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The most obvious solution was to get himself a new girlfriend, some hot little number. There was no shortage of candidates. Maybe, if he chose a busty brunette, he could pretend she was Kathryn and cure some of his frustration that way.
Sydney’s CBD came into view and Hugh’s stomach automatically tightened. He hoped she wasn’t wearing that infernal black suit today, the one with the jacket which nipped in at her tiny waist and the skirt which hugged her curvaceous rear just a little too tightly; the one he’d been wanting to rip off her from the first day when she’d walked into the office wearing the wretched thing!
No such luck, he realised within seconds of striding into the suite of rooms which he’d nicknamed the lion’s den many years earlier. At the time he’d been referring to his father as the lion, always roaring at everyone. Now the lion was a different sex.
Kathryn didn’t roar, but she could be just as intimidating.
Hugh tried not to bristle when she glared pointedly at her watch, then at his clothes.
‘Surely you’re not going to the board meeting this afternoon dressed like that,’ she said coolly.
Hugh covered his annoyance by shooting her what he hoped passed for a drily amused smile. ‘Kathryn, even I wouldn’t have the gall to do that. I’m just going to pop up to Dad’s penthouse where I intend to change. I brought some clothes over last Sunday with this kind of thing in mind,’ he added before she asked him what into.
‘Up there for thinking,’ he said, tapping his temple and thoroughly enjoying the flash of surprise which had zoomed into her normally unflappable grey eyes. ‘Meanwhile, order me a club sandwich, would you? You know what I like. And some coffee. Ask them to deliver it in…’ he glanced at his Rolex ‘…twenty minutes,’ he finished brusquely before striding into the inner sanctum, grateful for the private lift which would enable him to go up to his father’s penthouse without having to walk past his PA one more time.
CHAPTER TWO
KATHRYN counted to ten under her breath before phoning through the lunch order, all the while endeavouring to calm her rapid pulse-rate and bring her inner self into line with her more composed outer façade.
But honestly, if ever there was a man designed to irritate her to death it was Hugh Parkinson!
She’d initially been reluctant to apply for the job as his PA. She didn’t think much of men born with silver spoons in their mouths. Didn’t think much of working for them, either. One of her earlier bosses had been born rich and had been presented with running one of his doting grandfather’s newspapers when he’d been all of twenty-four. Talk about bone idle!
Still, she’d learned a lot from having to practically do his job for him. Learned, too, that rich young men often had wandering hands. After leaving that job, she’d chosen her employers more carefully, steering well clear of smarmy but usually good-looking creeps with more money than morals. It was only natural, then, that she’d be wary of working for the richest, possibly best-looking creep in all of Sydney!
The thought of that wonderful salary he’d been offering, however, had seduced her into putting in an application.
To give Hugh Parkinson some credit, he’d conducted her interview in a very businesslike manner. She’d been quietly impressed, to be honest. And very flattered when, after a most intense twenty minutes of questioning, he’d told her that she was just what he was looking for and hired her on the spot. She’d congratulated herself at the time on reading the situation well and dressing down a little for the interview. Not too much make-up, hair pulled back into a French roll, jewellery very basic. And a navy pinstriped trouser suit which had become a little looser since she’d started going to the gym.
She’d imagined—probably rightly so—that a lot of girls might have presented themselves more glamorously, hoping to use sex appeal to get the job. Hugh Parkinson did, after all, have a reputation as a ladies’ man.
There’d been not a hint of flirtation in his manner, however, and she’d been prepared to concede that perhaps the tabloid Press had it all wrong. He wasn’t a playboy, she’d decided that day. He was a serious businessman whose bachelor status and movie-star good looks made him an easy target for salacious stories about his love life.
It wasn’t till afterwards—about a month into the job actually—that she discovered how wrong she’d been. Hugh was just what he’d been depicted as: just like that other boss of hers, he hadn’t wanted an assistant. He’d wanted her to do his damned job for him whilst he was off having five-hour lunches and playing golf and who knew what else with the never-ending number of women who bombarded the office with calls running after him!
Well, she hadn’t been having any of that. Not a second time. So she’d informed him, as tactfully as her indignant fury would allow, that the editors of Parkinson’s many magazines— the ones he was supposedly in charge of—didn’t want to deal with his secretary. They wanted him—their boss—to be there to talk to, and run ideas by, and to make the many decisions which had to be made on a daily basis.
