Beware of the Boss

by Leah Ashton

  Quirk? Weakness would be more accurate.

  ‘Tell me about Singapore,’ his dad said.

  Gray propped his weight against the balcony railing. Even in the limited light out here it was clear that his father was in default mode. The sharp, shrewd, intelligent mode that Gray was familiar with. The one that he understood, admired and respected.

  Not sooky, moony, head-in-the-clouds mode, while his much younger wife caressed his weathered skin.

  That version of his father embarrassed him.

  ‘Singapore was fine,’ Gray said.

  He wasn’t going to elaborate. He didn’t even consider it. He’d had almost twenty years of grooming from his dad and he’d just been confirming Gray’s instincts for much of the past decade. Whatever his clients and investors might think, he didn’t need his father’s advice.

  Gordon raised an eyebrow. For the first time Gray noticed that it was made up of more grey than raven-black.

  ‘You’re retired, Dad. You’ve got more important things to worry about,’ he said. He even nodded meaningfully towards the kitchen, where he could see the slim figure of Tasha as she fussed about busily.

  It wasn’t sincere and Gordon knew it.

  But still his father didn’t push. Instead he reached out and gripped Gray’s upper arm. Gray was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—straight off the plane—and his dad’s touch was surprisingly firm and warm where it overlapped cotton and skin.

  He met Gray’s eyes. They were a near mirror image of his own, the colour an exact reflection. His expression was intense and knowing.

  But he wouldn’t push. He never had. He’d once said Gray did enough pushing on his own.

  ‘You’re right there, son,’ he said with false heartiness. ‘But I’ve got to tell you, Gray, you’re missing out. About time you settled down.’

  Gray pasted on a false smile, managing a laugh, even. ‘Maybe one day, Dad.’

  But Gordon knew that was false and insincere too.

  Because Gray had worked too hard to risk all that he’d achieved on something as fleeting, as distracting and as superfluous as love.

  His father’s relationships—and his own—were yet to convince him of anything different. At least he had the good sense to end his affairs after a few weeks or months, rather than taking his father’s rather extreme option and getting married.

  Together, Gray and Gordon walked back inside, their joint re-entrance eliciting a mega-watt grin from Tasha. This was familiar too—the new wife’s concern that she had somehow formed a wedge between father and son.

  Gray should tell her she had nothing to worry about.

  Gordon and Gray’s relationship never changed. And so it would remain—long after Tasha, in a shower of expensive parting gifts, was gone.

  * * *

  ‘Now, don’t you look lovely!’

  Bob grinned down at her, order notebook in hand. Lanie leant back in her chair to smile back up at him. Beside her Luther sat obediently, his liquid brown eyes beautifully pleading in Bob’s direction.

  ‘Thanks.’ She reached up to tuck a strand of newly highlighted hair behind her ear. ‘Just the usual,’ she said. Bob didn’t take the hint.

  ‘Guess you didn’t swim today if your hair’s still looking fancy?’

  Lanie forced her smile to remain in place. ‘Nope,’ she said firmly. ‘Haven’t swum in months. And you know what? I don’t miss it at all.’

  Bob’s mouth formed into a perfectly horizontal line. He took a deep breath, as if he was going to speak again—but then didn’t. Instead he slowly—he wasn’t young, after all—dropped down to a squat in front of Gray’s dog. As he’d done on each of the four days that Gray had been away, Bob miraculously produced a small bone treat—which Luther took, very politely.

  The speed which he ate it was less so.

  Bob headed back to his shiny chrome coffee machine without another word, and Lanie shifted in her seat so she could stare back out across the street to the ocean.

  She could make a good guess at what Bob had been about to say. That he believed she should still be swimming was obvious. It was bizarre. Everybody else—the selectors, her coach, her team mates...heck, herself...had known it was the right time for her to retire. She wasn’t going to be making some great comeback. She was done.

  Everyone knew that—except for the kind old man who worked at her local café.

  It was sweet, she supposed. Well intended. She was sure he didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable whenever he asked his daily question.

  And, to be honest, she didn’t have a clue why she did feel uncomfortable. If anyone asked her if she’d made the right decision she’d answer immediately and honestly: Yes, I have.

  So, yeah—it was a bit weird...that he asked her and that she reacted as she did.

  It was getting warmer now—not summer-warm, but warm enough that in the sun like this, summer didn’t feel quite so far away.

  More people were at the beach each morning, too. Not Gray. He’d flown back from Singapore yesterday and then gone straight to a dinner. He’d wanted to come and collect Luther afterwards, but Lanie had been clear that it really was no trouble having him another night.

  Besides, she hadn’t really wanted Gray turning up at her house late at night. Her flannelette pyjamas did not feed into her plan.

  Flannelette pyjamas were Ms Invisible.

  Next time she saw Gray she was determined he’d be paying attention.

  Also—she really didn’t want to give Luther up just yet. Lanie reached out to rub him behind his ears and the big dog leant immediately—blissfully—against her.

  She’d loved looking after Luther. Loved having a silent companion on her daily beach walks and the way he lay on her kitchen floor as she cooked.

