Leah Ashton - Beware of the Boss

‘Be nice to this one, Gray. Let’s try for three months, this time, hey?’

* * *

Almost an hour later, Caroline ushered Gray’s new assistant into his office.

‘Mr Manning?’

He was just finishing an e-mail, so he barely glanced in the direction of the figure in his doorway and instead just waved an arm in the general vicinity of one of the soft leather chairs in front of his desk.

Absently, he heard the door thud quietly shut, and then the click of heels on the marble floor—but all his attention was on the e-mail he was composing:

I look forward to discussing the proposal further...

No. He hit the delete key half a dozen times, maybe a little harder than was necessary. He didn’t want any discussion. He wanted a decision. The deal was already behind schedule. He needed a yes and he needed it last week.

I trust you’ll agree...

That was even worse. He held down the delete key again, thinking.

But that was the problem. He was thinking too much. It was just an e-mail—an e-mail to an investment partner with whom he already had an excellent rapport. The proposal was little more than a formality.

Or at least it should be. But their last meeting had been...off. It had been subtle—more questions than he’d normally expect, more careful perusal of the numbers Gray had shown him. All perfectly normal things for a wise investor to do. The thing was that this particular investor had so much confidence in Manning that he was usually rather relaxed about conducting his own due diligence.

Quite simply—he’d trusted Manning.

But now...

Maybe it was a coincidence that this new-found caution coincided with Gray’s father’s retirement...

Gray didn’t believe that for a second.

And it was damned infuriating.

Gray glanced up. His eyes landed on the woman’s hands—long, elegant fingers, unpainted, neat, short tips. She was sluggishly rubbing each hand down her thighs, the movement slow but clearly triggered by nerves.

She wore trousers, not a skirt, he noticed.

‘How do I finish this e-mail?’ he asked. His tone was sharper than he’d intended, and Marilyn’s words echoed momentarily.

His gaze shot to the woman’s face.

As their eyes met her body gave a little jolt and she gasped—quite loudly.

Immediately one of those long-fingered hands was slapped to her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him.

And they were very lovely eyes, he acknowledged. Big and brown, framed by dark lashes—even though he was almost certain she wore no make-up. They watched him with unexpected intensity and an expression that was impossible to read.

He didn’t understand. Surely his request wasn’t so shocking? Abrupt, maybe, but hardly earth-shattering.

When the silence continued he shrugged, his temporary interest in her reaction rapidly morphing into frustration.

He didn’t have time for this. The agency would just have to send someone else.

‘I don’t think this is going to work out,’ he said, very evenly. ‘Thanks for your time.’

He didn’t bother to wait for her to leave, just gritted his teeth and got back to his e-mail.

Again he only half listened to the sound of her heels on the marble—although soon he realised she was coming closer, not going further away.

‘Regards,’ she said, from right behind his shoulder.

‘What?’

He looked up at her. She was somehow bigger than he’d expected—taller, and wider through the shoulders. She leant forward slightly as she studied his computer, her long hair shining in the sunlight that flooded through the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

‘I’d delete all that stuff at the end, and just say Regards. Or Sincerely. Or however you normally sign off your e-mails.’ She met his eyes, and this time she didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights. She watched him steadily, and there was a sharpness to her gaze that he appreciated.

Her eyes were definitely hazel, he realised. Not brown.

When he didn’t say anything, she explained further. ‘Judging by the e-mail trail beneath this one, you’ve been having this conversation for a while.’

Gray nodded.

‘And you want a resolution? But you don’t want to be seen as pushy?’

‘Exactly,’ he said, surprised.

‘Well, then,’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Sometimes saying less is more.’

She straightened up and took a step away from his chair.

Silently, he deleted his half-written sentence, ended the e-mail as she’d suggested, then hit ‘Send.’

Good. It was gone.

He stood, and with this action, the woman took another rapid step away. Then she rolled her shoulders back, and thrust out her hand.

‘Elaine Smith,’ she said, very crisply. ‘Lanie.’

Automatically he grasped her hand. It was cool and delicate. And she was tall. But even in heels she was an inch shorter than him.

Her suit jacket was a dark grey and a little tight across the chest—and her soft pink shirt wasn’t sitting quite right, with one side of her collar higher than the other. Combined with her loose, wavy hair and lack of discernible make-up, no one would call her perfectly presented.

He would call her pretty, though. Very pretty.

Gray rapidly dispatched that unexpected musing. The appearance of his employees was irrelevant. All he cared about was their ability to do their job.

And, despite her slightly odd initial reaction to him, there was an air of practicality to this woman that was appealing. Plus she’d been right about the e-mail.

Most importantly he needed an assistant, and she was here.

‘I have a meeting in half an hour in West Perth.’

For a moment she looked at him blankly. ‘So I have the job?’

He nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, of course.’

A beat passed.

He sighed. ‘Anything else?’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘No.’

He turned back to his computer and a moment later she walked away, her heels again clicking loudly.

He briefly wondered if she needed help figuring out how to log into her computer or anything—but then another e-mail popped in that he urgently needed to attend to, and that was that.

Surely it wasn’t that difficult? She seemed smart. She’d figure it out.

* * *

Lanie almost collapsed into her new, plush leather office chair.

Her phone trilled its musical message notification from within the depths of her bag, but for now she ignored it.

Of course she’d forgotten to put it onto silent mode prior to her interview.

Thank goodness she hadn’t received that message a few minutes earlier. She could just about imagine Grayson Manning’s reaction to that.

But then would that have been such a bad thing?

If he’d stuck with his original conclusion—that she wasn’t suitable—she’d have walked out of this office no worse than how she’d walked in: without a job.

With the added benefit of not working for Mr Grumpy Pants.

No. Not a bad thing at all.

And yet she’d had her chance to leave. She had her chance still to walk away. No one would force her to stay. Not even the employment agency she was working for.

Which reminded her...

Lanie fished out her phone. As expected, the waiting message was from Teagan. As she’d been whisked up to the twenty-fifth floor in a seriously shiny mirrored lift she’d tapped out an urgent message to her friend:

What did you do??!

Because this building was definitely not what Lanie had been expecting of her first assignment with the agency. Yes, she’d known the role was as a personal assistant, but after seven years managing the swim school she’d been unconvinced she really had the skills for such a role—but Teagan had been adamant. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she’d said. ‘Piece of cake,’ she’d said.