Page 5 of The Boss's Forbidden Assistant

‘Again, if it’s too much for you...’

‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ she repeated firmly. ‘But how does that sentence end, anyway? Do you have an alternative to me? Someone else you can fly over to take on this role?’

She was being crotchety but so what? She was tired and he was expectingwaytoo much.

She’d clearly hit a nerve, going by the way his brows knit together and his eyes, so expressive and beautiful, darkened for a moment.

‘Did the housekeeper show you to a guest room?’

‘I didn’t find the housekeeper,’ Harper said crisply, resisting the urge to point out that she’d been working all day.

More disapproval. ‘Then I’ll have to show you.’

‘Just tell me where to go and I’m sure I can find it.’

‘It’s a big house.’

‘And I’m a smart woman. Which way?’

He compressed his lips. ‘Come on. I will take you.’

Well, this was definitely not going to be a bed of roses for either of them. She told herself he wasn’t being antagonistic specifically to her, that he was just an unpleasant, reclusive billionaire, but it was hard not to take it a little personally. She’d worked with some royal pains in the butt in her time, but none quite so outright rude as this guy.

Then again, having a bank balance like his probably eroded the need for civility.

Maybe that was why he had to pay his staff so generously.

She followed him through the house. The panoramic view of the beaches, visible from all windows, was blacked out by night now, revealing the silhouette of ancient trees and sparkly stars in the sky. As they turned a corner, the moon, high and full, cast a silver pathway across the ocean so Harper’s breath caught in her throat at the loveliness of it.

Hearing the noise, he turned, frowning, his face a silent question.

‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, then felt stupid and gauche at such an idealistic comment. But itwasbeautiful.

He didn’t respond, which only made her feel worse. Fortunately, their walk was coming to an end. He reached a double set of doors and opened one, pushing it inwards without going inside.

‘It’s all set up for your stay. There’s an office in here too.’

The suite was as luxurious as she’d expect to find in any five-star hotel. She cast her eyes over the large bed, sofa, huge flat-screen TV and French doors, which she presumed led to a balcony.

‘Thank you.’ Her eyes drifted back to the bed. She couldn’t wait to climb into it and find the oblivion of sleep. But first, a hot shower.

She turned back to Salvador, still standing on the other side of the door. She couldn’t understand why, but she was glad for it, glad that he was outside, because there was something so masculine about his presence.

‘Good night, Ms Lawson.’

He pulled the door closed and she expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, glad to be alone, finally, for almost the first time all day. And what a day! Her head was swimming but, damn it, she wasn’t just going to meet his expectations, she was going to blow them out of the water. True, the work today had been immense. She’d summarised complex financial reports, responded to myriad emails from all over the world and scheduled a diary that was bursting at the seams. Her head was swimming.

But she’d achieved everything she’d wanted to, and a sense of pride flooded her veins. She concentrated on her breathing, a stillness meditation, as she unbuttoned her blouse and thought hungrily of the shower and that soft-looking queen-size bed.

It wasn’t her fault that she’d forgotten her handbag. He’d basically pushed her out of the office in his insistence to show her to her room, but nonetheless he was cursing Ms Lawson as he scooped up the bag and strode through his home with it tucked under his arm.

It’s so beautiful.

He recalled her softly voiced admiration at the moon and the beach as he’d come round the corner and the view had hit him square between the eyes. She was right, he grudgingly admitted, it was beautiful—breath-taking in fact—but it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to see the view, much less admire it.

At the doors to her room, he knocked twice then waited. Immediately after his second knock, he heard her voice call something, which he took to be an invitation, so pushed the door open, striding in with the intention of placing the bag on the coffee table near the sofa, but he froze two steps into the space.

Ms Lawson was midway through stripping out of her clothes. She’d removed her blouse and pencil skirt but not her silk camisole or lace thong, or, God help him, her heels.

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