Unlocking Her Boss's Heart

by Christy McKellen

Come to think of it, she was a little surprised about him finishing early to meet a friend in town. He’d never done that before, always continuing to work as she packed up for the day and—she strongly suspected—on into the evening. That would certainly account for the dark circles under his eyes. And his irascible mood.

  The man appeared to be a workaholic.

  After an hour of working through some truly tedious data inputting, Cara got up to make them both a hot drink, aware that Max must be parched by now from having to talk almost continuously since he’d begun his call.

  Returning with the drinks, she sat back down at her desk to see she had an email from the friend that had called her earlier about the flat for rent.

  Hmm. That couldn’t be a good sign; she’d already mailed the details through earlier.

  With a sinking feeling, she opened it up and scanned the text, her previously restored mood slipping away.

  The flat had already been let.

  An irrational impulse to cry gripped her and she got up quickly and made for the bathroom before the tears came, desperate to hide her despondency from Max.

  Staring into the mirror, she attempted to talk herself down from her gloom. Her friend Sarah had offered to put her up on her sofa for a few days, so she at least had somewhere to stay in the interim. The only trouble was, her friend lived in a tiny place that she shared with her party animal boyfriend and he wouldn’t want her hanging around, playing gooseberry, for too long.

  The mere idea of renting with strangers at the ripe old age of twenty-seven horrified her, so she was going to have to be prepared to lower her standards to be in with a chance of finding another one-bedroom flat that she could afford in central London.

  That was okay; she could do that. Hopefully, something would come up soon and then she’d be able to make some positive changes and get fully back on her feet.

  Surely it was time for things to start going her way now?

  CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER MAKING UP the excuse about seeing a friend on Friday night in order to let Cara leave early, Max decided that he might as well phone around to see if anyone was available for a pint after work and actually surprised himself by having an enjoyable night out with some friends that he hadn’t seen for a while.

  He’d spent the rest of the weekend working, only breaking to eat his way through the entire contents of the fridge that Cara had stocked for him. Despite his initial disdain at her choices, he found he actually rather enjoyed trying the things she’d bought. They certainly beat the mediocre takeaways he’d been living on for the past few months.

  Perhaps it was useful for him to have someone else around the house for a while, as Poppy had suggested the last time they’d seen each other. He’d baulked at her proposal that he should get back out on the dating scene though—he definitely wasn’t ready for that, and honestly couldn’t imagine ever being ready.

  He and Jemima had been a couple since meeting at the beginning of their first year at university, their initial connection so immediate and intense they’d missed lectures for three days running to stay in bed together. They’d moved in with each other directly after graduating, making a home for themselves first in Manchester, then in London. After spending so much of his youth being moved from city to city, school to school, by his bohemian mother—until he finally put his foot down and forced her to send him to boarding school—it had been a huge relief to finally feel in control of his own life. To belong somewhere, with someone who wouldn’t ask him to give up the life and friends he’d painstakingly carved out for himself—just one more time.

  Jemima had understood his need for stability and had put up with his aversion to change with sympathetic acceptance and generous bonhomie. His life had been comfortably settled and he’d been deeply content—until she’d died, leaving him marooned and devastated by grief.

  The idea of finding someone he could love as much as Jem seemed ludicrous. No one could ever replace his wife and it wouldn’t be fair to let them try.

  No, he would be fine on his own; he had his business and his friends and that would be enough for him.

  Walking past the flower arrangement that Cara had left on the hall table on his way to sort through yesterday’s junk mail, he had a memory flash of the expression on her face when he’d bawled her out in the kitchen the other day.

  His chest tightened uncomfortably at the memory.

  He needed to stop beating himself up about that now. He’d made amends for what had happened, even if she hadn’t seemed entirely back to her happy, bright-eyed self again by the time she’d left on Friday afternoon. But at least he hadn’t needed to delve into the murky waters of how they were both feeling about what had happened. He’d had enough of that kind of thing after forcing himself through the interminable sessions with grief counsellors after Jemima’s death; he certainly didn’t need to put himself through that discomfort again for something as inconsequential as a spat with his employee.

  Fortunately, Cara seemed as reluctant to talk about it all as he was.

  Rubbing a hand over his face, he gave a snort of disbelief about where his thoughts had taken him. Again. Surely it wasn’t normal to be spending his weekend thinking about his PA.

  Hmm.

  His initial concerns about her being an unwanted distraction seemed to be coming to fruition, which was a worry. Still, there were only a few more weeks left of the promised trial period, then he’d be free of her. Until then he was going to have to keep his head in the game, otherwise the business was going to suffer. And that wasn’t something he was prepared to let happen.

  * * *

  Monday morning rushed around, bringing with it bright sunshine that flooded the house and warmed the still, cool air, lifting his spirits a little.

  Max had just sat down at his desk with his first cup of coffee of the day when there was a ring on the doorbell.

  Cara.

