‘I’ve already postponed it. Now, let’s go and discover what kind of condition your boss is in.’
Derek’s already pallid face turned deathly white when he saw the visitor Morgen had brought with her. Stumbling back inside the wide hallway, with its once shiny parquet floor, he drove his hand through his dishevelled brown hair, desperate to regain some composure but failing miserably.
The air smelt old and stale, as if nobody had opened a window for a very long time. Morgen took one look at her boss and wished she had a magic wand so that she could put all that ailed him right in an instant. Turn back the clock to the time before Nicky had walked out on him, when he’d been a man who was very clearly steering his own ship, carving out a name for himself in what could be a highly competitive cut-throat business and acquitting himself with distinction.
‘Hello, Derek. Why don’t I make us all some coffee? Have you eaten?’
When he mumbled incoherently in reply Morgen slipped past him, reluctantly leaving him to deal with Conall alone. In the huge fitted kitchen, where there was every modern convenience known to man but not so much as one clear work surface to stand a cup on because dirty crockery was everywhere, Morgen rolled up her sleeves and got stuck into some of the mountain of washing up. She doubted there was a clean mug or cup in the whole place, never mind a clean percolator, and she couldn’t make coffee without it. From experience she knew that Derek wouldn’t give house-room to the instant stuff. At least, he wouldn’t if he were sober…
Finding herself too interested in the now raised voices, Morgen turned on the hot tap to full flow to drown out the sound and grimly occupied herself with the task in hand. She knew instinctively it was little use praying that Conall would go easy on Derek—in terms of possibility that would be akin to expecting a boa constrictor to go easy on a mouse. Going easy on him would probably not get them very far, anyway. She’d tried the softly, softly approach herself, and Derek had merely laughed and told her that he definitely had his drinking under control and not to worry.
Five minutes later, sensing movement behind her, she turned to find Conall in the doorway minus his jacket and tie. He was a big man—strong and fit—and looked as if he could take on a whole army and emerge victorious. With his hair slightly disarrayed, and his hard jaw unshaven, there was something dangerously compelling about him that couldn’t be ignored, despite her silent vow that his good looks cut no ice with her.
‘He’s going in the shower. Can you have that coffee ready when he comes out?’ His keen-eyed gaze moved curiously round the room as he spoke, and when he brought it back to Morgen he was shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight that confronted him.
‘If we pay the guy enough to live in a place like this, why the hell doesn’t he employ a cleaner?’
‘He did.’ Touching her cheek unknowingly, Morgen left a small trail of soapy suds on her skin. ‘She walked out.’
‘Why should that surprise me?’
About to turn away and return to see how Derek was faring, Conall found himself walking towards Morgen at the sink instead. Without a word, he reached down to gently stroke away the suds from her face. Up close, he saw that her green eyes were flecked with intriguing hazel lights and her dark lashes were long and luxurious—without the benefit of mascara, as far as he could detect. Her scent enveloped him for a moment—something warm and sensual, like a sunny day on the Cote D’Azur where he occasionally liked to holiday. His stomach muscles clenched iron-hard in response and a throb of heat went straight to his groin.
‘You had some soap on your face.’
‘Thanks.’
She turned away, clearly flustered. Smiling to himself, Conall walked back to the doorway. He liked the fact that he could ruffle her feathers. Truth to tell, he liked it a lot.
‘How are you feeling now?’
Studying the pale, heavy-eyed features of the man before him, Conall wondered if there was really any point in dragging him back to the office for a meeting today. The hour in his office had given him enough time to brief himself on the current details of the big Docklands project Derek was presently in charge of, and he’d already rung the site manager and arranged a four o’clock meeting with the contractors and the client. He’d give Derek a day’s grace to get his act together, and tomorrow morning first thing they’d have a meeting of their own, when Conall would lay out the options as he saw them before him.
Basically, the man had to agree to professional help or walk. There were already outrageous sums of money being wasted on this project through one discrepancy or another, as far as he could see, and Conall was damn sure his firm weren’t going to help his client lose any more. Apart from that, they had an international reputation to protect—and protect it he would.
‘Some more coffee would be good.’ Feebly, Derek smiled and held out his mug.
Morgen relieved him of it and turned back into the kitchen. As she poured strong black coffee near enough to the brim her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a thing since dinner last night. Right on cue, her head started to throb. Too much coffee, not enough sleep and no food were not the best of combinations to aid health and vitality, she thought wryly, wondering when she’d find time to even eat the tuna sandwich her mother had put in her bag that morning. She prayed it would be soon, or she wouldn’t be much help to anyone.
Poor Derek. ‘Dreadful’ didn’t even begin to describe how he looked. ‘Walking dead’ was possibly more apt. Like a made-up extra in one of those old Hammer Horrors. There was no way he’d be any use in the office today; surely Conall could see that?
Hovering in the doorway while Derek manfully drank down his coffee, Morgen felt her nerves bounce badly every time her gaze connected with Conall O’Brien’s. There was no doubt he was a formidable man, but he’d actually been much more lenient with Derek than she’d expected. She could have sworn she’d even glimpsed sympathy in his eyes every now and then as Derek had fumbled and stuttered an explanation as to how he had got himself into such a sorry state—but perhaps her senses had been deceiving her. Conall and sympathy just seemed to be the complete antithesis of each other. The man clearly judged having personal problems as some kind of major weakness.
Finally, glancing at his watch, he reached for his jacket on the back of the sofa and addressed Morgen directly. ‘We’d better get back. I think Derek would be best served by sleeping off some of his excesses for the afternoon and coming into the office tomorrow instead. I’ve booked a four o’clock meeting with the contractors at Docklands, and you can come with me and provide back-up—fill me in on anything I’m not familiar with. You okay with that, Miss McKenzie?’
Normally Morgen wouldn’t be fazed by such a prospect—she often accompanied Derek to site meetings—but this one was a biggie, and Derek had left the firm wide open to criticism by his absence and unwillingness to return phone calls. Consequently, as his assistant, Morgen had taken most of the flak. She’d been fending off irate telephone calls for days now, and she was certain it would become quickly evident to the gimlet-eyed senior partner of O’Brien and Stoughton Associates that a lot less had been accomplished on the project than he had a right to expect.
Suddenly a cuddle and a bedtime story with her lovely Neesha seemed even further away than it had this morning. Something told Morgen that this particular meeting would stretch well into the evening.
‘That’s fine with me, Mr O’Brien.’
‘Leave
