the others she was—as she had stated in her application—perfectly fluent in Portuguese. She spoke rapidly, deliberately making her speech both formal and colloquial—impossible for anyone but the seasoned linguist to understand. When she had finished, she saw that another wry smile had appeared. ‘How much did you understand?’ she queried.
‘Very little,’ he admitted. ‘You speak very quickly, and your pronunciation is superb.’
She inclined her head, relishing what she accurately assessed was a rare compliment. ‘Thank you.’
The eyes were curious. ‘How come?’
‘How come what?’
‘That you’re so fluent?’
She hesitated just a little. ‘Well,’ she said lightly. ‘I have just spent two years working as a PA in Portugal.’
He waved his hand in the air dismissively. ‘I know that. But you must have been pretty good before that? You wouldn’t speak it as well as that after just two years.’
He was probing, and she resented it. She didn’t want to have to give him a potted history of her life, see pity cloud those enigmatic eyes. She indicated the papers which lay on the desk before him. ‘As you’ll see from my résumé—I studied languages.’ Her grey eyes instinctively flashed a warning.
There was an answering flash in the dark emerald depths. ‘To which the same argument applies.’
He was not, she decided, the kind of man to be put off. He was the kind of man who would take a prize for getting blood from a stone. She made up her mind to give him the barest facts possible. ‘My mother—was Portuguese,’ she stated baldly.
‘And your father?’
‘Irish.’ A flat statement, which dared him to pursue the subject further.
‘Unusual combination,’ he remarked.
‘So I’ve been told.’ She cleared her throat. ‘So what you need primarily, Mr Ryder—is an interpreter?’
If he’d noticed that she’d neatly steered the subject away from her parents, he didn’t show it. ‘Mainly,’ he replied. ‘But as well as shorthand and typing, I need someone to be my right-hand man, so to speak.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Or woman, I should say. Someone who will know exactly what I know, and will therefore know how to deal with any urgent business should I not be available. I employ a great many staff not only in this country, but all over the world. Every time some trifling little problem arises, I don’t personally want to have to deal with it.’ The green eyes held her directly in their full, magnificent gaze.
‘I need cables sent,’ he continued. ‘Documents translated, airline tickets booked, business associates met at the airport. I may need you to travel abroad with me.’
‘That sounds like very long hours,’ she observed.
‘Absolutely. But in return you will be paid handsomely. You’ll have first-class accommodation in London, if you want it, and extremely generous holidays. So what do you think?’
‘And how much is the salary?’
The sum he mentioned almost made her fall out of her chair.
‘Will you be needing accommodation?’ He looked at her quizzically.
‘Yes, I will,’ she nodded. ‘Could you tell me what that consists of?’
There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘There’s a large penthouse flat at the top of this building—part of that will be yours.’
It took her precisely ten seconds to mull it over. He would have to be the worst tyrant ever created to justify her turning a deal like this down. Yes, he seemed a big-head of the worst order, and he himself had admitted that he’d been called some ‘unflattering names’ in his time. She could think of a few herself! She stared into those unusual green eyes. Surely he couldn’t be that bad?
And the job—the job was everything she wanted. A secure base, with money to save until she decided what she really wanted to do with her life. But then again, he hadn’t offered it to her, had he? No doubt it would be the old, old story of ‘I’ve several other people to see’.
‘It sounds very—adequate,’ she said cautiously.
This last remark inspired a throaty laugh. ‘Adequate? What a ghastly word! Miss Wilde, if you’re going to work for me you must promise me faithfully that you will never use the word “adequate” ever again.’
She let the flippancy go. ‘You mean—you’re—you’re offering…?’
His face was quite serious again. He gestured to the sheaf of papers on his desk. ‘I’ve seen your references, which are excellent—though you, Miss Wilde, would probably have said “adequate”. You satisfy all my other criteria—your Portuguese is fluent, you seem bright enough—oh, and you don’t fall into the man-eating tigress mould.’
Meaning, thought Shauna acidly, that I’m a plain Jane.
‘And one other thing,’ his voice was lower now. ‘You need this job, don’t you?’
Yes, she needed the job, but she wasn’t desperate. She knew that nothing was a bigger turn-off than desperation. ‘There are other jobs,’ she said coolly.
He smiled. ‘The job’s yours if you want it.’
She had actually been reaching for her holdall, when she stared at him, not believing her ears. ‘Pardon?’
‘The job’s yours,’ he repeated. ‘If you want it.’
She still didn’t believe it. ‘Just like that?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Just like that.’
She pretended to hesitate, but she got the impression that he wasn’t fooled for a minute.
‘In that case,’ she said, resisting the temptation to leap up into the air, ‘I’d be happy to accept.’
‘Good.’
‘When would you like me to start?’
He frowned. ‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
She wanted to make amends for her earlier flights of fancy. ‘Tomorrow’s fine.’
A piercing look came into his eyes. ‘Today, you were late,’ he accused.
‘There was a…’ she began, but he held his hand up.
‘I’m not interested. I’m prepared to overlook it once—it won’t happen again.’
‘No,’ she said quietly—she wouldn’t dare!
He closed his eyes briefly for a moment, and yawned. She noticed how intensely weary he looked, and wondered whether that was work, or play. When he opened them again, he found Shauna staring at him intently.
He blinked. ‘What
