ‘Very.’

  ‘Though I don’t know why I say that. I don’t actually like champagne.’

  Didn’t she? ‘What do you drink?’

  ‘From choice?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Pimms, I think. During the summer, anyway.’ Jemima’s hand was on the door handle. ‘Or a nice dry white wine. I’m not particularly fussed about the country of origin or the price of the bottle because I think it’s a con.’

  ‘Do you?’ he asked with a faint lift of his expressive eyebrows, knowing that she would understand why. He wasn’t disappointed. He watched with enjoyment as Jemima bit her lip.

  ‘You’re a wine connoisseur, aren’t you?’

  Miles burst out laughing. “Fraid so.’

  ‘Oops.’ She shot him a mischievous smile. ‘I wouldn’t have said that if I’d known. That would have been rude.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Miles said softly, watching for her reaction.

  Jemima gave a rich chuckle as she went out and shut the door. It was strange how he’d thought she was so serious when he’d first met her. Despite all the troubles and disappointments of her life, the one thing that had emerged intact was her sense of humour.

  Quiet, disciplined, conscientious—all those things were still true, but there was a hidden side of her personality. It was a side he longed to know more about.

  But at what cost? Particularly to her. He needed to remember that Jemima had troubles enough without the complication of a man like him wafting in and out of her life. And ‘temporary’ was all he wanted…or was capable of.

  Jemima spread some butter on her toast. The trouble with mornings, in her opinion, was that they happened too early. She needed at least a couple of coffees in her system before she was ready to face the day. She smiled. Better not let Miles suspect that about her.

  ‘Ben. Sam,’ she called. ‘Hurry up and come downstairs for breakfast. I’ve made porridge.’ She listened to the absolute silence above. ‘Grandma will be here in a minute.’

  She glanced down at her wrist-watch. At least she hoped Grandma would be here in a minute or she was going to be cutting it fine to get to work by nine-thirty. Her third week at Kingsley and Bressington had flown by. Halfway through her stint there she could almost say she was enjoying it.

  Having had no interest in public relations before she’d started at Kingsley and Bressington she’d developed a healthy respect for it. Certainly a respect for Miles. He was absolutely brilliant at what he did and the hours he put in were punishing.

  Unbelievably, she was going to miss it all when it was over. Miss Miles too, if she were honest, though she’d seen less of him this week than in the previous two. For much of the time he’d been shut away in his office, emerging only for long working lunches. Yesterday almost the only sign he was in the building was the enormous pile of work he’d left in her in-tray.

  Nevertheless there was a buzz about working at Kingsley and Bressington and there was always the prospect of seeing Miles. A five minute conversation with him and her day seemed that little bit brighter. It was probably just as well her time working for him was limited.

  ‘Ben. Can you hear me?’ She bit into her toast as the telephone started to ring.

  Chewing quickly, she grabbed the phone. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Jemima, I’m so glad I caught you,’ Rachel began, her voice sounding strained, though that might have been because the reception was so poor.

  ‘Wherever are you?’ Jemima asked, frowning. ‘You sound like you’re in a dishwasher.’

  ‘I’m at the airport.’

  ‘Airport?’ She hadn’t expected that reply. Rachel never travelled abroad for work, so what was she doing there? Jemima looked up as Ben walked sleepily into the kitchen. She motioned for him to sit at the breakfast bar.

  ‘It’s Alistair’s dad. He’s had some kind of haemorrhage. His stepmother called and said we need to fly out to be there…in case.’

  Jemima felt as if she’d stumbled into one of those television adverts where you could freeze time but still be functioning yourself. Everything around her seemed to stop. There was just her moving about as she walked over to put her toast down on a plate. ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘Apparently.’ The line crackled, making it difficult to hear. ‘Jemima, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘He’s lost a lot of blood, but I think the concern is that they don’t know why it happened. It’s going to be a while before we know.’

  ‘How’s Alistair?’ Jemima asked quickly.

  ‘He just wants to get out to Canada as soon as we possibly can. He’s telephoned his mum and let her know…’

  Jemima pulled her mind into focus. She needed to think clearly and logically. ‘Okay. Right. What do you need me to do?’ she asked, sitting down on the bar stool next to Ben.

  By the time Rachel had finished speaking she had a list which ranged from asking the next door neighbour if she would push the post through the door to hiring a marquee for the wedding.

  ‘Are you okay with all that?’ Rachel asked.

  Jemima wrote the word ‘medieval’ next to the word ‘marquee’ as a reminder—though she was unlikely to forget. How did you go about finding a medieval-style marquee for a wedding in rural Kent at such short notice?

  ‘Fine,’ she said, trying to imbue her voice with confidence. ‘I’ll work my way down your list. If you think of anything else…’ Jemima gave up trying to say anything for a moment because it was obvious Rachel hadn’t got a hope in hell of catching what she was saying.

  She drew a deep breath and read down Rachel’s list.

  ‘Alistair has rung Miles to let him know what’s happened,’ Rachel said as soon as the line cleared a fraction.

  ‘Miles?’

  ‘Miles Kingsley. His best man. You met him at dinner.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Jemima said, cursing herself for being all kinds of a fool.

  ‘Do you want his number?’

  Dutifully Jemima jotted down the telephone number of Kingsley and Bressingt
on. It would have been so much easier now, would have felt so much more honest, if she’d owned up that she was working there temporarily.

  Rachel continued, ‘He said he’d help. That’s his work number, but I think he practically lives there.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get in contact with him.’

  She heard her mother’s key in the front door. ‘Jemima?’

  ‘Hang on a second,’ she said to Rachel. ‘In the kitchen, Mum. I’m on the phone.’

  The line broke up again, so much that it was impossible to hear what was being said.

  ‘Will you let me know how Alistair’s dad is doing?’ Jemima said in the hope that Rachel was hearing her better. She ripped off the front sheet of her lined A4 pad and tucked it into the side pocket of her handbag.

  ‘Give Alistair my love.’ The reception was truly appalling. Jemima struggled to make sense of the crackling noise at the other end before she gave up and ended the call.

  Her mum walked into the kitchen. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Rachel’s father-in-law-to-be is ill. I don’t know any of the details because the line was breaking up all the time, but they’re flying out to Toronto today.’

  ‘Oh, no. So close to the wedding. What a dreadful thing to have happened.’

  Jemima glanced down at her watch and picked up her sandwiches from the worktop. ‘Is it okay if I’m a little late back? I need to do a couple of things for Rachel at the flat.’

  ‘Of course, darling,’ her mother said. ‘You’d better hurry or you’ll be late for work. I meant to be here ten minutes ago, but the parking around here is so atrocious.’

  ‘I know.’ Jemima went through a mental check of everything she needed to have done and needed to take with her. ‘There’s some talk of it all being permit parking only, which will help.’

  She kissed one finger and placed it on Ben’s hair, a concession to his belief that all kisses were too wet. ‘Have a good day. Sam,’ she called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  Sam came scampering down the staircase and gave her a quick hug. ‘Is Grandma in the kitchen?’

  Jemima nodded and watched as he ran through to find her. ‘Bye,’ she called out as she shut the door behind her. There was no reply. The boys were too busy talking about Ben’s forthcoming birthday party. He would be nine—she couldn’t quite believe time had gone so fast.