  She’d never considered a pet before—between her rigorous training schedule, her full-time job, regular travel for swim meets and the tiny apartment she lived in, it just hadn’t been possible.

  Lanie’s lips quirked upwards. Except for the size of her place, they were exactly the same reasons she’d remained mostly single her entire adult life.

  But she guessed things were different now.

  Everything was.

  * * *

  Gray was already in his office—door closed—when Lanie arrived at work an hour and a half later.

  She felt good. So far Caroline at Reception had complimented her on her new suit, while Marilyn had said lots of nice things about her hair—wanting to know the name of her salon, no less.

  Not that she’d gone crazy with her efforts today. Some women looked like different people when they were made up—but Lanie wasn’t one of them. She’d been genetically blessed with a few good things—long, thickish eyelashes, for one, and clear, smooth skin, for another. A bit wasted on her average-coloured eyes and too strong features, she felt—but hey, she wasn’t complaining.

  But even though she was wearing mascara and foundation today—and even a bit of eyeliner—Lanie didn’t feel she looked all that stunningly different.

  The clothes she’d bought with Teagan were probably the bigger statement. Well-fitting, and a size larger, her new pencil skirt and pretty salmon-coloured blouse flattered her shape rather than pulling against it. And combined with her hair—now cut in layers and with generous splashes of blond—it was quite an improvement.

  So, while she hadn’t exactly turned up as a different person—she didn’t aspire too, anyway—she did look good.

  Lanie was putting the finishing touches on a report—some impressive statistics related to the success of Manning’s Singapore residential developments over the past five years—when the little instant messenger bar at the bottom of her desktop screen started to flash impatiently.

  She clicked on it and a window popped up.


  IMON

  This was Gray’s very own acronym: In My Office Now.

  No please, of course. As usual, her jaw clenched and she silently seethed.

  She’d come up with a series of her own acronyms, and her fingers itched to type them as they hovered just about the keyboard: WPF—When Pigs Fly. Or... SYASNN—Since You Asked So Nicely, No.

  But instead she stood, straightened her shoulders, and brushed her hands down the fabric of her blouse and skirt. For now, this job was serving a purpose. So she held her tongue/fingers.

  She grabbed a notepad and walked in her shiny, trendy new heels into Gray’s office.

  As usual, he didn’t look up when she walked in. He was focussed entirely on his computer screen and instead simply waved vaguely in the direction of one of the chairs across from his desk.

  This was part of the routine. The alternative was that he’d just start talking—or rather, barking directions. The fact he’d waved at the chair simply meant this was going to be longer than a ten-second conversation.

  Lanie smiled. Conversation. Right.

  Her tummy felt unexpectedly light and butterflyish as she walked to the chair.

  Nerves.

  She did her best to ignore them.

  She settled into the chair, notebook at the ready. ‘How can I help?’

  Now Gray looked up. A quick glance—lightning-quick. He barely met her gaze before his attention returned to his computer.

  ‘Have you booked my flights to Hoi An for next week?’

  ‘Last week,’ she said. ‘You’re flying direct to Ho Chi Minh, then a second flight to Da Nang. A car will meet you at the airport.’

  She waited impatiently for him to look up. To notice the changes—to, for once, properly look at her.

  He nodded, still staring at the screen. ‘Do you have a passport?’

  Lanie blinked. ‘Yes.’

  She’d renewed it leading up to the championships, so it was perfect and stamp-free.

  ‘Right. I want you to come with me. Can you sort that out?’

  ‘You want me to come to Vietnam?’

  Finally he glanced up, as if surprised by her question. ‘Isn’t that what I just said?’

  This time he did pause for a second, to catch her gaze.

  Then his attention flicked over her—her hair, her face, maybe her clothes. Very brief.

  Had he noticed?

  Anything?

  He typed something on his keyboard, the subtle click of each key seeming particularly loud today.

  She knew what this was: she’d been dismissed.

  She was supposed to go away and book her flights and that was that. Gray’s brain had already ticked over to his next task.

  He probably wasn’t even entirely aware that she hadn’t left the room.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  Gray’s head jerked up. As expected, his expression was very much: Why are you still here?

  ‘Because I want you there.’

  Again back to his screen and his oh-so-important e-mail.

  ‘What if I have plans?’ Lanie asked. ‘The trip is over a weekend. I could have somewhere terribly important to be.’

  Gray pushed back his chair a little and leant back. His gaze shifted a little. Focussed.

  ‘Do you?’

  Lanie shrugged. ‘That isn’t the point. If you can explain to me the reason why I need to jet off across the world at a moment’s notice, I can then weigh up whether or not I’m able to do it.’

  ‘Vietnam is hardly across the—’

  ‘That isn’t the point either,’ she said.

  Did his lips quirk up just momentarily? Lanie couldn’t be sure.

  ‘I thought everyone wanted to go to Vietnam. It’s very beautiful.’

  Lanie shrugged. ‘I’d love to go to Vietnam—’ she started, and immediately saw Gray’s eyes unfocus. He thought it was sorted. The issue filed away. ‘On a holiday. Not with my boss.’

