And then she stretched tiredly, shutting her eyes for a moment as she raised her hands high above her head with a big sigh. She had tried not to think about the impending meeting with Jacques Querruel but now it was imminent. She didn’t want to see him again. Not ever.
‘Tired?’
Her eyes shot open and there he was, standing in the open doorway, but now dressed in a light grey suit that must have cost a mint of money. The jacket was unbuttoned, revealing an ivory shirt tucked into the flat waistband of his immaculate trousers. He was the epitome of the successful tycoon, from the top of his sleek, dark head to the tips of his handmade shoes. He looked even more sexy than he had done in the leathers.
Holly was horrified the last thought had slipped in and straightened hastily in her seat, flushing hotly.
‘It is nearly five-thirty.’ He didn’t wait for her to speak. ‘And I think our little chat could be conducted more comfortably over dinner, yes? Are you free tonight, Miss Stanton?’
‘What?’ She was hallucinating now, she had to be, because he couldn’t possibly have said what she thought he’d just said.
‘Dinner?’ he said with a patience which bordered on the insulting. ‘I take it you do eat dinner? I asked you if you were able to accompany me tonight.’
Holly’s flush deepened. Either he was stark staring mad or she was.
‘There is a job proposition I would like to put to you,’ he continued smoothly, ‘which will obviously need some discussion. I am hungry and I am thirsty, and a good bottle of cabernet sauvignon is calling. If you are free tonight I will run you home and you can change. I have a table booked for seven.’
She stared at him, utterly taken aback. And then the thought surfaced—who would he be taking to dinner if she refused? The table was already booked and Jacques Querruel didn’t look the type to eat alone. No doubt he had a little black book to deal with such an eventuality. She forced herself to say, and calmly, ‘I don’t understand, Mr Querruel. You said a job proposition?’
‘Don’t tell me that you were not thinking of looking for another position forthwith?’ he said quietly.
Holly’s jaw set. This was a catch-22 question and however she answered it she couldn’t win. If she denied it he would assume she was lying. That much was clear. If she confirmed his suspicions she might well find herself leaving Querruel International sooner than she had expected. Jacques Querruel was the type of employer who demanded absolute loyalty.
‘What gave you that idea?’ Holly chose her words carefully.
‘Nicely fielded, Miss Stanton,’ he said gravely.
Impossible man! She glared at him and he smiled back, a cynical twist of his cleanly sculpted mouth. ‘So…I will give you another ten minutes to finish off here and then we will call by your apartment, yes?’ he asked, his black eyebrows rising with derisive amusement at her confusion.
Holly thought of all the reasons that made it imperative she say no to this ridiculous invitation. The man was dangerous—lethal, in fact, as an adversary. She’d heard stories about his ruthlessness that would make the straightest hair curl. And she had made a formal complaint against the son of Jacques Querruel’s managing director here in England. At the very least her accusations were going to cost the company time and effort, and she just might have stirred up something of a hornets’ nest. This man was wealthy and powerful, cold and arrogant. He was also devastatingly attractive and used to having any woman he wanted with a click of his well-manicured fingers. She hated to admit it to herself but he scared her half to death.
And—and here she inwardly berated herself for the shallowness of her thoughts—she had nothing suitable to wear for dinner with a multimillionaire, and her little bedsit was not exactly the type of home Jacques Querruel would be used to.
So, in view of all that, why could she hear herself saying ‘Thank you, Mr Querruel. I would be pleased to hear what you have to say over dinner?’
‘Excellent.’ His gaze ran over her for one more second and then he turned without another word and she was alone again.
For as long as it took for the door to Michael Roberts’s office to close, anyway. Then Margaret was standing where Jacques had just stood, her eyebrows disappearing into her hair. ‘I don’t believe what I just heard,’ she whispered, coming right into the room and standing by Holly’s desk. ‘I’ve worked for Mr Roberts for five years and I’ve seen females galore throw themselves at Mr Querruel, and he’s never even noticed. He’s a man who keeps work and play totally separate.’
‘This is work.’ Holly was embarrassed and hot. ‘He said something about a job proposition. I think he suspected that I couldn’t stay on after what happened this morning.’
‘Did you feel that?’ Margaret asked unhappily.
Holly nodded. ‘I guess so,’ she admitted. ‘It would be too awkward with me working for you and you being Mr Roberts’s secretary. You see that, don’t you, Margaret?’
Margaret stared at the lovely young face in front of her, and now her motherly instincts came to the fore as she said softly, ‘Holly, be careful, won’t you? Jacques Querruel is renowned as a love-’em-and-leave-’em type, and normally his partners are selected from women who think like him, if you know what I mean. They’re all beautiful and sophisticated and often holding high-powered jobs—real career women. They don’t want the ties of hearth and home any more than he does.’
Now it was Holly’s turn to stare at the other woman. ‘Margaret, he’s only asked me out to discuss some sort of work proposal,’ she said in astonishment. ‘I think he believed me about Jeff Roberts, although he never said so, and he’s probably feeling he owes me some sort of alternative job, that’s all.’ She could hardly believe Margaret was suggesting anything else. Jacques Querruel and a typist? It was laughable.
Margaret sniffed a very worldly-wise and maternal sniff. ‘Be that as it may,’ she said grimly. ‘You just remember what I’ve said, that’s all.’
‘He asked me in your hearing,’ Holly pointed out reasonably. ‘He wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t serious about a job, would he?’
Margaret just looked at her, her plump chin settled in her ample neck and her eyebrows raised in a way she didn’t mean to be comical but which struck Holly so.
‘I promise I’ll be careful,’ Holly said at last, biting back a smile. ‘OK? And I’ll tell you everything that transpires in the morning, although I’m sure you’re worrying unnecessarily. But thanks anyway,’ she added, reaching out a hand and patting the other woman’s arm.
She received a warm smile in return. ‘I know you think I’m a fussy old woman but, in spite of the fact we’ve only known each other a little while, I think of you as a friend,’ Margaret said earnestly. ‘And with you not having any family as such, I feel you’re a bit…’
‘Vulnerable?’ Holly proffered.
Margaret nodded unhappily.
‘Believe me, Margaret, vulnerable I’m not,’ Holly said firmly. ‘I learnt to look after myself from when I could toddle; I had to—no one else was going to. And, if nothing else, being pushed around by the establishment and having six foster homes before I was eighteen makes
