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Manhattan Boss, Diamond Proposal
Trish Wylie
His fairytale in New York Manhattan boss Quinn doesn’t believe in love. He’s the kind of man a girl’s mother warns her about – the devil in disguise! But since Quinn hired Clare O’Connor the funniest thing has happened. He has less control over his heart. She’s become more than just his beautiful, ultra-efficient secretary – Clare’s rocked him to the core…The billionaire playboy is in a fix. His route to romance has always been easy. But now a real gem is involved. He has to tread softly. And, if he does, the way will be paved with diamonds…
When Quinn looked at her with intense, consuming heat in his vivid eyes, she let the words slip free on a husky whisper.
‘I love you.’
It was as if a dam had burst. Hiccupping sobs sounded and tears streamed while she said it more firmly. ‘You really have no idea how much I love you.’
For a moment Quinn froze, and then his gruff voice demanded, ‘Say it again.’
‘I love you.’ Somehow she managed to smile. It was weak and tremulous, but it was the best she could do. ‘I can’t breathe properly when you’re not there.’
Trish Wylie tried various careers before eventually fulfilling her dream of writing. Years spent working in the music industry, in promotions, and teaching little kids about ponies gave her plenty of opportunity to study life and the people around her. Which, in Trish’s opinion, is a pretty good study course for writing! Living in Ireland, Trish balances her time between writing and horses. If you get to spend your days doing things you love, then she thinks that’s not doing too badly. You can contact Trish at www.trishwylie.com
Praise for Trish Wylie
‘Trish Wylie’s HER ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE
has excellent characters—particularly the larger-than-life
hero. It also has charm and wit to spare.’
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Trish also writes for Modern Heat™
‘Charming, romantic and fabulous,
HIS MISTRESS, HIS TERMS is another novel
by Ms Wylie with keeper stamped all over it.’
—Cataromance.com
Dear Reader
In the summer of 2007 I fell in love. Not with a tall, dark and handsome, but with a city. In the dying light of a summer day I looked out through the windows of an airport shuttle and there it was—New York. It took my breath away. And the further I got into the heart of the city the harder I fell.
Suddenly I understood why there are as many Irish in NYC as there are on the entire island of Ireland! If I was to choose a place to live over there then it would definitely be Brooklyn Heights. Not that I could afford it. But that’s the beauty of fiction—you can live anywhere in the world and price is no object! Another beauty is you can then add a completely gorgeous hero to the mix. And I do think this is Quinn’s story. He takes a bigger journey in this book than I did to get to New York from Ireland. The bigger they are the harder they fall, they say. But this one fought and fought and fought. Bless him.
Personally, I plan on keeping my eyes peeled on my next New York trip. Well…you never know, do you? A girl can dream…
Hs & Ks
Trish
MANHATTAN BOSS, DIAMOND PROPOSAL
BY
TRISH WYLIE
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Marilyn, the kind of reader
who makes me remember why I write,
even on the days words are hard to find…
And for John—the best tour guide in New York City.
PROLOGUE
‘HE’S NOT COMING.’
‘What do you mean he’s not coming?’
Clare O’Connor turned away from the floor-length mirror, her chin lifting so she could search his eyes. Not that she knew him well enough to be able to read anything there. Tall, dark and brooding she’d named him after their first meeting. And despite the fact she’d since had glimpses of a wicked sense of humour, when he chose to use it, she still thought her initial impression was on the money.
She shook her head. ‘What do you mean he’s not coming? Did something happen to him?’
A muscle jumped in his jaw. And it was the first indication she had that he was telling the truth. She shook her head again, nervous laughter escaping her parted lips. No way. There was no way Jamie had done this to her. Not now.
‘I’m sorry, Clare.’
When one long arm lifted towards her she stepped back, the world tilting a little beneath her feet. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone.’
‘Gone?’
Gone where? Why? What had happened? This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life! She tried to form a coherent thought rather than parroting everything she was told. Why now? Why not yesterday or the day before that or the day before that? When there’d been time to cancel everything and let everyone know. Why let her follow him all the way across the Atlantic if—?
‘He didn’t have the guts to face you.’
Clare laughed a little more manically. ‘So he sent you to tell me?’ Of all the people Jamie knew he had felt this guy was the one to send? It was almost funny. ‘No phone call? No note? Is this a joke?’
‘No joke. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.’
The determined tone to his voice made the edges of her vision go dark. When she felt herself swaying, two large hands grasped her elbows to steady her while she blinked furiously.
‘You need to sit down.’
Clare yanked her arms free, her gaze focusing on a smudge of dirt on his jacket before sliding over the dark material and noticing several other smudges along the way. But she wasn’t interested in how they’d got there, she just needed to think. She needed to—
When her chin jerked towards the door and her eyes widened with horror, his husky voice sounded above her head. ‘I’ll go.’
Dear God. All the people beyond that door, waiting for her—how was she supposed to face them? But she couldn’t let him go out there and do her dirty work for her. Not that the offer wasn’t tempting, but they were waiting for her. And some of them had flown thousands of miles—forher. So it was her responsibility to tell them…
Swallowing down a wave of nausea, she reached for his arm. ‘Wait. Just give me a second here.’
Taking several deep breaths of cool air, she tightened her fingers around his forearm, as if the part of her that was drowning naturally sought out something solid to keep her from going under.
From somewhere she found the strength to keep her voice calm. ‘Did he leave with her?’
‘Clare—’
She flexed her fingers as she looked up. ‘Did he? I want to know.’
‘How long have you known?’