  Swinging open the door to let her in, he was taken aback to see her looking as if she hadn’t slept a wink all night. There were dark circles around her puffy eyes and her skin was pallid and dull-looking. It seemed to pain her to even raise a smile for him.

  Was she hung-over?

  His earlier positivity vanished, to be replaced by a feeling of disquiet.

  ‘Did you have a good weekend?’ he asked as she walked into the house and hung up her coat.

  She gave him a wan smile. ‘Not bad, thanks. It was certainly a busy one. I didn’t get much sleep.’

  Hmm. So she had been out partying, by the sound of it.

  Despite his concerns, Cara appeared to work hard all day and he only caught her yawning once whilst making them both a strong cup of coffee in the kitchen, mid-afternoon.

  At the end of the day, she waved her usual cheery goodbye, though there was less enthusiasm in her smile than she normally displayed at knocking-off time.

  To his horror, she turned up in the same state the following day.

  And the next.

  In fact, on Thursday, when he opened the door, he could have sworn he caught the smell of alcohol on her as she dashed past him into the house. She certainly looked as though she could have been up drinking all night and plainly hadn’t taken a shower that morning, her hair hanging greasy and limp in a severely pulled back ponytail.

  Her work was beginning to suffer too, in increments. Each day he found he had to pick her up on more and more things she’d missed or got wrong, noticing that her once pristine fingernails were getting shorter and more ragged as time went on.

  Clearly she was letting whatever was happening in her personal life get in the way of her work and that was unacceptable.

  His previous feelings of magnanimity about having her around had all but vanished by Thursday afternoon and he was seriously considering having a word with her about her performanc
e. The only reason he hadn’t done so already was because he’d been so busy with back-to-back conference calls this week and in deference to Poppy he’d decided to give Cara the benefit of the doubt and put her slip-ups down to a couple of off days.

  But he decided that enough was enough when he found her with her head propped on her arms, fast asleep, on the kitchen table when she was supposed to be making them both a hot drink.

  Resentment bubbled up from his gut as he watched her peaceful form gently rise and fall as she slumbered on, totally oblivious to his incensed presence behind her. He’d been feeling guilty all weekend about how he’d spoken to her on Friday and here she was, only a few days later, turning up unfit for work.

  His concern that her presence here would cause more harm than good had just been ratified.

  ‘Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty!’ he said loudly, feeling a swell of angry satisfaction as she leapt up from the table and spun around to look at him, her face pink and creased on one side where it had rested against her arm.

  ‘Oh! Whoa! Was I sleeping?’ she mumbled, blinking hard.

  Crossing his arms, he gave her a hard stare. ‘Like a baby.’

  She rubbed a hand across her eyes, smudging her make-up across her face. ‘I’m so sorry—I only put my head down to rest for a moment while I was waiting for the kettle to boil and I must have drifted off.’

  ‘Perhaps you should start going to bed at a more reasonable time then,’ he ground out, his hands starting to shake as adrenaline kicked its way through his veins. ‘I didn’t hire you as a charity case, Cara. For the money I’m paying, I expected much more from you. You had me convinced you were up to the job in the first couple of days, but it’s become clear over the last few that you’re not.’ He took a breath as he made peace with what he was about to say. ‘I’m going to have to let you go. I can’t carry someone who’s going to get drunk every night and turn up unfit to work.’

  Her eyes were wide now and she was mouthing at him as if her response had got stuck in her throat.

  Shaking off the stab of conscience that had begun to poke him in the back, he pointed a finger at her. ‘And you can hold the “It’ll never happen again” routine,’ he bit out. ‘I’m not an idiot, though I feel like one for letting you take me in like this.’

  To his surprise, instead of the tears he was readying himself for, her expression morphed into one of acute fury and she raised her own shaking finger back at him.

  ‘I do not get drunk every night. For your information, I’m homeless at the moment and sleeping on a friend’s couch, which doesn’t work well for her insomniac boyfriend, who likes to party and play computer games late into the night and who came home drunk and spilled an entire can of beer over me while I was trying to sleep and who then hogged the bathroom this morning so I couldn’t get in there for a shower.’

  Her face had grown redder and redder throughout this speech and all he could do was stand there and stare at her, paralysed by surprise as she jabbed her finger at him with rage flashing in her eyes.

  ‘I’ve worked my butt off for you, taking your irascible moods on the chin and getting on with it, but I’m not going to let you treat me like some nonentity waster. I’m a real person with real feelings, Max. I tried to make this work—you have no idea how hard I’ve been trying—but I guess this is just life’s way of telling me that I’m done here in London.’ She threw up her hands and took a deep shaky breath. ‘After all the work I put into building myself a career here that I was so proud of—’

  Taking in the look of utter frustration on her face, he felt his anger begin to drain away, only to be replaced with an uncomfortable twist of shame.

  She was right, of course—he had been really unfriendly and probably very difficult to work with, and she was clearly dealing with some testing personal circumstances, which he’d made sure to blithely ignore.

