by Helen Brooks
Not that her agreement was any cause for concern—Lucas Kane was as likely to offer her the job as a trip to the moon. She nodded to the thought, faintly comforted but still trembling slightly.
She didn’t know how anyone could survive working for such a man; he was too cold, too ruthless and overtly powerful to be human.
But the money was good. She shut her eyes for a second, thinking of the speed in which the remainder of Graham’s debts could be settled if she had a salary like the one Lucas Kane had mentioned coming in every month. She and Melody could think about moving out of the grotty little bedsit they were forced to call home, and with a car—a BMW, he had said, hadn’t he?—travelling would be a pleasure.
The lift glided to a halt and her eyes snapped open. Enough daydreaming. She stepped into the foyer and walked determinedly towards the far doors without looking to left or right. It wasn’t going to happen—furthermore, she didn’t want it to happen, she told herself firmly.
She would soon get another job and eventually, one day, she would be clear of the burden which hung like a great millstone round her neck. And she had Melody. She thought of her daughter’s sweet little face and felt a flood of love sweep through her, dispelling all the heartache. Yes, she had Melody, and compared to Lucas Kane with all his millions that made her the richest woman on earth.
CHAPTER TWO
‘SO, ALL in all an unmitigated disaster, then?’ Maggie said with forced brightness. ‘Never mind, pet; on to the next one, eh? I get the car back from the garage tomorrow, so if you want to borrow it you can. Friday’s the next interview, isn’t it?’
Kim nodded. She was standing drinking a hasty cup of coffee in Maggie’s ultra-modern kitchen before she left to pick up Melody from the Octopus club her daughter attended after school. ‘At the accountant’s on the corner of the street where I live, actually,’ she answered with matching brightness, ‘so I shan’t need the car. The accountant’s would be much handier than Kane Electrical, travel-wise.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And it’s a small place—just three or four work there, I think—so it’s bound to be friendlier than a big firm like Kane’s.’
‘Definitely.’
‘Oh, Maggie.’ Kim put down her flamboyant mug painted with enormous red cherries abruptly and stared into her friend’s bright blue eyes. ‘All that money, and a car and everything.’
‘Don’t forget Lucas Kane goes with the deal.’ Maggie was trying to find something positive to say about the lost chance of the century.
‘I could put up with him,’ Kim answered miserably. ‘If it meant being able to move out of the bedsit and get somewhere with a garden for Melody I could put up with just about anything.’
‘I know.’ Maggie put a sympathetic hand on Kim’s arm for a moment. ‘But anyone has only got to see you two together for a minute to know that Melody has something all the money in the world can’t buy. There’s an awful lot of kids with gardens and a nursery full of toys who have rotten childhoods, lass, with parents who don’t give a damn.’
Maggie’s Northern accent was always at its strongest when she was in earnest about something, and now Kim smiled into the round homely face as she said, ‘Thanks, Maggie. You’re one in a million.’
‘Just repeat that in Pete’s ear, would you? Loudly!’
Pete was Maggie’s boyfriend of five years’ standing who was incredibly inventive in avoiding any mention of commitment and settling down, much to Maggie’s increasing exasperation. He worked as a stockbroker—a successful one, by all accounts—and occupied the flat above Maggie’s, which was how the two of them had first met.
‘I thought you were going to have a chat with him over the weekend? Lay it on the line about how you feel?’ Kim said quietly, forgetting her own troubles for a moment as she looked into Maggie’s sky-blue gaze. Pete commuted into London every day and arrived back at the flat well after eight each night, so any serious talking was always left until the weekends.
‘I was.’ Maggie shrugged her meaty shoulders disconsolately. ‘But he wasn’t feeling well—a touch of flu, I think—and I was snowed under with work anyway, so it perhaps wasn’t the right time.’
Maggie was an interior designer and her star was rising in the career sense if not in her lovelife.
