by Ellen March
Antonia hung her head and tears of defeat tracked their way down her face. She knew she couldn’t change his mind. He was stubborn and arrogant. But so was she. I may have lost this battle, but not the war, she swore to herself.
“Whatever you say,” she muttered aloud to Roman, dabbing at her eyes. She hoped her mascara hadn’t smudged.
“Good, I’m glad you agree with me,” he said, before moving on to the subject of his new secretary. “And what I want to know now is if that horrendous creature upstairs can type.”
“Yes I can!” Sally stood at the doorway, her face stained red with a mixture of anger and humiliation.
Roman’s head jerked up when he realized she’d overheard his crass remark. He hadn’t meant it. It was his temper taking hold again that had caused him to malign her. He had the grace to feel a flood of shame wash over him.
Paul pretended to turn his attention back to his magazine to hide his own embarrassment over their encounter.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” apologized Roman, disgusted with himself. She didn’t deserve that remark. It wasn’t her fault that Antonia was a jealous bitch.
“Yes you did or you wouldn’t have said it,” she said. Her delivery was clipped and her voice was quiet. Raising her head, she glared at him, the effect dimmed by her thick glasses. She’d been called names all her life. Yet at times such as this, unkind words still had the ability to cut deep. “What you’re sorry about is that I heard you.”
Paul glanced up and tried not to laugh at the look of shock on Roman’s face. Always so confident and in control, Roman was speechless for the first time in his thirty-two years.
Chapter Four
Antonia stared back and forth between Roman and Sally before galvanising herself into action. Confident the girl was no threat, she could afford to be charitable. “Come with me, Sally. I’ll show you around the house, in particular where you’ll be working.” Collecting her bag, Antonia gave Roman a brief, longing glance and ushered Sally out, away from the kitchen.
Roman watched them go, feeling a ridiculous need to make a heartfelt apology because he knew damn well the words she’d spoken had been the truth.
“Phew, never thought I’d see the day you were struck dumb,” Paul teased, relieved the awkward moment had passed. He folded his magazine and rose to leave; his work wasn’t going to get done with him sitting around in the kitchen.
But it had been an interesting few minutes.
“Tell me about it,” agreed Roman, running a hand through his dark hair, distracted.
“Well, you’ve broken up with the bitch and insulted your new secretary in under five minutes. What’s next?” he asked with a cheeky wink. He’d been friends with Roman too long not to speak his mind.
“Think I’ll get out of here for a while. I could do with a good ride.” He stretched, arching his back and trying to relieve the tension in the bunched muscles across his shoulders. He’d been confident his new secretary would be stunning eye candy.
“Thought you did that last night.” Paul laughed good-naturedly. “I still can’t work out why you ever bothered screwing that bitch, Antonia, though.”
Roman shook his head. There was no love lost between the two of them. Antonia was homophobic and Paul simply detested her. “I meant, I’m going to ride a horse. You’re making out like I’m always up for it.”
A smile tugged at Paul’s lips. He and Roman had gone through college together. He had failed and proved a disaster in business, but Roman had thrived, building a fitness empire from nothing. Roman still kept a close eye on it, but these days he could afford the luxury of sitting back and paying other people to run it for him. Yet he still kept his hands firmly on the reins.
“You are,” Paul said with conviction.
A smirk rolled over Roman’s lips. “Come on, I’ll walk over to the stables with you.” He looked forward to taking out Facet, the huge chestnut stallion. He was a vicious and unpredictable brute of a horse, but somehow Roman couldn’t let him go. He loved the challenge and never knowing when Facet was going to retaliate or be obedient, depending entirely on his mood.
* * *
Sally trailed behind Antonia, listening to her drone on about the house. She observed the multiple rooms without much interest. The house was huge. Why would one man need so much space? She thought about her undersized flat, which resembled a postage stamp compared to this heap of stones.
“How many people live here?” she felt obliged to ask, interrupting Antonia’s flow.
“Just Roman, Paul, and now you,” supplied Antonia. This was why she couldn’t risk having anyone good-looking stay at the house. There would be no one to keep tabs on her. “Sometimes I sleep over, but I’ve got an apartment a few miles from here.” She subtly omitted the information about where she slept when she stayed over.
“Do many people work for him?”
“I assume you mean here at the house,” Antonia continued without waiting for an answer. “Only Marilyn, the cook. But she’s off today so you won’t get to meet her just yet. Can you cook?” The question blasted out of the blue.
Sally thought back to the disasters she’d concocted. Somehow she couldn’t get the knack of it. Even a simple beans on toast recipe turned into a charred nightmare. “A bit. Not too good at it, though,” she hedged.
“Good, you can make them food tonight. Our housekeeper has the day off. I’ll show you where everything is before I leave. I was going to make chilli, but something’s come up.” She winced, thinking back to Roman’s harsh words. She was determined to make him eat them.
“Yeah, okay, no problem,” lied Sally, not wanting to cause ripples at this early stage in her employment. Norma’s warning still rung in her ears.
“Good.” Antonia moved along the landing. “Which room did Roman give you?”
Sally pointed.
