Page 24 of Tempting Her Forbidden Boss

Silence while whoever it was talked some more.

‘I’m in Auckland—what if I came into the office?’

Whoever it was, he was letting her down. Alex couldn’t stop bending forward a fraction so he could see her through the gap in the hinge of the door. Her head was bent, her fringe hiding her eyes. From her slump he guessed the answer she’d just got was another negative.

‘Is there any other way I might be able to find him?’ She listened for a while. ‘I’ve already put messages up on the Internet.’ She was silent as she listened, and clearly not happy. ‘Okay. I understand. Thank you for your time.’

She put the phone down and buried her face in her hands, elbows thumping onto the desk.

Alex straightened and counted to five before walking on the spot for a few paces and then opening the door. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

Her head snapped up. ‘Alex. I didn’t know you were here.’ A flush mounted in her cheeks. ‘I was using the phone but it was a local call.’

‘You don’t have a mobile?’ He was shocked as she shook her head. ‘Of course it’s fine to use the phone.’ He was dying to ask more but she stood quickly and became busy pulling on her jacket. Okay, he’d bide his time—but he’d find out what the deal was. She didn’t suit the defeated look.

She said nothing until they were belted into his car, but then she launched a hit. ‘I thought you said Cara was pregnant.’

Alex winced. Yeah, he should have seen this one coming. ‘She is.’

‘Not exactly due next month, though, is she?’

‘No.’ More like seven or so months. Cara had told them a couple of weeks ago, too effervescent to keep the news to herself any longer. She’d bounced off the walls when she’d blabbed it, while her husband had been all teasing protectiveness—warning that she wasn’t to work too hard. Ironic when he was the CEO of one of the country’s biggest accountancy firms and worked hours as bad as both Alex and Lorenzo.

‘She’s had terrible morning sickness.’ Alex said, amazed at his inventiveness. Then he panicked, knowing the way women talked to each other. ‘But don’t mention it. She’s very private. She doesn’t want us to think she can’t cope.’

‘Oh.’ Dani nodded. ‘Of course. And is that why she works part-time hours at the moment?’

‘Yes.’ Lying was allowed when it was to help someone, right?

* * *

‘You nearly ready?’ Alex hollered.

Dani gave herself one last despairing glance in the mirror and fully regretted declining the use of the stylist.

Style—of the Carlisle standard. Could it be bought? Fashioned from the rawest of material? The dress was good, she knew it was good—it fitted perfectly. But the body beneath wasn’t perfect, and there was no glitz or glam to dazzle the eyes and blind them to those imperfect bits.

She turned her back on her image and walked down the stairs to the lounge. He wasn’t there. She took the few steps into the kitchen. He had his back to her. His perfectly fitted, perfectly pressed suit gleamed blacker than ink and oozed expense. He looked lean and long and definitely strong—could his shoulders be any broader? Then he turned around.

It took several moments before she could drag her gaze all the way up his body to his face. Even so his mouth was still hanging open, still another beat before he shut it. The surprise written all over him stung. Had he really expected her to walk in wearing some ill-fitting off-the-rack budget-chain number?

She was so glad she’d packed it. She’d laughed at her mother for making it. Argued she’d have been better off making her some more work shirts and skirts. Her mother had always altered her clothes for her—her breasts were too ample and her shoulders too narrow for store-bought to sit right. But she’d wanted to make her a dress—‘to look beautiful’ in. She’d despaired of Dani’s jeans and tee habit. Just as Dani had despaired of her mother’s ‘must have a man’ complex.

‘Where did you get it?’ He swallowed.

‘My mother made it.’ She cleared her throat. ‘She was a seamstress.’

‘A very good one.’

‘Yes.’ It was as beautifully made as his suit, which frankly she couldn’t bear to look at a second longer. But the sting from his shock had gone now and left the heat of relief. She pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘Should we get going?’

He walked over to her. ‘I have something for you.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘To keep that bit out of your eyes.’ He uncurled his fingers.

She had a quick peek and resolutely looked back up at him. ‘I’m not wearing that.’ And she wasn’t going to look at it again. Her retinas were suffering enough already—bright spots danced the rumba before her.

‘It’s just a hairclip.’

It wasn’t just a clip. It was a very grown-up piece of art. She might not have money but she wasn’t stupid. Those weren’t zirconias or even crystals. Only diamonds sparkled like that. It was an iris, wrought in a fine gold setting, some petals studded with diamonds, others decorated with yellow stones and a long slender gold stem. It was so, so pretty. Exactly the sort of totally feminine thing she secretly adored. How could he have known that? She couldn’t deny she was thrilled. But even so, she couldn’t possibly wear it.

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