‘He doesn’t know how lucky he is, that’s the trouble,’ Kim said stoutly, finishing the last of the coffee in one gulp and placing the mug on Maggie’s gleaming worktop.
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing myself,’ Maggie agreed wryly. ‘Working from home is great in all sorts of ways but he knows I’m always here, no matter what, just waiting for him to come back from the City. The way he carries on sometimes, you’d think he was a Viking returning from a far distant land—he’s such a drama queen! In his opinion, he’s the high-flyer taking chances, on the cutting edge and all that, and I’m good old dependable Maggie with nothing to do but get ready with his pipe and slippers.’
‘The short, sharp shock treatment might wake him up, if you can think of something not too life-threatening,’ Kim advised with a grin. ‘I’m sure he does love you, Maggie.’
‘Ah, but how much, lass—that’s the sixty-four dollar question, isn’t it? I’m getting on for thirty; I can’t wait around for ever!’
‘I must go; Melody will be out soon.’ Kim gave Maggie a quick hug and made for the door. ‘Ring me later if you fancy a chat.’
‘Even if it’s just to moan about Pete?’
‘Course. What else are friends for?’
Kim found herself sprinting the last hundred yards or so along the cold streets to the school, although there was no need; she was in plenty of time. She had always made sure—no matter how hectic or difficult her day or how heavy her workload—that either she or Maggie was there before time to pick up Melody.
Melody’s huge, thickly lashed brown eyes were searching for her the second her daughter walked out of the school doors, and as the small face lit up and a little red-mittened hand waved frantically Kim felt a lump in her throat at the unabashed love on the tiny face so like her own.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Melody fairly flew across the playground and into Kim’s waiting arms. ‘Guess what? I’m going to be Mary in the Nativity and have a white dress and tinsel in my hair. Mrs Jones picked me specially.’
‘That’s wonderful, darling.’
‘She said she can trust me not to be silly,’ Melody continued solemnly. ‘Cory Chambers was very silly today; she stuck a crayon up her nose and Mrs Jones couldn’t get it down and Cory was crying her head off. Mrs Jones had to get her mummy.’
The chatter continued during the ten-minute walk to their bedsit, situated in a terraced street which was grim by any standards. A young married couple and several students occupied the other four bedsits the narrow, three-storey house contained, with a shared bathroom for all occupants on the top floor next to Kim’s room.
The fact that the bathroom was right next door for Melody and that their elevated position cut out the possibility of noisy neighbours overhead were two small advantages in their somewhat miserable surroundings, but Kim fought a constant war against mould and damp, ancient plumping and poor lighting. It wasn’t so bad in the summer, but the two winters they had spent at the house had been abysmal.
Kim had made their home as bright and attractive as she could with the minimum of expenditure, making bright red curtains and a matching duvet cover and cushions for the bed-settee she shared with Melody, and scattering several rugs over the threadbare carpet, but nothing could hide the general run-down ambience of the old building.
Once home, and with Melody settled in front of the fire with a glass of milk and a biscuit, happily watching her favourite TV programme, Kim set about preparing the evening meal. But in spite of all her efforts to the contrary she found she was constantly replaying every minute of the interview earlier that day over and over in her mind.
It had been a travesty. Her eyes narrowed and she sliced a hapless carr
ot with uncharacteristic savageness. From the second her eyes had met those of Lucas Kane in the reception area she hadn’t stood a chance. The moment she had seen who was seated behind that desk she should have turned right round and marched out with her head held high. Instead… She gritted her teeth and another carrot met the same fate as the first.
Instead she had sat there and answered his barbed questions as though she wanted his precious job, and let him walk all over her in the process.
No—no, she hadn’t, she argued in the next instant. He hadn’t had it all his own way, and besides, she did want the job. She wanted it so much she ached with it—or, rather, she wanted what the position as secretary to the chairman and managing director of Kane Electrical would do for Melody, for them both.
But it wasn’t going to happen. She added two pieces of chicken breast to the vegetables and popped the casserole in the dilapidated oven the bedsit boasted. And in spite of the huge financial rewards it was probably just as well. She couldn’t even begin to imagine herself working for Lucas Kane.
