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At Her Boss's Bidding
Miranda Lee
Justin McCarthy is a magnet for every man hunter in Sydney–they picture themselves spending his millions and cuddling up to him at night!Rachel is Justin's idea of the perfect assistant. That is, until he pays for a complete makeover–one that unlocks the beauty within! Where once he was happy to have Rachel safely behind her desk, now Justin wants her across his–wild and willing. But then fantasy becomes reality, and Justin hasn't counted on love becoming part of his agenda!



“You do realize I don’t love you?”
“Yes,” she surprised him by admitting, though her voice was trembling and her eyes had gone all smoky.
“I will never fall in love with you,” he added, even as his hands slipped inside her jacket.
“I don’t expect you to,” she replied somewhat breathlessly.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he told her, before his conscience shut down entirely.
“But I want you to,” she choked out.
“Want me to do what?” he murmured as he slipped the jacket off her shoulders and let it fall to the carpet.
“Wh-whatever,” she stammered.
Any hope of salvation fled. He was lost and so, he realized when he looked down into her dilating eyes, was she….

At Her Boss’s Bidding
Miranda Lee


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PROLOGUE
SHE was perfect, Justin thought from the first moment Ms Rachel Witherspoon walked in to be interviewed.
Perfectly plain and prim-looking, dressed in a very unsexy black suit, mousy brown hair severely scraped back and anchored in a twist. No make-up and no perfume, he realised with relief, the absolute opposite of the blonde bombshell who’d been wiggling her way around his office for the last month, pretending to be his personal assistant.
No, that was probably unfair. The girl had been efficient enough. The company who’d sent her over straight away after his previous PA quit on short notice didn’t have dummies on their books.
But she’d made it clear within a few days that her services could easily extend beyond being just his PA. She’d used every opportunity—and every weapon in her considerable physical arsenal—to get this message across. He’d been bombarded with provocative clothes, provocative smiles and provocative comments till he couldn’t bear another second. When she’d come in last Monday, showing more cleavage than a call-girl, Justin had cracked.
He didn’t sack her as such. He didn’t have to. She was just a temp. He simply told her that this would be her last week, saying that he’d hired a permanent PA and she was starting the following Monday.
A lie, of course. But a necessary one for his sanity.
Not that he was sexually tempted by her. Oh, no. It was just that every time she came on to him, he was reminded of Mandy and what she must have got up to with that boss of hers. What she was still getting up to every single day, jet-setting around the world and being his personal assistant in every which way there was.
Justin’s jaw clenched down hard at the thought. It had been eighteen months since his wife had confessed what had been going on, then added the shattering news that she was leaving him to become her boss’s mistress.
Eighteen months! Yet the pain was still there. The pain of her betrayal and deception, plus the sharpest memory of the hurtful things she’d said to him that final day. Cruel things. Soul-destroying things!
Most men who’d been so savagely dumped might have soothed their battered egos by going out and bedding every female in sight. But Justin hadn’t been to bed with a single woman since Mandy walked out. He simply hadn’t wanted to. Just the thought of being physically intimate with another female made him shudder.
Of course, none of his male friends and colleagues knew that. You didn’t confess such things to other men. They would never understand, or sympathise. His mother had an inkling, though. She knew how hurt he’d been by Mandy’s deception and desertion. She kept telling him that someday he’d meet a really nice woman who’d make him forget about Mandy.
Mothers were eternal optimists. And incorrigible matchmakers.
So when his mum—to whom he’d been complaining about his office situation—rang last weekend to say that she had the perfect PA for him he’d been understandably wary. Only after he’d struggled without a secretary for a week, and been repeatedly reassured that this Rachel was nothing like his temptation of a temp, did Justin agree to interview Ms Witherspoon.
And here she was. In the flesh.
What there was of it.
She was so thin! And terribly tired-looking, with huge black rings under her eyes. Nice eyes, though. Nice shape. And an interesting colour. But so sad.
She was supposed to be only thirty-one, according to the birthdate on her résumé. But she looked closer to forty.
Understandable, he supposed, after what she’d gone through these last few years. Sympathy for her washed through Justin and he decided then and there to offer her the job. He already knew she had the qualifications, even if she might be a bit rusty. But someone as smart as she obviously was would have no trouble brushing up on her secretarial skills.
Still, he supposed he had to go through the motions of a proper interview, otherwise she might think it a bit fishy. Nobody liked charity. Or pity.
‘So, Rachel,’ he said matter-of-factly once she’d settled herself in the chair. ‘My mother has told me a lot about you. And your résumé here is very impressive,’ he added, tapping the two-page work history which had been faxed to him the day before. ‘I see you were finalist in the Secretary of the Year competition a few years back. And your boss at that time was very high up in the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Perhaps you could tell me a little about your work experience there…’

CHAPTER ONE
‘THIS is just like old times, isn’t it?’ Rachel said to Isabel as she jumped into bed and pulled the pretty patchwork quilt up to her chin.
‘True,’ Isabel returned, and climbed into the matching single bed, her memory racing back to those old times.
Rachel and Isabel had attended the same boarding-school, and become best friends from day one. After Rachel’s parents were killed in a freak train accident when Rachel was only fourteen, the girls had grown even closer. When Rachel’s upbringing had been taken over by her mother’s best friend, a nice lady named Lettie, Isabel had been thrilled to discover that Lettie lived in the same suburb of Sydney as her parents did. During the school holidays Rachel had often slept over at Isabel’s. Sometimes, she’d stayed for days. Lettie hadn’t minded. The girls had become inseparable, and liked nothing better than to lie awake in bed at night and talk for hours.
Rachel smiled over at Isabel. ‘I feel like fifteen again.’
Well, you don’t look like fifteen, Isabel thought with an inner sigh. Rachel looked every one of her thirty-one years, and then some. Which was a real pity. She’d once been drop-dead gorgeous, with glossy auburn hair, flashing eyes and a fab figure which Isabel had always envied.
But four years of nursing her terminally ill foster-mother had taken its toll. Rachel was a mere shadow of her former self.
Isabel had hoped that Lettie’s finally passing away—the poor love had been suffering from Alzheimer’s—and Rachel getting back into the workforce would put some oomph back into the girl.
But that hadn’t happened yet.
Still, it had only been a few weeks.
She had put on a couple of pounds, which was a start. And when she smiled as she had just then you could catch a glimpse of the vibrant beauty she’d once been.
Hopefully, tomorrow, at the wedding, she’d smile a lot. Otherwise, when she saw the photographs of herself at a later date she’d be in for a shock. Isabel knew that she herself was looking her very best. Love suited her. As did pregnancy.
She was glowing.
Isabel was glad now that she’d taken some measures to make sure her chief bridesmaid didn’t suffer too much by comparison.
