Sandra Marton - Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed

Harlequin offers you another chance to enjoy this reader-favorite story from USA TODAY bestselling author Sandra Marton.

After hours with the boss…

Ruthless Logan Miller will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and he’s set his sights on Talia Roberts. She’s the best in her field, and stunningly attractive, too, so Logan is determined to have Talia come work for him. He says he’ll ruin her reputation if she won’t meet his demands!

With no choice but to agree, Talia enters the lion’s den, setting up a catering service in Logan’s new Brazilian office. But she hadn’t realized that sharing his apartment was part of the job description…or that she’d be doing overtime in the boss’s bed!

Originally published in 1990 as Consenting Adults.

Blackmailed into Her Boss’s Bed

Sandra Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text Harlequin offers you another chance to enjoy this reader-favorite story from USA TODAY bestselling author Sandra Marton. After hours with the boss… Ruthless Logan Miller will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and he’s set his sights on Talia Roberts. She’s the best in her field, and stunningly attractive, too, so Logan is determined to have Talia come work for him. He says he’ll ruin her reputation if she won’t meet his demands! With no choice but to agree, Talia enters the lion’s den, setting up a catering service in Logan’s new Brazilian office. But she hadn’t realized that sharing his apartment was part of the job description…or that she’d be doing overtime in the boss’s bed! Originally published in 1990 as Consenting Adults.

Title Page Blackmailed into Her Boss’s Bed Sandra Marton www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

TALIA held the grey flannel suit against her as she stared into the mirror. Not bad, she thought, tilting her head critically. The suit, along with the matching kidskin pumps and the cream silk blouse still in her suitcase, was the perfect dress-for-success ensemble. She’d look calm and professional, an example of middle management at its respectable best.

Nobody would suspect that in reality she was a quaking bundle of nerves, ready to come unglued at the first touch.

She sighed as she hung the suit in the wardrobe. Her boss knew that she was a wreck, of course, but he wasn’t here. John was back in the San Francisco office, which was where he’d called from minutes ago.

‘Break a leg, kid,’ he’d said cheerfully, and Talia had winced. Somehow, she’d have preferred a simple ‘good luck’ to the traditional actor’s phrase. But John Diamond had pursued a fruitless stage career before he’d started Diamond Food Services, and he never tired of reminding anyone who’d listen that his heart was still in the theatre. His expertise, however, was in catering—hotels, schools, and now lucrative corporate accounts.

Which was, Talia thought as she finished unpacking, the reason she was here, in a hotel on a wind-swept curve of northern California beach, about to take the first big step in her career. The thought turned her throat dry. She sank down on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

You can do this, she thought, meeting her eyes in the mirror. John wouldn’t have entrusted Miller International’s Executive Weekend to you if you weren’t up to it.

Talia turned that over in her mind for a while. Of course she could do it. Two years working at a restaurant, four for a hotel chain, then three more at Diamond Food Services, working first in the kitchen, then in purchasing, finally in administration as John’s assistant, had given her the practical experience needed to temper the time she’d spent gaining a degree in hotel and restaurant management. She knew her stuff. There was nothing immodest about admitting it.

She only wished she felt calmer. Talia, always practical, had planned her career with cool precision. The step up—the one she was about to take—had been one she’d expected in two years’ time. That it had fallen into her lap so soon was as jarring as it was exciting. Sometimes she had a suspicion that that was part of the reason John had given it to her.

‘This is liable to be a tough one, sweetheart,’ he’d said when the letter from Miller International had first reached his desk. ‘Their president says he wants us to set up a weekend retreat for upper-echelon execs; our choice of facility so long as it’s somewhere very private—his words—along the coast.’

Talia had smiled. ‘Private, hmm? What does his company do?’

Her boss had leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms behind his head, and grinned wickedly. ‘It makes money. If they want a secluded spot, they can have one.’ His grin had broadened. ‘In the old days, that would have meant they were into primal scream therapy for the overpaid and underworked,’ he’d said with the roguish aplomb of one who had survived the weirdness of California in the 1960s.

Talia had nodded. ‘Right. Quiche and alfalfa sprouts. But surely that’s not what they want today?’

‘Not they, sweetheart. He. Mr Logan Miller. He’s Miller International—has been for the past forty years—and what he wants, he gets, even if it turns out to be strange.’ John had leaned forward and pushed the letter across the desk towards her. ‘Suppose you telephone him and find out what he has in mind.’

The suggestion had surprised her. ‘Me? But that’s Harry’s job.’

‘Didn’t I tell you? I’ve asked him to head up the new office in Seattle.’ Her boss had winked. ‘You get to do the dirty deed instead.’

Talia had tried to sound nonchalant, even though her heart was pounding. ‘Are you offering me Harry’s job?’ she’d asked.

‘Caught you by surprise, didn’t I?’ Laughter had glinted in John’s eyes. ‘You can’t plan everything in life, Talia.’ But you can try. The thought had come immediately, but she had suppressed it just as quickly. When she’d said nothing, John had looked at her. ‘Don’t you want it?’

‘Of course I want it,’ she’d said, forcing aside the images of brown rice casseroles and fertilised egg omelettes that had insisted on dancing through her mind.

She’d shaken hands on her promotion, then hurried back to her tiny office with the letter from Logan Miller clutched in her hand. Reading it had calmed her. Typed on heavy vellum, signed with a firm, masculine scrawl, it had detailed a Friday night through Sunday morning retreat planned for executives of the corporation’s West Coast offices. When she’d got to the schedule and list of workshops that had been included, she had breathed a sigh of relief. The workshops were all business—Finance Strategies for Buyout Leverage had been one of the few comprehensive titles. Even the recreational activities had sounded wearing. The least strenuous was a dawn run along the beach.

Logan Miller couldn’t be a day under sixty-five, but he’d planned a tough weekend. There’d be no brown rice or fertilised eggs for this lot, Talia had thought, and a phone call to Miller’s Los Angeles office had confirmed it. Not that she’d spoken to Mr Miller; he was, his secretary had said, in Brazil on business. Mr Miller’s food preferences? Lean meats. Fresh fish. Salads. Fresh vegetables.