a deep breath and pressed the button for Nigel Statham’s direct line.
“Yes, sir?” she answered.
“Could I see you for a moment?”
The abrupt request was followed by total silence, and she realized he’d hung up without waiting for a reply.
Grabbing the list of designers from the printer tray, she folded it over and over into a small square and stuffed it into the front pocket of her skirt. Patting the spot to make sure it was well concealed, she strode to the door of Nigel’s office, unsure of what she would encounter on the other side. She didn’t even know if she should bring a pad and pencil with her to take notes.
What did personal assistants automatically pick up when summoned by the boss? Paper and pen? A more modern electronic tablet? She hadn’t even had a chance to poke around and find out what was provided for Nigel Statham’s executive secretary.
So she walked in empty-handed after giving one quick tap on the door to announce her arrival.
Nigel turned from typing something into his own computer to jot a note on the papers in front of him before lifting his attention to Lily. She stood just behind one of the guest chairs, awaiting his every request.
“What are you doing for dinner this evening?” he asked.
The question was so far from anything she might have expected him to say, her mind went blank. She was quite sure her face did, too.
“I’ll take that to mean you don’t have plans,” he remarked.
When she still didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m having dinner with a potential designer and thought you might like to join us. Having you there will help to keep things on a business track, as well as better familiarize you with your position.”
For lack of anything more inspired to say, she replied with a simple, “All right.”
Nigel gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I’ll be leaving from the office, but you’re welcome to go home and change, or take a bit of a rest, if you like. I’ll come round for you at eight. Be sure to leave your address before you finish for the day.”
He returned his attention to his work, giving Lily the impression that plans for the evening had been decided and she’d been dismissed.
“Yes, sir,” she said, because she thought it was respectful and some sort of acquiescence was needed. Then she tacked on a short “Thank you” for good measure before hurrying back out to the reception area.
Taking a seat behind her desk, she tried to decide how she felt about this latest turn of events.
On the one hand, she already had a list of designers for the Ashdown Abbey collection based on her work. She considered that quite a coup for her first day in the enemy’s camp.
On the other, her most fervent prayer had been merely to get through the day without being found out. She’d never imagined she would be asked to put in extra time outside the office. Especially not alone with the boss.
Of course, she wouldn’t really be alone with him. It was a business dinner, so at least one other person would be there. But it was still an after-hours situation in much-too-close proximity to the man who held her future in his hands.
Her professional future and possibly her very freedom.
Because if he ever learned who she really was and why she was working incognito within his company, she’d likely find herself behind bars. No amount of crying “he was mean to me first” would save her then.
Three
At five minutes to eight, Lily was still racing around her apartment, trying to be ready before Nigel arrived.
It didn’t help that she’d just moved in and had brought very little with her from New York. Or that this was supposed to be merely a place to sleep. Nothing fancy. Nothing expensive—at least by Los Angeles standards. Simply somewhere to rest and hunker down with her suspicions and evidence while she worked days at Ashdown Abbey.
Never had she imagined that her boss—CEO of the entire company—would decide to “drop by” and pick her up for dinner.
And then there was the fact that she hadn’t planned for after-hours job requirements. Once she’d arrived, she’d filled her closet with Ashdown Abbey business attire, not only to fit in, but to subconsciously give Nigel Statham and everyone else the impression that she absolutely belonged there. But she hadn’t purchased a single item for an evening out.
Granted, she could probably get away with wearing the same skirt and blouse that she’d worn that day. If she was attending this meal as Nigel’s personal assistant, then it couldn’t hurt for her to look like one.
But she suspected Nigel’s choice of restaurant might be of the highly upscale variety, and she didn’t want to stand out. Or worse, blend in with the servers.
So she’d done the best she could with what her limited current wardrobe had to offer.
Another black skirt, shorter this time, with a sexy—but not too sexy—slit up the back. A sheer, nearly diaphanous sapphire-blue blouse that she’d intended to wear as a shell over a more modest chemise top. Now, though, she wore it over only a bra.
She’d checked and double-checked in the mirror to be sure the effect wasn’t trashy. Thankfully, the bra was barely visible, even though in certain light, flashes of skin could be seen beneath the top.
To dazzle it up even more, she added sparkling chandelier earrings, a matching Y necklace, and open-toed four-inch heels that—now that she was wearing them—might be a bit too suggestive for nine-to-five. They were more than appropriate for a night out on the town, though, professional or otherwise.
She threw a few items like her wallet, a lipstick, keys and her cell phone—just in case—in a small, plain-black clutch, and finally thought she was ready enough to jump when Nigel arrived.
She’d just taken a deep, stabilizing breath and was contemplating one last visit to the restroom when the doorbell rang.
Whatever calm she’d managed to find with that long inhalation evaporated at the shrill, mechanical sound, and a lump of dread began to grow in the pit of her stomach.
Fingers curled around her purse, she swallowed hard and moved to the door. Because she didn’t want Nigel peeking inside and seeing that there were no personal touches to the apartment to affirm her claims of having lived in the city for several years, she opened it only a crack, using her body to block his view.
As quickly and smoothly as she could, she slipped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed and locked behind her. Leaning back, she used the doorjamb to prop herself up, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and overly scrutinized.
Nigel’s hazel eyes studied her from head to toe. He was standing so close, she could see the specks of green dotting his irises and smell his spicy-with-a-hint-of-citrus cologne.
She inhaled, drawing the scent deeper into her lungs, then realized what she was doing and stopped, holding her breath in hopes that he wouldn’t notice her small indiscretion.
It