  He frowned and sighed heavily, torn about what to do next. While he could do without any extra problems at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to turn her away now he knew what she was dealing with. Because, despite it all, he admired her for standing up for herself.

  * * *

  Cara willed her heart to stop pounding like a pneumatic drill as she waited to see what Max would say next.

  Had she really just shouted at him like that?

  It was so unlike her to let her anger get the better of her, but something inside her had snapped at the unfairness of it all and she hadn’t been able to hold back.

  After spending the past few days using every ounce of energy keeping up the fake smile and pretending she could cope with the punishing days with Max on so little sleep, she’d hit a wall.

  Hard.

  The mix of panic, frustration and chronic tiredness had released something inside her and in those moments after she’d let the words fly she had the strangest sensation of the ground shifting under her feet. She was painfully aware that she’d probably just thrown away any hope of keeping this job, but at the same time she was immensely proud of herself for not allowing him to dismiss her like that. As if she was worth nothing.

  Because she wasn’t.

  She deserved to be treated with more respect and she’d learnt by now that she wasn’t going to get that from Max by meekly taking the insults he so callously dished out.

  At her last place of work, in a fug of naïve disbelief, she’d allowed those witches to strip her of her pride, but there was no way she was letting Max do that to her, too.

  No matter what it cost her.

  She could get another job—and she would, eventually—but she’d never be able to respect herself again if she didn’t stand up to him now.

  Her heart raced as she watched a range of expressions run across Max’s face. The fact that he hadn’t immediately repeated his dismissal gave her hope that there might be a slim chance he’d reverse his decision to fire her.

  Moving her hands behind her back, she crossed her fingers for a miracle, feeling a bead of sweat run down her spine.

  Sighing hard, Max ran a hand through the front of his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and looking at her with his usual expression of ill-concealed irritation.

  ‘I’m guessing you became homeless on Friday, which is when the mistakes started to happen?’ he asked finally.

  She nodded, aware of the tension in her shoulders as she held her nerve. ‘I spent all day on Sunday moving my furniture into storage. I’ve been staying with my friend Sarah and her boyfriend ever since.’

  ‘But that can’t carry on,’ he said with finality to his voice.

  Swallowing hard, she tipped up her chin. ‘No. I know. I’ve tried to view so many places to rent in the last week, but they seem to go the second they’re advertised. I can’t get to them fast enough.’

  He crossed his arms. ‘And you have nowhere else to stay in London? No boyfriend? No family?’

  Shaking her head, she straightened her posture, determined to hang on to her poise. She wouldn’t look away, not now she’d been brave enough to take him on. If she was going to be fired, she was going down with her head held high. ‘My parents live in Cornwall and none of my other friends in London have room to put me up.’ She shifted uncomfortably on the spot and swallowed back the lingering hurt at the memory of her last disastrous relationship. ‘I’ve been single for a few months now.’

  He stared back at her, his eyes hooded and his brow drawn down.

  A world of emotions rattled through her as she waited to hear his verdict.

  ‘Okay. You can stay here until you find a flat to rent.’

  She gawped at him, wondering whether her brain was playing tricks on her. ‘I’m sorry—what?’

  ‘I said—you can stay here,’ he said slowly, enunciating every word. ‘I have plenty of spare rooms. I’m on the top floor so you could have the whole middle flo
or to yourself.’

  ‘Really?’

  He bristled, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and letting out a frustrated snort. ‘Yes, really. I’m not just making this up to see your impression of a goldfish.’

  She stared at him even harder. Had he just made a joke? That was definitely a first.

  Unfolding his arms, he batted a hand through the air. ‘I’m sure it won’t take you long to find somewhere else and until then I need you turning up to work fully rested and back to your efficient, capable self.’

  Her eyes were so wide now she felt sure she must look as if she was wearing a pair of those joke goggle-eye glasses.

  He was admitting to her being good at her job too now? Wonders would never cease.

  But she was allowing these revelations to distract her from the decision she needed to make. Could she really live in the same house as her boss? Even if it was only for a short time.

  Right now, it didn’t feel as though she had much of a choice. The thought of spending even one more night in Party Central made her heart sink. If she turned Max down on his offer, that was the only other viable option—save staying in a hotel she couldn’t afford or renting a place a long way out and spending her life commuting in. Neither of them were appealing options.

  But could she really live here with him? The mere idea of it made her insides flutter and it wasn’t just because he was a bit of a difficult character. During the week and a half that she’d known him, she’d become increasingly jittery in his presence, feeling a tickle of excitement run up her spine every time she caught his scent in the air or even just watched him move around his territory like some kind of lean, mean, business machine. Not that he’d ever given her a reason to think she was in any kind of danger being there alone with him. Clearly, he had no interest in her romantically. If anything, she’d felt it had been the total opposite for him, as if he didn’t think of her as a woman at all, only a phone-answering, data-sorting robot.

  So she was pretty sure he didn’t have an ulterior motive behind his suggestion that she should stay in his house.