Secretary on Demand Read online

  ‘Of course it’s relevant.’ He drained his cup of coffee. ‘What if you left for the personal reason of, let’s say, theft?’

  ‘Theft!’

  ‘Or…flamboyant insubordination. Or immoral conduct…’

  Shannon burst out laughing. ‘Immoral conduct? Oh, please! What kind of immoral conduct?’

  ‘Stripping at the office party? Smoking on the premises? Sex in the boss’s office when there was no one around?’ His voice was mild, so why did she suddenly feel her skin begin to prickle? She imagined herself lying on a desk in his office, with those long fingers touching every part of her body, and she shrank back in shaken horror from the image. It had been as forceful as it had been unexpected.

  ‘I have all my references back at my bedsit,’ she told him primly.

  ‘At your bedsit?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You live in a bedsit?’

  ‘It’s all I could afford. Anyway…’ she paused and reluctantly flashed him a wry smile ‘…a bedsit is the height of luxury after you’ve grown up in a house with seven siblings.’

  ‘You have…’ He looked green at the thought of it. Hates children, she thought smugly, perversely pleased that she had managed to shake some of that formidable self-control. Probably an only child. She and Sandy had never actually speculated on his family background but she would have bet money that he was the cosseted son of doting parents who had given in to his every whim, hence his unspoken assumption that he could get whatever he wanted at the click of a finger.

  ‘I know. That’s how most English people react when I tell them that. My mother maintains that she wanted each and every one of us, but I think she just got a bit carried away after she was married. I suppose you’re an only child? Only children are particularly appalled at the thought of sharing a house with lots of other brothers and sisters.’

  ‘I’m…well, we’re not really here to discuss my background, Miss McKee…’

  It didn’t escape her notice that he had reverted to a formal appellation now that he was no longer manipulating their conversation. ‘Oh, it was merely a question. Are you an only child?’

  ‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.’

  ‘I thought so. Poor you. My mum always said that an only child is a lonely child. Were you lonely as a child?’

  ‘This is a ridiculous digression,’ Kane muttered darkly. ‘We were talking about your living arrangements.’

  ‘So we were,’ Shannon agreed readily. She took a small sip from her coffee, enjoying the sensation of sitting and having someone else do the waiting for a change. Their cups had been refilled without her even noticing the intrusion.

  ‘And your decision to leave Ireland and come down here?’

  ‘I thought we’d already talked about that. I told you that I had references and that you could see them. My last company was very pleased with my performance, actually,’ she continued.

  ‘Did you leave because of Eric Gallway?’

  The luminous green eyes cooled and she said steadily, ‘That really is none of your business, Mr Lindley.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, is it?’ he said softly, but his eyes implied otherwise. ‘Now, there are one or two other minor considerations that come with this job,’ he said slowly, resting both his elbows on the table and leaning towards her. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt so that she had an ample view of strong forearms, liberally sprinkled with fine, dark hair.

  ‘Minor considerations?’ Shannon met his thoughtful, speculative look with a stirring of unease. What minor considerations? She didn’t care for the word ‘minor’. Somehow it brought to mind the word ‘major’.

  ‘There are a few duties connected with this job that will require some overtime…’

  She breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t afraid of hard work and clock-watching had never been one of her problems. If anything, she’d often found herself staying on to work when she could have been going home.

  ‘I’m fine with overtime, Mr Lindley,’ she said quickly. ‘Alfredo will vouch for that.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He paused and his dark eyes flitted across her face. ‘These duties, however, are possibly not quite what you have in mind.’

  ‘What do they involve, Mr Lindley?’ Shannon asked faintly, for once lost for words in the face of the myriad possibilities filling her imaginative mind. She hoped that he wasn’t about to spring some illegal suggestion on her because she’d just become accustomed to thinking that gainful employment was within her reach and to have it summarily snatched away would be almost more of a blow than the original loss of her job.

  ‘I have a child, Miss McKee…’

  ‘You have a child?’

