she thought frantically. He would think she was available, or at least that she thought he was available, she corrected mentally. And she knew that he was the last person on this earth she could harbour any romantic inclinations for, so where was the harm in a little unspoken deceit? And she wouldn’t actually lie, not really. And she needed that money, desperately. The mortgage had been paid off after Matthew’s death but the old, draughty terraced house ate gas and electricity, and the last three years had been an uphill struggle to survive on what she could earn. If her mother, herself a widow, hadn’t insisted on helping out as unpaid child-minder, financial waters would have closed over her head more than once…
‘Mrs Worth?’ Now the hard, deep voice was clearly impatient. ‘Would your husband find unsocial hours unacceptable?’ he asked tightly.
‘No.’ She raised her head and stared him straight in the eye. ‘No, he wouldn’t,’ she answered firmly.
‘Good.’ He settled back on the corner of the desk where he was perched, looking down at her. ‘Then perhaps this might be the time for a short test of your skills. You do do shorthand as well as audio-typing?’
‘Yes.’ She slipped a hand down to her bag and brought out notebook and pencil. ‘When you’re ready.’
Half an hour later, as she presented a neatly typed, well-set out report in front of him, he glanced up from his desk, his eyes narrowed. ‘Sit down, Mrs Worth.’ He flicked through the pages quickly and nodded slowly. ‘Excellent. The job is yours if you want it.’
‘I…’ Did she want it? She glanced down at his lowered head, noticing the gleam of red in his black hair—virile, thick, strong hair. Her stomach muscles clenched in an involuntary spasm she was at a loss to understand. No, she was suddenly quite sure she didn’t want the job if it entailed being close to this man for a few hours every day, but she did want the money, No, not want, need. ‘Well?’ The icy blue gaze was suddenly fixed on her flushed face and she took a deep silent breath as she struggled for composure.
‘Thank you, Mr Strade,’ she said levelly. ‘I would like the job, please.’
‘Good.’ His eyes lowered to the papers on his desk that he had been studying when she had entered the room from the secretary’s office just beyond. ‘Go and get yourself a cup of coffee and a sandwich and make any phone calls you think necessary; you’ll be working late tonight. I’ve a hell of a lot of work to catch up on.’
He hadn’t asked if she had any children, she thought bemusedly as she left the room. Hadn’t it occurred to him?
She had just reached the desk in the outer office when the buzzer on the intercom sounded stridently, making her jump a mile. ‘Yes?’ As she flicked the switch she was annoyed to find her voice a little breathless.
‘I forgot to ask.’ His voice was uncompromisingly severe. ‘Are there any little Worths?’ She knew what he wanted her answer to be, and it would be easy to lie, but somehow she couldn’t deny Hannah’s presence in her life, even if it meant losing this golden opportunity for the pair of them to get on their feet.
‘Yes.’ She kept her voice steady and clear. ‘I have a daughter aged three, Mr Strade.’
‘Oh.’ She could tell he had expected a denial. ‘You have an understanding child-minder?’ he asked coolly.
‘Hannah is looked after by my mother when I’m at work, and she is very flexible. The hours will be no problem.’ She could feel her heart thudding as she waited for his reply. Suddenly the amount of money he was offering was desperately important. ‘She’s a widow and likes the company,’ she added quietly.
‘Be back in the office by twelve, Mrs Worth.’ The flick of a switch signalled the end of their conversation and she stared at the closed door of his office as her heartbeat returned to normal. He really was the original ice-man but…She sank down on the upholstered typist’s chair at the smart desk as her thoughts raced on. He had given her a chance and she was honest enough to admit that quite a few men in his position would have hesitated in taking on a secretary with a young daughter in tow, however temporary the position, in view of the travelling and long hours the job entailed.
She was back in the outer office within half an hour of leaving it, after a brief explanatory phone call to her mother, who responded with maternal encouragement, after which Lydia gulped a hasty cup of coffee in the splendid canteen and decided against one of the delicious meals on offer. She bought a pack of ham sand-wiches to eat later—she was far too nervous to eat anything now in spite of having skipped breakfast once the agency rang—and returned to the thickly carpeted, hushed opulence of the top floor. The grandeur of the huge building had begun to get through to her, and the fact that she was working for a multimillionaire who could buy and sell half of London if he so chose was more than a little awe-inspiring.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could handle the job, she thought feverishly as she opened the drawers of her desk to familiarise herself with the contents, it was just…Just what? she asked herself irritably. What on earth was the matter with her? Since Matthew’s untimely death from undiagnosed genetic heart disease just a few weeks after Hannah was born, she had kept both herself and her tiny daughter, as well as running a home and coming to terms with the emotional package of grief and anger her loss had entailed. So why was she letting an ice-cold individual like Mr Strade get to her? It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous! She nodded mentally and took a few deep, calming breaths as she forced her heartbeat to behave. She was mature and sensible and perfectly in control of her emotions and her life, not some giddy schoolgirl with no responsibilities and no brain.
‘You’re back already?’ She came out of her reverie abruptly as a cool voice spoke from the doorway, and raised her eyes to meet the direct blue gaze trained on her face. ‘Ready for work?’
‘Of course, Mr Strade.’ She smiled mechanically as she tried to keep her nervousness from showing. She could understand why those girls before her could have been initially attracted to him—he really was an absolute dish—but surely within ten minutes of meeting him those ice-blue eyes would have frozen over even the most ardent female heart? She had never met a less approachable man in her life.
‘Wolf.’
‘What?’ She forgot to be polite as she stared at him open-mouthed.
‘We are going to be working in close contact for a ridiculous number of hours a day, so I suggest we drop the formality,’ he said coolly. ‘I understand your first name is Lydia?’ She nodded weakly. ‘And mine is Wolf.’
‘It is…?’ She really wasn’t handling this very well, she thought miserably as she watched the hard mouth tighten at her reaction. It was perfectly clear he had had this conversation more times than he would have liked in his life, but with a Christian name like that it was hardly surprising! She stared at him as she tried to pull herself together. And when added to his appearance and whole demeanour——
‘My father was a wild-life expert involved in an expedition studying the Canadian timber-wolf at the time of my birth,’ he said coldly, after a few uncomfortable seconds had ticked by. ‘Unfortunately he thought the name rather apt for his baby son and my mother did little to dissuade him.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked tensely. ‘You haven’t got a middle name, have you?’ she asked tactlessly.
A glimmer of a smile touched the hard mouth for an instant as he turned away. ‘Fortunately, no. I hardly dare think what that would have been. Now, if you’d care to bring your notebook…?’