‘Promise me you’ll let my hairdresser have his wicked way with you tomorrow,’ Isabel insisted. ‘Red hair will look much better with your turquoise dress than brown. And its bare neckline needs curls bouncing around on your shoulders. None of that wearing your hair pulled back like you do for work. Or up in any way. Rafe hates hair worn up on a woman, anyway. I’ve also hired a make-up artist to do our faces and I don’t want to hear any objections.’
‘I won’t object. It’s your day. I’ll do whatever you want. But just a temporary rinse in my hair, please. I don’t want to show up at the office on Monday morning with red hair.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not. One of the reasons Justin hired me as his PA was because I was nothing like my predecessor. She’d been flashy and flirtatious, remember? Alice told us all about her.’
Isabel rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t think a bit of red dye in your hair constitutes flashy and flirtatious.’
‘Maybe not, but I don’t want to take any chances. I like my job, Isabel. I don’t want to do anything to risk losing it.’
‘You know, when I first heard about Justin McCarthy I thought he was being sensible, not wanting a glamour-puss secretary who obviously had the hots for him. Office affairs rarely end well, especially for the woman. Now I’m beginning to agree more with Rafe’s opinion of him. He says any divorced guy who fires a beautiful PA for flirting with him has to either be paranoid about women, or gay.’
‘He did not fire my predecessor,’ Rachel said, rather defensively, Isabel thought. ‘She was just a temp. And Justin is not at all paranoid about women. He’s very nice to me.’
‘You said he was difficult and demanding.’
Rachel sighed. ‘That was only on the day I somehow stupidly deleted a file and it took him six hours to recover it. Normally, he’s very even-tempered.’
‘Not all bitter and twisted?’
‘I don’t see any evidence of it.’
‘OK, that leaves gay. So, what do you think? Is your boss gay? Could that be the reason his wife left him?’
‘I honestly don’t know, and quite frankly, Isabel, I don’t care. My boss’s private life is his own business.’
‘But you said he was good-looking. And only in his mid-thirties. Are you saying you’re not attracted to him, just a little?’
‘Not at all. No,’ Rachel repeated firmly when Isabel gave her a long, narrowed-eyed look.
‘I don’t believe you. You told me a little while back that you were so lonely you’d sleep with anything in trousers. Now here you are, working very closely with a handsome hunk of possibly heterosexual flesh and you’re telling me you don’t have the occasional sexual fantasy about him? You might be a bit depressed, Rach, but you’re not dead. This is me you’re talking to, remember? Your best friend. Your confidante in matters up close and personal over the years. I haven’t forgotten that you lost your virginity at the tender age of sixteen, and you were never without a boyfriend after that till Eric dumped you. You might not like men much any more, given what that bastard did, but—’
‘Oh, I still like some men,’ Rachel broke in. ‘I like Rafe,’ she added with a cheeky little grin.
‘Yes, well, all females like Rafe,’ Isabel returned drily, ‘even my mother. But since darling Rafe is already the father of my babe-to-be, and about to become my husband tomorrow, then you can’t have him, not even on loan. You’ll have to find some other hunk to see to your sexual needs.’
‘Who said I had sexual needs?’
‘Don’t you?’ Isabel was startled. She must have after four years of celibacy!
‘I don’t seem to. I rarely think about sex any more, let alone need it.’
Yes, that was patently obvious, now that Isabel came to think about it. If Rachel felt like sex occasionally, she’d do herself up a bit, and to hell with her paranoid boss. There were plenty of other secretarial jobs in the world, and plenty of other men to go with them. The business district of Sydney was full of very attractive men of all ages. Of course, with her looks on the wane, Rachel might not be able to catch herself a seriously gorgeous hunk like Rafe, but there was no reason for her to be lonely, or celibate.
‘Actually, I’m not sure I ever did need it, as such,’ Rachel went on thoughtfully. ‘Sex was just another facet of my being in love. Losing my virginity at sixteen wasn’t a sexual urge so much as an emotional one. I’d fallen in love for the first time and I wanted to give myself to Josh.’
‘But you enjoyed it. You told me so.’
‘Yes, I certainly did. But it wasn’t just sex I was after. It was that lovely feeling of being loved.’
Isabel smiled. ‘You know, it’s possible to have very good sex without love, Rach.’
‘Maybe for you, but not for me. When I said I’d sleep with anyone after Lettie died, that was just my grief and loneliness talking. I can’t just sleep with anyone. I have to be in love and, quite frankly, since my experience with Eric I don’t think I’m capable of falling in love any more. I just don’t have the heart for it. Or the courage. Eric hurt me more than I could ever explain. I honestly thought he loved me as much as I loved him. But, looking back, I don’t think he loved me at all.’
‘He didn’t, the selfish rat. But that doesn’t mean that one day you won’t meet a man who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.’
‘You’re only saying that because you were lucky enough to find Rafe. Not so long ago, you didn’t have such a high opinion of the male sex.’
‘True.’ Isabel couldn’t deny that she’d been a classic cynic for ages where men were concerned. She’d spent most of her adult female life falling in love with Mr Wrong. She knew where Rachel was coming from and, honestly, she couldn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. Eric had treated her shamefully, dumping her after he found out Rachel was quitting her job to look after Lettie. That, coming on top of Lettie’s own husband heartlessly abandoning his increasingly vague wife, must have been the final straw. It was no wonder Rachel’s faith in the male sex had been seriously dented.
‘I’m quite happy as I am, Isabel,’ Rachel went on, ‘without a man in my personal life. I’m really enjoying my job. It’s very interesting working for an investment consultant. I’m learning a lot about the stock market, and money matters, which hasn’t exactly been my forte till now, as you know. I’m thinking of going to university at night next year and doing a business degree, part-time. I have plans for my life, Isabel, so don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
Isabel sighed. That’s what she always said. Rachel was one brave girl. But a rather unlucky one. When Lettie died they’d both thought she’d at least have some financial equity in Lettie’s house, despite it being mortgaged. Rachel was the sole beneficiary in Lettie’s will, made after Lettie’s husband had deserted her. Rachel had been going to sell the house and put a deposit on an inner-city apartment with the money left over after the loan had been repaid. So she’d been shattered to find out the house was still in Lettie’s husband’s name.
When Rachel went to the solicitor who was looking after Lettie’s estate and explained that she’d personally paid the mortgage for the past four and a half years with money she’d earned doing clothes alterations at home, the solicitor had countered that Lettie’s ex had paid the mortgage for fifteen years before that and had no intention of giving her a cent.
She was also informed that Lettie’s ex was thinking of contesting Lettie’s last will as well, since it was made after she was diagnosed with a mentally debilitating illness. Rachel was advised she could go to court to fight for a share of the house and contents if she wished, but her case was shaky. Even if she won, the amount of money she’d be awarded would undoubtedly be exceeded by her court costs.
