Christy McKellen - After Hours...

No matter what it cost her.

She could get another job—and she would, eventually—but she’d never be able to respect herself again if she didn’t stand up to him now.

Her heart raced as she watched a range of expressions run across Max’s face. The fact that he hadn’t immediately repeated his dismissal gave her hope that there might be a slim chance he’d reverse his decision to fire her.

Moving her hands behind her back, she crossed her fingers for a miracle, feeling a bead of sweat run down her spine.

Sighing hard, Max ran a hand through the front of his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and looking at her with his usual expression of ill-concealed irritation.

‘I’m guessing you became homeless on Friday, which is when the mistakes started to happen?’ he asked finally.

She nodded, aware of the tension in her shoulders as she held her nerve. ‘I spent all day on Sunday moving my furniture into storage. I’ve been staying with my friend Sarah and her boyfriend ever since.’

‘But that can’t carry on,’ he said with finality to his voice.

Swallowing hard, she tipped up her chin. ‘No. I know. I’ve tried to view so many places to rent in the last week, but they seem to go the second they’re advertised. I can’t get to them fast enough.’

He crossed his arms. ‘And you have nowhere else to stay in London? No boyfriend? No family?’

Shaking her head, she straightened her posture, determined to hang on to her poise. She wouldn’t look away, not now she’d been brave enough to take him on. If she was going to be fired, she was going down with her head held high. ‘My parents live in Cornwall and none of my other friends in London have room to put me up.’ She shifted uncomfortably on the spot and swallowed back the lingering hurt at the memory of her last disastrous relationship. ‘I’ve been single for a few months now.’

He stared back at her, his eyes hooded and his brow drawn down.

A world of emotions rattled through her as she waited to hear his verdict.

‘Okay. You can stay here until you find a flat to rent.’

She gawped at him, wondering whether her brain was playing tricks on her. ‘I’m sorry—what?’

‘I said—you can stay here,’ he said slowly, enunciating every word. ‘I have plenty of spare rooms. I’m on the top floor so you could have the whole middle floor to yourself.’

‘Really?’

He bristled, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and letting out a frustrated snort. ‘Yes, really. I’m not just making this up to see your impression of a goldfish.’

She stared at him even harder. Had he just made a joke? That was definitely a first.

Unfolding his arms, he batted a hand through the air. ‘I’m sure it won’t take you long to find somewhere else and until then I need you turning up to work fully rested and back to your efficient, capable self.’

Her eyes were so wide now she felt sure she must look as if she was wearing a pair of those joke goggle-eye glasses.

He was admitting to her being good at her job too now? Wonders would never cease.

But she was allowing these revelations to distract her from the decision she needed to make. Could she really live in the same house as her boss? Even if it was only for a short time.

Right now, it didn’t feel as though she had much of a choice. The thought of spending even one more night in Party Central made her heart sink. If she turned Max down on his offer, that was the only other viable option—save staying in a hotel she couldn’t afford or renting a place a long way out and spending her life commuting in. Neither of them were appealing options.

But could she really live here with him? The mere idea of it made her insides flutter and it wasn’t just because he was a bit of a difficult character. During the week and a half that she’d known him, she’d become increasingly jittery in his presence, feeling a tickle of excitement run up her spine every time she caught his scent in the air or even just watched him move around his territory like some kind of lean, mean, business machine. Not that he’d ever given her a reason to think she was in any kind of danger being there alone with him. Clearly, he had no interest in her romantically. If anything, she’d felt it had been the total opposite for him, as if he didn’t think of her as a woman at all, only a phone-answering, data-sorting robot.

So she was pretty sure he didn’t have an ulterior motive behind his suggestion that she should stay in his house.

Unfortunately.

Naughty, naughty Cara.

‘Well, if you’re sure it won’t be too much of an inconvenience to you,’ she said slowly.

‘No. It’s fine,’ he answered curtly. ‘We’ll have to make sure to respect each other’s privacy, but it’s a big place so that shouldn’t be a problem. All the rooms have locks on them, in case you’re worried.’

Her pulse picked up as a host of X-rated images rushed through her head.

Slam a lid on that, you maniac.

‘I’m not worried,’ she squeaked.

He nodded.

‘And your girlfriend won’t mind me staying here?’ she asked carefully.

‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’

‘Or your w—?’ she began to ask, just in case.

‘I’m single,’ he cut in with a curt snap to his voice.

Okay, so the subject of his relationships was out of bounds then.

She was surprised to hear that he wasn’t attached in any way, though. Surely someone with his money, looks and smarts would have women lining up around the block for the pleasure of his company. Although, come to think of it, based on her run-ins with him so far, she could see how his acerbic temperament might be a problem for some people.

‘Right, I may as well show you your room now,’ Max said, snapping her out of her meandering thoughts. ‘Clearly, you’re not in a fit state to work this afternoon, so you may as well finish for the day.’ He turned and walked out of the room, leaving her gaping at the empty space he’d left.

So that was it then—decision made.

‘Oh! Okay.’ She hustled to catch him up, feeling her joints complain as she moved. Crikey. She was tired. Her whole body ached from sleeping on a saggy sofa and performing on so little sleep for the past few days.

She followed him up the sweeping staircase to the next level and along the landing to the third door on the right.

Opening it up, he motioned for her to walk past him into the bedroom.

She tried not to breathe in his fresh, spicy scent as she did so, her nerves already shot from the rigours of the day.

It was, of course, the most beautifully appointed bedroom she’d ever been in.

Light flooded in through the large window, which was framed by long French grey curtains in a heavy silk. The rest of the furnishing was simple and elegant, in a way Cara had never been able to achieve in her own flat. The pieces that had been chosen clearly had heritage and fitted perfectly with the large airy room. His interior designer must have cost a pretty penny.

Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the original ornate fireplace, which stood proudly opposite a beautiful king-sized iron-framed bed. Fighting the urge to collapse onto it in relief and bury herself in the soft, plump-looking duvet, she blinked hard, then turned to face Max, who was hanging back by the door with a distracted frown on his face.

‘This is a beautiful room—thank you,’ she said, acutely aware of the tremor in her voice.

Max’s frown deepened, but he didn’t comment on it. ‘You’re welcome. You should go over to your friend’s house and get your things now, then you’ll have time to settle in. We’ll start over again tomorrow.’

‘Okay, good idea.’

‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ he said, turning to go.