Anne Oliver - Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

No, her hostility towards him was all about the business. He’d usurped her authority. And she was right—pleasurable as it had been, Saturday night was of no consequence. As she was the centre’s most senior staff member, he needed her support if he was going to keep Aussie Essential. Somehow he had to get Kate the employee onside.

Somewhere away from the office environment might work. A peace offering. Food. Did she like pizza? he wondered.

Kate could see the door from her desk and let out a relieved sigh when she saw Damon Gillespie’s broad shoulders as he exited the room and headed to the rear of the building. Could the day get any worse? She closed her eyes. Yeah, it could have been worse.

He could have recognised her.

Bryce’s nephew.

Perhaps her soon-to-be boss, if his take-charge attitude was any indication. A man she despised for all the right reasons—a selfish jet-setter about to snatch the manager’s job out from under her.

So why did the sight of him melt her insides to butter? Why couldn’t she get over him? The man who’d just taken charge wasn’t the fantasy lover she’d had on Saturday night. Somehow she had to separate her professional and personal life, which had suddenly become hopelessly entangled.

She rubbed a hand over her throbbing head. Despite his lackadaisical lifestyle she had a feeling Damon Gillespie was a very astute man—how long would it be before he discovered who she was?

CHAPTER THREE

KATE was about to microwave last night’s left-over chicken soup for tea, hoping she could somehow manage to put something in her stomach, when her phone rang.

‘Kate.’

‘Yes…’ She couldn’t say anything more because her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his already familiar voice. It was as if he were right there, murmuring in her ear. She could almost feel his breath on her skin; the heat seemed to shimmer through the connection. What did he want? she thought distractedly. Ah…he’d said he’d be contacting her about the list of people who’d attended the funeral.

‘How’s the cold?’

‘Improving.’ Actually she felt much better after an extra dose of pills and a couple of hours’ nap. She glanced at the clock and her voice held an accusatory tone as she said, ‘It’s half past eight, Mr Gillespie. Work’s over.’

‘I know, I meant to call earlier. I hope you’re hungry.’

Her stomach churned. Surely he wasn’t inviting her out for dinner? She looked down at her worn black tracksuit pants under the oversize orange nightshirt, the fluffy pink slippers she’d meant to replace last winter. ‘No, I’m not. I take it you’re ringing about the list,’ she hurried on. ‘I’ll bring it tomorr—’

‘You have to eat, Kate. Did you have lunch?’

‘No, I…’ She was interrupted—no, saved —by the sound of knocking at her door and breathed a little sigh of relief at the interruption. ‘I have to go, I have a visitor, I’ll ring you back in a bit.’ When it was late and she could lie and say she’d already eaten. If she rang back at all…

She dropped the phone onto its base, hurried through the living room and dragged open the door. ‘Oh…’

Damon Gillespie. With his mobile still attached to his ear. Wearing khaki cargo pants and a white T-shirt tonight and balancing a pizza box and a small package in his spare hand. He disconnected the phone with his thumb, slipped it into his pocket, all without taking his eyes off hers. ‘Hi.’

His gaze flicked down to the fluffy slippers and her toes curled up in embarrassment. And she’d been too distracted to slip something over her nightshirt; her braless breasts—the breasts he’d handled with such expertise—jutted out at him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone,’ she muttered.

His eyes flashed with amusement. ‘You were keen enough to answer the door a second or two ago.’

‘No… I thought it was my sister…’ But he saw through her, she just knew it. She didn’t want to share pizza with him, she didn’t want him in her home, checking out her state of dishabille, but what choice did she have? Too late to dive for cover now. She turned away and began heading back to the kitchen. ‘Come in, but I’m telling you now I couldn’t eat pizza if my life depended on it.’

‘Ah, but you haven’t tried Dominic Amigo’s Gourmet Pizza, have you?’

Her brows rose. ‘Have you ? I thought you just rolled into town?’

‘Sandy recommended it when I rang this afternoon for your contact details and we got talking about local restaurants. You were with a customer at the time.’

‘Remind me to thank her,’ she murmured as she pulled plates from her cupboard and searched out a spatula. She tried to ignore the pizza’s tempting aroma, but it did smell good and her stomach rumbled in spite of herself. In the silence it sounded more like a blocked drain clearing.

‘Not hungry, huh?’ He set the box down on the tiny glass-topped table, pulled out a chair and grinned.

She hadn’t seen that grin since Saturday night. A bone-meltingly sexy grin that turned her insides to mush and made her do crazy, stupid, reckless things.

Like having sex with a complete stranger.

Forcing her gaze away from him, she looked at the other item he’d brought. ‘What’s in the bag?’

‘Fresh ginger root and a couple of essential oils—peppermint and tea tree. Grandma used to swear by them when Bry and I had colds. I’ve written the instructions out; they’re inside the bag.’

He’d thought enough to bring her a family cold remedy? A warm feeling of…something—like maybe she’d misjudged him?—seeped into her bones, going some way to melting the frost. She didn’t know what to say. ‘That’s very kind. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

She withdrew the items along with the handwritten note. Firm, bold, decisive writing. It denoted someone who was confident and at ease with himself. ‘You still use it, then?’

‘I never get a cold. In fact I’m disgustingly healthy.’

Yes. She could see that. She turned away from the unsettling sight of his more-than-healthy masculinity and peered in the fridge to cool her rapidly heating face and to search for something to offer to drink.

‘Ah, two plates,’ he said. ‘Does that mean you’ve decided to join me?’

‘If it’s got olives I could be tempted.’ And if anyone could tempt her… In any way…

It would not be Damon Gillespie.

‘There’s mozzarella cheese, marinated roasted chicken, capsicum, mushrooms, onion with fresh coriander smothered in satay sauce. No olives.’

‘Satay chicken. I never heard of satay chicken pizza. You sure you didn’t stop in at Nonja’s Rasa Sayang and forget the fried rice on your way out?’

‘You’ll love it.’

She retrieved an unopened bottle and held it up. ‘Is sparkling mineral water okay?’

‘Fine.’

‘Okay. We can talk while we eat.’ That way she could kill two birds with one stone and get him out of her apartment sooner. She set two glasses down, filled them, then sank down on the only other chair.

‘Sure we can, but not about business.’ He lifted the lid and inhaled appreciatively. ‘Not while we’re eating pizza.’ He slid a slice of the delicious-smelling food onto a plate and pushed it towards her. ‘Now, eat.’

She did as he asked and was surprised to find how hungry she was. Having food in her stomach also put her in a slightly better frame of mind. ‘I expect this has all been a bolt out of the blue,’ she said after a few moments. She thought she saw something like grief flicker in his eyes before he deliberately snuffed it out. A thread of surprise wound through her.

‘Who’d expect a forty-three-year-old guy with no history of illness to drop dead with no warning?’ He returned his attention to the pizza, sliding out another piece for himself as he said, ‘It’s a blow losing the only family you have left.’