So Rachel had walked away with nothing but a few personal possessions, her clothes and a second-hand sewing machine.
She’d temporarily been living with Isabel in her town house at Turramurra, and had agreed to house-sit whilst Isabel and Rafe were away on their honeymoon. Isabel had offered her the use of her place on a permanent basis for a nominal rent, since she was moving into Rafe’s inner-city terraced house on their return, but Rachel had refused, saying she would look for a small place of her own closer to the city.
Silly, really, Isabel thought. She should let her friends help her in her hour of need. But that was Rachel for you. Independent and proud. Too proud.
But the nicest person in the world.
Isabel hoped that one day a man might come along worthy of her. A man of character and sensitivity. A man with a lot of love to give.
Because of course that was what Rachel needed. To be loved. Truly. Madly. Deeply.
Just as Rafe loves me, Isabel thought dreamily.
God, she was so lucky.
Poor Rachel. She did feel terribly sorry for her.

CHAPTER TWO
RACHEL hurried down the city street the following Monday morning, anxious not to be late for work. She’d caught a slightly later train than usual, courtesy of the longer time it had taken her to get ready for work that morning. Now she was trying to make up for lost time, her sensibly shod feet working hard.
Turning a corner into a city street which faced east, Rachel was suddenly confronted by the rays of the rising sun slanting straight into her eyes. But she didn’t slacken her pace.
The day was going to be warm again, she quickly realised. Too warm, really, for a black suit with a long-sleeved jacket. Spring had been late coming to Sydney this year, but it was now here with a vengeance. October had had record temperatures so far and today looked like no exception. Not a cloud marred the clear blue sky, making the weather forecast for a southerly change today highly unlikely.
There was no doubt about it. She’d have to buy some new work clothes soon. What she’d been wearing would not take her right through the spring till summer. She should never have been stupid enough to buy all long-sleeved suits to begin with. She’d buy something other than black next time too, though nothing bright or frivolous. Something which would go with black accessories. Light grey, perhaps. Or camel. That colour was very in.
Unfortunately, such shopping would have to wait till Isabel got home from her honeymoon in three weeks’ time. Rachel didn’t have a clue where the shops were that Isabel had taken her to last time, and which catered brilliantly for the serious career girl. Admittedly, a large percentage of the clothes in those shops was black, but they also had other colours.
Till then, however, she was stuck with black. And long sleeves.
Thank heaven for air-conditioning, she thought as she pushed the sleeves up her arms and puffed her way up the increasingly steep incline.
A sideways glance at her reflection in a shop window brought a groan to her lips. Her hair was still red, despite several washings yesterday and a couple more this morning. Maybe not quite as bright a red as it had been for the wedding on Saturday, but bright enough. She wished now she’d gone out yesterday and bought a brown hair dye. But at the time she’d been hoping the colour would still wash out.
If Isabel hadn’t already been winging her way overseas on her honeymoon, Rachel would have torn strips off her mischief-making best friend. That hairdresser of hers must have used a semi-permanent colour on her hair, Rachel was sure of it.
Admittedly, she’d ended up looking pretty good for the wedding. From a distance. Amazing what a glamorous dress, a big hairdo and a make-up expert could achieve. But that was then and this was now, and bright red hair did not sit well with Rachel’s normally unmade-up face, or her decidedly un-glamorous work wardrobe.
She was thankful that the repeated washings yesterday had toned down the colour somewhat. Hopefully, the way she was wearing it today—scraped back even more severely than usual—would also minimise the effect. She would hate for Justin to think that she was suddenly trying to attract his attention in any way.
As she’d told Isabel the other night, she liked her job. And she didn’t want to lose it. Or even remotely risk the good relationship she’d already established with her boss, which was very professional and based on mutual respect. Justin had told her only last week what a relief it was to come into work and not be overpowered by some cloying perfume, or confronted with a cleavage deep enough to lose the Harbour Bridge in.
Rachel was out of breath by the time she reached the tall city office block which housed the huge insurance company where she worked.
When she’d first heard about the job as Justin’s PA Rachel had been under the impression that Justin was an AWI executive. That wasn’t the case, however. He was an independent hot-shot financial analyst under contract to AWI to give them his exclusive financial advice for two years, after which Justin planned on starting up his own consultancy company. Preferably in an office away from the inner-city area, he’d explained to her one day over a mutual coffee break, ideally overlooking one of the northern beaches.
Meanwhile, AWI had given him use of a suite of rooms on the fifteenth floor of their building, which was high up enough to have a good view of the city and the harbour.
But the view wasn’t the only good thing about this suite of rooms. The space was incredible. Rachel had sole occupancy of the entire reception area, which was huge, and boasted its own powder room and tea-cum-store room, along with a massive semicircular work station where three secretaries could have happily worked side by side without being cramped.
Justin’s office beyond was just as spacious, as well as having two large adjoining rooms, one furnished for meetings, the other for relaxing and entertaining. Rachel had never seen a better-stocked bar, not to mention such a lavish bathroom, tiled from top to bottom in black marble, with the most exquisite gold fittings.
Justin had confided to her during her first interview that this suite of rooms had previously been occupied by an AWI superannuation-fund manager who’d redecorated as if he owned the company, and been subsequently sacked. No expense had been spared, from the plush sable carpet to the sleekly modern beech office furniture, the Italian cream leather sofas and the impressionistic art originals on the walls.
Clearly, Justin being allotted this five-star suite of rooms showed how much his skills were valued by his temporary employers.
Rachel valued him as her boss, too. She admired his strong work ethics and his lack of personal arrogance. Most men with his looks and intelligence possessed egos to match. Justin didn’t. Not that he was perfect, by any means. He did have his difficult and demanding moments. And some days his mood left a lot to be desired.
Still, Rachel already knew she’d like nothing better than to go with him when he left to set up his own company. He’d already implied she could, if she wanted to. He seemed as pleased with her as she was with him.
A shaft of sunshine lit up Rachel’s red hair again as she pushed her way into the building’s foyer through the revolving glass doors. The top of her head fairly glowed in the glass and she groaned again. She would definitely be going out at lunch time and buying that brown dye. Meanwhile, she would explain to Justin the reason behind her change of hair colour, and that it was as good as gone. Then he couldn’t jump to any wrong conclusions.
No one gave Rachel a second glance during the lift ride up to the fifteenth floor, which was because none of the smartly dressed men and women in the lift even knew her. Few people who worked in the building knew her. Justin worked alone, with only the occasional fund manager actually dropping in for advice, face to face. Mostly they contacted Justin by phone or email, and vice versa.