When he still hadn’t shown up at work on a regular basis she’d rung him continually, badgering him over the phone till it had probably been easier for him to spend at least a few hours in the office every day.
Which should have made her happy.
But oddly, it hadn’t.
His increased presence gradually began to grate on her nerves, she wasn’t sure why.
So had Daryl’s never-ending jealousy.
‘No boyfriend wants his girlfriend working for a billionaire,’ Daryl had complained soon after she’d started the job. ‘Certainly not one with Hugh Parkinson’s reputation. What if he makes a move towards you? What if he asks you to go away with him to a conference or something?’
She’d placated Daryl at the time, telling him that he was being silly, that she loved him and only him, and that she would never have her head turned by the likes of Hugh Parkinson.
Daryl had asked her to prove it by agreeing to marry him.
Kathryn had still been reluctant. Although she wanted marriage, underneath she was afraid of it. Afraid of trusting her life to any man. Over the years she’d had a history of falling for guys who’d proved to be less than perfect.
But then two things had happened to change her mind. Firstly, Val had finally succumbed to the cancer she’d been battling for several years. Not an unexpected event, but still very upsetting. Then Kathryn had received a letter from a solicitor shortly after Val’s funeral, saying that Val had willed the beach house to her, provided she marry before she turned thirty. If she was still single on that date—which at that time had been a few months away—the house would be sold and the proceeds given to cancer research.
Kathryn had initially been shocked with her old friend for using emotional blackmail to push her into marriage. In the end, however, she’d been grateful to Val for forcing the issue and making her see common sense.
OK, so Daryl wasn’t perfect. But then neither was she. If she kept waiting for Mr Perfect to come along, she would die a lonely old maid.
Initially, Daryl hadn’t been too thrilled when she accepted his proposal. He’d accused her of not really loving him, of just using him to get her hands on a million-dollar property. Which was what the Pearl Beach weekender was currently worth. She’d soothed him by revealing that she had no intention of ever selling the house; that it was a place of great sentiment to her. He’d soothed her in return by taking her to bed and showing her why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.
Once Kathryn had decided on marriage to Daryl, she’d embraced the idea one hundred and ten per cent, immediately making detailed plans for their future together. Naturally, she’d chosen the ring—Daryl might have picked something ridiculously expensive—and made all the arrangements, insisting that they have an inexpensive ceremony and reception—only ten guests—followed by an even more inexpensive honeymoon.
When Daryl complained about her miserliness, she’d explained that she wasn’t going to waste any of her hard-earned savings on what was really just a party and an excuse for a holiday, both come and gone in a flash. She needed every cent for a decent deposit on a house here in Sydney.
Sydney was, after all, the most expensive city in Australia to live in. Houses came at a premium. So did interest rates. She wasn’t about to fall into the trap of having too large a mortgage which they wouldn’t be able to pay back, once she left work to have a baby.
Neither she nor Daryl had well-off families to fall back on in times of financial difficulty. In fact, neither of them had any family to fall back on. Both of them had come from troubled, single-parent households. Each had seen what little close family they had finally being snuffed out through drink, drugs and disease.
But where Kathryn’s background had formed her into a careful, highly organised, money-wise character, Daryl was more impulsive and not good with money at all. Still, he was very good at his job, being a top sales representative for a successful office-supplies company. His salary was excellent and he had a company car. Kathryn felt sure she could rein in his tendency to be extravagant, once they were married.
He was going to make a good husband and father. In time.
Right now, however, he was being a right pain in the neck, his jealousy not having been helped by her temporary promotion. Already he was complaining about the extra hours she was working. Last night, when she’d arrived home at seven-thirty— the preparations for today’s board meeting had been endless—he’d demanded she hand in her notice.
‘After we’re married,’ she’d hedged.
‘You’re just saying that,’ he’d retorted. ‘I know you. You like working for that rich bastard. You fancy him. I know you do.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she’d snapped, tired of their endless arguments about her job and her boss.
‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’m not blind, you know. He fancies you too. I saw the way he looked at you at the Christmas party.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ she’d exclaimed with considerable exasperation. ‘Now you’re being even more ridiculous! In all the months I’ve worked for Hugh Parkinson, not once has he ever done or said anything remotely out of line. He does not fancy me. Never has, never will.’