“I see. Well, that’s Roman’s bedroom directly across the way. Don’t be surprised if you hear some noises coming from there.”
Sally cricked her head and wondered what she was talking about. “Like what?”
“He tends to have a rather busy nocturnal lifestyle,” she said, her pale eyes cold and hard. “Anyway, let’s go back down and I’ll show you the grounds.”
Sally frowned in understanding, a blush staining her cheeks. She just prayed she wasn’t going to hear him screwing some female senseless. “Where will I be working?” She followed Antonia back downstairs and through a long hallway that resembled a maze. Sally was convinced she’d never find her way around.
“Here.” Antonia pointed to a small, austere room overlooking the gardens in the front yard and the kennels to the side. The small desk was covered with an assortment of papers and a laptop. “You can sort things out when you get in here.”
Speeding past the office, Antonia returned to the kitchen and wandered out into the sunshine. “Do you swim?” She indicated the huge pool. The paved area surrounding the pool was awash with an abundance of colourful shrubs, and flowers overflowed from large wooden planters.
“Yes.” But Sally knew there was no way she would be stripping in front of Roman, or anyone else for that matter. If she got in the water it would be under the cover of darkness, when no one could see her. Her longing gaze swept over the inviting water. She could almost feel the cool caress on her skin.
“How large are the grounds?” Sally asked, in a rapid change of subject. They seemed to go on forever.
“Don’t know. I guess quite a few acres. Over there is the ménage area, for the horses, and here are the stables. To the left is Paul’s domain of greenhouses.” She ambled up the grassy incline towards them.
“Oh, I love horses! I wish I could ride,” Sally cried in excitement, her bright green eyes sparkling. They were hidden behind tinted lenses that switched from light to dark when exposed to sunlight. “How many has he got?” She admired the huge chestnut horse tethered to a metal ring outside the barn.
“Only a couple. The mares are p
robably out in the field behind the stable. That’s Facet,” Antonia said, without emotion. Next to Paul, animals were her least favourite living creatures. Like Paul, they were disgusting and vile and did nothing for her.
“I’d love to learn to ride. Never had the time or the money.” She was already rifling with a manic frenzy in her deep pockets, sure she had an old pack of sweets in there somewhere. At last she fished them out. After opening the package of Polos, she walked up to the big horse. He turned his huge head to her with an almost quizzical expression, his ears flicking back and forth.
She offered him the candy, which he accepted with surprising gentleness. She stood in front of him and stroked the white blaze running down the front of his large head. “Who’s a pretty boy then?” she chirped. His silky coat was hot beneath her hand. It gleamed a burnished copper in the bright sun.
* * *
Paul walked around the corner and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Sally, standing before Facet. His face blanched as he motioned to Roman. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Roman stared, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew full well what the horse was capable of. “For the love of God, she hasn’t been here a day and she’s putting years on me.” He trod silently towards them and threw Antonia a glare. “What the hell are you doing, letting her go up to him?” He deliberately kept his voice low.
“Well, he’s tied up. What’s wrong?” Still angry with him, she shrugged her shoulder without concern and continued examining her nails.
“Give me strength,” he muttered. Without taking his eyes from Sally and the horse, he sidled up to her. Careful not to spook the stallion, Roman attempted to put himself between her and Facet.
“Hey, don’t be so rude.” She pushed past him, determined not to lose her place so she could feed the horse another sweet.
“Christ almighty, will you get away from him? The horse is dangerous.”
“What, like your dogs?” Wrapping her arms around the horse’s massive neck, Sally pressed her face against his coat. It felt soft beneath her cheek, and she inhaled the unique smell of horse and hay. Finally letting him go, she gave him one last pat and stepped away, remembering Roman was her boss after all.
At this rate she’d be sacked before the end of the day.
“He’s all yours.” Sally moved backwards, not seeing the bucket until she tripped over it. With a startled shriek, she landed on her back and stared up into Roman’s thunderous face. Scrambling to her feet, she brushed the traces of straw off her butt. “Sorry, accident.”
Roman shook his head and untied Facet before leaping nimbly into the saddle.
“Oh, by the way, Roman,” called Antonia, “I’m leaving early today, so Sally will be making dinner tonight.”
He rolled his eyes, wondering if she’d manage to find her way around the kitchen. Never in his life had he met anyone so clumsy.
* * *
The afternoon sped by while Sally worked her way through the tedious chore of sorting papers. She paused, a grin crossing her features. This office, though small, knocked the socks off her work station at Normandy. She hated the open plan design. This room had a warm welcoming feel, from the large mahogany desk littered with paperwork to the dark pink paper that covered the walls. The floor gleamed—the rich scent of beeswax filling the air—though most of it was covered by a large, multi-coloured rug. She glanced with longing out the window before leaning out and breathing in the fresh air. Peeping down at her watch, she realized she’d better leave her small office and make a start on the food.
She stood in the middle of the oversized kitchen with her hands dug deep in her pockets, her eyes sweeping over the walls of cabinets. Staring with dread at the huge range, she wondered why she hadn’t just admitted the truth.
She was a disaster in the kitchen.
Pausing, she amended that thought. She was a disaster at almost everything.