So far, he hadn’t held a single meeting around the boardroom-like table in his meeting room, and only once to her knowledge had he entertained an AWI executive in the other room. Sometimes, he had a nap in there on one of the two sofas after he’d been working all night. He did attend monthly meetings upstairs with all the fund managers, but he never attended the company’s social functions, and he resolutely refused to become involved in AWI’s internal politics.
The truth was her boss was a loner.
Which suited Rachel just fine.
She’d found that since her lengthy stay-at-home absence from the workforce—and the outside world in general—she’d become a bit agoraphobic. She liked the insular security of her present office situation, plus the little contact with strangers which her working day held. She no longer seemed to have the confidence she’d once had to make small talk with lots of people. She’d actually become quite shy, except with her very close friends, like Isabel and Rafe, which wasn’t like her at all. She’d once had a very outgoing personality.
Isabel kept saying she’d get back to her old self eventually.
But Rachel was beginning to doubt it. Her experiences over the last few years had definitely changed her. She’d become introverted. And serious. And, yes, plain.
That was one of the biggest changes in her, of course. She’d lost her looks. And dying her hair red wasn’t going to get them back. All it made her feel was foolish.
The lift doors opened and Rachel bolted down the corridor, hopeful of still arriving before Justin. He worked out in the company gym every day before work, and occasionally lost track of time. Hence his tardy arrival at the office on the odd morning.
The door from the corridor was still locked, heralding that this was one of those mornings. Rachel sighed with relief as she found her key, already planning in her mind to be sitting at her desk, looking coolly composed and beavering away on her computer when Justin finally came in.
She was doing just that when the door burst open fifteen minutes later. Her heart did jump, but not for any sexually charged reason, as Isabel had fantasised the other night, just instant agitation. What would her boss say when he saw her hair?
Justin strode in, looking his usual attractive but conservative self in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and bland blue tie. His damp dark hair was slicked back at the sides, indicating that he’d not long showered. He had the morning papers tucked under one arm and was carrying his black briefcase in the other. He was frowning, though not at her, his deeply set blue eyes quite distracted, his thick dark brows drawn together over his strong, straight nose in an attitude of worried concentration.
‘Morning, Rachel,’ he said with only the briefest sidewards glance as he hurried past. ‘Hold the coffee for ten minutes, would you?’ he tossed over his shoulder as he forged on into his private sanctuary. ‘I have something I have to do first.’
When he banged the door shut behind him Rachel glared after him, her hazel eyes showing some feminine pique for once.
‘Well!’ she huffed at the closed door. ‘And good morning to you, too!’
So much for his having noticed her red hair. It came to Rachel that she could have been sitting there stark naked this morning, and Justin would not have noticed.
Not that her being naked was anything to write home about these days. Despite having put on a couple of pounds during the past month, she was still thin, her once noteworthy breasts having long ago shrunk from a voluptuous D-cup to a very average B plus. She’d complained about it to Isabel on Saturday when they were getting dressed before the wedding.
‘You still have bigger boobs than me,’ Isabel returned as she surveyed Rachel in her underwear. ‘OK, so you’re thin, but you’re in proportion. Actually, you look darned good in the buff, girl. You’ve surprised me.’
Rachel had laughed at the time. She laughed now, but with a different type of self-mockery. What on earth was she doing, even thinking about what she looked like naked? Who cared? No one was going to see her that way, except herself.
Again, it was all Isabel’s fault, putting silly thoughts into her head about Justin and sex.
Sex! Now, that was a subject not worth thinking about.
So why was she suddenly thinking about it?
Rachel filled in the next eight minutes trying to work through her irritability, before giving up and rising to go pour Justin a mug of coffee from the coffee maker, which she kept perking all day. Justin liked his coffee. She figured that ten minutes would have passed by the time she carried it in to him. Any further delay was unacceptable. The sooner he noticed her red hair, and the sooner she explained the reason behind it, the sooner she’d be able to settle down to work, and put aside the fear of looking ludicrous in her boss’s eyes.
‘Come in,’ Justin snapped when she tapped on his office door exactly ten minutes after his order.
She entered to find him sitting at the bank of computers which lined the far side of his U-shaped work station. His back remained to her as he rode his swivel chair down the long line of computers, peering at each screen for a couple of seconds as he went. His jacket was off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. His tie, she knew without being able to see it, would be loosened.
As Rachel made her way across the room Justin slid down in front of the furthest computer on the right.
‘Just put it down here,’ he directed, patting an empty spot next to his right elbow without looking up.
Grimacing with frustration, Rachel put the coffee down where ordered and was about to leave when she stopped.
‘Justin…’
‘Mmm?’
He still didn’t look up.
She sighed. ‘Justin, I need to talk to you,’ she said firmly.
‘What about?’ Again, no eye contact.
‘I wanted to explain to you about my red hair.’
‘What red hair?’ He spun round from the computer, his eyes finally lifting. He frowned up at her, his head tipping slightly to one side. ‘Mmm. It’s a bit bright for you, isn’t it?’
Rachel winced. ‘It looked all right for the wedding on Saturday,’ she said, her pride demanding she say something in her own defence.
His blue eyes widened. ‘Wedding? What wedding? My God, Rachel, you didn’t go and get married on the weekend without telling me, did you?’
Rachel almost laughed. As if.
‘I don’t think you need worry about that ever happening, Justin,’ she said drily. ‘No, I was a bridesmaid at my best friend’s wedding on Saturday and she insisted on having my hair dyed red for the day. It was supposed to wash out afterwards but, as you can see, it didn’t. I just wanted to reassure you that I’m going to dye it back to brown tonight.’
He shrugged his indifference, then picked up his coffee. ‘Why bother?’ he said between sips. ‘It doesn’t look that bad. And it’ll wash out—or grow out—eventually.’
Rachel’s shoulders stiffened. It would take two years for it to grow out. Did he honestly think she had such little personal pride that she’d walk around with half-red, half-brown hair for two years?
Clearly, he did.
‘It looks dreadful and you know it,’ she said sharply, and whirled away from him before she did something she would regret.
Rachel could feel him staring after her as she marched towards the open doorway, probably wondering what was wrong with her. She’d never spoken to him in that tone before. But when she turned to close the door behind her he wasn’t staring after her at all. Or even thinking about her. He was back, peering at the maze of figures on the computer, her red hair—plus her slight outburst—clearly forgotten.
Rachel didn’t realise the extent of her anger till she tried to get back to work. Why she was so angry with Justin, she couldn’t understand. His indifferent reaction to her hair should have made her happy. It was all rather confusing. But there’d been a moment in there—a vivid, violent moment—when she’d wanted to snatch the coffee out of his hands and throw it in his face.
It was perhaps just as well that her boss didn’t emerge for the rest of the morning, or call her for more coffee to be delivered. Clearly, he was steeped in something important, some sudden programming brainwave or financial crisis which required his undivided attention.