Up until he’d asked that question she’d never really known for sure. But she had her answer now, didn’t she? So much for telling herself it was paranoia…
Letting go of his arm, she nodded firmly while biting down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. If the price of naïveté was the death of the starry-eyed dreamer then the job was done. And she was about to receive her punishment on a grand scale, wasn’t she?
‘I’ll tell them. It’s because of me they’re out there in the first place.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘Yes, I do.’ An inward breath caught on a hint of a sob so she closed her eyes and willed it away, promising it: later. Later when no one could see. ‘Jamie might not care about them but I do. They’ll hear it from me.’
When she opened her eyes and glanced up, she saw what looked like respect in his eyes. And for some unfathomable reason she felt laughter bubbling up in her chest again—hysteria, probably. Possibly a hint of irony that it took something so completely degrading to earn respect from the man who had never approved of her in the first place.
When she lifted the front of her long skirt in both hands, he stepped back and opened the door for her, towering over her as she took a deep breath and hovered in the gap.
‘I’m here if you need me.’
She smiled at him through shimmering eyes and then stepped forwards, her gaze focused on the flower-decked arch at the top of the room instead of the sea of faces turning her way.
It was the most humiliating day of her life.
‘I’m afraid there won’t be a wedding today…’
CHAPTER ONE
‘I’LL CALL YOU.’
‘Do.’
Quinn opened his office door and looked up from the file he’d been reading, not entirely sure if it was the tail-end of the conversation or the sight of his personal assistant being hugged so tightly by some guy he’d never set eyes on before that brought a frown to his face. He should be aware of everything that happened in his own offices after all, shouldn’t he? And he had the distinct niggling feeling he was being left out of the loop somehow—something he never, ever let happen.
Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, he watched with narrowed eyes until the stranger cut her loose.
‘New boyfriend?’
The familiar lustrous sparkle of emerald eyes locked with his as the main door closed behind her mystery man. ‘And when exactly do I have time for a boyfriend?’
‘You know what they say about all work and no play.’
With a shake of her head, Clare bent to retrieve a sheet of paper off her desk. So Quinn allowed his gaze to make a cursory slide over her tailored cream blouse and simple linen trousers, watching the subtle grace of her movement. If he’d been a romantic of any kind he’d have said Clare moved like a ballerina. She certainly had a ballerina’s body: fine-boned and slender—a few more curves maybe, not that she ever dressed to flaunt them or that Quinn had ever looked closely enough to confirm their presence.
But since Quinn Cassidy had graduated with honours from the school of hard knocks he was somewhat lacking in anything remotely resembling romance. So if forced to use a word to describe the way she moved it would quite simply be feminine.
One of the things he’d liked right from the start was the fact she never felt the need to do anything to bring that femininity to a man’s attention. It was also one of the many reasons she’d survived so long working as his PA. The one before her had barely had time to take off her jacket before she’d started leaning her cleavage towards him. It had been like sharing an office with a barracuda.
He shuddered inwardly at the memory.
‘Speaking of work—’ she calmly handed him a sheet of paper when he nudged off the doorjamb and took a step forwards ‘—here’s a list of all the places you have to be today and when. Try and make a few of the appointments on time if you can—for a wee change.’
When she accompanied the words with a sideways tilt of her head and a small smirk that crinkled the bridge of her nose, Quinn couldn’t help smiling, even though technically he was being told off. In fairness he didn’t think his timekeeping had ever been bad, but in the year since Clare had come to work for him she’d been determined he should be at everything at least ten minutes early. He reckoned, however, that if he was early for every single meeting, and had to twiddle his thumbs while he waited for people to turn up, it would add up to a whole heap of wasted time in the long term.
So he rebelled regularly on principle.
He glanced over the neatly typed list before lifting his chin in time to watch Clare perch on the edge of her desk, a thoughtful expression on her face while she swung her feet back and forth. So he waited…
Eventually she spoke in the softly lilting Irish accent she hadn’t lost since she’d come to New York. ‘On the subject of play—it’s been a while since I had to make a trip to Tiffany’s…’
Quinn cocked a brow. ‘And?’
She shrugged one shoulder. ‘I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t falling behind. Up till recently I’d been considering keeping a stock of those wee blue boxes here to save me some time.’
He watched as out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of an errant pen lying on the edge of the desk, giving it a brief frown before she dropped it into a nearby container with a satisfied smile. It never ceased to amaze him, the amount of pleasure she derived from the simplest of things.
‘You’re just missing your trips to Tiffany’s.’ He shook his head and looked her straight in the eye. ‘I can’t run all over Manhattan breaking hearts just so you can while away a few more hours down at your favourite store, now, can I?’
‘Never stopped you before.’ She thrust out her bottom lip and batted long lashes at him comically.
True. But he wasn’t about to get drawn into another debate about his love life when he was suddenly much more interested in hers. ‘So who was the Wall Street type?’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe I need to ask him what his intentions are towards my favourite employee…’
‘So you get to vet all my boyfriends now, do you?’
Quinn folded his arms across his chest, allowing the corner of the sheet of paper to swing casually between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You said he wasn’t your boyfriend.’
Another shrug. ‘He’s not.’
She lifted her delicate chin and rose off the desk to walk round to her swivel chair, swinging forwards before informing him ‘He’s a client.’
Quinn knew what she was getting at, even if it apparently meant her part-time hobby had morphed into something bigger when he wasn’t looking. ‘This matchmaking game of yours is a business now, is it?’
‘Maybe.’ She drummed her neat fingernails on the sheaf of papers in front of her. ‘Problem?’
Two could play at that game—she should know that by now—and her poker face wasn’t worth squat, so Quinn continued looking her straight in the eye. ‘Maybe.’