Which was probably what was adding to her irritation today, Kathryn accepted with a flash of feminine insight: Hugh’s lack of male interest in her.
No girl liked to be looked straight through all the time the way Hugh did her, as if she was part of the wallpaper.
Not that any of the offices in Parkinson Media had wallpaper, especially this one. It was wall-to-wall wood panelling in here, totally different from the sleekly modern open-planned offices which filled the floors before. The big boss’s suite of rooms was straight out of an élite English men’s club, all the furniture antiques, the carpets richly patterned, heavy silk curtains framing the windows.
Kathryn’s office-cum-reception area was ridiculously large, with a plush sitting space, along with its own powder room and cloakroom as well as a small kitchen where she could prepare coffee or tea. Her desk was a huge leather-topped slice of solid walnut with carved legs and more drawers than she could ever fill. The computer and printer occupied less than a quarter of the available work surface.
In truth, she preferred her other office and her other desk.
But she wasn’t about to complain, not with the additional money she would earn over the next four weeks. She was already planning what she could buy with it: some extra-nice sheets, for starters, Egyptian cotton. She might be frugal by nature but she liked nice things. Quality things, that lasted.
Take her clothes, for instance. She didn’t have a huge wardrobe but she bought good clothes. Not top designer-wear, she couldn’t afford that, but well-made suits and real silk shirts and camis in mix-and-match colours, along with genuine leather shoes and bags. None of that cheap vinyl stuff. Her jewellery was minimal but quality too, not too expensive since she preferred silver to gold.
She was admiring the delicately designed silver watch which she’d treated herself to at Christmas when the phone on her desk rang, the security man downstairs informing her that a delivery guy was on his way up with a food order.
‘Not the same guy as yesterday,’ he added. ‘I had to give this chap instructions on how to get to your office.’
‘Wow!’ the spotty-faced youth exclaimed when he finally arrived. ‘This is some place. The view must be fantastic!’
‘Quite,’ she said coolly. ‘Thank you, Ken.’
‘You know my name!’
She pointed to the name tag on his shirt pocket.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, flushing. ‘I forgot. It’s my first week. Not used to it.’
Mine too, she almost said to make him feel better. But didn’t. She’d found it best, over the years, not to be too familiar with delivery guys. The older, better-looking ones didn’t seem to need much encouragement.
After he left, Katherine carried the food into the kitchenette and arranged the oversized sandwich on a proper plate on a tray, whilst leaving the steaming coffee in its takeaway cup, Hugh liking his coffee very hot and very strong.
He rarely asked her to make him coffee, though she would have, quite happily. She wasn’t one of those silly PAs who thought making coffee beneath her. She’d always understood that her job as a personal assistant was to assist her boss in any way she could. She didn’t object to collecting his dry-cleaning, or buying presents for his mother. She didn’t even mind covering for him, occasionally.
But only up to a point and only if he deserved it.
Hugh deserved no such consideration, she decided as she carried the tray into his father’s super-huge office and placed it on the super-huge desk which sat in front of the super-huge window. The only son and heir to the Parkinson fortune was spoiled and lazy and never on time, she thought irritably as she glanced at her pretty watch and saw that twenty-five minutes had passed since she ordered his lunch.
So where was he?
She glared at the determinedly shut door on her far right, the one which looked like any of the wood-panelled doors which led into and out of the office. This one, however, concealed a secret alcove where there was a private lift to the penthouse above. You needed a special keycard to get into both, security a must for mega-rich men like Hugh and his father.
Kathryn almost gasped when that door was suddenly wrenched open and in strode her boss, looking breathtakingly handsome in a suit she’d never seen before, dark charcoal-grey in colour, with a single-breasted and superbly shaped jacket. The casually elegant style suited him. His dazzlingly white shirt highlighted his blue eyes, his olive skin and his dark brown hair, which looked extra-dark, since it was slightly damp.
And then there was his tie…
Hugh had a thing about bright ties. This one was scarlet and striped with silver…very eye-catching.
‘So what do you think?’ he shot at her as he walked behind the desk. ‘Will I do?’
Kathryn kept her expression cool. If he expected her to rave about his appearance, then he had another think coming. Some kind of compliment, however, seemed reasonable.