In the month she’d been his PA, Rachel had discovered that Justin was a computer genius as well as a financial one, and had created several programs for following and predicting stock-market trends, as well as analysing other economical forces. Aside from her general secretarial duties, Rachel spent a couple of hours each day entering and downloading data into the extensive files these programs used. They needed constant updating to work properly.
She was completing that daily and slightly tedious area of her job shortly before noon, when the main door from the corridor opened and Justin’s mother walked in.
Alice McCarthy was in her early sixties, a widow with two sons. She’d been one of Rachel’s best customers during the four years she’d made ends meet by using her sewing skills at home. A tall, broad-shouldered woman with a battleship bust and surprisingly slender hips, Alice had difficulty finding clothing to fit off the peg. But she loved shopping for clothes, rather than having them made from scratch, and had more than enough money to indulge her passion. Mr McCarthy had been a very successful stockbroker in his day, and, according to Alice, a bit of a scrooge, whereas Alice veered towards the other extreme. Consequently, she was in constant need of a competent seamstress who could cleverly alter the dozens of outfits she bought each season.
Till recently that person had been Rachel, whom Alice had discovered when Rachel had distributed brochures advertising her sewing skills through all her local letterboxes. Alice lived only a couple of streets away from Lettie’s house.
Despite the thirty-year age gap, the two women had got along well from the start. Alice’s natural joie de vivre had brought some brightness into Rachel’s dreary life. When her foster-mum passed away and her friends thought Rachel needed a job working outside of the home Alice had been generous enough to steer her into her present position, despite knowing this meant she had to find another person to alter her clothes. Fortunately, a salesgirl in one of the many boutiques Alice frequented had recommended an excellent alteration service in the city, run by two lovely Vietnamese ladies who were extremely efficient as well as inexpensive.
After Rachel had gone to work for her son Alice had rung her at the office a couple of times to see how she was doing, but this was the first time she’d made a personal appearance.
‘Alice!’ Rachel greeted happily. ‘What a lovely surprise. You’re looking extremely well. Blue always looks good on you.’
Alice, who was as susceptible to a compliment as the next woman, beamed her pleasure. ‘Flatterer. Nothing looks all that good on this unfortunate figure of mine. But I do my best. And my, aren’t you looking a lot better these days? You’ve put on some weight. And you’ve changed your hair colour.’
Rachel’s hand went up to pat the offending hair. ‘Not for long. It goes back to brown tonight. I had it dyed for Isabel’s wedding on Saturday. You remember Isabel, don’t you? You met her at Lettie’s funeral.’
‘Yes, of course I remember her. Very blonde. Very beautiful.’
‘That’s the one. She wanted my hair red for the day. Of course, it wasn’t done like this. It was down and curled. I also had more make-up on than a supermodel on a photo shoot.’
‘I’ll bet you looked gorgeous!’
‘Hardly. But I looked OK for the occasion. And for the photographs. I’m well aware this colour red doesn’t look any good on me normally.’
‘But it might, you know, Rachel, if you wore some make-up. It’s just that against your pale skin it looks too bright. And without any colour in your face that black suit you’re wearing is too stark, by contrast. Now, if you were wearing blue,’ she added, her own blue eyes sparkling, ‘like the blue I’ve got on, and a spot of make-up, then that red hair just might be perfect.’
Rachel really wasn’t in the mood for another woman to start trying to make her over. Isabel had been bad enough on the weekend. On top of that, she was still upset over Justin ignoring her this morning.
He wouldn’t ignore her, however, if she started seriously tarting herself up. He’d think something was really up and then there would be hell to pay.
‘Alice,’ she said, slightly wearily. ‘You were the one who told me about my predecessor, that flashy, flirtatious temp your son was so relieved to eject from his office. The reason Justin gave me this job is because he likes the way I look. He likes me au naturel.’
Alice rolled her eyes. In her opinion, no man liked women au naturel, even the ones who said they did. They all liked women to doll themselves up. You only had to watch men’s eyes when a glamour-puss walked into a restaurant, or a party. Justin was simply going through a phase, a post-Mandy phase.
The trouble was, this phase was lasting far too long for her liking. It wasn’t natural. Or healthy, either, for her son’s mind or his body.
‘That boy doesn’t know what he likes any more,’ she grumbled. ‘That bitch of a wife of his certainly did a number on him. If ever I run into her again I’d like to…’
Whatever it was Alice was about to vow to do to her son’s ex-wife was cut dead when the door to Justin’s office was suddenly wrenched open, and the man of the moment appeared.
‘Mum! I thought I heard a familiar voice. What are you doing here? And what were you talking about just then? Not gossiping about me to Rachel, were you?’
Alice’s cheeks flushed but she managed not to look too guilty. ‘I never gossip,’ she threw at her son defiantly. ‘I only ever tell the truth.’
Justin laughed. ‘In that case, why are you here? And no white lies, now. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’
Alice shrugged. ‘I came to the city early to do some shopping, didn’t see a single thing I liked and decided on the spur of the moment to pop in and take you to lunch. Rachel too, if she’d like.’
‘Oh, no, no, I can’t,’ Rachel immediately protested. ‘I have some shopping that I simply have to do.’ Namely, some brown hair dye.
‘And neither can I,’ Justin informed his mother. ‘There was some unexpected bearish rumblings on the world stock markets last night and I have to have a report ready for the powers that be here before trading ceases today. So I’ll be working through lunch. I was going to get Rachel to pop out and bring me back some sandwiches.’
‘Poor Rachel,’ Alice said. ‘I thought the days of secretaries doing that kind of menial and demeaning job were over. I dare say you have her bring you coffee twenty times a day as well. I know how much you like your coffee. What else? Does she collect your dry-cleaning too?’
Justin looked taken aback. ‘Well, yes, she has collected my dry-cleaning. Once or twice.’ His eyes grew worried as they swung towards Rachel. ‘Do you object to doing that kind of job, Rachel? You’ve never said as much.’
Rachel sighed. Of course she didn’t object. If Alice thought those jobs were menial and demeaning, let her try changing urine-soaked sheets every morning.
‘No, I don’t mind at all. Really, Alice,’ she insisted when Justin’s mother looked sceptical. ‘I don’t.’
Now it was Alice’s turn to sigh. ‘No, you wouldn’t. Just make sure you don’t take advantage of Rachel’s sweet nature,’ Alice warned her son.
Rachel wished Alice would simply shut up.
Justin’s eyes met hers again and she knew by their exasperated expression that he was thinking exactly the same thing. Rachel gave him a small smile of complicity, and his blue eyes twinkled back.
‘I would never take advantage of Rachel,’ he told his mother. ‘I value her far too much to do anything to risk losing the best PA a man could have.’
Rachel’s cheeks warmed at his flattering words.
