Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss. Nicola Marsh

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play time was over, she nodded.

      ‘I wouldn’t have flown all this way if I didn’t feel I could be an asset to your company.’

      ‘You haven’t listed any formal training apart from a first aid certificate, though Callum was suitably impressed with you at the screening interview.’

      He picked up her résumé from the top of his in-tray and flipped through it. ‘Impressed enough to get you this far, anyway.’

      She blushed, incriminating heat creeping up her neck and into her face. How could she list any formal training if she didn’t have any? Pity attending theatre and nightclub opening nights, colour co-ordinating the latest haute couture and shopping for a living couldn’t be classed as essential job skills.

      ‘As you can see, one of my career objectives is to become a biologist. This job would be perfect, giving me on-the-job experience and further credits when I apply to enter university as a mature student.’

      She sucked in a deep breath, silently praying he bought her spiel. While all of it was true—her dream to be a biologist, her need for on-the-job training, her intention to enrol at uni—all the enthusiasm in the world didn’t stack up too well against a lack of formal skills.

      ‘As far as qualifications go I believe life experience is more important than a piece of paper. I’ve always been a people person, and I’m confident I can handle leading tour groups competently.’

      She didn’t add, If I can handle your weirdo interview I think anything Alaska tosses my way will be easy.

      To her relief, he closed her résumé and tossed it on the desk.

      ‘Though the job sounds adventurous your main role is customer service. Is that going to be stimulating enough for you?’

      The way he said ‘stimulating’ almost sounded X-rated. What was wrong with her? The sooner she got to Alaska, surrounded by all that ice, the better.

      Suave Superman had undermined her confidence and lowered her defences quicker than she could rebuild them. And when the walls tumbled, her common sense usually got lost in a tidal wave of useless emotions, like trust and believing not every man was a lying, cheating hound.

      Now her outrage at his strange interviewing techniques had fled, she needed to get out of here. For the longer he stared at her with those all-seeing, too-intense blue eyes, the more chance she’d fluff it and he’d realise exactly how ill-equipped and under-prepared she was to tackle a job of this magnitude.

      ‘I’m looking forward to everything about this job.’

      The moment her life in Sydney had fallen apart, she’d made a decision.

      She could’ve wallowed, gone berserk on retail therapy, maxing out Daddy’s Platinum in petty revenge. Instead, after a day’s private pity party holed up in her favourite day spa, she’d realised what she had to do.

      Grow a spine. Cast off her rose-coloured glasses. And do what she should’ve done years earlier.

      Follow her dream.

      ‘You’re aware we cater to a high-end market? Luxury tours all the way?’

      She nodded, confident in that aspect of her job. She’d grown up in moneyed circles, had rubbed elbows with the world’s elite, so relating to them in this forum would be the least challenging aspect of her new job.

      ‘Callum gave me a full rundown on the company. I’m looking forward to the challenge.’

      His silence was disconcerting, his gaze too inquiring, too sceptical, too potent.

      Keeping her voice crisp and businesslike, she forced a smile. ‘Thanks for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.’

      She stood and offered her hand. As his fingers curled around hers the shock of physical contact shot up her arm and zapped her in places she’d deliberately ignored since learning the truth about Julian.

      ‘Welcome to the team. I look forward to liaising with you.’

      Nodding, she whirled around and strode across the office, anxious to reach the door. Her mind had conjured up all sorts of intimate ways she could liaise with her delectable new boss.

      ‘Drop by tomorrow. Cheri will have your travel arrangements and training schedule waiting. Good luck, Jade. Great meeting you.’

      His words sounded genuine as he opened the door for her and she briefly wondered if she’d imagined the whole bizarre scenario.

      ‘Thanks. See you in six months.’

      Great, she had the job. Not so great, her new boss had tied her up in knots and she thought he was hot, despite her personal vow to ignore men for…oh, the next millennium or so.

      Luckily, Alaska and Vancouver were poles apart. She’d be traipsing around glaciers while he stayed behind his desk a thousand miles away. Perfect.

      Nothing like a good dose of hypothermia to cool hyperactive hormones.

      Chapter Two

      AS JADE left his office, Rhys leaned back, exhaled slowly and rubbed his right temple where the beginnings of a headache hovered.

      He didn’t get headaches. Discounting the woman who’d just left. She was a headache just waiting to happen, every prissy inch of her.

      From the top of her designer suit that would fund his payroll for a month to the bottom of her exorbitantly expensive shoes, Jade Beacham was one big headache.

      She might be a stunner, with those endless legs, big breasts, huge dark Bambi eyes and long hair the colour of double-shot espresso, but he’d known the instant he’d first seen her snooping around the office she’d be more trouble than she was worth.

      She had rich, uptight, society princess stamped all over her.

      The expensive clothes, the immaculate make-up, the cultured accent, all added up to one thing. He’d lost his mind in hiring her, favour to her hot-shot dad not withstanding.

      He hated owing anyone so when Fred had requested a job for his precious little girl, he’d reluctantly agreed.

      Didn’t mean he had to like it.

      The moment she’d strutted down the corridor as if she owned the place, totally at home casing the joint when she should’ve been waiting, he’d wanted to make her jump through hoops, wanted her off guard.

      So he’d gone through that odd scenario: testing her, pushing her, expecting her to fling her hair over one shoulder, hitch her designer bag higher and stroll out of here back to her cushy life.

      She’d surprised him: by sticking around, by putting up with his crap and, most of all, by appearing genuinely happy when he’d given her the job.

      It begged the question: why would a wealthy society princess need a job? Why here? What had happened to her life in Sydney for her to end up thousands of miles away?

      Shaking

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