At eight that evening, when the telephone rang in the hall downstairs and Juliana—one of the students—banged on Kim’s door to say a Mr Lucas of Kane Electrical was asking for her, Kim found herself having to do just that very thing.
‘This is Mrs Allen.’ She didn’t like the fact that her voice was so breathless but hoped he would put it down to the fact that she lived on the top floor—something Juliana had apparently pointed out to him, according to the raven-haired Italian girl.
‘Lucas Kane, Mrs Allen.’ The deep husky tones were just as compelling over the telephone and she could just picture him, eyes like silver ice and mouth a hard line in the darkly attractive face, sitting at that massive desk in what must now be a deserted office block. Not that he had to be there, of course, she amended silently. He could be calling her from home, wherever that was. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything—you don’t have guests?’
Guests? Once she and Melody were ensconced in the limited space within the bedsit, there was barely room to swing a cat, Kim thought drily. ‘No, Mr Kane, I don’t have guests.’ Her voice was better this time; less of the Marilyn Monroe and more of a Katharine Hepburn briskness to it.
‘Good.’ It was cold and crisp, very much like the man himself. ‘I’m ringing you to offer you the job, Mrs Allen,’ he said, without any preamble. ‘If you haven’t changed your mind, of course.’
‘I… You—’ Pull yourself together, woman, she told herself silently. He’s obviously looking for a secretary who can string two words together! ‘That’s wonderful, Mr Kane,’ she managed faintly.
‘Then you accept?’
‘Yes—yes, I do, and thank you. Thank you very much indeed.’ She forced herself to stop babbling, realising she had gone from one extreme to the other, and took a long breath before she said more slowly, ‘When would you like me to start, Mr Kane?’
‘Well, that was one of the points in your favour, Mrs Allen, the fact that you can begin immediately,’ he said coolly. ‘June is understandably anxious to join her fiancé as soon as she can and oversee the arrangements, the wedding being in the spring, but even allowing for the possibility you are an exceptionally quick learner—’ did she detect a note of covert sarcasm there, Kim wondered, or was she getting paranoid about this man? ‘—it will take several weeks to pick up all the strings.’
‘You want me to start tomorrow?’ she asked with a calm she was far from feeling.
‘I was going to suggest Monday, to give you time to make any provision for your daughter which might be necessary, but if you are able to come into the office tomorrow that would be excellent. June normally arrives about nineish, so any time after that would be fine.’
There was no trace of emotion or feeling in his voice and the lack of humanity was disconcerting, to say the least. As his personal assistant-cum-secretary, she was going to be working very closely with this intimidating machine—could she handle it? Kim asked herself frantically, before answering in the same instant, Don’t be silly, of course you can handle it. You can’t miss the chance of a lifetime through sheer cowardice.
‘I’ll be there, Mr Kane,’ Kim said steadily.
‘Good. I’ll get Personnel to draw up a contract and arrange for a car to be delivered some time tomorrow so you can have it to drive home. Any particular colour you’d like?’
She almost said, Colour? before she bit the word back, but her hands were beginning to shake and her stomach was swirling with a mixture of amazement and delight at how suddenly her circumstances were changing and bone-chilling shock at her temerity. ‘I don’t know,’ she said dazedly. ‘This is all rather sudden.’
‘Has your daughter got a favourite colour?’ The deep, dark voice was as expressionless as ever, but the content of the question totally threw Kim in view of the robot asking it.
‘Blue,’ she faltered weakly.
‘Just as well it’s not shocking pink—BMW might have objected,’ came the dry response. ‘Blue it is, then, and I’ll see a child’s seat is fitted, of course. Goodnight, Mrs Allen.’
‘Goodnight, and thank you for letting me know so promptly,’ she said quickly, her head spinning.