  ‘These things do happen as an outcome of sexual intercourse when no contraception has been used,’ Kane said with overdone patience. ‘As,’ he added mildly, ‘you are probably aware.’

  Shannon failed to take offence at his tone. ‘I—simply never associated you with a child,’ she stammered, realising belatedly that her admission might give him the idea that she had been speculating wildly about him behind his back.

  ‘And may I ask why?’

  ‘You just don’t look…the fatherly sort…’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I mean,’ she said hurriedly, as his eyebrows slanted upwards, ‘you were always at the restaurant so early… I just assumed that you weren’t much of a family man… How old is your child?’

  ‘Eight and it’s a she. Her name’s Eleanor.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Shannon paused long enough to digest this piece of information. ‘And if you don’t mind me asking, what does all this have to do with me?’

  ‘At the moment I have a nanny in place to—’

  ‘You have a nanny in place?’ She gave a snort of derisory laughter.

  ‘Would you do me the favour of not interrupting me every five seconds?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just the expression you used.’

  ‘I have a nanny in place who takes Eleanor to school in the mornings and brings her back home. Under normal circumstances, I would have a live-in nanny but Carrie has always insisted on having the evenings to herself and I’ve been loath to replace her because she’s been there since Eleanor was a baby.’

  ‘What about your wife? Does she work long hours as well?’ Shannon’s voice was laced with curiosity.

  ‘My wife is dead.’ He glanced down and she felt a rush of compassion for him and for his child. She tried to imagine a life with no siblings, no mother, an absent father and a nanny—and failed.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She paused and then asked curiously, ‘When did she die?’

  ‘When Eleanor was born, actually.’ There was a dead flatness in his voice which she recognised. She’d heard her mother use that tone whenever someone asked her about her husband. She’d used detachment to forestall questions she didn’t want to answer. ‘The pregnancy was fraught, although the birth was relatively simple. Three hours after Eleanor was born, my wife haemorrhaged to death.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Mr Lindley.’

  ‘So occasionally I might need you to act as babysitter, for want of a better word. My old secretary was very obliging in that respect but, as I said, she now lives in Dorset. Naturally, you would be paid handsomely for the inconvenience.’

  Shannon cradled the cup in between her hands, rubbing the rim with her thumbs. ‘Looking after a child could never be an inconvenience,’ she said quietly.

  ‘So.’ He signalled for the bill and she could sense his eagerness to be off the subject of his child and back into the arena of discussing work. ‘When would you be able to report for work?’

  ‘Whenever you want.’

  ‘What about next Monday morning? Eight-thirty sharp. And, naturally, I needn’t tell you that your first month will be a probationary one.’

  ‘On both sides, Mr Lindley,’ Shannon told him, just in case he got it into his head that she would somehow feel obliged to work for him even if she hated the job, simply because he had
offered it to her out of duty.

  ‘I wouldn’t—’ he graced her with such a powerful smile that her heart seemed to stop for a few seconds ‘—dream of expecting otherwise.’ He stood up and politely offered her a lift to wherever she was going. When she declined, he nodded briefly in her direction before ushering her out of the coffee-bar.

  The fresh, cold air whipped around her and for a few seconds, she had the unreal sensation that it had all been a vivid dream. She had always been particularly good at dreaming up improbable scenarios. Perhaps this was just another one. But, of course, it wasn’t. She had quit one job and then Fate had smiled on her and decreed that she land another within hours of losing the first. Wasn’t that just like life? Things, she had always thought, were never quite as black as they seemed. All you ever needed to do was leap over the first sticky patch and, sure enough, things would right themselves. There was always room for healthy optimism.

  The healthy optimism stayed with Shannon for the remainder of the week and right into the weekend, which was spent with Sandy who seemed agog at the turn of events. She kept referring to ‘the luck of the devil’ and the way that Irish blarney could get a girl what she wanted until Shannon was forced to point out that the man was obviously impressed by all the secretarial potential he had spotted in her while she had waited tables.