Wandering around the huge area, she opened a variety of doors before slamming them shut. She wished the kitchen wasn’t so big. She felt as if she’d walked miles searching for something to cook. Then she discovered the freezer. Digging in, she pulled out a medley of food and set about trying to make dinner.
* * *
Roman had enjoyed his time out riding. He’d galloped over the rugged moors that lay at the base of the range of Black Mountains that rose in the distance. They’d flown at an exhilarating speed, yet Roman had still felt the need to rid his body of excess energy. He returned to the yard and spent the next hour rubbing Facet down before releasing him into the field.
Joining Paul, he ambled slowly towards the house.
“Is that smoke?” Paul asked, coming to an abrupt halt. Raising a hand over his eyes, he squinted in disbelief at the black curls filtering out of the kitchen’s open windows and door.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, what’s she done now?” Roman raced towards the kitchen. The alarm was beeping with a high-pitched scream as he burst through the door and breathed in the dark acrid air. Paul followed close behind.
Batting at the smoke in an effort to disperse it, he stared with angry detachment at Sally. She was standing tip-toe on a stool, trying to swipe at the alarm.
“What the hell are you doing now?” he shouted, coming up behind her.
Whirling around, Sally screamed and toppled from her precarious perch. With a loud whoosh, she landed on top of him and they both hit the floor. Roman took the impact of her body and wondered if he’d survive her employment.
Paul burst out laughing, rubbing at his stinging eyes. He soon found that there was no actual fire. But the sight of Roman spread-eagled and flat on his back had to be a first.
“Are you all right?” Paul yelled over the alarm. Taking Sally by the hand, he hauled her to her feet. He tried not to look down at Roman’s furious face and flashing eyes.
Leaning over and bracing her hands on her knees, she nodded her head and coughed as she pointed up at the irritating noise.
Roman reached up and flicked it off. “Do you mind telling me how you nearly burned down my kitchen?” He placed his hands on hips, his gaze burning over her.
“I forgot I left the grill on. I’d put bacon under it, and when everything went up in flames, I tried to put it out.” Stumbling over her words, she tried to explain. “And then the beans in the saucepan burned, and there was all this smoke, and oh shit ….” She raced to the oven and flicked it off. “I forgot the chips,” she said lamely, eyeing the charred remains.
She stared at them both for the first time and choked down her embarrassment, noting their pained expressions.
“Do me a favour, don’t ever try cooking here again,” sighed Roman, shaking his head in disbelief. “Paul, I think we’ll order take-away tonight.”
“Look, I’m really sorry. It’s just that I’m not very good in the kitchen.” She flicked her gaze down at her scruffy trainers.
“That’s an understatement,” Roman agreed and shook his head, deciding she wasn’t good at anything. “I’m going up for a shower and when I come back I want to see you type for myself. Because so far you don’t appear to be capable of anything,” he said, storming out of the kitchen.
“Think he’s a bit cross?” asked Sally as she turned to Paul, who stood by the door breathing in the fresh air.
“Yep, you could say that.” At her downcast face, he felt a surge of sympathy. “Don’t worry, he’ll calm down. So what do you fancy, Chinese or Indian?”
She shrugged her shoulders, a blanket of despair wrapped around her. “I’ll eat anything. Surprise me.” Her face wrinkled in horror at the mess on the range. “I’d better clean that lot up before I see him again.” She picked up the burnt saucepan, its contents charred and unrecognizable, and searched around for the bin. Dinner was beyond salvage.
* * *
An hour later she sat at the desk, the laptop open and her fingers poised on the keyboard. A shudder of anxiety rolled over her. Roman leaned against the wall, his arms folded
in front of him.
“Well, go on, let’s see you type,” he urged. He was convinced she was useless but wanted to witness it for himself before he sacked her.
“What do you want me to type?” she asked, wishing he’d sit down instead of towering over her. Even though he was a few feet away, his presence unnerved her. There was just so much of him.
He picked up a letter and began to read it off, staring in disbelief as her fingers skimmed lightly across the keys, so fast he was mesmerized by the action. Moving behind her, he leaned over, checking to make sure she hadn’t just been hitting random keys.
Sally could feel the heat of his body—he was so close—and smell the earthy aftershave he wore, along with the fresh aroma of soap. He was sending her senses into overdrive. With a shaking hand she picked up her glass of water.
“Well at least you can type,” he breathed with relief, his words so close to her ear that a warm caress blistered across her skin. Sally jumped, spilling the glass onto the laptop. She stared in horror at the water spreading over the keyboard seconds before the screen fluttered and went blank.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” Turning, she peered into his dark brown eyes that now sparked black. His face appeared to be set in granite, and a muscle ticked at the side of his face. “Er, are you insured?” she asked, glancing down at the wrecked machine, willing it to come back to life.
But she’d killed it, drowned the life out of it.
Roman glared at her, and without answering turned and stormed out of the room.
Chapter Five
Paul sat in the comfort of the soft leather settee, his feet propped up on a matching stool. He was sipping from a glass of wine when Sally managed to find him and glanced up when she walked in. Flicking the remote, he turned down the sound on the huge plasma TV that almost covered the wall.