She hadn’t heard the door. Tall, dark suit, white shirt. Neatly trimmed brown hair. Cold eyes, staring at her, frown firmly fixed on the crisp cut angles of his face.

Shame. Looks like that shouldn’t be marred by bad temper. Her hackles rose. And it wasn’t just because of the golden eyes sending her that dagger-like look. His aura stamped his impression on his surroundings and her-height weight and breadth of a champion. This was a man who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it. He had the unmistakable air of ‘Authority’.

The bane of Lucy’s life.

Eyes narrowing, she stared back at him. Defiant as ever in the face of someone so obviously establishment. But that didn’t stop the kick of attraction roaring into life. She refused to allow anyone to have control over her, but for a split second she thought about what he’d be like in the driver’s seat just for an hour, just her body. He looked as if he’d know what to do.

She couldn’t stop her little smirk.

His brows lifted and the look he was drilling into her underwent a subtle change. No less intense, still not friendly but the sparks had a different quality. He looked again at the empty seat at Reception and back at her. What, he expected her to fill him in?

She bet he could do some filling.

Good grief, was she really looking at some guy in a suit is if he was some hot dish? She swallowed and dragged her mind back to the situation. She’s never have picked him to be job-hunting. He didn’t look like any bartender or waiter she knew, and she knew a few.

She finally felt compelled to answer his unspoken question. ‘The receptionist is filing out back but the forms are there on the desk. They take ages to fill out.’

His brows went another notch higher as he picked up the enrolment pack like one Lucy was balancing on her knee.

‘Start with the personality test. It’s a cinch.’

He sat in the chair across from hers and flicked through the papers. The frown was back. His silence irked her. What happened to solidarity amongst temporary workers? Banter between bartenders does was part of the deal. He skimmed over the list of yes/no statements that comprise the personality type form. And then he did speak. Sharp, quick, cutting.

‘Let me guess. You’d be a ‘yes’ for you are inclined to rely more on improvisation than on careful planning. And a ‘no’ for ‘it is in your nature to assume responsibility’’. He waited for her response, his eyes issuing a hard challenge.

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.’