be others in and out of the room tonight, when the extra servers that had been hired showed up. But that was hours away. And…
Of course. That was what he was—a temporary worker, hired to pass trays of hors-d’oeuvre and wait table this evening. There’d been no problem arranging for half a dozen such people: California beach communities tended to collect drifters who followed the sun and the surf, and drifters took work wherever they could.
The man in the doorway had that look, Talia thought, her glance moving dismissively over him. He was tall, leanly muscled, wearing ragged-edged cut-off denims and a T-shirt inscribed with what seemed to be a college seal, so faded it was illegible. She could almost picture him with a surfboard under his arm, although he seemed to be in his late thirties. Well, this was California. She’d seen stranger things than over-age beach bums since she’d moved West.
The stranger was smiling under her scrutiny, a very private, intimate smile, and a coldness clamped down on Talia’s heart. Did he really think that would work with her? Carefully, she put down the spoon and moved towards him. ‘May I help you?’
His teeth flashed in a quick grin. ‘I don’t know. What do you have in mind?’
He was good-looking, in an obvious kind of way, and he was probably used to doing rather well with women. Well, he was in for a surprise.
‘Keep it up,’ she said quietly, ‘and you won’t have to worry about tonight.’
His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘My, my,’ he said teasingly, ‘that’s a pretty direct approach.’
‘What I meant,’ Talia said sharply, ‘was that if you go on like this, you won’t have a job to come to this evening.’ He looked blank, and she sighed. ‘You’re here to work the cocktail party and dinner, aren’t you?’
‘Ah.’ The smile came again. He stepped away from the wall and nodded. ‘The Miller thing. I suppose you might say that, yes.’
A lock of auburn hair fell over Talia’s forehead and she brushed it back impatiently. ‘You’re due here at seven. Until then, you’re just in the way.’ Her eyes moved over him again. ‘I take it you can put your hands on black trousers? We’ll provide the jacket and bow-tie.’
He laughed and put his hands on his hips. The movement made the muscles roll beneath his skin, and she thought, yes, definitely a surfer with that sun-bleached hair and taut body. Only someone who spent his time in constant activity could look so—so…
‘And a white shirt,’ she said, while a flush ran up under her skin.
He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said solemnly. ‘Black trousers, white shirt. Anything else, Miss…?’
‘And black shoes. Polished, of course.’
A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Of course. Miss—Miss…’
‘Roberts.’ Her voice was crisp. ‘Talia Roberts. I’m in charge.’
The man stared at her for a minute, and then he took a step towards her. ‘How nice to meet you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And I’m—’
‘I don’t care in the least who you are,’ she said coldly.
His smile dimmed a little. ‘That’s not very polite, Talia. When you deal with people, you might—’
Her chin rose. ‘My name is Miss Roberts. And if I need advice, I’ll certainly not ask for it from someone like you.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘If I were you, Miss Roberts—’
‘But you’re not. And if you want to get paid tonight, you’d better learn to do as you’re told.’
His smile turned to ice. ‘Are you always this unpleasant to the people who work for you?’
No, she thought in surprise, she wasn’t. Courtesy to staff was one of the things she prided herself on. Then why, she wondered, was she being so rude to him? The answer came quickly. Because he was impertinent. Because he had no business here. Because—because he made her uncomfortable and edgy and—
‘Dammit to hell!’
The chef’s voice roared across the kitchen as the Welsh rarebit boiled over. Talia took one look and grabbed for a towel. When she turned around again, the man had vanished.
She forget all about him as the afternoon passed. There were a dozen last-minute crises, none—thank goodness—that couldn’t be handled. Finally, with only moments to spare, Talia hurried to her room to shower and change for the evening. When she was dressed, she looked into the mirror and smiled. She’d been right, the grey suit and silk blouse were perfect. She looked as cool and collected as…
Talia jumped. For a second, her reflection had seemed to waver; she’d imagined she’d seen the stranger looking back at her, smiling his insolent smile.
She turned away sharply and picked up her bag. If the man showed up, which she doubted, she’d tell her people to keep a careful eye on him. He was more likely to try and skive off than work. He might even try to come on to the few women executives scattered in the group, and she didn’t need that kind of headache. The cocktail party, and the dinner following, would bring enough problems of their own.
The hall was silent. The inn was three storeys high, and Logan Miller’s people had all been housed on the first two levels. Talia had taken a room on the third floor, where she could monitor things without intruding on them.
Her heels clicked loudly as she walked down the corridor. The floating staircase loomed ahead, an impressive structure of redwood, stainless steel and glass. She paused at the top, her hand on the polished wood railing, and looked down. In a little while, all her months of planning and hard work would come together. And everything would be fine—she’d left nothing to chance.
‘You’re such a stickler for detail, Talia,’ one of her assistants had said today, smiling. ‘I bet it runs in the family.’
Wryly, Talia had been tempted to tell her the truth. ‘Not in my family it doesn’t,’ she’d almost said. ‘The only detail my mother ever worried about was getting married before her pregnancy showed. And my father’s only thought was how long it would take before she wouldn’t give a damn if he left and never came back.’
But she’d simply laughed and spouted some nonsense about preparing for every possible contingency. Which was what she always did, she reminded herself as she started down the stairs. It was one of the reasons why she had nothing to worry about tonight.
What could possibly go wrong?
* * *
An hour later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The cocktail party was in full swing, and it was going as smoothly as silk. Talia made a cursory appearance, just long enough to check the trays of hors-d’oeuvre and the stock at the bar. The Miller executives seemed to be having a great time. They’d been subdued at first, standing in little clusters, talking quietly. Every now and then, an anxious face would turn to the doorway. But as time passed and they sipped their drinks, their inhibitions fell away and the level of noise and laughter grew.
On her second trip through the ballroom, Talia overheard a snatch of conversation that confirmed
