Page 10 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

‘Good morning, Imogen.’

For a flash she met his eyes, saw the awareness in them, then looked back to her screen. ‘Good morning, Mr Taylor.’

He stopped walking, swivelled, and came right over to her desk, not seem to care about Shona being well within earshot. ‘You going to “Mr Taylor” menow?’

‘Yes.’ She kept typing. ‘Now I have all the more reason to “Mr Taylor” you.’

He’d been right—it had been inevitable.She’dbeen inevitable. And he had been so predictable—just a kiss?Was that how he thought of it? If so, she was even further out of his league than she’d realised—because no way could she play it like that.

There was a moment longer as he stood beside her desk. She kept typing. Who knew what? But her eyes were glued to the screen and her fingers flew.

‘Okay,Ms Hall, if that’s how you want it.’ He stepped closer, crouched down, spoke very quietly. ‘But there’s one thing I need you to do for me.’

She looked down into his eyes, startled to see their almost pained expression.

‘I’m not asking you this is your boss. I’m asking you just to have mercy on a simple man.’

Mystified, she kept staring.

‘Would you please never, never,everwear that shirt again?’

Then, for the first time since taking over the management of the store, he walked into his office and closed the door—hard.

Imogen worked through until Shona reminded her there was such a thing as lunch. She wasn’t at all hungry. But having her favourite kind of break might provide one way of stopping her mind from lurching between lust-filled fantasies and rank despair. She hadn’t had the chance to do it all week, and more than ever she needed to today.

For ten months of the year tasteful classical instrumental music was piped discreetly through the store’s speakers. The other two months it was Christmas favourites. And in the magnificent Christmas store-within-the-store the volume was raised that little extra notch.

Imogen loved the repeat, repeat, repeat of the songs all the day and half the night due to the extended opening hours. She knew the words to all of them and hummed along. Head bent, she stood by the grotto and put the final fold on one of her trademark origami boxes to put a tiny present in.

‘Ms Hall.’ An American accent, all sarcastically polite, interrupted her. ‘May I have a word?’

‘One moment, Mr Taylor. I’ll just finish up.’

She tucked the boy’s gift in the box and quickly round ribbon around it, curling the ends and fluffing them to sit just so. Reluctantly she handed the present over to the smiling customer. Then she went to her boss stood, waiting amongst the dazzlingly decorated Christmas trees.

Mr Taylor did not look happy. ‘What exactly are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she retorted.

‘I think we pay you a little more than we pay the spotty teens who come into gift wrap.’

‘Are you suggesting it’s a waste of my valuable time?’

‘Precisely.’

‘Well, Mr Taylor, you’re wrong. And not one of our teens is spotty—you know that.’

‘Actually, Ms Hall, I was looking at anyone but you.’

‘ActuallyMr Taylor—’ she sidestepped the dangerous whisper ‘—this is my lunch break. I am free to do as I like. And I like to gift wrap.’

His glaring blue eyes took on a thoughtful tinge. ‘Well, seeing I’ve eaten into your precious personal time, perhaps you’d better have an extra five minutes.’

‘Thank you, Mr Taylor.’ She accepted his defeat with extreme graciousness. ‘I’ll do exactly that.’

She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away, and focused on wrapping the boxed China tea set that the lovely old lady next in the queue had placed on the table.

Two minutes later Ryan reappeared and stood in her line.

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