that the other woman had been listening in on the conversation.
‘The police have come for Mrs. Deane,’ Katrin announced with understated calm.
‘Excellent. On top of everything, I’ve employed the Boston Strangler.’
That was it, Jenna decided. She would rather sell her body than work one more minute for Alex Morrell. But there was no time to inform him of the fact. Two burly police officers were already towering over her, and although she knew she was the victim of a crime rather than its perpetrator, she swallowed nervously.
Despite their indomitable presence, the policemen were surprisingly gentle as they questioned her about the mugging she had witnessed, pointing out that it had been unwise to tackle the cyclist, who might have been carrying a weapon.
‘A knife, a gun—you just don’t know these days, Mrs Deane. It’s not worth risking your life for a few valuables.’
‘Absolutely,’ Alex concurred, and received a venomous glare for his pains.
‘I’d make an appointment with your GP to get that shoulder checked out,’ one officer suggested as they stood to leave, and Jenna gave her smiling assurance that she would do so, mentally adding the white lie to the various other untruths she had uttered that day. She prided herself on her honesty, yet one day of working for Alex Morrell and she had turned fibbing into an art form.
Alex escorted the policemen out of the office and she sank into a chair feeling utterly drained. Her face was pale with misery when he returned. This latest disruption to his day was no doubt the last straw; he would never keep her on now.
‘I suppose you want me to leave,’ she murmured, and he spared her a brief glance before turning his attention to his computer screen.
‘Excellent idea. Go and collect your things.’
As she struggled to push her aching arm into her jacket she debated going back into his office to admit the truth—that far from being happily married and childless she was a single mother, struggling to juggle a career and care for an almost four-year-old—but it all seemed too complicated and she just wanted to go home.
‘Goodbye.’
The voice from the doorway was curiously deflated, and Alex felt compassion snag his heart as he studied the small, forlorn figure. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said calmly, and something flared in her eyes.
‘You don’t need to see me off the premises. I feel humiliated enough that everyone knows I was interviewed by the police.’
‘Never mind what anyone else thinks,’ he replied cheerfully, and that just about summed him up, she decided. He was confident to the point of arrogance—but then he was the boss; he didn’t have to care what anyone else thought.
She half expected him to frogmarch her out of the office block, but when the lift came to a halt she discovered that they were in an underground car park.
‘My car’s over there.’ He was already leading the way to a silver Bentley, and as they approached a uniformed chauffeur sprung out and held open the door.
‘There’s no need for all this. I’ve got a return train ticket,’ she said faintly as she sank into the supple leather upholstery. ‘Just drop me at the station.’
Alex ignored her and leaned forward to speak into the intercom. ‘Harley Street, please, Barton.’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
