ask little nobodies like her out to dinner!
‘Dinner. With me. Tonight,’ he repeated patiently.
Laura gulped, searching his hard face for some sign of the mockery that never seemed to be far away, but he gazed steadily back at her as he waited for her answer.
But he couldn’t really mean it, not her.
‘Laura?’ he prompted at her continued silence.
‘I—No. I mean, yes. No—–’ She was totally confused, the invitation had been totally unexpected.
Gideon gave a tight smile ‘Don’t use your mother as an excuse to me,’ he more or less confirmed that he had been listening to her conversation for some time before making his presence known. ‘I happen to know that your mother is only fifty years old, and that she has more of a social life than you do.’
It was true. Her mother had joined a Widows, Widowers, and Divorcees Club after Laura’s father had died, and the friends she had made there were always going out for the evening in a crowd, even on the nights the club didn’t meet.
‘So?’ he prompted again.
‘I—–’ She licked her lips nervously, wondering frantically at the reason for this sudden invitation. Maybe he had argued with Petra Wilde and felt in need of amusement—and she certainly seemed to amuse him. ‘You don’t mean it.’
‘But I do. I never say anything I don’t mean.’
‘N-never?’ she faltered uncertainly.
‘Never,’ he confirmed.
She swallowed hard. ‘You—you really do want to take me out to dinner tonight?’
‘I do,’ he nodded.
‘Why?’ Laura frowned.
‘Why not?’ he gave a tight smile.
‘Because—–’
‘Gideon—Oh,’ James Courtney came to a halt just inside the room, looking searchingly at the other man. ‘Have you forgotten we have a meeting with Crewe at two-thirty?’
‘Not at all,’ Gideon denied smoothly. ‘Laura and I were just—talking.’
‘Indeed?’ The older man looked even more puzzled.
Gideon continued to look at Laura, uncaring of his father-in-law’s presence. ‘You haven’t given me your answer.’
She was aware of James Courtney’s speculative looks even if Gideon wasn’t, and stood up to leave. ‘The answer is no, Mr Maitland,’ and she hurried past the surprised James Courtney into her own office.
‘Laura!’ She hadn’t realised Gideon had followed her until he swung her round to face him. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’
Her embarrassed gaze passed to James Courtney, and then back to Gideon. ‘No—–’
‘Yes!’ he insisted firmly, his fingers painful on her arm.
‘No …’ But even she was aware that her denial sounded weak this time. How could he do this to her in front of James Courtney! Wasn’t he in the least embarrassed himself in admitting he had invited out his own secretary, a girl far below him both in sophistication and socially? Heavens, one look at Petra Wilde was enough to tell her he must be playing with her—and it was a cruel joke to play on anyone.
‘Laura!’ Gideon shook her.
‘I said no,’ she looked away from him, ‘And I meant no.’
His hand dropped away from her arm. ‘I don’t have the time to argue with you now, I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’
‘You—–’
‘For God’s sake give in gracefully, girl,’ James Courtney put in tersely. ‘Don’t you know when you’re outmatched?’
She looked at him rebelliously, feeling like a mouse caught between two tormenting cats. ‘I don’t need any advice from you,’ she flashed resentfully. ‘As Mr Maitland told me shortly before you arrived, what I do in the evenings is my own affair. And I don’t choose to be any rich man’s amusement!’ She didn’t wait to see either James Courtney or Gideon’s reaction to her outburst, but ran out of the office and into the ladies’ room further down the corridor. She leant back weakly against the door, hardly able to believe the scene that had just taken place, from Gideon Maitland’s dinner invitation to her angry outburst to James Courtney.
Oh God, what had she done! The least she could expect from her outburst would be a verbal or written reprimand, the worst could be instant dismissal. And after her behaviour just now she probably deserved the latter.
She took a deep controlling breath, the ravages of that unpleasant scene on her white shocked face, the eyes staring back at her in the mirror greener than ever. She couldn’t stay in here all day, she had to go back to the office, if only to collect her handbag and leave. But she dreaded having to face either of the men again.
Her reflection showed her face to be colourless, her youth showing through in that moment, showing her what Gideon Maitland must have seen, a child dressed up to be a woman.
Well, she didn’t work at Courtneys any longer, so the pose of maturity was no longer necessary. She would be just plain Laura Jamieson when she walked out of here, her head held high. The removal of her hair pins was the first move, and she fluffed the auburn waves loose about her shoulders. Undoing the top two buttons of her severely fastened blouse was the next move, folding the collar back over the jacket of her suit. She instantly looked younger, and she felt it too.
Her legs began to shake as she reached her office door. She couldn’t hear any explosive voices, but then that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be verbally chewed to pieces as soon as she walked in the door. James Courtney could be chillingly polite until he exploded at his victim, and this time she was it. She had seen experienced businessmen quake at the thought of a run in with James Courtney, so what chance did she have of getting out of the building unscathed?
She couldn’t believe it—the office was empty! She quickly checked Gideon Maitland’s office, just to make sure. Of course, it was almost two-thirty, the two men had an appointment then, and they weren’t likely to miss that just for the satisfaction of sacking her personally. No, they would just expect her to go.
She would finish off her work first; she had been halfway through typing a letter. She could leave the completed work on Gideon Maitland’s desk—along with her resignation. If they hadn’t actually sacked her then she was perfectly within her rights to hand in her resignation. This way she wouldn’t have it on her record that she had been sacked.
Her fingers fumbled on the typewriter keys, her eyes opening wide as she looked at the destruction of her letter. It had been quite a lengthy letter too, very technical, and she had prided herself on the fact that she hadn’t made a single error, not even on the parts where she didn’t understand a word, and now Gideon Maitland had wilfully destroyed her painstaking work. Directly under her neatly laid out letter he had typed ‘SEVEN-THIRTY, LAURA’.
She ripped