  ‘Ha! Perhaps he spotted other potential,’ Sandy whispered darkly over their celebratory pizza.

  But even that failed to quench her optimism.

  She dressed very carefully on the Monday morning, making sure that everything matched and that there were no unknowing eccentric touches which had always been permissible at the radio station and at Alfredo’s but most certainly would not be in most normal working environments. She looked regretfully at her floppy hat as she left the bedsit, and at her flat black lace-up shoes which were her faithful companions whether accompanied by skirt or trousers. Neither would do. Blue skirt, white blouse, blue and black checked jacket, which unfortunately was the only one she possessed and as a hand-me-down from one of her sisters didn’t fit quite right, and, of course, her coat, one of her more expensive purchases from her working life at the radio station.

  Her hair had presented a bit of a problem. Braids didn’t seem right for a secretarial job in a normal office environment, but wearing it loose wasn’t an option because as far as she was concerned, it was just too red, too beacon-like, so she tied it into a low ponytail which she held in place with a large, tortoiseshell barrette.

  Shannon decided, as she caught the underground to the address Kane Lindley had written down for her, that her mother would have loved her outfit but her brothers and sisters would have fallen over laughing. Although she wasn’t the youngest in the family, she was the last girl and so her elder sisters had mothered her. She was the only one in the family with red hair and somehow the red hair had always made her look much younger than her years. Thank heavens she had tied it back. Severely. She was about to embark on a severe career path, she decided, working for a man who would certainly not tolerate too much gaiety within the four walls of his office.

  Her first taste of exactly how different her job would be compared to the last two was when she arrived at the office which turned out to be in a building all smoked glass and, as she entered, marble floors and plants in the foyer. Mr Lindley, she was told by the receptionist who was separated from the public by a large, smooth circular desk, was waiting for her and that if she took the lift to the fourth floor, she would be directed to his office.

  By the time Shannon was standing outside his door, she was fast losing faith in her office skills. They had certainly done nicely in her previous two jobs, but did radio stations and restaurants really lend themselves to the sort of top-class working skills needed in a place like this? Somewhere with thick carpets and enclosed offices and people hurrying like ants from computer terminals to fax machines and photocopiers? Her carefully thought-out clothes seemed hideously informal next to the smartly dressed women she had spied, who seemed to be in a uniform of grey suits and black pumps.

  She tentatively knocked at the door, which was opened by a middle-aged woman with iron grey hair and sharp eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Shannon stammered. ‘Actually, I’m looking for Mr Lindley’s office. The girl at Reception—’

  ‘Should have called me to come and fetch you,’ the woman said, interrupting her nervous explanation. ‘I shall have to have a word with her. Step inside, Miss McKee. Allow me first of all to introduce myself. I’m Sheila Goddard. I don’t normally work for Mr Lindley, although it has to be said that he hasn’t found a suitable replacement for his previous secretary for…well, frankly, months, and I’ve spent quite a bit of my time covering. Most inconvenient.’ She gave Shannon a look that seemed to imply that this inconvenience was somehow her fault.

  ‘This will be your office. As you can see, Mr Lindley’s office is just beyond the inner door. Now, my dear, I must confess that we were all a little surprised when Mr Lindley informed us that he had found himself a permanent secretary…’

  Not as surprised as I was to be offered the job, she thought. ‘I’m on one month’s probation,’ Shannon pointed out quickly, as she looked around the large outer office with its walnut desk and swivel chair and discreet company advertising pictures framed on the walls. Her optimism was fading fast in the face of all this sterile, hygienic space. No one around, no one to occasionally chat to. She might very well go mad within the month.

  ‘Naturally,’ Sheila said. ‘You may join the line of unsuitable candidates, which is why I did suggest to Mr Lindley that it might have been a bit rash to take you on full time rather than as a temporary.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly has there been a long line of unsuitable candidates?’

