Blackmailed Into Her Boss's Bed

by Sandra Marton

  John laughed. ‘Do I detect a growl behind that purr? Temper, temper, sweetheart. He’s just being efficient.’

  ‘He’s just taking over, you mean.’

  ‘Look, what was I supposed to tell him? “Don’t provide a car, Mr Miller. Talia will manage on her own”?’ He sighed deeply. ‘You would, too—I know that. But this just makes things easier.’

  ‘John.’ Talia caught her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘John—what if—what if I were to turn this down? What if…?’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘Is there a problem, Talia?’

  She hesitated. ‘No, not really. I mean, I’m not terribly eager to go to Brazil. And I wondered—I just wondered what would happen if I said—’

  ‘But you won’t.’ All the good humour had fled Diamond’s voice; he sounded as cold as she had ever heard him. ‘Miller was very specific. No Talia Roberts, no contract. Do you understand?’

  Talia stared out of the window. Early morning light was filtering through the drawn net curtains, and she could just make out the outline of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. In two days’ time, she’d be thousands of miles from home, in a place where she knew no one—except for a man she hated.

  His mouth was like a curl of flame on hers, and his hands…

  ‘Talia?’

  She drew a breath. ‘Yes. I understand.’

  Diamond cleared his throat. ‘OK. Miller said the car and driver are yours for the day—in case you have to clear up last-minute details. Your plane tickets will be at the airport. Oh, yeah—he said not to worry about closing down your apartment, if you don’t have the time. His people will—’

  Across the room, the percolator hissed and coffee spilled down the sides of the pot. Talia rose to her feet. She was becoming what she’d sworn she would not be: a puppet dancing to Logan Miller’s tune. ‘Three months,’ she said, breaking into her employer’s rambling speech.

  ‘What?’

  Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Logan would still get what he wanted—she would go to Sao Paulo and set up the programme—but she’d at least feel she was retaining some control of her own life.

  ‘I’ll go to Brazil on a three-month trial basis. It’s a reasonable caveat for both sides—Miller International and us. I mean, suppose it turns out that I’m wrong for the job?’

  ‘You won’t be. You know that, Talia. You’re the best I have.’

  Talia drew in her breath. ‘Am I?’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘Then do me this favour. Tell Logan Miller you’ll only agree to assign me on a three-month trial basis.’

  She waited for what seemed forever. Finally, John Diamond sighed. ‘Is there something going on I don’t know about, Talia?’

  ‘Will you do this for me, John? Please?’

  ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ His voice grew brusque. ‘Now get yourself to the office, pronto. We have lots of work ahead.’

  Twenty minutes later, just as she took a last, scalding sip of too-hot coffee before hurrying out of the door, the phone rang again.

  ‘John?’ she said, snatching up the receiver. ‘Did you talk to Miller?’

  ‘He did.’ The voice at her ear was irritated, taut with barely repressed anger. ‘What’s this nonsense, Talia? I thought we reached an understanding.’

  Don’t let him intimidate you, she thought, setting her cup down carefully. ‘We did,’ she said, praying that he couldn’t hear the sudden panic she felt. ‘I was simply refining it.’

  His words were softly menacing. ‘Despite the possible consequences?’

  ‘Some people find it hard to stand up to me,’ he had said. ‘I prefer dealing with those who don’t.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said carefully, switching the receiver to her other ear and wiping her sweaty palm against her skirt, ‘despite the possible consequences.’

  There was a silence before Logan answered. ‘Very well. A three-month trial period, renewable at its conclusion by agreement of both parties. Does that suit you?’

  A feeling of sweet triumph surged through her. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that’s fine.’

  He laughed softly, the sound as low and intimate as the early morning.

  ‘I have the feeling,’ he said, ‘that it’s going to be an extremely interesting three months.’

  * * *

  Two days later, Talia stepped off a jumbo jet at Sao Paulo’s Guarulhos Airport. The flight had been long—fourteen hours from Los Angeles—but the time had passed quickly. She’d napped a little, outlined her plans for the job ahead, and immersed herself in the past history and public present of Logan Miller.

