sheer stupidity she had already done more than enough damage. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
He waved an expressive hand. ‘Think nothing of it.’ Then, looking at the empty cup on the tray, he suggested smoothly, ‘I do hope you’re planning to join me?’
‘Well I—’
‘Otherwise I might start wondering if you’re really the office girl standing in for the boss.’
Only too aware that she had made more of a hash of things than any self-respecting office girl, she managed a smile and poured out a second cup of tea.
‘Cheers.’ He raised his cup and drank.
Knowing he was making fun of her, she gritted her teeth and took a sip of the tea she didn’t want, shuddering at the memory of all those other cups of grey, lukewarm liquid that had passed as tea.
She had hated tea ever since.
‘Just as a matter of interest,’ he pursued levelly, ‘how many personnel do you have? I couldn’t get a straight answer from Benson.’
‘Well, I’m sure he must have explained that we’re a very small firm and—’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘I see.’
Firmly, she said, ‘That’s all it normally takes. Though of course it depends on the size of the job in hand and how quickly it has to be done. If we do need extra staff—carpenters, electricians, fitters—we employ them on a temporary basis.’
That had been their plan, though it hadn’t yet become necessary.
‘Your job for instance… I understand you want it completed without delay, so—’
‘What’s happened to Benson? Do I take it he’s chickened out?’
Angry at the interruption, she answered as evenly as possible, ‘He had an afternoon appointment.’
‘Cold feet, more likely,’ Robert Carrington opined. ‘So he decided he’d send a beautiful woman to soften me up?’
Caught out by the jibe, she quickly responded, ‘I may not be beautiful, but I am the senior partner. No one sends me to do anything.’
‘Good for you!’ he applauded.
Rising to his feet, he came round the desk and, putting a hand beneath her chin, turned her face up to his own.
She sat as though metamorphosed into stone, while he studied the widely spaced grey eyes beneath dark winged brows, the high cheekbones and straight nose, the generous mouth and pointed chin.
Then, running a fingertip along the jagged silver thread of scar tissue that ran down her left temple and cheek, he asked, ‘What makes you think you’re not beautiful?’
Inside her head she could still hear the voice saying, “It’s a pity she’s got that ugly scar”…and sure he was just baiting her, she answered recklessly, ‘I do own a mirror.’
‘So how would you describe yourself?’
‘Colourless. Nondescript. Scarred.’
‘It’s no use looking into a mirror if you’re prejudiced. Try looking into other people’s eyes to see what their opinion is.’ His glance fell on her modest ring. ‘Your fiancé’s for instance.’
She had looked into Dave’s eyes and seen only her own opinion reflected there.
Almost before the depressing thought had crossed her mind, Robert Carrington had returned to his chair and was regarding her steadily across the desk.
As though it had branded her, she could still feel his touch, and she was forced to repress a shiver while she struggled to regain some semblance of composure.
Though her every instinct urged her to run and hide, she knew she must make her peace with this tough, complex man sitting opposite.
It was necessary.
Desperate to get back on course, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ve strayed from the point, and I’m sure you’re much too busy to waste your time.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t describe it as wasted,’ he objected lazily. ‘Sometimes it’s useful to digress a little. It helps to really focus the mind.’
She counted to ten. ‘Well, now we’ve digressed a little, perhaps we can get back to business?’ Her tone, though pleasant, implied that she hadn’t got all afternoon to waste, if he had.
His tawny eyes narrowed and, without further ado, he called her bluff. ‘Well, I’ll quite understand if you’re too busy to give me any more of your time—’
‘No! No, that’s not what I meant. Of course I’m not too busy.’ The hasty interruption betrayed her desperation all too clearly.
Wanting only to put her head down on her arms and weep tears of anger and frustration, she sat up straighter and lifted her chin.
‘Mr Carrington, you must know we want this job, and I can only assure you that if you give us the chance we’ll do our very best.’
And it would have to be their best. She was already convinced that he wasn’t the kind of man who would be prepared to settle for anything less than the moon, if that’s what he’d been promised.
Running long fingers over his smoothly shaven jaw, he asked thoughtfully, ‘How long have you been in business?’
Knowing it was useless to prevaricate, she answered reluctantly, ‘Not quite a year.’
Glancing around, as though weighing up his surroundings, he asked, ‘And you’ve had this office for the same length of time?’
He sounded far from impressed.
‘Yes,’ she answered, and thought wryly that it was just as well he hadn’t seen it when they’d first taken it over.
The walls had been painted a stomach-turning green, an abandoned rusty-grey filing cabinet had leaned drunkenly against the wall, and worn linoleum in squares of ginger and black had adorned the floor.
While Dave had gone out searching for orders, she had set about refurbishing the place.
The cabinet and linoleum disposed of, a good second-hand carpet, a desk and two chairs, a couple of coats of white paint, and a few cheerful pot plants had made a lot of difference.
By the time they had installed the reconditioned computer equipment it was starting to look good, and she had been pleased with the result until she saw it through Robert Carrington’s eyes.
‘Hmm,’ he said. Then, ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me how Smith and Benson came into being?’
Though politely phrased, she recognised it as an order rather than a request.
She
