Christy McKellen - Mills & Boon Showcase

‘That can be arranged. I own the café. The lease is yours.’ He ran his finger down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. ‘Will you come back to Dolphin Bay with me?’

* * *

Sandy was reeling from Ben’s revelations. But he hadn’t mentioned marriage—and she wanted to be married before she had children.

She’d feared he was too damaged to love again—and look what had happened. What was to stop her proposing?

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I want to come back to Dolphin Bay. Be with you. But I—’

He silenced her with a finger over her mouth. ‘One more thing.’

‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Life is short. There’s no time to waste. We could date some more. Live together. But I’d rather we made it permanent. Marry me?’

In spite of all his pain and angst and loss he’d come through it strong enough to love again. To commit.

But she didn’t kid herself that Ben’s demons were completely vanquished. He’d still need a whole lot of love, support and understanding. As his wife, she could give it to him by the bucketload. Ben still had scars—and she’d help him to heal.

‘Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, yes and yes.’

He picked her up and whirled her around until she was dizzy.

They were laughing and trying to talk at the same time, interspersing words with quick, urgent kisses.

‘I don’t want a big white wedding,’ she said.

‘I thought on the beach?’

‘Oh, yes! In bare feet. With Amy as a flower girl. And Hobo with a big bow around his neck.’

Her fairy notebook would be filling up rapidly with lists.

‘We can live in the boathouse.’

‘I’d love that.’

‘Build a big, new house for when we have kids.’

Maybe it was because her emotions had been pulled every which way, but tears welled in her eyes again. Ben had come so far. And they had so far to go together.

She blinked them away, but her voice was wobbly when she got the words out. ‘That sounds like everything I’ve ever dreamed of...’

She thought back to her goals, written in pink.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from DARING TO TRUST THE BOSS by Susan Meier.

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M OLIVIA PRENTISS, here for my first day in Accounting.”

The gray-haired Human Resources director glanced up with a smile. “Good morning, Olivia. Welcome to Inferno.” She happily flipped through the files in a box on her desk, but when she found the one with “Olivia Prentiss” written on the tab, she winced. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”

Vivi’s stomach dropped to the floor. “I’m not hired?”

“No. No. Nothing like that. You’ve been reassigned temporarily.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tucker Engle’s assistant was in an accident last week.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She knew Tucker Engle was the CEO and chairman of the board of Inferno. Before she’d interviewed for this job, she’d researched the company and his name had popped up. But the company’s annual statements had said little about the reclusive billionaire. When she’d searched the internet, she’d only found an interview with the Wall Street Journal and a Facebook rant by a former employee who had called him the Grim Reaper because the only time he came out of his ivory tower was to fire someone. Still, none of that information gave her any clue what his assistant’s accident had to do with her.

“As the newest employee in the company, it falls to you to stand in for Betsy.”

Her already-fallen stomach soured. She had to work directly with a guy called the Grim Reaper by his staff?

She gulped. “An accountant stands in for a personal assistant?”

“You won’t be a personal assistant.”

Following the sound of the deep male voice, Vivi swung around. A tall, dark-haired man leaned against the door frame. Her gaze crawled from his shiny black loafers up his black trousers and suit jacket, past his white shirt and sky-blue tie to a pair of emerald-green eyes.

Wow.

“Or even an administrative assistant. You’ll be an assistant.” He pushed away from the door frame and walked over to her. “The assistant to the chairman of the board. The assistant who must be able to read financial reports and change things I need to have changed. An assistant who has to be able to keep up.” His lush mouth thinned. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Intimidation froze her limbs, her tongue, and she could only stare.

“Good.” Obviously taking her silence for acceptance, he headed for the door. “Spend the twenty minutes you need with Mrs. Martin to get your ID badge and fill out your paperwork then report to my office.”

He strode out and she stared at the empty space he left in his wake.

“He’s a whirlwind.”

Obviously, Mrs. Martin was paid to say nice things because Vivi wouldn’t call him a whirlwind. He was more like a bully. A really good-looking bully, but still a bully.

Bile rose to her throat, but she shoved it down again. She’d dealt with bullies before. “I take it that’s Tucker Engle.”

“In the gorgeous flesh.”

“He demoted me even before I started.”

Mrs. Martin shook her head. “It’s not a demotion. That’s what he was telling you. The assistant job is a lot more than you think it is.”

“But I need to start my real job now. I have to keep my skills sharp to take the CPA exam. I don’t want to fall behind.”

“You’ll be working with the Tucker Engle. The man who leads Inferno. You’ll see everything he does—learn everything he knows.”

That didn’t mesh with the picture painted in the Facebook rant, but it sounded promising. Like something she could cling to to force herself to be able to work with him. “So he’ll teach me things?”

“I don’t know about teaching, per se.” Mrs. Martin motioned for her to sit in the chair in front of her desk. She pointed to a little camera attached to her computer monitor. “Take a seat so I can get your employee picture.”

Vivi sat.

“Anyway, I don’t know about him teaching you, but you’ll learn a lot working with him. He built this company—”

“With help.”

“Help?” Mrs. Martin laughed. “You think he had help? Everybody who works here supports him. He’s the idea man. No one else.”

That did mesh with what she’d read. In the interview he’d given the Wall Street Journal, he’d bragged that he used only accountants, lawyers, PR people—support staff. He didn’t want, or need, an equal.

“Fantastic.”

Mrs. Martin smiled sympathetically. “I understand you’re disappointed. You see this as a setback. And I probably can’t talk you out of that.” She paused and sucked in a resigned breath. “So, I’m going to stop the sugarcoating and be totally honest with you. Tucker Engle is a suspicious prima donna. He gives assignments piecemeal so that no one can figure out what he’s working on. He’s so demanding that none of our employees would volunteer to replace Betsy—even for a few weeks.”

Her heart stuttered. “And you think I can?”

“I didn’t pick you. We gave Mr. Engle the files of the accountants starting today and he chose you. Like it or not, you’re stuck. But Betsy won’t be out forever. Eight weeks—”

Her eyes bulged. “Eight weeks?”

Mrs. Martin grimaced. “Twelve tops.”

“Oh, my God!”

“But you still get your accountant’s salary. And your time with Mr. Engle counts in your seniority with the company. It’s not as if you’ll be starting over when Betsy returns.”

“No, thanks. I’ll just keep my job in Accounting.”

Mrs. Martin sighed. “How good do you think it’s going to look on your employee records if you refuse your first assignment?”