Sharon Kendrik - One Husband Required!

‘But she doesn’t approve of you working here?’

Ursula bit her lip, wishing that they’d never started this wretched conversation. Life was so much easier if you just drifted along without asking too many questions along the way. ‘She thinks six years in one place is a long time.’

‘And she’s right,’ he said slowly.

Ursula looked up in alarm. Maybe she had misjudged things. Him. Maybe subconsciously he did want her out.

Ross saw the wide-eyed look of fear on her face and shook his head. ‘Now what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?’

‘Don’t you patronise me!’ she snapped. ‘Or tell a lie!’

‘And how am I telling a lie?’

‘I am not pretty!’

‘Well, that’s purely subjective, and I happen to think you are—exceedingly.’ He saw her blush, and smiled. ‘In fact, if I go so far as to be objective—then I’d describe those enormous eyes as sapphires set in a complexion as dewy and as fresh as creamy-pink roses left out in the rain—’

‘Now you’re letting your copywriting skills run away with you!’ she interrupted drily. ‘Just what are you trying to say to me, Ross? That our working partnership has grown stale? That there’s some hungry new female champing at the bit to replace me, and you do want me to go?’

Ross sighed. ‘No, I don’t want you to go. Right now, all I want is to resist the temptation to make any comments about female logic. Or the lack of it,’ he added in a dark undertone. ‘But I am interested in hearing your sister’s objections to you working for me. Particularly since I’ve met her on very few occasions. She hardly knows me!’ he finished indignantly.

‘Oh,’ she said, with an evasive shrug of her shoulders. ‘You know.’

‘No, Ursula, I don’t.’ He looked at her.

‘She...she...’

‘She...?’ he put in helpfully.

She didn’t dare tell him her sister’s real reason for urging her to leave Sheridan-Blackman. That Amber thought Ursula was being unrealistic. Wasting her life by pining for a man who could never be hers. Except that I’m not pining! Ursula thought defiantly. Or being unrealistic.

Just because she happened to like Ross as a man, and enjoyed working with him—it didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to start ripping his clothes off! ‘She thinks that a change of scene would do me good.’

‘It’s worth thinking about,’ Ross said unexpectedly.

‘It is? Then that does mean—’

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he put in impatiently. ‘Other than that it might be an idea to consider any other offers which may come your way.’

Other offers? Ursula stared at him in confusion. ‘But they’re not likely to, are they? Not if I’m not actively seeking employment. I’m a personal assistant, not an account executive, and I’m hardly a prime target for head-hunters!’

‘I guess not,’ he answered tersely. ‘Do you have a lot of work to do, Ursula?’

‘Not particularly.’ She tried to answer lightly, but it wasn’t easy now that he had sown seeds of doubt in her mind. Somehow she had gone from complacency to insecurity in the space of about half an hour. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting swopping idle chit-chat with you.’

‘Then maybe you could pop down to the market and buy me some oranges?’

She didn’t miss a beat—but then she was used to bizarre requests by now. ‘How many?’

‘A dozen.’

‘And these oranges—are they for eating, or looking at?’

‘For looking at. I need inspiration! There’s a new juice campaign coming up—and Oliver’s pitching for the account. So we need to compose the perfect catchphrase which will have people ransacking their supermarkets for Jerry’s Juice. So. Any brilliant ideas?’

Ursula knitted her brows together in concentration. What did she like best about orange juice? ‘Everyone always emphasises how sweet it is...’

‘Yeah. And?’

‘Well, why not do the opposite—emphasise how sharp it is?’

‘Any ideas?’

Ursula shrugged. ‘Oh, the possibilities are endless—sharpens the appetite, that kind of thing. You know! You’re the copywriter, Ross!’

‘Mmm, I am,’ murmured Ross slowly. ‘But maybe you should be, too. You’re in the wrong job, you know, Ursula.’

‘No, I’m in the right job!’ Ursula unlocked the petty-cash tin and took a ten-pound note out. ‘Just because I happen to have a fertile imagination and an active mind doesn’t mean I want to be a copywriter!’

He laughed. ‘So you’ll come to Katy’s party on Saturday?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she promised airily.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a click as the connection was made. ‘Hello?’

Ursula paused before saying, ‘Is that you, Amber?’

‘Of course it’s me! Surely you know the sound of my voice by now! I am your sister!’

‘You just sounded... I don’t know...odd.’

Amber gave a heavy sigh which reverberated down the line. ‘Just fed up. Finn’s overworking. Again. How are things with you?’

‘Er, fine.’ Ursula hesitated. ‘Ross has invited me to a party on Saturday.’

‘Gosh. What does his wife say about that?’

Ursula silently counted to ten. She loved her sister very much, but sometimes, honestly... ‘I have no idea,’ she replied frostily. ‘But I should imagine that he checked with her before he asked me. I do wish you wouldn’t make assumptions, Amber. I’m hardly worthy competition, and anyway—I like Jane.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

It was time, Ursula decided firmly, to put an end to Amber’s totally false speculations about what kind of party Ross had invited her to. ‘I do like her,’ she reaffirmed, though more out of duty than conviction. ‘What little I know of her. And anyway—it’s Katy’s birthday party.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why do you say “oh” in that tone of voice?’

‘Oh, nothing. I suppose I imagined that he was whisking you off to some glamorous advertising-related function.’

‘Well, he’s not. And I never go to those, anyway.’

‘So you’ve been invited to a child’s tea party?’

‘It’s an early evening supper, actually.’

‘Wow!’

‘Don’t be mean, Amber.’

‘I’m not. I’m being objective. And protective.’

‘Protective?’

‘Of course. And it’s slightly worrying that this... party...is your social affair of the month!’

‘It isn’t!’

‘Well, what else have you done this month?’

Ursula even found herself cringing as she answered her sister’s question. ‘I went out for a meal with my French Appreciation class last week—’

‘And were there any men there?’

‘Lots!’ said Ursula brightly, as she recalled the portly doorman from the nearby Granchester Hotel who sat next to her in class. He was planning to visit Marseilles for a holiday to trace some of his forebears and had grown hot and sweaty around the collar before asking Ursula if she wanted to accompany him on the trip! She had politely declined.

Then there was that rather nice young sculptor whose pint she always paid for if the class went to the pub afterwards, because he never had any money. True, he was only twenty—but terribly friendly. And very interesting.

‘Eligible men?’ put in Amber sharply.

‘That’s so subjective I can’t possibly answer it!’ responded Ursula smoothly.

‘Well, if everything is so marvellous, then why are you ringing me, Ursula?’

‘Because I don’t know what to wear!’ wailed Ursula.

There was a short silence.

‘Oh, I’m not suggesting borrowing something of yours!’ said Ursula hastily, sensing her sister’s embarrassment. ‘I wouldn’t like to try and squeeze myself into one of your size eight Lycra miniskirts!’