Page 8 of Teasing Her Grumpy Boss

He could keep an eye on what was happening down at the club—just to be sure Lucy was going to be able to do the job she said she could.

‘Off-site?’ Sarah echoed in disbelief. ‘As a knot in your office?’

He grimaced, her incredulity hitting a nerve. So he spent long hours in his office. Month after month he racked up the most billable hours in the firm. On top of that he did his pro bono work. Then he tutored and guest lectured at the University—they were nagging him to join the faculty full-time. He achieved—at a cost. The price was long days, every weekend. But he had made the decision years ago to dedicate his energy to his career.

Sarah gathered the relevant documents while he ensured his laptop had the data necessary. He could always download more remotely if he had to.

‘Are you needing me to come with you?’ Sarah looked right into his face.

He had the suspicion those brown eyes of hers for offering a little more than her legal services. He grimaced again. No. Daniel never needed a woman. He might want one, in which case he’d have her, and then head move on, certainly never stopping to develop anything resembling a relationship. His parents had pointedly proved there was no such thing as for ever. No such thing as dependability or reliability. So Daniel had chosen career. He was focused and loving it.

He shook his head at Sarah. ‘I can email you with any requests I may have.’

Early evening he climbed the stairs to the club, with an increasing sense of trepidation. She appeared at the top before he’d hit halfway. The hand of anxiety tightening her face faded as she saw it was him.

He raised his brows. ‘Everything okay?’

She nodded. ‘Staff are organised and I’m just starting the clean-up.’

‘You want a hand with that?’

She looked amazed.

He clarified. ‘You could call in one of the bartenders to help you.’

‘No. It’s not that big a job and if I do it myself then I know it’s done and I know exactly what’s there and where it is.’

He heaved his bag onto the corner of the bar. It landed with a thud. ‘A good manager delegates.’

‘A good manager leads by example and is capable of doing everything herself that she asks his staff to do.’

She was in the position behind the bar and he had to admit it looked as if she were made for it. Her hair hung almost to her waist. Long brown locks streaked with sun kissed honey strands. Neither straight nor curly, it seemed and in imminent danger of turning into DIY dreadlocks. It looked as if she had been swimming for hours and then let it dry in the sun without bothering to brush it through. He had the crazy urge to reach out and grab it, wanting to see if it did smell of sea and salt and holiday. Behind the bar she was as relaxed as if she had been parked on a beach all her life. Given her tan she probably had.

She picked up a cleaning cloth. He leaned over the bar and he saw the bucket of soapy water on the floor. Steam rose from it together with the smell of lemon scented cleaning product. She looked at the bag he’d put on the bar, the files spilling from it.

‘So you’re a lawyer.’

He nodded.

‘Commercial or criminal?’

‘Criminal.’

‘Prosecution or defence?’

He started to wonder if she had had up-close experience with either. ‘Defence.’

‘So you’re out to fight the cause for the wrongly accused. Justice for the underdog—’

‘No.’ He stopped her mid-flight. ‘Actually, sometimes my clients are guilty. But they’re still entitled to decent representation.’

‘You’re an idealist—the Atticus Finch of Wellington.’ She caught his flash of surprise before he masked it. ‘What, you think I can’t read?’

‘Why would I think that? You have a university degree. I know you can read. Whether you can think and apply is another matter.’

She gave him an evil stare. ‘I’ll have you knowTo Kill a Mockingbirdwas one of my favourite books in school.’

‘So underneath all the mouthyou’rethe idealist.’

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