  He was, she’d learned, thirty-eight years old. Until four years ago, when his father had taken ill suddenly and died and he’d taken control of Miller International, he’d been head of a major publishing firm that he’d taken from bust to boom with a daunting combination of hard work and calculated risk. Along the way, he’d taken and discarded a wife. Talia had found a photo of her in an old magazine: the former Mrs Miller, looking lovely but bereft, explaining that her husband had no room in his life for anything but his corporate interests.

  There’d been no surprise in that, Talia thought as she moved slowly in the queue towards Customs Inspection. Logan was as dedicated to his career as she was to hers: it was a link between them, one he’d recognised right away. It was, in a way, the reason she was here.

  Logic told her that Logan would not be waiting with the crowd beyond the barrier. This was a business day, and it would be unreasonable to expect him to take time for her. Still, once she’d passed through Customs, Talia found herself searching the people clustered ahead for a tall, fair-haired man with broad shoulders and an imposing stance. She told herself that her reasons were purely practical. If Logan didn’t meet her, she’d have to find a taxi and hope she could make herself understood in faulty Spanish to a Portuguese-speaking driver. That was the only possible reason for wanting to find him waiting.

  But he wasn’t there. Instead, she spotted her name neatly printed on a small sign in the hands of a slight, dark-haired man impeccably dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.

  ‘Senhorinha Roberts? Welcome to Brazil. Senhor Miller has sent me to see you to your accommodations. Por favor, if you would give me your luggage and follow me…’

  He led her to a black Mercedes parked at the kerb. Moments later, her luggage was stowed in the boot and they were merging into traffic.

  Talia leaned forward and tapped on the glass. ‘Are we going to my apartment?’

  The chauffeur nodded. ‘Ah, to the apartment, sim.’

  She nodded. ‘Is it very far from the office? If it isn’t, I’d like to stop by there first and get an idea of—’

  The man smiled into the mirror. ‘To your office, sim.’

  Talia shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. Are we going to the office or to my apartment?’

  ’Sim,’ he said earnestly, ‘yes.’

  She sighed. Clearly, they misunderstood each other. Well, the driver’s English was faulty but it was far better than her Portuguese, which was non-existent. The only thing to do was sit back, see what she could of Sao Paulo, and worry about where she was going—home or office—when she finally got there.

  The streets of the city were crowded, the traffic as heavy—maybe heavier—than back home. Concrete and glass skyscrapers towered overhead, and the hurrying crowds were conservatively dressed, the sort of people who would look at home at any corporate meeting. Talia was a little surprised: with the na;auivet;aae of most North Americans, the name ‘Brazil’ conjured up for her images of Amazon jungles and sun-drenched beaches.

  ‘Avenida Paulista, Senhorinha Roberts.’

  She met the driver’s eyes in the mirror and smiled. They were near the office, then; she remembered that the new South American headquarters of Miller International were on a street off the broad boulevard along which they were riding. Good, she thought, watching
the changing scene out of the window, she’d get a chance to take a look at the kitchen and dining facilities which were to be her responsibility.

  She knew she ought to feel exhausted after the long flight, but she was filled with energy, without even a flight-induced headache to plague her. Flying first class had helped, but Talia sensed that it was more than that. She wanted to believe that it was the excitement of being in a strange country on a strange continent, and never mind the disquieting shadow cast by the imposing figure of Logan Miller.

  She looked up as the car pulled to the kerb in front of a handsome, multi-storeyed building on a quiet, tree-shaded street. A discreet plaque identified it in English and Portuguese as belonging to Miller International.

  Talia’s heart turned over. She was about to enter a world he controlled, and somehow the thought terrified her. She waited until the chauffeur opened her door, even though her first instinct had been to do it herself. It was best to take all the time the fates handed her. An extra minute was better than nothing. The time was almost here. Soon, the opportunity for running away would be gone.

  ‘This way, Senhorinha Roberts.’

