Outbid by the Boss

by Stephanie Browning

  “Right,” said Mia still entranced by the drama unfolding in front of her.

  Then Chas gave her the look, and the younger woman bolted for the door.

  “Business, as usual, I see,” said Sam. She was glad that, like her, Chas had come to the office in full uniform. Perfectly tailored suit, crisp white shirt, silk tie and cuff links. She knew he was the same man beneath his business attire; in fact, she knew exactly what lay beneath his suit, but while he was wearing it and holding a sheaf of papers in his hand, she had a better shot at staying in control.

  She pointed to the papers. “For me?”

  She could tell her aloofness had caught him off-guard. His jaw tightened and his eyes changed hue, from the coolest of blues to glacier grey. The lines had been drawn. But he knew as well as she did that their private lives were on full display. Sticking to business was what they did best. Keep it professional was never more apt than today, thought Sam. Hopefully, her expression matched her resolve.

  “The Manners collection. The curator is not happy with the insurance company’s evaluation. He’d like you to review the paperwork and submit an independent appraisal. End of day if possible.”

  Sam held out her hand for the file.

  Chas stepped forward, but when she grasped the file, he refused to let go. “Sam...I want to apologize and tell you how much…”

  “Please, not now…” said Sam stiffly. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  She tugged the paperwork from his hand. “I have a meeting later this morning," said Chas, "with a prospective client. And another this afternoon,” he added checking his watch. “I should be back no later than five.”

  “The file will be on your desk.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Sam, and you know it,” said Chas. She could hear the mounting frustration in his voice.

  “That’s not what I meant either,” whispered Sam.

  “Then what?”

  When she didn’t respond, he spun on his heel and marched out of her office. Sam yearned to go after him and half-rose from her chair, but Mia had appeared out of nowhere chasing after Chas with a chit of paper. Sam watched him take it from her and after a cursory glance, shove it in his pocket. He’d barely broken stride.

  She sat back down and wearily pulled the file towards her. It would be the perfect diversion for what was bound to be the most difficult day of her life.

  It was nearly six when Chas strode through the deserted showrooms at Burton-Porter, hoping against hope that the Manners account had kept Sam so busy, she’d still be in her office. Waiting for him. He’d spent most of his afternoon doodling like a school boy while the client’s lawyer droned on about estate values and tax breaks. At the end of the afternoon, Chas saw that he had covered his notepad with pictures of Sam, on the terrace, in the window seat, sitting on the paddock fence.

  He knew he had it bad, but never, ever had he sleep-walked through a meeting before, especially one with as much potential as this one had to swell the company coffers. It was another sign of how deeply in love he was with Samantha Redfern.

  Just thinking about her made his heart race faster than a thoroughbred.

  But the lights were out in her office.

  Chas stood in the doorway, berating himself for thinking she’d be waiting for him. Just as she had when he’d driven back from London to find her tearing across the meadow to meet him. But this was not Porter Hall. And they were no longer an item. Either they repaired their relationship before it was too late, or they found a way to work together again.

  He slung his suit jacket over his shoulder and loosened his tie. All he wanted to do was lean against the door jam, close his eyes and soak up the lingering scent of Sam's perfume. But that only made him realize how impossible it would be to spend his days this close to the woman he loved without holding her in his arms each night.

  With a deep groan, he forced himself to face up to the one irrefutable fact. He couldn’t live without her; he didn’t want to live without her, and he certainly wasn’t going to.

  Decision made, he headed into his office with renewed vigor, determined to make things right, no matter what. At least he had Sam’s address now, thanks to Mia. He’d call Sam first though, offer to take her out. Then beg her forgiveness. He’d even grovel if that’s what it took. Anything, if only she’d give him a second chance. But when he flicked the lights on and saw what was on his desk, the briefcase slipped from his hand. Sam was gone. And in her wake, she’d left a letter with his name on it, propped against two perfectly matched silver candlesticks.