  The glint returned to his gaze. Another blink-and-you’d-miss it sense of a smile flicked across his lips.

  ‘Right,’ he said. He crossed his arms, but his attention remained on her. He cleared his throat. ‘I’d like you to accompany me as this project is particularly important to Manning. We require further investors for a new luxury beachfront hotel. Interest hasn’t been as I’d hoped, so the purpose of this trip is quite simply to convince a group of wavering investors that there is nothing better they could do with their money than hand it over to us for this project. I’ll be there for three days—wining, dining, etcetera, etcetera.’ His lack of enthusiasm for this task was obvious. ‘I need you to keep me organised, to deal with the details I tend to forget. You did a great job while I was in Singapore, but our being in different countries is not ideal. It would be much more efficient to have you there with me.’

  That was about the most Gray had ever said to her at once. He tended to talk in soundbites, and very much on a need-to-know basis.

  Something else occurred to her. ‘I assume I’ll be paid overtime?’

  He nodded. ‘Of course.’

  Lanie narrowed her eyes as she looked at Gray, as if she was carefully considering his request.

  He held her gaze the entire time.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, after what she figured was enough time for him to stew about it. ‘I’ll come.’

  Gray nodded sharply, then stood—and surprised her by holding out his hand.

  She stared at it for a moment, before making herself step forward and reaching out her own hand to grip his.

  His touch was firm and warm. Lanie felt a blush start to build somewhere around her chest and begin to creep upwards. No slower than the day when he’d stripped off his shirt and definitely no less heated.

  And a blush just wouldn’t do. Not now. She made sure her gaze remained firmly trained on his. Clear and direct, not flustered.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gray said.

  Lanie dropped her hand from his as soon as she could. Immediately it was easier to think, and for the cogs to start moving again in her brain.

  ‘Not a problem,’ she said, although her voice cracked a little and she needed to clear her throat. ‘I’ll get back to work, then. I’ll need to sort out my visa immediately.’

  But now she was speaking to the top of his head. He’d sat back down.

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ he said, reverting to the Gray she was familiar with.

  Although that was okay. Because today she certainly hadn’t been invisible—and it had nothing to do with her new hair or new clothes.

  But what had she hoped to achieve, really? Did she want Gray to think she was attractive?

  No. He was her boss.

  Liar.

  It was like that first morning at the beach. She wouldn’t be human if she hadn’t noticed Gray Manning running along the shore with the sun glistening off his sweat-sheened biceps. And wondered...

  She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want to impress a man like Gray.

  And today he had noticed her—when for the first time in a very long time she’d said exactly what she was thinking. She hadn’t censored herself—not for Gray, and not for herself.

  Not the way she did when she told people she was okay after missing out on team selection. ‘I swam a personal best. I did everything I could. I’m proud of getting this far. Of course I’m okay.’

  Not like telling Sienna how happy she was for her, telling her not to waste any time worrying about her. ‘This is your moment, Sienna! I’m so proud of you, and that’s all that matters.’

  And not like telling Teagan that she was fine working in a job that was so far removed from her dreams and aspirations that it was laughable—and that she was frankly terrified that she had nothing new on the horizon. Nothin
g new to strive for. ‘It’s actually really great, Teags, to have this time to recalibrate. To think. I feel really relaxed, really calm—don’t worry about me!’

  Today she’d spoken her mind—over something trivial, but still—and it had felt great. Better than the way she’d felt when Caroline had admired her suit or Marilyn had been sweet about her hair.

  It was a tiny thing. A baby step.

  But she knew she was going to do it again.

  SIX

  The humidity, thick and cloying, enveloped Lanie as she stepped from the plane onto the mobile staircase that led to the Tarmac. She’d worn jeans for the flight—perfect for Perth in August, but not ideal for Vietnam at the very beginning of the wet season. She could feel the heavy fabric clinging to her with every step as she headed for the bus that would whisk them the short distance to the terminal.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re about two minutes away from air-conditioning,’ Gray said beside her, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he walked.

  Lanie nodded, glancing in his direction. She’d half expected him to be completely unaffected by the weather—one of those perfect people who were always effortlessly cool and stylish, as if in their own separate temperature-controlled micro-climate.

  Although she supposed she was already quite aware that he did, in fact, sweat. A disturbingly photographic memory of Gray running shirtless along the white sand of North Cottesloe beach flashed unhelpfully across Lanie’s brain. She gave her head a little shake and cleared her throat.

  Focus.

  The small bus was almost full of tourists. Backpacker-types with nut-brown tans, families from toddlers up to grandparents, and a few couples that Lanie would put good money on being honeymooners, with their arms intertwined and bodies touching, despite the oppressive heat.

  It was a different crowd from the arrivals in Ho Chi Minh a few hours earlier. There the plane had also had its fair share of travellers in business attire—quite fitting for Vietnam’s bustling, rapidly developing economic centre and its population of more than twenty million. All Lanie had seen was the airport while in transit, but even so the sense of sheer activity had been apparent, and she wished she’d had the opportunity to venture outside and witness the uniquely crazy street traffic for which Vietnam was famous.