do not want to be part of anyone else’s Christmas,’ he snapped.
‘You don’t need to be. You can stay in your room and work. I can even bring your meals to your room, if you want to take it that far.’
‘I can’t believe this is the only solution.’
‘It’s the only one I can think of.’
No matter what she did, no matter what she offered, she would lose her job over this, Meg thought miserably, and then she thought—why don’t I quit now? She could walk away and leave this man to do whatever he wanted over Christmas.
But this was the best job. And maybe…maybe he’d even enjoy it. Letty put on a great Christmas. Miracles could happen.
Send me a miracle, she pleaded, starting her Santa list right now.
‘It will work,’ she said, managing to sound much more calm than she felt. ‘This is a genuine offer and we’d be very pleased to have you.’ She glanced at her watch, acting as if it was time to move on. Acting as if the thing had already been decided. ‘You will be able to work. The room has a lovely view.’ Not exactly like this one. ‘You will be comfortable and you will be left alone. If you accept my offer, then my train leaves in an hour. I’m sorry you can’t get home but this is the best I can do.’
His face was still dark with fury.
If he was so angry, why didn’t he contact someone else? she thought. Any socialite in Melbourne would be pleased to be his friend. He was invited everywhere. Surely he didn’t wish to spend Christmas with her.
But it seemed he did.
‘Your house is large?’
That was easy. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘No young children?’
‘No.’ Scotty was fifteen. Surely that didn’t count as young.
‘And I will have privacy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right,’ he said roughly, angrily. ‘I’ll pay your family for my accommodation and I’ll work from there.’
‘There’s no need to pay.’
‘This is business,’ he snapped. ‘Business or nothing.’
‘Fine,’ she said, accepting the inevitable. ‘I’ll get changed. We can walk to the station.’
‘Walk?’
‘It’s Christmas,’ she said. ‘Traffic’s gridlocked and it’s four blocks.’
‘I will have privacy at this place?’ he demanded again, suddenly suspicious.
‘At my home,’ she said, goaded. ‘Yes, you will.’
He hesitated. ‘And your family…’
‘They’ll be glad of the extra income,’ she said, knowing that this at least was true.
And it seemed it was the right thing to say. He was moving on.
’Don’t think I’m accepting this with any degree of complacency,’ he snapped. ‘We’ll discuss this debacle after Christmas. But for now…let’s just get it over with.’
Where was she taking him?
Maybe he should have paid attention, but he’d stalked back into his office and worked until she’d decreed it was time to go. Then he’d walked beside her to the station and stayed silent as she organised tickets. He’d been too angry to do anything else, and too caught up in work. The Berswood faxes had come through just as he left, and he’d spotted a loophole that would have his lawyers busy for weeks.
Had they really thought he wouldn’t notice such a problem?
As he walked to the station he was planning his course of attack—and maybe that was no accident. Burying himself in work had always been his way to block out the world, and he was not looking forward to the next three days. Three days immersed in his work, with little to alleviate it, with no hotel gym to burn energy…And missing Elinor and the kids…That hurt.
At least he had the Berswood contract to work on, he told himself as he strode beside his PA, trying to think the legal implications through as she purchased tickets and hurried to the train. Then as the train pulled out, the announcement came through that the train destination was four hours away. What the…?
He and Meg had been forced to sit across the aisle from each other. He looked across at her in alarm. ‘Four hours?’
‘We get off earlier,’ she called. ‘Two and a half hours.’
Two and a half hours?
He couldn’t even grill her. He sat hard against the window with barely enough room to balance his laptop. Beside him, a woman was juggling two small children, one on her knee and one in a carrycot in the aisle. Meg had someone else’s child on her lap. There were people squashed every which way, in a train taking them who knew where?
He was heading into the unknown, with his PA.
She didn’t even look like his PA, he thought as the interminable train journey proceeded, and even the Berswood deal wasn’t enough to hold his attention. It seemed she’d brought her luggage to the office so she could make a quick getaway. Once he’d grudgingly accepted her invitation, she’d slipped into the Ladies and emerged…different.
His PA normally wore a neat black suit, crisp white blouse and sensible black shoes with solid heels. She wore her hair pulled tightly into an elegant chignon. He’d never seen her with a hair out of place.
She was now wearing hip-hugging jeans, pale blue canvas sneakers—a little bit worn—and a soft white shirt, open necked, with a collar but no sleeves.
What was more amazing was that she’d tugged her chignon free, and her bouncing chestnut curls were flowing over her shoulders. And at her throat was a tiny Christmas angel.
The angel could have been under her corporate shirt for weeks, he thought, stunned at the transformation. She looked casual. She looked completely unbusinesslike—and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like being on this train. He didn’t like it that his PA was chatting happily to the woman beside her about who knew what?
He wasn’t in control, and to say he wasn’t accustomed to the sensation was an understatement.
William McMaster had been born in control. His parents were distant, to say the least, and he’d learned early that nursery staff came and went. If he made a fuss, they went. He seldom did make a fuss. He liked continuity; he liked his world running smoothly.
His PA was paid to make sure it did.
Meg