  Talia stepped from the dark coolness of the limousine into the bright coolness of marble floors and walls. Her heels tapped lightly as she followed the driver to a pair of lifts in the foyer. The man smiled and shook his head when she stepped into the first.

  ‘The other, por favor.’

  She smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and obliged. Perhaps the first was out of order. But when her escort produced a small card, pantomimed setting it into a slot marked privado in the control panel, then handed it to her, she understood. She was to go to Logan’s private office, which apparently was located in cool isolation, accessible only via electronic key.

  Talia nodded her understanding. The driver smiled and stepped back into the corridor as she inserted the card. The doors hissed shut, and the lift rose. The movement was slow, the ascent steady. But her pulse rocketed as she anticipated what—and who—awaited her. Maybe she’d be lucky—Logan would be at a meeting or away on business, and some efficient secretary would greet her, then send her off to her own office.

  The door slid silently open, and she knew at once that she was in no ordinary office. A terracotta tile floor, scattered with hand-woven rugs, surrounded by pale walls hung with colourful blocks of abstract paintings, opened before her. The rich brown leather of a pair of couches blended with the warmth of rosewood tables and bookcases.

  But the man standing before her dominated the room. And the glitter in his eyes when he saw her made her breath catch.

  ‘Bom dia, Talia.’ Logan smiled and held his hand out to her. ‘How was your flight?’

  The surprise of finding him waiting for her confused her. For the first time, Talia did what she’d so carefully avoided in the past. She took his outstretched hand. Their eyes met as their fingers clasped. The heat of his touch seemed to radiate through her. Logan’s eyes darkened; the smile twisted on his lips. Talia’s mouth went dry.

  Say something, you fool. Anything.

  ‘It was—it was a very comfortable flight. Thank you for the first-class tickets, by the way.’

  Inane, she thought, inane and stupid. But Logan nodded as he drew her from the lift, and she thought crazily that he was as grateful for the banal comment as she was.

  ‘I don’t believe in saving pennies and exhausting people,’ he said, letting go of her hand. ‘The trip is tiring enough without being cramped. How about some coffee? Or would you prefer something cool?’

  Talia shook her head. ‘You don’t have to bother.’

  But he was already walking across the enormous room towards a wall of glass. After a second’s hesitation, she followed to a table set for two.

  ‘I hope the coffee’s to your taste,’ he said as he drew out her chair. ‘This is my housekeeper’s day off—I made it myself.’

  ‘Yes, she thought, it all made sense. The furnishings, the private lift—these were his living quarters, not his office. Talia looked up at him as he poured their coffee. ‘I didn’t expect you to have an apartment here,’ she said. His eyes met hers and she gave him a quick smile. ‘That is where we are, isn’t it? In your flat?’

  He nodded. ‘It seemed more practical than taking a place elsewhere. What do you think?’

  ‘What do I…?’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  She looked around slowly. The room was, she thought, very much like Logan Miller himself—handsome, well to do, with a casual air that never for a moment detracted from its aura of strength.

  ‘It’s—it’s…’ She looked at him. He was watching her with an intensity that drove colour into her cheeks. ‘It’s very nice…very convenient for the office.’

  His smile tilted a little. ‘Yes, I thought someone like you would understand.’

  ‘Someone like me?’

  Logan shrugged his shoulders. ‘A career woman, I meant. Some women wouldn’t. They’d be clamouring for home and hearth. My wife…’ His teeth flashed in a quick smile. ‘My ex-wife, I should say, would never have been so forthright. She made a great show of not understanding the requirements of business.’

  Talia sipped her coffee as she watched him from beneath her lashes. A woman who didn’t understand those requirements was the last thing a man like Logan Miller would want. The photo of the teary-eyed former Mrs Miller flashed into her mind, and she felt a quick, surprising sympathy for the woman who’d been foolish enough to think that home and hearth could compete with the intensity of business.

  ‘So.’ Logan set down his cup and smiled at her. ‘I take it you’re all ready to get to work?’