‘A pleasure.’ It was soft and smooth, and although Kim told herself his reply was just a formal nicety, something in the silky tones sent a trickle of awareness down her spine.
He would be one sexy customer in bed. The thought—coming from nowhere as it did—horrified Kim so much it was just as well the phone had gone dead at the other end because she was quite unable to speak or move for a good thirty seconds.
Was she mad? she asked herself as she replaced the receiver with elaborate carefulness and then put both hands to her burning cheeks. Lucas Kane was her new boss and that last thought had been inappropriate to say the least. And machines weren’t sexy. Powerful maybe, frightening sometimes, and certainly cold and efficient, but definitely not sexy.
She stood for a moment more and then, as her agitation subsided slightly and the full knowledge of what the new job package would mean swept over her, she took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the bedsit and doing something unheard of—waking Melody from a deep sleep and dancing round the room with her daughter’s tiny body held tight in her arms.
The next morning was one of frosty brilliance, and when Kim awoke to a crystal-bright world and gazed out over the white sparkling rooftops as she fixed a hot drink for herself and Melody her heart was singing.
This was a new shiny beginning; even the weather confirmed it. She would start looking for a new place to live—a small ground-floor flat with a garden, maybe, or even a little house—this very weekend. She was going to be earning a small fortune; she could soon pay off the remaining debts, as long as she was careful, and then her life would be her own again. No more robbing Peter to pay Paul, no more working out how to make a pound stretch into two or three—oh, life was wonderful.
Once she had got Melody off to sleep again the night before she had phoned Maggie with the good news. Maggie had immediately offered to pop round early the next morning and take Melody to school, so Kim could arrive at Kane Electrical in plenty of time—the buses being unreliable at the best of times—and Kim had gratefully accepted her friend’s kind offer.
So it was that Kim arrived outside the huge building just as June West drew into the ‘Reserved for the secretary of the managing director’ spot, and the two women walked into Reception together.
‘Nervous?’
June was smiling sympathetically as she spoke and her voice was warm, and Kim smiled back weakly as she answered, ‘A little. Well, a lot, really. My previous job wasn’t anything like as high-powered as this one.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’ June was watching her closely and now, as the two women entered the lift and the doors glided shut, she added in a low tone, ‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this but there were dozens after the position, you know. Some were better-qualified than you, some were m
ore experienced, but Lucas chose you and that means, as far as he’s concerned, you are the best for the job.’
Kim knew June had meant her words to be uplifting but they had the opposite effect. All she could manage, as the lift doors opened to disgorge them into the exalted upper sanctum, was, ‘You call him Lucas? Not to his face, surely?’ She hadn’t got Lucas Kane down as being on first-name terms with his secretary somehow.
‘Sure.’ June grinned at her conspiratorially. ‘You’ll find him quite different to the public image, once you get to know him, and he hates to stand on ceremony in private. Of course, in front of other colleagues and business clients, it’s Mr Kane and Miss West, or in your case Mrs Allen.’
‘Right.’ Oh, help!
‘He’s a good boss to work for, Kim, take it from me,’ June continued easily as they walked along the corridor. ‘I wouldn’t have stayed ten years otherwise.’
‘How…how old is he?’ Kim asked nervously.
‘Thirty-seven. He took over the business when he was only twenty-five. His father, who founded the firm, got sick—cancer, I think, leukaemia or something to do with the blood, anyway—and had to have months and months of treatment. Lucas stepped in; he’d been with the firm for four years, since leaving university, but when he took charge he did so well, apparently, that his father decided to retire and let him take over permanently, and since then the business has gone from strength to strength. It was only a tenth of its present size when I started.’
June opened the door into her office, lowering her voice as she glanced towards the interconnecting door, and added, ‘He’s got a reputation for having the Midas touch, and admittedly he does have brilliant business acumen, but his competitors don’t see the endless hours he puts into the business while they’re off swanning round a golf course or having holidays in the Caribbean. He deserves every little bit of success he’s had. I don’t know anyone who works so hard.’