Kathryn Ross: The Millionaire's Agenda

He could tell by the tone of her voice that the idea appealed to her. Steven shrugged. “We don’t need to write the terms down in stone, do we? You need a partner at this wedding. I’ve got a few engagements when I need a woman by my side.”

“And it would be just a straightforward arrangement that would suit us both,” she reiterated.

“Why do you keep emphasizing that?” Steven asked tersely. “Because I’m not your type?”

“Maybe I’m not your type either, Steven,” she said quietly. “That can work two ways.”

But the truth of the matter was that Chloe was starting to think that he was very much her type. Maybe that was why she was so keen to emphasize the fact that anything between them would be strictly business—she was desperately trying to keep her feet on the ground where he was concerned. Desperately trying not to think about how much she wanted to kiss him again, because she knew he spelled danger.

KATHRYN ROSS was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, Harlequin ®accepted Designed with Love. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves traveling to exotic locations.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHLOE glanced up from her typing and her eyes fell on the calendar on her desk. It was three weeks until her half-sister’s wedding! She could feel a wave of panic creeping over her as she thought about attending on her own. Then she was angry with herself. It was no big deal; lots of women attended social gatherings alone these days, she told herself firmly. She wasn’t going to feel pressurised about it.

She turned her attention to the last of the letters on her desk and flicked a glance at her wrist-watch; it was four-thirty, almost time to go home. Usually at this time on a Friday evening she would have felt happy, the weekend would have stretched before her, filled with glorious freedom. Nile might have taken her to dinner or to a new wine bar or…

She switched her mind away from Nile. The engagement was off; Nile was a thing of the past. At the age of twenty-nine, she was once again single. Two years wasted on a man who had turned from Prince Charming into Quasimodo in one afternoon. How could she have been so stupid? she asked herself for what had to be the hundredth time.

The printer next to her spewed out the letters and she snapped them up, running an eye over them to check for any errors, trying very hard not to think about Nile Flynn for one moment longer. Trouble was, it was very difficult, especially as she was in a complete financial mess because of him.

The connecting door through to the inner sanctum of the office opened and Steven Cavendish’s voice boomed out. ‘Chloe, did you ring Manchester to inform them I’d be up there tomorrow?’

‘Yes, Steven, I did.’

‘What about Mr Steel—did you deal with that problem in the Waterside Restaurant?’

‘Yes, it’s all sorted out.’ Chloe stood up and ran a smoothing hand down over her smart black suit, mentally preparing herself to face Steven Cavendish. She needed to ask him for a pay rise, had been waiting all week for the right moment to bring the subject up, but unfortunately there didn’t seem to be a right time to catch her boss these days.

He had been involved in months of lengthy negotiations to secure a takeover bid of a chain of restaurants and the strain of long hours plus a series of setbacks had made him unusually grouchy. But she really couldn’t wait any longer, she told herself firmly. Whether it was the right moment or not she was going to have to ask him tonight before leaving.

Chloe reached for the desk diary, picked up the letters that she needed him to sign and with a determined stride headed into the heart of the Cavendish kingdom.

She was momentarily taken aback to find that her boss wasn’t seated behind his enormous desk, but was standing with his back to the office, looking out at the wintry silver cast of the London skyline.

‘Weather forecast says it’s going to snow,’ she said briskly. ‘You’d better allow extra travelling time for your journey up north tomorrow.’

‘Yes…thanks, Chloe, but I don’t think a bit of snow will affect the company jet.’

‘Actually they are predicting blizzard conditions.’

‘Are they? Well, as they rarely get their predictions right, I’ll worry about that tomorrow.’

‘Please yourself.’ Chloe put the letters down on the desk. ‘You need to sign these…oh, and John Hunt asked if you would ring him back before six.’

Steven didn’t turn from his contemplation of the outside world.

She noticed he had taken the jacket of his suit off; it was hung over the back of his chair.

Chloe’s eyes flicked over his tall, broad-shouldered frame. For a man who spent long hours stuck behind a desk he had a very attractive body, powerfully honed and very masculine.

The first time she had met him when she had come here for an interview two years ago she had been quite bowled over by just how attractive Steven Cavendish was. Raven-dark hair and dark eyes that seemed to slice straight into her very soul had unnerved her slightly. He had the cool confidence of a person very much at ease with himself, very aware of his own powerful sensuality. He was also a complete stickler to work for and that, oddly enough, had been a wonderful salvation for their working relationship.

Chloe liked his straightforward businesslike approach. She enjoyed the challenges that working for him presented, maybe because she was a bit of a perfectionist herself. After the first week she had forgotten to be overwhelmed by his good looks, and anyway she’d had Nile in her life. Besides which there really hadn’t been time for such matters in the fast pace of their office. She’d had to focus solidly on her job as his PA. And, though she said it herself, they made a formidable team.

She tore her eyes away from Steven and opened her diary. ‘Renaldo rang to say he’s running late, but he’ll be here for your appointment around five-thirty.’

‘Great—another late evening.’ Steven’s voice was dry.

‘Oh, and I ordered the bouquet of flowers to be delivered to your house on Wednesday afternoon. A dozen red roses, as you requested.’

‘Thanks.’

He must be going to deliver the roses in person, she thought. Chloe wondered fleetingly about this latest development between him and his glamorous girlfriend Helen. She had organised many a bouquet for his women over the last two years but never red roses. Then again, according to the grapevine in the office, none of the women he had dated since the death of his wife three years ago seemed to have lasted as long as Helen Smyth-Jones.