Jessica Steele: A Professional Marriage

Chesnie continued. “That I am not, repeat not, remotely interested in marriage!” She’d been spurred on by a growing niggle of annoyance—but she didn’t regret a word of it.

Until Joel’s brow went up and he exclaimed, “Marriage! Philip offered you marriage?”

“What on earth did you think he proposed?” Chesnie exclaimed.

Joel looked at her, looked at her as if he was really seeing her. “Oh, Chesnie Cosgrove,” he answered, a smile coming to his wonderful mouth, “looking at you, half a dozen offers spring to mind.”

From boardroom…to bride and groom!

A secret romance, a forbidden affair, a thrilling attraction?

Working side by side, nine to five—and beyond…

No matter how hard these couples try to keep their relationships strictly professional, romance is definitely on the agenda!

But will a date in the office diary lead to an appointment at the altar?

Find out in this exciting new miniseries from Harlequin Romance®.

The Tycoon’s Proposition (#3729)

by Rebecca Winters

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

‘MR DAVENPORT will see you now.’

Chesnie’s insides had been on the fidget for the last half-hour and now renewed their churning. But she rose elegantly to her feet and maintained her cool exterior and followed Barbara Platt—the woman whose job she was hoping to secure for herself—into the adjoining office.

‘Chesnie Cosgrove.’ Barbara Platt introduced her to the tall, dark-blond-haired man who was rising from his chair.

‘Thank you, Barbara.’ He had a pleasant, well-modulated voice, but as his present PA went out and closed the door Chesnie noted that there was something about the thirty-six or thirty-seven-year-old man who turned his blue gaze on her that said he could be exceedingly tough if the occasion demanded it. ‘Take a seat, Miss Cosgrove,’ he invited, in one sweeping glance taking in her slim five feet nine inches of height, her immaculate business suit, her red-blonde hair, green eyes and what one of her sisters had called her ‘pale, flawless complexion to die for’. ‘You found us without any trouble?’ Joel Davenport opened pleasantly.

The vast offices of Yeatman Trading would be hard to miss. ‘Yes,’ she replied evenly, and that was all the time he had available for pleasantries, it seemed, for in the next split second her job interview with him was underway.

‘So—tell me about yourself,’ he opened.

‘My qualifications are—’

‘Were I unaware of your three years’ experience as a senior secretary, your excellent typing speeds, and—according to your previous employer—your outstanding organising and communication skills, you wouldn’t be sitting here,’ he cut her off.

Did she really want this job? He was tough! She’d had a couple of interviews with Human Resources before she’d got this far; clearly there was nothing about her business background that hadn’t been passed on to this man. She wondered about going back to Cambridge to work—but hadn’t she made up her mind to make a complete break? She decided to give Joel Davenport another chance.

‘I’m twenty-five,’ she informed him, and managed to stay outwardly cool when she realised that if he’d seen her application—and he seemed the kind of man who left nothing to chance—then he already knew that. ‘I’ve been working in Cambridge.’ He already knew that too. Stay cool, Chesnie, stay cool. The fact was, though, that she didn’t know what she could add to what he already knew; her second interview had been thorough in the extreme. She stared at him, this man she was hoping to work for, green eyes staring frankly into blue, and, feeling defeated, asked the only question possible. ‘What would you like to know?’

He studied her, not a smile in sight. She’d had more appreciative glances. ‘You’re well qualified. Your reference from your last employer is little short of glowing. Lionel Browning obviously thought the world of you.’

‘And I him,’ she answered. Lionel Browning had been an absolute darling to work for. A touch muddle-headed, true, which was why he had left so much to her—and which would all stand her in very good stead were she lucky enough to land this job.

‘Why then leave?’

Chesnie opened her mouth to trot out the same reason she had given Human Resources: advancement in her career. To a certain extent that was true. But, had matters not come to a head when Lionel’s son, Hector, had decided to come into the business she didn’t know if she would ever have been able to leave muddle-headed Lionel to run things on his own. But suddenly she found she did not want to lie to this direct-looking man. ‘I’d been thinking for some time that I wouldn’t mind something more challenging to get my teeth into,’ she began truthfully.

‘But…?’

She looked back at Joel Davenport. He was cool, cooler than she. And he was sharp—my word, he was sharp. He knew, for all she was sure she hadn’t slipped up anywhere, that there was more to it than that.

‘But I probably wouldn’t have been able to leave Lionel had it not been for his son coming into the business.’ She halted, too late regretting she had let this tough-looking man see she had a softer side when it came to her ex-employer. ‘Hector Browning’s own firm went bust. So he decided he’d come and give his father a hand.’

‘You didn’t get on?’

‘It was part of my job to get on with everyone,’ Chesnie answered, not taking kindly to having her professionalism questioned.

‘So what went wrong?’

She had an idea this interview was going very badly, and decided she’d got nothing to lose by telling that which, hurt and humiliated, she had not told another living soul. ‘Everything!’ she answered evenly, adjusting her position on her chair, catching the flick of his glance to her long slender and shapely legs now neatly crossed at the ankles. ‘On the same day I heard from my landlord that he’d decided to sell the property—and, no desperate rush, but would I care to look for a flat elsewhere?—I had a row with Hector Browning.’

‘You usually row with the people you work with?’

‘Lionel and I never had a cross word!’ Chesnie retorted—and inwardly groaned. She’d be having a row with Joel Davenport any minute! And she wasn’t working with him, or for him—or ever!

He was unperturbed. ‘Hector Browning rubbed you up the wrong way?’