  He strode to the desk, grabbed the envelope and tore it open. Inside was her resignation, and regret, that she could no longer remain at Burton-Porter & Sons. Like hell, she couldn’t. Chas tore her letter to shreds, scooped up the candlesticks and stormed out of his office.

  Normally, Sam enjoyed her ride home on the tube with its jostling crowds and fascinating faces, but not today. All she could think about was how loud everything seemed; the posters advertising West End theatres and high-street fashion appeared unbearably garish, and even the busker playing his violin while she waited on the platform, had irritated her.

  Her decision to make a clean break and get on with her life should have brought relief, but she felt restless and miserably unsure of herself.

  She would get off at the next station, Sam decided. Maybe walking the last few blocks to her flat would help soothe her troubled soul. But even that was a mistake. The antique and curio shops which had always drawn her in the past with their displays of fine porcelain and old silver, simply reminded her of Porter Hall.

  Evelyn and John Weekes had been kindness itself, treating her with courtesy and respecting her privacy, even though when she had first arrived, she had been nothing more than another Burton-Porter employee, an unknown who had taken up with their boss. Sam quickened her step. Evelyn, in particular, deserved a heartfelt thank you for everything she had done to support Sam. In fact, she deserved a medal, but the silver pieces Sam usually picked out for her friends would not do; that was the last thing anyone at Porter Hall needed. But flowers would be perfect, thought Sam as she arrived at her neighborhood florist.

  The bell over the door jangled as she stepped inside.

  There was nothing quite like the heady fragrance of an abundance of blooms in a small space. Lilies, freesia and orchids competed for her attention, but with the proprietor anxious to close, Sam quickly discarded the notion of sending a cut flower arrangement. She chose a lovely white miniature rose instead, as an acknowledgement of the friendship she had shared with Evelyn in the garden. After adding a note with a promise to keep in touch, Sam left the shop with a lighter heart.

  If nothing else, she had a sense of closure; but tidying up loose ends and packing her bags was the easy part. Filling the void in her heart would be a lifelong challenge. Best not dwell on it, thought Sam as she approached her building.

  But once inside her flat, she realized how impossible that would be. She kicked off her shoes and curled up in her chair. She would allow herself five minutes to wallow in self-pity and then get on with it. The tiny flat was so empty.

  Chas ran from the office, hailed a cab, and twenty-five minutes later was pounding up the stairs to Sam’s third-floor flat with the candlesticks tucked under his left arm.

  Pausing to catch his breath, Chas walked softly up the last few steps until he stood in front of her closed door. He wasn’t going to back down this time. He raised his hand and knocked. Nothing. He knocked again. Louder. Still nothing. “Sam! It’s me.” He thumped the door with the flat of his hand. “I know you're in there.”

  “Go away!”

  “No!”

  “What are you going to do? Break down the door?”

  Chas grinned. “As a matter of fact, I am... Which is what I should have done the other night!" Gritting his teeth, he took a step backwards, lowered his right shoulder and, still clutching the candlesticks, charged the door just
as it swung open. He heard Sam gasp as he flew through the entrance and crashed headlong at her feet.

  "A little overkill, don’t you think," drawled Sam. When he answered with a groan, she dropped to the floor beside him. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," said Chas. He raised himself into an upright position revealing a nasty lump on his forehead and the imprint of a silver candlestick on his cheek.

  "I am so, so sorry," cried Sam. “I didn’t think you’d actually smash the door down.”

  Chas gingerly produced the candlesticks. "I believe these are yours."

  “Not the candlesticks again,” snapped Sam. Despite her efforts to appear angry, her eyes filled. She set the offending silver on a nearby table. “I’m beginning to have a love, hate relationship with them.”

  “Somewhat like ours?” Chas prodded.

  “I see you got my note,” said Sam.

  Chas got uncomfortably to his feet. “I did, Miss Redfern, and after much consideration, have refused to accept your resignation.”