  Visions of a quick tour of Miller International, followed by a drive to her new flat, tumbled into oblivion. ‘Yes, certainly,’ she said, pushing back her chair. ‘If you’d be good enough to tell me what floor my office is on…’

  He smiled lazily. ‘Sit down, Talia.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘You’ve just got off the plane after a long flight.’ He leaned forward and refilled her cup. ‘Despite the rumours, I’m not a slave-driver.’

  ‘I’ve heard no rumours, Mr…’ His eyebrows rose and she cleared her throat. ‘I’ve heard no rumours, Logan.’

  ‘Are you so eager to get to work?’ His smile was cool. ‘Or are you simply eager to get away from me?’

  ‘As you just said, I had a long flight.’ Her eyes met his. ‘In fact, it’s been a long couple of days. But you insisted that I be here today, and now—’

  ‘If I hadn’t insisted, you wouldn’t be here at all. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Talia put down her cup. ‘You know the answer to that.’

  Logan looked at her while time ticked slowly away. Then he shook his head.

  ‘You’ve been promoted, you’ve had a substantial raise in salary, and yet you make this sound like a year in purgatory.’

  ‘Three months,’ she said quickly. ‘We agreed on a trial period, remember?’

  His eyes locked on hers. ‘Renewable by consent of both parties. Yes, I remember.’ A slow smile curled across his mouth. ‘We never did discuss what would constitute the conditions for renewal. Perhaps we should take care of that now.’

  Was it her imagination, or was there a sudden intimacy in the way he looked at her?

  ‘I’d—I’d rather leave that until I’ve been here a while,’ she said. ‘Then, I’ll be better able to judge just how useful I can be to you.’

  Logan smiled crookedly. ‘We can be useful to each other, Talia. You know that.’

  Silence hung between them, and then she shoved back her chair and rose quickly to her feet.

  ‘I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me this morning. But I’ve a lot of work ahead of me. I’d be grateful if your driver could take me to my apartment and…’

  He turned and started to walk away from her. But instead of stopping at the lift, Logan turned and climbed a free-standing spiral staircase near it, s
topping on the landing above. He gestured to a closed door. ‘Your rooms, Miss Roberts.’

  Talia’s face registered her shock. ‘What?’

  He smiled politely as he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

  ‘I told you we’d provide living quarters, didn’t I? Well, here we are. Two rooms—bed and sitting-room, with an en-suite bath.’

  She stared around her. The room they were in was smaller than the one below, but equally handsome. ‘You mean—I’m to live here? And you—’

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t look so stricken! My apartment is all on the lower level. You’ll be alone up here.’

  ‘Yes, but I can’t—’

  ‘Such middle-class sensibilities for a woman on her way to the top,’ he said, his voice as cruelly cutting as his words. ‘This level was designed to provide a flat for me and separate guest quarters for whichever of my people might need them.’

  Talia stared at him. His anger, and the easy arrogance of his assumption that she’d move into these rooms, enraged her. ‘Mr Miller,’ she said coldly, ‘I prefer—’

  ‘I know what you’d prefer,’ he snapped. ‘You’d prefer to be back in San Francisco, safely planning meals for the Ladies’ League.’ His eyes glittered. ‘But you’re here, instead, and not for a moment are we to forget that you’re here unwillingly.’

  ‘If you expect me to pretend I took this assignment willingly—’

  Logan’s mouth turned down. ‘I’m not a believer in miracles, Talia.’

  Her chin rose. ‘And I never signed on to be—to live in—to—’

  ‘You signed on to work for me.’ His voice was like a whip. ‘Didn’t Diamond show you the contract?’

  ‘It was a standard agreement. John told me—’

  Logan’s eyebrows rose. ‘Did you see it, Talia?’

  A chill crept up her spine. ‘Why should I? I know what it says. I’ve seen dozens of them. John said—’

  ‘Part of your job will involve supervising the preparation of evening business dinners and acting as my hostess. Your boss assured me that would not be a problem.’