course, Mr Wentworth.’
He drew in a sharp breath and Grace suspected that her softly spoken subservience irked him. Nevertheless, he continued without missing another beat. ‘You’re a vital key to the success of this New Tomorrow project. But…’ his voice dropped and he paused for dramatic effect ‘…I am that project. You’re working for me now, Grace Robbins. When you think of New Tomorrow, you think of me.’
He was as full of himself as she’d expected! However, she couldn’t ignore the fact that his brainchild was very exciting—a project she itched to become more involved with.
‘Your film has a brilliant premise,’ she replied, and would have continued, but, with an ominous flourish, Mitch reached into his pocket and withdrew something that looked like a magazine.
He threw it onto the table.
Her boss grinned up at her, his face disguised by a bristly moustache.
Rimless spectacles.
And blackened teeth!
Grace’s stomach felt as if it had been pumped full of concrete. Slashed onto the page with thick, black, angry strokes, her graffiti was clear evidence of the tantrum she’d thrown in this very office after her lunchtime discussion with Maria.
How on earth had he found it?
She flinched.
And suppressed a whimper.
Gulped down the urge to scream. Why couldn’t real life be like making a movie? If only a director could jump into her office and yell, ‘Cut! I don’t like the way this scene’s falling. Let’s start again and this time we’ll leave out the magazine…’
But no.
No one was going to rescue her from her own reckless actions. For several seconds Grace hoped she might faint.
No such luck.
Her legs trembled, but didn’t give way. No comforting blackness descended. And Mitch Wentworth remained standing squarely in front of her, pinning her to the spot with his cold, unflinching stare.
‘It seems you have a problem,’ he challenged.
She swayed slightly and grasped the back of her chair.
‘Obviously, you’ve got a problem with me,’ Mitch repeated in a cold, flat voice.
Where had she heard that the best defence was to attack? With a shaking, accusing finger, she pointed at him. ‘You—you’ve been spying on me!’
He stared at her in simmering silence. Then, to her surprise, he shook his head and walked away. For several seconds, Mitch stood with his back to her, but Grace could sense his anger in the rise and fall of his shoulders. He turned swiftly to face her again. ‘I don’t spy, Ms Robbins! I called here yesterday evening to check out the office. My office. And it didn’t take the help of a special service investigator to uncover what you left lying so blatantly on your desk. Right here!’
Grace looked away. He was about to sack her. She knew it. And if she stretched her imagination to take in his point of view she probably couldn’t blame him.
But she loved this job. Over the past four years, it had become the single most important thing in her life! Somehow, she dragged her eyes upwards again to find Mitch studying her. His hands were now shoved deep into his trouser pockets. If he was going to fire her, she wished he would get it over quickly.
‘Do you want to see this project through?’
‘Huh? I—I mean I beg your pardon?’
‘New Tomorrow. You want to stay on the team?’
‘Yes, I do. Very much. I’m actually very committed to New Tomorrow. I—’
‘You want to work with me?’
For a fraction of a second she hesitated, but it was long enough to elicit another of his quick frowns.
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
Mitch picked up the offending magazine and tossed it into her waste-paper basket. Then he began to pace the small square of carpet in the middle of her office. ‘Okay. We’ll forget about this, Grace.’
Grace? He’d dropped the Ms Robbins?
‘I don’t have any problems at this stage,’ he continued. ‘If you have problems you should get them off your chest.’ He shot a questioning glance her way.
She shook her head.
‘You’re quite sure?’ he persisted.
Of course she had objections about Mitch Wentworth. She had a list as long as both his arms. But what could she do with them?
Especially now, when he’d skilfully backed her into a corner?
How could an employee criticise her boss for the way he’d bulldozed his way into taking over George Hervey’s little film company? As for her other problems—there was no way she could lambaste a man for his killer good looks.
She really had no choice but to offer an olive branch. ‘I have no complaints,’ she told him. ‘And—and I apologise. You were never meant to see the silly doodling on that magazine. I admit…I’ve been…rather thoughtless.’
He half turned and eyed her speculatively, his hands resting on his hips, pushing his suit coat aside. He was still too damned good-looking to be let loose in small spaces.
‘But,’ she finished defiantly, ‘can you spare me another speech?’
He chuckled and, for the briefest of moments, his eyes danced before his frown slid quickly back into place. ‘No, Grace, I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me for a little longer. You see, from now on, people will have to get used to following my orders. And the New Tomorrow project must dominate everybody’s thinking. It’s my single focus and it’s got to be the focus for everyone else on the team. For anyone who’s not on that wavelength, there’s going to be a lot of pain and suffering. And if heads have to roll…’ his own head cocked to one side and he glared at her ‘…then so be it.’
‘I understand,’ Grace responded, a little flush mounting on her cheeks. How dared he suggest she wasn’t focused? She’d always taken great pride in her professional commitment. ‘I’m quite well aware that I’m playing with the big boys now.’
Perhaps she had gone too far. Grace squirmed uneasily as Mitch’s jaw clenched and his frown lingered while he studied her face. ‘The big boys…’ he repeated softly. His dark eyes linked for an uncomfortably long moment with hers. They moved to her mouth.
And Grace felt as if she’d stepped into quicksand.
How did he do it?
His hands were now lodged firmly in both trouser pockets and he was standing a good metre and a half away and yet, the way his eyes touched her—she felt as if his mouth was caressing hers—intimately.
This was