  ‘Mr Lindley,’ Sheila said ominously, ‘is a demanding boss. Anything less than first rate never satisfies him.’ She knocked respectfully at the imposing door separating the two offices, giving Shannon ample time to accommodate the prospect of trying to work for a monster who would attack at the first sign of a typing error.

  The monster, waiting for her behind his desk, was on the telephone when she entered and he carried on talking, his voice clipped, while Shannon looked all around her, taking in the even more sterile surroundings of his office, unbroken by any hint of personality. Not even a picture or two of his daughter in sight. When there was nothing else to look at without doing damage to her neck muscles, she finally rested her green eyes on him. As he spoke, he leaned back in the leather chair, nodding at whatever was being said, answering solely in monosyllables.

  ‘Right,’ he said, as soon as he had replaced the receiver. ‘You’re here.’

  ‘With my references,’ Shannon agreed. ‘But I must be honest, Mr Lindley, you were very kind to employ me but I don’t think this arrangement is going to work out.’ She pushed the references over to him and he began scanning them, then he sat back and looked at her.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because this isn’t the sort of working environment I’m used to at all. I really don’t think I’ll be suitable for the position.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the one to decide? Would you like some coffee? Tea? While I explain what your specific duties will involve?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘You’re nervous.’ He sat back and looked at her with his hands loosely folded on his lap. ‘I’d never thought it of you, reds.’

  ‘I’m not nervous.’ Pointless, she thought, trying to tell him to use her full surname. ‘It’s just that…this is all a bit too formal for me… I wouldn’t want to waste your time.’

  ‘Very considerate of you,’ he said drily. ‘Your references are excellent. You’re computer literate, you’re willing to accept responsibilities… What makes you think you’d be wasting my time?’

  ‘Apparently you’ve run through quite a number of unsatisfactory secretaries. Well, either the recruitment agencies have all been failing to d
o their jobs, or else you’re a difficult man to work for.’

  ‘I set high standards, if that’s what you mean. Now, stop wittering about letting me down and let’s start getting down to business. When I’m finished going through one or two clients with you and explaining what we do here, you can trot off to Personnel and sign your contract of employment.’ He stood up, and glanced down at his watch, flicking back the cuff of his sleeve to expose dark hair gently curling at the strap.

  ‘I have meetings this afternoon, but I shall leave you to do the basics. Some letters, faxes, e-mails. You can fence incoming calls by taking messages and I’ll get back to them later. Sheila’s always down the corridor if you run into difficulties.’ He could see doubt stamped in her wary green eyes and he wondered, in passing, whether she realised exactly how appealing it made her.

  ‘Look, if you really don’t want to work for the company, I won’t force you to stay. I can’t force you to stay. The door’s there and you’re more than welcome to walk right through it and keep on walking until you get to an agency that has vacancies for interesting jobs in exciting, informal environments. Clearly you think that all this is just a little too stuffy for you. Perhaps you think that bosses should just lounge around all day in garish clothes with their feet on the desk, making as few demands as possible on their staff so as not to interrupt the enjoyment of it all. But,’ he said, ‘I can guarantee that your pay will be more than double what you were earning at that restaurant. And that’s excluding what you’ll personally be paid by me for anything you do involving my daughter.’

  Shannon gave him a wry look to match his own. ‘I’ll give it a go. I’m as open to bribery as the next person.’ Their eyes tangled in perfect mutual and amused understanding before she looked away.

  She preceded her new boss into her office and sat down at the desk. He watched as her skirt rode a few centimetres higher, exposing slim, pale thighs through her tights. She’d disposed of the coat and the peculiar jacket, revealing a blouse that fitted snugly over her small breasts.

  ‘Clients.’ Kane Lindley cleared his throat and frowned in concentration as she flicked on the computer and waited for him to pick up the sentence. ‘Accounts. Yes. Well, you’ll be expected to update accounts and everything has to be filed in alphabetical order.’ He leaned forward so that his forearm rested on the desk, almost brushing her bare skin.