She didn’t realise at the time how ironic they were.

CHAPTER THREE
MOST city singles loved Friday afternoons. Their moods would lift as the working week drew towards an end, anticipation building for that wonderfully carefree moment when they poured out of their office buildings and into their favourite bars and drinking holes for the traditional Friday-night drinks-after-work bash. Even the non-drinkers liked Fridays, because there was still the weekend to look forward to, two whole days without having to sit at their desks and their computers; two whole days of doing exactly as they pleased, even if that was nothing.
Rachel was one of the exceptions to the rule. Since coming back to work she hated the week to end because she hated the prospect of two whole days of doing just that. Nothing.
As she made her way to work the following Friday morning Rachel began thinking she might have to go shopping by herself this weekend after all, just for something to do. Last weekend had been OK, because of Isabel and Rafe’s wedding. But this weekend was going to be dreadful, with Isabel away and that strangely soulless town house all to herself.
She could hardly fill the whole weekend with housework. She already kept the place spotless on a daily basis. She could read, of course, or watch television. But, somehow, indoor activities did not appeal. She felt like getting out and about.
It was a pity that the town house didn’t have a garden. Unfortunately, the courtyard was all paved and the few plants dotted around were in pots. Rachel liked working with her hands. That was why she’d first taken up sewing as a teenager.
But sewing was on the no-no list for Rachel nowadays. She never wanted to see her sewing machine again. It was packed away at the back of a cupboard, never to see the light of day again. After the funeral, whenever she looked at it she thought of Lettie’s illness, and all that had happened because of it. No nice associations at all.
Sometimes, she wished Justin would ask her to work overtime on the weekend. She knew he went into the office on a Saturday, so surely there was something she could do. Extra data entry, perhaps. Justin often had to farm some of that work out to an agency.
But he never asked, and she wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. He might see her offer as evidence of a desire for more of his company, rather than the result of chronic loneliness.
Rachel glanced up at the sky before she entered her building. The clouds were heavier than the day before, the southerly change predicted earlier in the week having finally arrived yesterday, bringing intermittent showers.
The thought of more rain over the weekend dampened Rachel’s enthusiasm for shopping by herself. Maybe she would wait till Isabel returned. There was no real hurry, now that Sydney’s weather had changed back to cooler. Her black suits would do a while longer.
Yes, she decided as she swung through the revolving glass doors. Her shopping expedition could wait.
Justin was already in when she arrived. Surprisingly, he’d put on the coffee machine and was in the act of pouring himself a mugful when she walked into the tea room. He was wearing one of her favourite suits, a light grey number which looked well against his dark hair and blue eyes, especially when teamed with a white shirt and blue tie.
‘Morning,’ he said, throwing her a warm smile over his shoulder. ‘Want me to pour you one as well?’
‘Yes, please,’ she answered, her spirits lifting now that she was at work. She shoved her black bag and umbrella on the shelf under the kitchen-like counter, then took the milk out of the fridge, preferring her coffee white, though she could drink it black, at a pinch. Justin always had his black.
‘What’s it like outside?’ he asked, and slid her mug along the counter to where she was standing.
‘Overcast,’ she said as she added her milk.
‘Not actually raining, though?’ he queried just before his mug made it to his lips.
‘Not yet. But it will be soon.’
‘Mmm.’
Rachel detected something in that ‘mmm’ which made her curious.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Do you have something on this weekend which rain will spoil?’
He took the mug away from his mouth. ‘Actually, no, just the opposite. I won’t be here in Sydney at all. I’m flying up to the Gold Coast this afternoon to spend the weekend at a five-star ocean-front hotel.’
‘Lucky you,’ she replied, wondering who he was spending the weekend with.
‘No need to feel jealous. You’re coming with me.’
Rachel was grateful that she hadn’t lifted her own coffee off the counter, because she surely would have spilt it.
Justin chuckled. ‘You should see the look on your face. But don’t panic. I’m not asking you to go away with me for a dirty weekend. It’s for work.’
Rachel closed her mouth then. Well, of course it was for work. How could she, even for a split-second, imagine anything else?
Silly Rachel.
‘What kind of work?’ she asked, finally feeling safe enough to lift her coffee off the counter and take a sip.
‘A different kind of investment advice from my usual. Apparently, this holiday hotel—it’s called Sunshine Gardens—is on the market and all potential buyers—of which AWI is one—are being flown up free of charge so they can see and experience first-hand the hotel’s attractions and assets. Generally speaking we can do our own thing, except for tomorrow night, when we’ll be wined and dined by management, after which there’ll be a video shown, along with a presentation of facts and figures to con everyone into believing the hotel is a rock-solid investment. Guy Walters was supposed to go, but he can’t, so he asked me to go in his place.’
Rachel frowned. ‘Guy Walters. Who’s he? I can’t place him.’
‘You must know Guy. Big, beefy fellow. Fortyish. Bald head. Exec in charge of property investments.’
Rachel searched her memory. ‘No. No, I don’t think I do. I’d remember someone who looked like that.’
Now Justin frowned. ‘You’re right. Guy hasn’t been down here to see me personally since you started. Anyway, I do weights with him every morning. When I arrived this morning he wasn’t there. He raced in half an hour later and explained that he was off to the airport to fly to Melbourne because his dad was ill, after which he explained about where he was supposed to be going and begged me to go in his place. Apparently, the CEO of AWI is super-keen on buying this place and is expecting a report on his desk first thing Monday morning, no excuses. Guy said I was the only one he could ask to go in his place whose opinion he would trust. He said he knew an old cynic like me wouldn’t be blinded by surface appearances and would look for the pitfalls. At the same time, he also wanted a woman’s opinion. He said women see things men don’t always see.’
‘So what woman was he going to take? His secretary? Or a colleague?’
‘No, actually, he’d been going to take his wife. When I pointed out I didn’t have a wife he said that shouldn’t present a problem for a man-about-town like me, and I got all that male nudge-nudge, wink-wink crap. Guy’s always implying I must have a little black book filled with the phone numbers of dozens of dolly-birds available for dirty weekends at a moment’s notice.’
Rachel stopped sipping her coffee, her curiosity piqued. ‘And you don’t?’
‘God, no.’ The distaste on his face was evident. ‘That’s not my style.’
Rachel didn’t know what to think. Maybe he simply didn’t like women. Or maybe he just had old-fashioned principles and standards.
The thought that he might be right off sex—and women—was swiftly abandoned. The sceptic in Rachel couldn’t see any heterosexual male of Justin’s age and health being totally off sex no matter what. It went against everything she and all her female friends had come to believe about the human male animal.
‘I told Guy I would be taking my valued and very astute PA,’ Justin added. ‘If you’re available to go, of course. Are you?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But what?’