  Ignoring the bait, Sam grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and began to dab at his wound. "Let me get you some ice."

  Chas stayed her hand with his and she went very still, her senses rising to his touch.

  "Your grandparents might have been the love story my grandmother never had,” he said gently, “but this is about us, Sam. We need to put the past where it belongs and trust in each other. And that includes the candlesticks."

  “I have let go of the candlesticks,” whispered Sam. She turned away.

  Her flat was so small; it was only ten steps to the fridge. The silence was deafening above the pounding of the blood in her veins. Wanting to go to Chas. Refusing to unbend. She would not settle for anything less than the kind of love her grandparents had shared – passion laid upon a foundation of trust and deep respect.

  Hands shaking, she took ice from the tray and wrapped it in a clean cloth; she didn't hear Chas come up behind her.

  He slipped his arms around her waist and rested his head atop hers. "Do you know how much I love you? That I can’t live without you?"

  Sam nodded, letting the ice drop into the sink. She turned in his arms, looking up into the deep blue eyes that smiled into her own. There was so much to this man. He was strong and gentle, good and kind. His cold London persona was nothing more than a protective shell.

  "We're not really that different," she said softly.

  "No," said Chas. "I don't think we are. And it will take more than a candlestick to buy me off, Miss Redfern,” he whispered. His head dropped to hers and he kissed her deeply.

  A few moments later, Sam smiled up at him, eyes full of love. “So what will it take to buy you off?” she teased.

  "A lifetime. You are the only woman in the world for me, Miss Samantha Redfern, and I totally adore every inch of you, including that stubborn chin of yours.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Will you marry me?"

  Her green eyes searched his, and liked what they saw. "I love you Chas 'bloody' Porter. With all my heart. And, yes, I will marry you." She tightened her arms around his neck and drew him closer, her lips gently parting his, claiming him as he'd claimed her.

  When at last they paused, Chas was feeling more than light-headed. "You do have a bedroom, don't you?"

  “I most certainly do,” cooed Sam. “The bed might be small and not nearly as elegant as some I’ve been in, but I don’t think that’s going to matter, do you?”

  Eugenie Grace Redfern-Porter was born eight-and-a-half months later. She has her mother's hair and her father's eyes. The tilt of her chin has yet to be determined.

  About the Author

  Anne Stephenson and Susan Brown first met at Carleton University in Ottawa where they discovered not only were they both in journalism, they were sharing the same teeny, tiny dorm room. It could have been a disaster, but once Susan agreed to take the bed closest to the window, they quickly because fast friends, not realizing that when they graduated and went their separate ways, they wouldn’t see each other for years. And when they finally did meet up, with husbands and children in tow, they would decide, over a glass of chilled chardonnay, to write together.

  Enter Stephanie Browning.

  One part Anne, one part Susan, their new persona is having a blast writing romances for women who care deeply about love, honour, friendship and courage without ever losing sight of the finer things in life…like a well-toned physique, a powerful set of shoulders and a pair of eyes that can rake a woman at fifty yards.

  Writing together is so much fun, Susan and Anne are already working on another Stephanie Browning Romance. In Undone by the Star they’re back in London with a drop-dead gorgeous American movie star and a strong-willed, independent woman who refuses to settle for anything less than the real deal. Then it’s over to this side of the Atlantic for a three-book series set in Bedford County. Because love isn’t just for city folk, it’s for small-town girls, too!

  Stephanie Browning’s website: www.stephaniebrowningromance.com

  Copyright and Publishing Information

  A Stephanie Browning Romance

  ISBN First Edition: 978-0-9938299-0-1

  Outbid by the Boss

  Copyright © 2014 by Anne Stephenson and Susan Brown

  Publication Date: July 15, 2014

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system is forbidden without the written permission of the authors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Photo: Richard Brzozowski

  Cover Design: Lesley Lavender, lesley@lesleylavender.com