Carole Mortimer - A Christmas Affair

He drew in a harsh breath. ‘Just like that?’ He was outraged.

No, not just like that. She no more wanted to leave than he seemed to want her to go. But their reasons for that were completely different. She because just being close to him had to be better than nothing; he because, as they both knew, he didn't want to lose the best personal assistant he had ever had.

But, after five years of believing that being close to him was better than nothing, Cathy knew that was no longer true. She loved him, would always love him, but she was twenty-six, and if she wanted to make any sort of life for herself she knew she would have to make the break now. Had known it, and had difficulty accepting it, for some time.

She shrugged non-committally, continuing to pack the things from the top of her desk into the box in front of her. ‘After five years I think it's time for a change.’

‘To do what?’ he said with angry scorn, crushing even more the letter of resignation that had been the start of his fury.

‘Maybe I'll take up modelling,’ she shrugged after a moment's thought. ‘Everyone seems to believe I have the face and figure for it.’

‘You would be bored out of your mind within a week!’ Dominic dismissed harshly, making no comment about what ‘everyone believed’ concerning her looks.

‘As long as that?’ she returned consideringly, her head tilted to one side, her hair blonde and silkily straight to her shoulders. ‘Maybe I should give an agency a ring.’

‘Cathy——’

‘Yes, Dominic?’ she prompted smoothly, knowing that her own coolness in the face of his agitation was adding to his frustration with a situation that seemed out of his control; Dominic liked to be in control at all times.

He glowered at her. ‘If there's some sort of problem between us, couldn't you at least have come to me and talked about it instead of just leaving this on my desk for me to find when I went through my mail?’ Once again he slapped the crumpled paper against the palm of his hand.

‘But there is no problem,’ she told him dismissively. ‘And where else would you have liked me to leave my letter of resignation? It wouldn't have done a lot of good sitting on my desk, now, would it?’ she chided reasoningly.

His eyes narrowed warningly at her continued flippancy. ‘I would rather you hadn't left the damned thing anywhere.’

‘But then you wouldn't have known I was leaving,’ she pointed out practically, picking up the calendar from the side of her desk, debating whether or not it belonged to her personally or to the office, and finally throwing it carelessly into the top of her box.

‘Will you stop being so damned—uncaring?’ Dominic exploded once again.

This volatile temper, joined by his razor-sharp brain, was something the City knew to be very wary of.

To Cathy, these occasional lapses of temper just showed he was human after all!

‘Oh, lighten up, Dominic,’ she advised him impatiently. ‘ “It's Christmas Eve, and all's right with the world,” ’ she quoted drily.

‘Not my world,’ he rasped. ‘God, Cathy, no one gives immediate notice!’

She was aware of that; she also knew that her having done so, and insisting that it go through, could be serious enough to make Dominic refuse to give her a reference.

But she had made her decision to make the break and, having done so, she didn't want to be anywhere near Dominic, where her resolve could so easily be weakened, until she felt strong enough to cope with seeing him again. Maybe in a hundred years or so!

‘We have a contract, Cathy,’ he reminded her hardly. ‘It states that there should be three months’ notice on either side. If you go ahead with leaving immediately I could sue you for breach of that contract.’

She winced, knowing that if he got angry enough he was as likely to do just that. ‘At Christmas?’ She shook her head disgustedly. ‘I always wondered what that middle initial “S” stood for in your name, and now I think I know: Scrooge could have taken lessons from you!’

Red colour stained his cheeks. ‘I've always been fair with you——’

‘Of course you have,’ she cut in scornfully. ‘That's why I've worked a constant sixty-hour week without holidays for the last five years!’

His mouth tightened. ‘I always paid you for the extra hours.’

‘Money isn't everything, Dominic,’ she snapped scathingly. ‘Oh, I'll admit I like the nice clothes and the apartment that money has allowed me to have, but at the rate I'm going I'll be too exhausted by the time I reach thirty to enjoy them any more! I'll just be a burnt-out money-grasper.’

‘Like me, you mean?’ He met her gaze challengingly, his eyes as hard as emeralds.

‘Not at all,’ she returned coolly. ‘You'll never be burnt out; you thrive on this sort of life.’ But they had both noticed, she was sure, that she made no comment on the second part of her description.

How much money did one man need? Dominic had far more money than one man could spend in a lifetime, in actual fact had no one to leave the money to when he was gone, so he didn't even have the excuse that he was doing it for his family. And yet he continued to work long hours, constantly pushing himself, and those around him, so that he could add more millions to those he already had.

Perhaps, if he actually seemed to go out and enjoy the money, Cathy could accept the way he was, but, apart from his luxurious apartment in town, his tailored clothes and his expensive cars, he spent very little on himself; not for him the playboy lifestyle his wealth could have afforded.

Not that Cathy relished the idea of his behaving in that cavalier fashion, but the way he forged forward, earning more and more money just to put it away and more or less forget about it, seemed to her to stem more from a compulsion than from any real enjoyment in the act, or in wealth itself.

His mouth twisted. ‘But apparently it no longer appeals to you?’

‘No,’ she confirmed flatly.

He looked for a moment as if he would like to do her some sort of physical violence, although as usual he managed to keep himself under control.

‘Even so,’ he bit out, ‘you must see that you have to honour the three months’ notice in the contract you signed when you first came to work for me.’

Her brows quirked. ‘The same way you've honoured the weeks’ holidays I was supposed to have had each year, stated in that very same contract?’ she reminded him without malice. ‘I'll tell you what, Dominic, you forget about the three months’ notice you say I owe you, and I'll forget all those weeks’ holiday you owe me. And you'll still come out very much a winner!’

His expression was grim as he looked down into her calm but determined face. ‘I'm beginning to realise I made a mistake in working you so hard all these years,’ he said slowly. ‘You're obviously very much in need of a holiday; you seem to be suffering from a form of nervous exhaustion.’

‘Because I handed in my resignation?’ She smiled, her expression pitying. ‘You really don't know me very well at all, do you, Dominic?’ she added with sad stoicism.

‘Of course I know you, damn it,’ he rasped. ‘I've spent almost every waking moment with you for the last five years!’

More than a lot of married couples, in fact, and yet Cathy knew she was still far from knowing the real man that was Dominic. Oh, she knew the basic things, such as his liking for black coffee for breakfast, the way he always wore black shoes, the fact that he liked to read The Times no matter what part of the world they happened to be in at the time; she was very familiar with all of his likes and dislikes in food, knew that he hated the farce of situation comedies on the television, that opera actually put him to sleep no matter whom he happened to be spending the evening with; and she also knew that alcohol was something he rarely indulged in. On a day-to-day basis she probably knew as much, if not more, than the average wife who'd known her husband the same number of years. And yet Dominic's real emotions he kept very low-key, and his past life was a closed book.