Page 1 of A Wedding Negotiation with Her Boss

CHAPTER ONE

‘TELLMEIhaven’t caught you sleeping...’

Helen Brooks sat up, blinked at the telly—which appeared to have changed programme from the detective series she’d been watching to something about over-sized mansions in LA—and cleared her throat.

‘Of course you haven’t!’

It was Saturday. It was a little past nine-thirty and, yes, she might not have beensleepingbut she’d definitely beendozing. More to the point, why was her boss calling her at a little after nine-thirty on a Saturday night?

He read her mind. ‘Because it’s only nine-thirty UK time, if I’m right. Shouldn’t you be out and about, now that I think about it?’

Helen heard the amusement in Gabriel’s voice and she could picture him without any trouble at all—unfairly sexy, black eyes framed with lush lashes most women would have killed for and a body that was all muscle and sinful perfection. She had been working for him for a little over three years and she knew, justknew, that her uneventful life was a source of constant amusement for a guy who never stood still.

He played hard, worked harder and seemed to thrive on no sleep at all. When he wasn’t working, he was having fun with sexy blondes who all seemed to run to type. And she should know, because she’d met a number of them over the course of time: pocket-sized, big-breasted, breathlessly seductive and, it always seemed, eager to please. It annoyed her just how much time she wasted thinking about her boss and his ever-changing parade of girlfriends. Frankly, it annoyed her just how much time she wasted thinking about the man in general.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘And how can I help you?’

‘That’s very formal, isn’t it?’

‘Gabriel, why are you calling me on a weekend when you’re in California and should be... Wait, what time is it over there?’

‘About one p.m.’

‘Why are you calling me on a Saturday evening?’

‘It’s work-related, I’m afraid.’

Helen was instantly alert. When it came to work, he could count on her, although wasn’t he supposed to be taking a vital one-week break before the work began?

‘It’s Saturday, Gabriel. Surely anything to do with work can wait until after the weekend?’ She hesitated. ‘And, um, I thought you were there with... I forget her name...’

‘Fifi.’

‘Oh, yes, of course—Fifi.’ Fifi, whose real name was a more pedestrian Fiona, had been on the scene for a little over four months. Helen had sent flowers to her twice, arranged multiple dates for Gabriel and her at the theatre and various fancy restaurants, had supervised the purchase of an extremely expensive bracelet and had physically met her once a few weeks earlier when she had shown up, unannounced, at the eye-wateringly beautiful offices in the City that housed Gabriel’s UK headquarters.

Fifi was small and busty with a tangle of bright-blonde curls that fell to her waist and which had been artfully scooped up in a ponytail on the day she had showed up in a very tight keep-fit outfit. This was, she had explained in a high, breathless voice, because she’d just come from the gym and thought it would be nice to go for lunch somewhere with Gabriel if he wasn’t busy.

‘Weren’t you having some long-overdue time off relaxing with...Fifi...before you met Arturio? I’m sure that’s what you told me.’

‘That was the plan.’

‘I don’t suppose she’ll be impressed that you’re on the phone to your secretary on a Saturday to discuss work,’ Helen pointed out.

She muted the volume on the telly and curled into the sofa. Somewhere deep inside, she was conscious of feeling a little guilty and a little exasperated with herself that the sound of his disembodied voice down the end of the line made her feel like this.

She was twenty-eight years old. Perhaps she should have been doing something more adventurous, somethingmore funthan watching telly after a vegetarian pasta dinner for one, but she had never been into clubs and bars, and she had never seen the point of forcing herself to take an interest in them simply because she happened to be in London. She had a small circle of girlfriends and she occasionally went out for meals or to the theatre or cinema with one of them. If she chose to stay put on a Saturday evening, she wasn’t going to beat herself up about it. A quiet life growing up in Cornwall had set a path for her that she wasn’t ashamed to follow.

Until her boss’s amused voice got under her skin and made her think again. Outside, the setting sun had left behind a pale-grey sky streaked with watercolour-orange. It was still summer-balmy and through the windows she could hear the laughter and voices of people passing by, people out there having the sort of fun she, annoyingly, now felt she should be having.

She absently played with her ring finger, brushing the spot an engagement ring had once encircled, and pushed aside those intrusive thoughts.

‘Hard to tell because she’s not here.’

‘But I booked her into the same hotel as you. Did I get the flights wrong? I’m sure I booked her on a first-class flight to get in the day after you arrived, which should have been two days ago!’

‘Calm down, Helen. You did and she arrived.’

‘Then I don’t understand...’

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