‘What about the accommodation? If this chap had been going with his wife, then…’
‘I’ve already thought of that and there are no worries there. AWI’s been allotted a two-bedroom apartment with two separate bathrooms, so there’s no privacy issue. Also, you don’t have to spend every minute of every day with me. You’re free as a bird. I’d expect you to accompany me to the dinner on the Saturday night, however.’
‘Er—what would I have to wear to something like that?’
‘Guy said it’s black tie. Lord knows why. Someone’s being pretentious as usual. Probably their PR person. Do you have something suitable in your wardrobe? If not, I’m sure AWI can spare the expense of a dress. You could buy one up there tomorrow. Tourist towns usually have loads of boutiques.’
‘No, I’ve got something suitable,’ Rachel returned, thinking immediately of her bridesmaid dress, which Isabel had chosen specifically because it was the sort of dress you could wear afterwards. At the time, Rachel hadn’t been able to imagine where, but it would be ideal for wearing to this dinner. As much as Justin might not like her coming into the office done up to the nines, surely he wouldn’t want her to accompany him to a dinner looking totally colourless and drab.
A tiny thrill ran down her spine as she thought of how surprised he might be if she wore her hair down and put on a bit of make-up. Nothing overdone, of course. A classy, elegant look.
‘Great. And don’t forget it’s going to be a lot warmer up there at this time of year,’ Justin went on. ‘You’ll need very light clothes for day wear. Very casual, too.’
Rachel saw the expression in his eyes as they flicked up and down the severely tailored black suit she was wearing.
‘It’s all right, Justin,’ she said wryly. ‘I do have some other more casual clothes.’ Again, thanks to Isabel.
When Isabel’s ex-fiancé broke off their engagement earlier this year Isabel had given Rachel her entire honeymoon wardrobe, bought to be worn on a tropical island. Rachel had thought at the time she would never have an opportunity to wear any of them, same as with the bridesmaid dress.
Now, suddenly, she did. What a strange twist of fate!
‘So when is the flight?’ she asked.
‘It departs at four, which doesn’t leave all that much time to do what has to be done here before we go. Unfortunately, I can’t abandon my other work today entirely. I still need to check last night’s markets and you’ll still have to update the files. So, let’s see, now…you live at Turramurra, don’t you?’
‘For the moment.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean, for the moment?’
‘It’s my friend’s place. I’ve been staying with her temporarily since my foster-mum’s funeral. Don’t you remember? I told you all about Lettie and her illness at my interview.’
He slapped his forehead with the ball of his free hand and shot her an apologetic glance. ‘Of course you did. You also said you’d be selling her old house and buying yourself a unit closer to the city. Sorry. I did listen to you that day. Honest. I’d just forgotten for the moment. So how’s all that going? Found a buyer yet?’
Rachel sighed. ‘Unfortunately, things haven’t worked out the way I thought they would. Lettie did will me everything she owned, but it turned out she didn’t own the house and contents in the first place. It was all still in her husband’s name. I could have taken the matter to court but I just didn’t have the heart. The solicitor said I probably wouldn’t end up with much, anyway.’
‘He’s right there. Litigation is to be avoided at all costs. But gee, Rachel, that’s a damned shame. And not fair, after all you did for your foster-mum. But then, life’s not fair, is it?’ he added with the bitterness of experience in his voice. ‘So what are you going to do about a place to live?’
‘Well, I’m house-sitting Isabel’s town house whilst she’s on her honeymoon. She won’t be back for another fortnight. But I plan on renting a place of my own closer to the city after she does get back.’
‘Flats near the city are expensive to rent,’ Justin warned. ‘Even the dumps.’
‘Tell me about it. I’ve been looking in the paper. I can only afford a bedsit. Either that, or I’ll have to share.’ Which was a last resort. The idea of moving in with strangers did not appeal at all.
‘Can’t see you sharing a place with strangers,’ Justin said, startling Rachel with his intuition. ‘Can’t you stay where you are in your friend’s place? She won’t be needing it, now that she’s married.’
‘She did offer it to me for a nominal rent.’
‘Then take it and don’t be silly,’ he pronounced pragmatically. ‘So, how long do you think it would take you to go there, pack, then get back to the airport? I’ll pay for taxis both ways, of course.’
‘I don’t think I could do it in less than two hours, and that’s provided I don’t hit any traffic snags. It is Friday, you know.’
‘True. That means you’ll have to leave here by one at the latest. Guy gave me the plane tickets, so I’ll give you yours before you go and we’ll meet at the allotted departing gate. OK?’
‘Yes. OK.’
Justin smiled over the rim of his coffee mug. ‘I knew I could count on you not to make a fuss. Any other woman would have had hysterics about how she’d need all day to get packed and changed, but not you.’
Rachel gave a rueful little laugh. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a criticism.’
‘A compliment,’ Justin said drily. ‘Trust me. Come on, let’s get back to work. I want to have a clear desk and a clear head by the time that plane takes off this afternoon. I don’t know about you, but I’m rather looking forward to having a break away from this office, not to mention this rotten weather. I’ve always been partial to some sun and surf. Which reminds me. Don’t forget to pack a swimming costume. Even if you don’t like the surf, the hotel has a great pool, I’m told.’
He plonked down his empty mug and marched off, leaving Rachel to stand there, staring after him, her stomach revolving as she recalled the bright yellow bikini amongst the clothes Isabel had given her.
The thought of swimming in a bright yellow bikini in front of her boss sent her into a spin.
‘Hop to it, Rachel,’ he threw over his shoulder.
She hopped to it, but she still kept thinking about that bikini. Though modest by some standards, it was still a bikini. That, combined with the colour, would not present the non-flashy, non-flirtatious image Justin had of her and which he obviously felt comfortable with. She knew it was a stretch of the imagination that he would ever be sexually attracted to her—especially if he didn’t like women—but in the end Rachel decided that the bikini would be accidentally left at home. She had a good thing going with her job and she didn’t want to risk changing the status quo.
With this thought in mind, she decided not to wear her hair down for the dinner tomorrow night, either. It could go up as usual. And her make-up would be confined to a touch of lipstick. That was all she owned, anyway. It would be crazy to race out and buy a whole lot of stuff for one night. For what? Just to satisfy her feminine pride? Because that was all that was at stake. Her pride. Nothing to do with Justin. He obviously didn’t give a damn how she looked.
Feeling much better with these decisions, Rachel put her mind to her job. At one o’clock on the dot she was off, the taxi making good time to Turramurra. Packing was a breeze. Isabel’s discarded honeymoon gear was already in a very nice suitcase. It was just a matter of taking some things out, and adding some, namely her bridesmaid gear, along with her toilet bag. She did also add some white sandals from Isabel’s wardrobe, knowing her friend wouldn’t mind.
