Page 11 of Teasing Her Grumpy Boss

Well, for him it would be. He’d never see this place is a place to have fun. It was obvious it was all one huge headache to him. He was probably a refined wine club kind of guy. All the law students she had known when she was at university were going on about vintage and method and paying outrageous sums for a tiny glass of something sublime down at the exclusive bars on the fringes of the power enclave in central Wellington. ‘Okay, I’ll check the fire exits.’

‘I expect you to drill the staff in that. The last thing I’m having is some disaster on my watch.’

‘Yes, boss.’ There were risks to health and safety in any bar at any time. And she wasn’t thinking file or earthquake. There were other battles to wage and she’d ensure her staff were au fait with defence weaponry because that was one thing she did know about—first-hand.

He reached into his pocket. ‘I got a key cut for you.’ He handed her a slip of paper at the same time. ‘This is the code for the alarm.’

‘You’re sure about this? You don’t want to meet me outside?’ She couldn’t help the little bite.

His eyes flashed a warning but he spoke as if her tone hadn’t registered. ‘I have an important meeting tomorrow. I can’t say how long it will go for. You’ll just have to get on with it.’

She eyed him, very nearly clicking her heels and saluting.

He looked down at his spread files; she could see the way the contents were calling to him. The challenge of the earlier part of the evening had faded beneath his preoccupation. She reached behind the bar and retrieved her bag and violin case. Both felt heavy. She was tired and she wasn’t looking forward to a restless night’s sleep in the company of strangers.

He stood and stretched out his shoulders. ‘You’ll be okay getting home?’

She nearly laughed aloud. ‘No problem.’

He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

Maybe she had impressed him a little with the effort she had put in tonight. Her sudden smile was warmer than she intended. ‘See you tomorrow.’

He sat again, no sign of any softening in return. In fact, he frowned a little. ‘You’ll pull the door right behind you on the way out?’

‘Sure.’ Stupidly, she was disappointed. She thought the least he could manage was a smile. Didn’t smile much, Daniel. And why not see her out downstairs? He couldn’t even manage that small act of politeness. He really was as typical as she at first thought. Arrogant and uncaring. His head was back down. She didn’t think he even noticed that she was heading out the door.

Daniel felt as if he’d been reading the same line for about three hours. He listened as those teasing cowgirl boots started to trudge downstairs. He checked his watch. Just past ten thirty. His frown deepened. He moved quickly.

‘Lucy?’

She was halfway down already. She turned to look up at him, her hair hanging long down her back, her face shadowed by the overhead light.

‘You’re sure you’re okay to get home?’

He saw the flash of his smile. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ She paused. ‘Thanks for the job, Daniel.’

‘Okay.’

He waited for her to descend, for the daughter snipped behind her. Then he walked slowly back to his work. That smile was a knockout. He’d seen it—what, twice in the whole evening? Not the sarcastic, smart one that had edges sharp enough to cut glass. This smile had been huge and genuine and very attractive. He was and for a long, sleepless night and suddenly that smile was all he could see on the pages in front of him. Concentration obliterated.

FOUR

You think that rational analysis is the best approach in all situations

Lucy wokeearlyafter another restless night. She hated listening to the sound of others sleep. Always had. Even boyfriends. In fact she preferred her lovers to leave late in the night, giving her a few hours’ uninterrupted attempted sleep time—alone, in silence and safety. Insomnia sucked.

Years of boarding-school had been a torment. Space and security were what she’d love. But the hostel in central Wellington was never going to offer either. A zillion backpackers made sure of that. She dragged herself out of bed, wishing sleep came easy. She’d had a fantastic dream at one point. Very fantastic. She’d been in the arms of one big, strong male and loving it. Then his features had firmed into those of her new employer. Daniel. Right at that moment three English girls had arrived loudly in the room. Good thing too. Explicit dreams about Mr Lawyer should not be happening. No way. He was so straight. So wrong. Not her type at all. But he made a suit more attractive than she’d ever have thought possible. And having him feature in her dreams was infinitely preferable to the shadowy figure who still haunted her periodically—turning her sleep time into terror time.

Fighting off the fuzzy features, the fuzzy memories that she’d never be able to fully recollect, she saw the queue for the bathroom in the hall and abandoned the idea of showering there. Pulling on her jeans and a tee, she grabbed her bikini together with her towel and toilet bag, stuffing them into her backpack. She wound her unruly mess of hair into a loose knot on the top of her head and quickly tripped down the stairs and out to the street below.

On the waterside of Wellington stood a fabulous swimming pool. An indoor haven for government workers and hip student wanting a complete workout. Lucy didn’t really want to work out. She liked to walk along the waterfront but you’d never catch her running along it like the Lycra-clad bunnies and yummy mummies jogging with their baby buggies. Swimming, however, was different—a pleasure, a relaxant. Splashing in warm water, striking out with her arms and legs, the silky feeling of her hair as it fanned out. She loved the freedom of feeling her body floating—weightless, worriless. She could spend hours in a pool and often had. It was her second favourite thing next to dancing.

She scrabbled in her pocket for enough coins to gain entry to the pool, darted to the women’s facilities, stepped out of her clothes and into her bikini. She didn’t bother putting her bag in an automated locker—it wasn’t as if she had any thing of value to worry about losing. Her goggles hung loosely from her wrist and she padded barefoot to the poolside, dropping her bag on the bottom row of spectator seating. Swimming lanes were set up and general speed signs posted. On the far side a couple of men were striking out with great pace. Relentlessly they traversed the length of the pool, turning and heading back again, time atter time, no pause for breath or thought. Like a duel they were chasing each other, one going up as the other came down the pool, and for a second she wondered who was chasing whom. They were a sight, with their strong arms powering through the water with ease, their faces obscured by the close-fitting goggles and the spray of the water. She shook her head a little to let her hair tumble free and then she quickly twisted it into a plait. Untied, the plait would work loose in the water after a few lengths, but that was part of the feeling of freedom she enjoyed.

The middle lanes were slightly more crowded—a greater number of average-speed swimmers. She chose the one with the fewest number of swimmers. Waiting for the last swimmer to be a decent distance she dived in, loving that split second between jump and splash where for that instant she pretended she was a dolphin diving in delight.

She swam a few lengths and after a time paused at the end for some deep breaths and time to float. The blood pumped through her body and she felt alive again—despite that lack of sleep. She stretched out her arms, laughing at herself. The number of times she’d gone to a day’s work on little or no sleep must surely be in the hundreds, but it had never seemed to matter before. Today was different. Today she didn’t just want to do her job, she wanted to do agoodjob.

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