Page 70 of Seducing Her Scarred Boss

Her hackles were up again instantly. ‘And I’m guessing that you’re a ‘yes’ for ‘your desk is usually neat and orderly’.’

His tight smile flared to a grin. She fancied she’d scored a hit, but then he sent the curveball.

‘Maybe I should have made it clear that I’m not looking for work. I’m looking for a temp to work for me.’

‘Oh.’ Of course. What an idiot. Temps did not dress in made-to-measure suits and walk around with the assured confidence of a bona-fide Greek god. But she rallied immediately. Spot the opportunity. Strike before they know what’s hit them. ‘What do you need?’

‘Bar manager.’ His eyes narrowed.

‘Look no further.’

‘You know the perfect candidate?’

‘I am the perfect candidate.’

She saw his attention slide over her ancient jeans and skimpy singlet top and she was fully aware that she was hardly looking perfect. And that he was thinking the same thing.

‘You don’t even know what the job is.’ He mocked her.

‘You just told me. Bar manager. I can manage a bar.’

A wolfish smile appeared. ‘You can manage a strip club?’

Her jaw dropped. Now that she hadn’t anticipated. He looked way too square for anything remotely grey—more your black-and-white kind of guy.

Right, wrong, official, unofficial, permissible, forbidden.His world would be one of order—totally opposite to her freewheeling one of complete chaos.

He leant forward. ‘No, not a strip club. I’m looking for someone with experience. Someone who can handleresponsibility.’

‘I can handle responsibility.’

‘You just said you were a ‘no’ to responsibility.’

‘No, you said that. I neither confirmed nor denied.’

Their eyes met. Squaring off like a couple of cowboys in a spaghetti western.

‘Give me your CV.’

‘Give me the details of the job.’

Okay, so he held all the cards, she could bluff. Better than anyone.

The silence was steady as they waited each other out. She lifted her chin a little and saw him focus on her mouth as she did so. She couldn’t stop the tiny curve to her lip as his parted.

He’d speak first. She’d known his politeness would win out—he was that type. Cool. In control. Icily well-mannered.

‘Principesa. It’s a small bar but popular. I don’t want it to start failing.’

She’d heard of the club. A newish one—it had opened on the scene during the year she’d been away. As he said, small, but definitely had potential.

‘What’s your interest? You own it?’ Her incredulity was doing her no favours but she really couldn’t see him in the centre of such a scene. Principesa was for night owls—party people. He had white-collar workaholic stamped all over him.

‘My cousin owns it. Lara Graydon.’

She knew of Lara. Six foot something, looked like a Nordic goddess. Had been a diva in the Wellington social set for several years.

‘She’s gone to the States for a couple of weeks on a personal matter.’ His grimace indicated his displeasure. ‘Leaving me to oversee the manager.’ The last two words were ground out through a rigid jaw.

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