She didn’t have time to change but she did put a simple white T-shirt on under her black jacket so that she could take the jacket off once they reached Coolangatta.
By two-ten she was back in a taxi, heading for Mascot, but this time the going was slower, because it had started to rain quite heavily. They fairly crawled down the Pacific highway. There was an accident at an intersection at Roseville, which caused a back-up, and they moved at a snail’s pace again right down to Chatswood, after which the flow of traffic improved, courtesy of the new motorway. But her watch still showed five after three when she climbed out at the domestic terminal at Mascot. By the time she’d waited in line, been booked in and gone through Security, it was twenty-five to four, only ten minutes from the scheduled boarding time.
As she hurried along the long corridor towards the nominated gate Rachel hoped Justin wasn’t worrying. She knew he’d already arrived because the lady on the check-in counter had been left instructions on her computer to give her the seat next to him.
Gate eleven came into sight at last, and so did Justin. He was sitting on a seat at the end of a row in the waiting area, reading an afternoon newspaper, and not looking at all anxious, though he did glance up over the top of the pages occasionally. When he spied her walking towards him he folded the newspaper, smiled and patted the spare seat beside him.
‘You made it,’ he said as she dropped down into it.
‘Just. The traffic back into town was horrendous. I was wishing I had a mobile phone to call you and tell you my progress.’
‘No worries,’ he said. ‘You’re here now.’
‘Yes. Yes. I’m here now.’ Breathless, relieved and quite excited, now that she wasn’t stressing about her clothes, or how she would look at tomorrow night’s dinner. It had been years since she’d gone anywhere for the weekend and here she was, flying off to the Gold Coast in the company of a very attractive man. OK, so he was only her boss, and there was nothing remotely romantic between them. But other people didn’t know that. Other people might look at them and think that they were going off for a dirty weekend together.
Not likely, you stupid girl, a quite savage voice reprimanded inside her head. Just look at him. He’s gorgeous! The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. And just look at you. Talk about drabsville. A few years ago, things might have been different. You were a real looker then. Now you’re a shadow of your former self. No, not even a shadow. A shell. That’s what you are. A cold, empty, sexless shell!
Rachel sagged back against the seat, a huge wave of depression swamping her earlier excitement.
‘I think this trip’ll do you good,’ Justin said suddenly by her side.
‘Oh?’ she replied wearily. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘You’ve been a bit down-in-the-mouth since your friend’s wedding last weekend. I dare say you’re missing her. And it can’t be much fun, working for a work-aholic bore like me.’
She stared over at him. ‘You’re not a bore. I like my job. And I like working for you.’
He smiled at her. ‘And I like you working for me. You are one seriously nice woman. Which is why what my mother said the other day has been bothering me. Tell it to me straight, Rachel. Do you object to bringing me coffee and running little errands for me? If you do, then I want you to say so. Right now.’
‘Justin, I don’t mind. Honestly. It’s a change sometimes to get up and do something physical instead of just sitting at the computer, updating files.’
He frowned. ‘That’s a good portion of your job, isn’t it? Updating the files. That must be boring for someone of your intelligence. I should involve you more in what I do, explain my programs, show you how to analyse the data yourself, make proper use of that good brain of yours. Would you like that?’
‘Oh! I…I’d love it! If—er—you really think I could do it, that is,’ she added, her chronic lack of confidence not quite keeping up with her instant enthusiasm over his proposal.
‘Of course you can. That way, when I set up my own company, I’ll promote you to being a proper personal assistant with a salary to match, and we’ll hire another girl to work on Reception and data entry.’
‘Justin! I…I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say yes, of course.’
She beamed at him. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘That’s another thing I like about you. You don’t argue with me. Aah, there’s the boarding announcement. Come on, let’s be one of the first on board. Then I can settle back to reading the newspaper and you can read that book you’ve got in your bag.’ He was on his feet in a flash and off.
‘How do you know I’ve got a book in my bag?’ she asked after they’d been through the boarding-pass check and were striding down the tunnel towards the plane.
‘Rachel, give me credit for some powers of observation,’ he said drily. ‘I do realise I have my nose buried in computer screens most of the day but I’d have to be a total moron not to notice some of your habits. You read every single lunch-hour. And I imagine every day on the train to and from work. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’
‘What kind of books do you like?’
‘Oh. All kinds. Thrillers. Romances. Sagas. Biographies.’
‘I used to read thrillers obsessively when I was at uni,’ he said in a happily reminiscent tone. ‘But I have to confess my reading rarely extends beyond the newspapers and business-based magazines these days.’
‘I think that’s a shame. Reading’s a great pastime. And a good escape.’
‘A good escape, eh? Yeah, you’re right. It is. Maybe I should try it,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘instead of the gym.’
Rachel just caught this last possibly meant-for-his-ears-only remark, and wondered what he was trying to escape from. The memories of his marriage?
If his mother was to be believed then his ex-wife had been the bitch from hell. But if that was the case, then why would Justin have married her in the first place? He didn’t strike Rachel as being a fool, or a pushover.
Relationships were a minefield, Rachel mused as she trailed after Justin past the welcoming flight attendants and into the body of the plane. And most marriages were a right mystery to all but the people involved. Justin’s mother would naturally blame her son’s wife for their break-up, but did she really know what had happened between the pair of them?
Justin stopped abruptly next to row D and turned to her. ‘You have the window seat,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind sitting on the aisle. Actually, it gives me a bit more leg room.’
‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully, and slid into the window seat. She liked to see where she was going.
Once settled, Rachel took out her book then stowed her black shoulder bag under the seat in front of her, ready for take-off. ‘I hope it’s not raining up there too,’ she said as she peered out at the rain-soaked tarmac.
Justin looked up from the newspaper. ‘It isn’t according to the radar weather map I looked up on the internet just before I left the office. It’s fine on the Gold Coast today with a top temperature of twenty-seven degrees. And more of the same is forecast for the weekend.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ she said with a happy sigh.
When Justin resumed reading his newspaper, Rachel opened the family saga she’d been reading the last couple of days. It wasn’t riveting so far, but she liked the author and trusted her to get her in eventually.
Soon, she was off in that imaginative world of the story, so she didn’t see the man who boarded the plane shortly afterwards. Or his female companion. If she had, Rachel would have recognised both of them.
She missed seeing them again at Coolangatta Airport, as it was so easy to do in crowds. Though, admittedly, she had been occupied chatting away with Justin at the luggage carousel and hadn’t looked round at the other people waiting to collect their bags. She missed them again in the foyer of Sunshine Gardens, because she and Justin were already riding the lift up to their ocean-view apartment by the time they arrived.
Rachel might not have seen them at all till the following night at the dinner—which would have been an even greater disaster—if she hadn’t discovered on reaching the door of their apartment that her door key didn’t work.

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