‘You look very…smart,’ she said.
Hugh’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘You mean, I have your seal of approval? For once,’ he added with a wry laugh as he removed his jacket then draped it over the back of the large leather desk chair.
His partial undressing perturbed her for some reason. Silly, really. She’d seen him without a jacket often enough. She’d also witnessed him in casual clothes, even shorts on the day when he’d rushed into the office after spending the morning sailing on the harbour.
She already knew he had a great body, his tall, broad-shouldered frame not needing to be bolstered by excessive padding.
Perhaps it was the whiff of something spicy and exotic which the removal of his jacket had sent her way. She’d never smelled this particular cologne on him before and it was very…sexy.
‘So is everything ready for this afternoon?’ he asked her as he sat down, then swept one half of the club sandwich up to his mouth.
His eyes questioned her as he munched away with relish.
‘I…I think so,’ she said, annoyed with herself for sounding less than confident. But it was the first time she’d had to organise a board meeting, although Elaine had left her excellent instructions on her computer in a special file.
Everything Kathryn might need to know during the next month was on that computer. Elaine had also left behind her personal mobile number, in case she was in doubt about anything. Kathryn had given in and called her yesterday, just to check on a few things.
‘Yes, everything’s ready to go,’ she reiterated more firmly. ‘The boardroom’s all set up for the meeting, with copies of all the monthly reports set out in front of each chair. Apparently, I don’t have to take down any minutes—it’s not a quarterly or annual general meeting. But Elaine suggested I still tape proceedings. She said I should also stay in the room in case any of the directors want anything, like coffee or tea. I will be putting jugs of iced water on the table shortly, along with the glasses. But Elaine said, if the meeting goes on too long, some of them will want something hot to drink. And possibly a biscuit or two. Of course, I won’t be sitting at the table itself. I’ll stay in the background.’
‘Sounds like you have everything well in hand. As for the meeting going on too long, I’ll do my best to make sure that won’t happen. And afterwards?’
‘I’ve arranged for finger food and drinks in the reception room next to the boardroom. I’ve hired the usual catering company. They’ll arrive around four. You shouldn’t be finished before that.’
He nodded. ‘Excellent. What’s your estimated time of departure for the directors?’
Kathryn shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never been to one of these before. You have, though, didn’t you say?’
‘Not for ages. From memory, it was the most ghastly bore.’
‘I’m sure you’ll handle it all extremely well,’ she said. For all Hugh’s faults and flaws he could schmooze anyone, if and when he chose to.
‘A second compliment, Kathryn?’ he said drily. ‘Watch it or I’ll think you’re beginning to approve of me.’
As if, Kathryn thought tartly. ‘It is not my job to approve or disapprove of you, Hugh,’ she said coolly. ‘As I have said before, my job is to help you do your job.’
‘At which you are invaluable,’ he said, picking up his coffee and watching her over the rim as he sipped.
His eyes—his very beautiful blue eyes—were not as carefree as usual. They bored into her, stripping her, not of her clothes but the self-contained façade which usually kept her safely immune to her boss’s considerable charms.
Suddenly a fierce awareness of his sex appeal swamped Kathryn, making a mockery of the way she despised other women’s often swooning reaction to him. She actually felt weak at the knees, a physical phenomenon which she’d never experienced before, and which brought a bitter taste of shame to her mouth. How could she possibly be attracted to him?
Her teeth clenched down hard in her jaw as she struggled to recover her usual calm. But the unwanted sexual responses which had just flooded her traitorous body had left her feeling flustered, and confused.
She did the only thing she could do, under the circumstances. Said she had something to do and left the room.
CHAPTER THREE
‘THAT’S a great girl you’ve got over there.’
Hugh followed the direction of Max’s eyes and his gaze landed back on Kathryn; something he’d been trying to avoid all afternoon. Not too difficult a task during the meeting itself when she’d chosen to sit in a chair in a corner behind Hugh’s left shoulder.
At the moment, however, Kathryn was working the reception room, chatting away to a group of the more elderly directors, bringing a smile to even the stuffiest of the gentlemen.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘She is.’
‘Better than Dickie’s secretary. More intelligent. More stylish, too. I hope you’re paying her well. You wouldn’t want to lose her.’
‘I’m afraid that might not be my call. Kathryn’s engaged to be married.’
