Jessica Steele - The Feisty Fiancée

'I was in the wrong-on both counts.' She did a swift about-turn from her attitude of yesterday.

'Your driving was appalling!' Thomson Wakefield agreed stonily.

'Not all the time!' she dared to argue, saw that hadn't gone down well, and added swiftly,

'Up until that point, when I suddenly realised I was driving on an empty fuel tank, my driving was first-class.' She'd be modest tomorrow-today her job was on the line-not to say by a gossamer thread.

He nodded as if conceding her point. 'I'd been tracking you for some miles,' he openly let her know.

That jolted her. Oh, why hadn't somebody told her that the boss man had an Aston Martin? It might have clicked when she'd first become aware of the car yesterday, might have given her a chance to think she should take some kind of action. Well, possibly not. `You pegged me as one of yours miles before ourer-introduction?' she enquired.

Thomson Wakefield studied her for some seconds without speaking, his glance taking in her almost white ash-blonde hair, her bluest of blue eyes, her dainty features and perfect skin.

'You're different from the rest of our drivers, I'll give you that,' he pronounced curtly, leaving her to guess whether he meant that she had started to ask questions in what was his interview, or if he meant her feminine features.

She opted for the latter. `I'm the only female driver this particular part of the group has,' she commented. `Ah!' she exclaimed as light dawned. `But you already knew that.'

'It took but a few moments for my PA to discover which female driver in our livery was on that stretch of the motorway yesterday,' he conceded coolly.

Uh-oh. If he knew that much, it was pretty certain he also knew that she shouldn't have been anywhere near that section of the motorway yesterday! Yancie sensed even more trouble. Although, fingers crossed, he still hadn't said those diabolical words she didn't want to hear-You're out. Though it could be, of course, that, after giving her a tonguelashing-let him try-he had plans for Kevin Veasey to tell her she had washed her last car at Addison Kirk. Somebody had almost certainly instructed Kevin not to let her take any of the vehicles out that day; of that Yancie all at once realised she could be certain. Silence, just then, however, seemed the better part of discretion.

'So,' Thomson Wakefield went on, `perhaps, Miss Dawkins, you would care to tell me your version of the events yesterday. The events that led up to you almost demolishing not one motor vehicle, but two-leaving aside the perilous way you very nearly dispatched the two of us into the next world.'

Well, no, actually, I wouldn't. But he was waiting. 'It's very kind of you to give me a fair hearing-er-in the circumstances,' she smiled; he had no charm, so she tried him with some of hers.

Water off a duck's back! Those grey eyes were staying on her, and were noting her smile, her lovely even teeth-her boardingschool had been most particular about teethbut Yancie soon saw that not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash was he to be charmed.

'So?' He was waiting.

'Well, as I mentioned, I suddenly saw that I was driving with a nearly empty tank.' Silence, he was still waiting; it forced her to go on. `It was then that, simultaneously, I realised several things.' Silence. Oh, bubbles to it! If she'd known for certain that she was going to be out of a job after all this, Yancie was sure she would have packed it in right then. But hope sprang eternal-so she ploughed on.

'At the same time as realising I was driving on a nearly empty tank, I realised I wouldn't have enough juice to get me back to London, let alone to pick up Mr C-' Yancie broke off abruptly. Oh, grief, she shouldn't have been driving to pick up Mr Clements, she should have been there, waiting. 'S-so…' Damn that stutter, this man was making her nervous-it had never happened before-and she didn't like it. 'And-er-and then, coincidentally, I saw the "services" sign and there just wasn't time to think…

'Merely to act!' Thomson Wakefield butted in sharply.

Who was telling this, her or him? With a start of surprise, Yancie realised that she was beginning to get angry. She seldom, if ever, got angry. Though, having been left cooling her heels for near enough forty-five minutes while waiting for this man to deign to see her, perhaps, she considered, getting a little angry was justified.

Though hang on a minute. Didn't she truly want this job? Yes, she did. `You're right, of course.' She tried another charm-filled smile that had absolutely, one hundred per cent not the slightest effect on the stern-faced individual opposite. `I was wrong, wrong, totally wrong to cross over into your lane the way I did,' she added hurriedly. `It was a momentary lapse of attention. Add I promise you I have never, ever, driven- so carelessly before. Nor will I ever again,' she further promised, having in fact learned a very salutary lesson yesterday, but hoping he didn't think she was laying it on with a trowel.

Thomson Wakefield had nothing to say for many stretched, long seconds, and rather than let him gain the impression she was desperately toadying up to him Yancie said nothing more.

'So you concede,' he said at length, `that the error was yours yesterday, and not my keenness to "be the centre of attention" in my Aston Martin?'

Did he have to bring that up? That niggle of anger flickered again-and she realised, much though she wanted to hang onto her job, that she had grovelled all that she was going to. `I've admitted I was totally in the wrong,' she answered, unsmiling. To blazes with trying to charm him-she guessed he lived on a diet of lemons and vinegar.

He was as unimpressed by her unsmiling look as he had been by her smiling one. `I see you're wearing some identification today.'

Which meant, she was positive, that he'd taken note yesterday that she'd covered the firm's logo on her shirt with a brooch. `My name tag was on my jacket yesterday,' she replied pleasantly. Well, it had been-when she'd been driving Mr Clements. `My jacket was on the passenger seat,' she explained.

She had thought he might keep on that theme, reprimand her for pinning the motherof-pearl brooch over the Addison Kirk logo on her shirt. But, to her surprise, he left that particularly issue there, and commented instead, `You've been with us a very short while,' and with a straight, cold, no-nonsense kind of look asked, `Do you enjoy your work, Miss Dawkins?'

It came as something of a relief not to have to lie or prevaricate-she had an idea that she wasn't very good at either. `I love it,' she smiled.

She saw his glance flick from her eyes to her curving mouth, but he was as unreceptive to her charm as ever. `Presumably you wish to keep your job?'

Yancie at once saw another glimmer of hope. By the sound of it he was more interested in giving her a grilling than dismissing her. `I do,' she assured him sincerely.

'Why?' Just the one word.

Grilling? He was giving her a roasting! `I've never done anything but housekeeping before,' she began to explain, by then certain that this very thorough man who knew she had been with the firm a very short while also knew that the previous occupation she'd listed on her application form was that of housekeeper. `I thought I'd like a change. And I really love my work,' she smiled. She loved the freedom, the use of a car. `I am a good driver,' she thought to mention. Though at his steady, grey-eyed stare she felt obliged to add, `Normally.'

'You do appreciate that while you're wearing the company's uniform, and driving one of the company vehicles, that you are an ambassador for Addison Kirk?'

'Oh, yes,' she agreed, ready to agree to anything as the feeling started to grow that, by the skin of her teeth, it looked as if she might be able to hang onto her job.