Beware of the Boss

by Leah Ashton

  Again he only half listened to the sound of her heels on the marble—although soon he realised she was coming closer, not going further away.

  ‘Regards,’ she said, from right behind his shoulder.

  ‘What?’

  He looked up at her. She was somehow bigger than he’d expected—taller, and wider through the shoulders. She leant forward slightly as she studied his computer, her long hair shining in the sunlight that flooded through the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

  ‘I’d delete all that stuff at the end, and just say Regards. Or Sincerely. Or however you normally sign off your e-mails.’ She met his eyes, and this time she didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights. She watched him steadily, and there was a sharpness to her gaze that he appreciated.

  Her eyes were definitely hazel, he realised. Not brown.

  When he didn’t say anything, she explained further. ‘Judging by the e-mail trail beneath this one, you’ve been having this conversation for a while.’

  Gray nodded.

  ‘And you want a resolution? But you don’t want to be seen as pushy?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, surprised.

  ‘Well, then,’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Sometimes saying less is more.’

  She straightened up and took a step away from his chair.

  Silently, he deleted his half-written sentence, ended the e-mail as she’d suggested, then hit ‘Send.’

  Good. It was gone.

  He stood, and with this action, the woman took another rapid step away. Then she rolled her shoulders back, and thrust out her hand.

  ‘Elaine Smith,’ she said, very crisply. ‘Lanie.’

  Automatically he grasped her hand. It was cool and delicate. And she was tall. But even in heels she was an inch shorter than him.

  Her suit jacket was a dark grey and a little tight across the chest—and her soft pink shirt wasn’t sitting quite right, with one side of her collar higher than the other. Combined with her loose, wavy hair and lack of discernible make-up, no one would call her perfectly presented.

  He would call her pretty, though. Very pretty.

  Gray rapidly dispatched that unexpected musing. The appearance of his employees was irrelevant. All he cared about was their ability to do their job.

  And, despite her slightly odd initial reaction to him, there was an air of practicality to this woman that was appealing. Plus she’d been right about the e-mail.

  Most importantly he needed an assistant, and she was here.

  ‘I have a meeting in half an hour in West Perth.’

  For a moment she looked at him blankly. ‘So I have the job?’

  He nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, of course.’

  A beat passed.

  He sighed. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘No.’

  He turned back to his computer and a moment later she walked away, her heels again clicking loudly.

  He briefly wondered if she needed help figuring out how to log into her computer or anything—but then another e-mail popped in that he urgently needed to attend to, and that was that.

  Surely it wasn’t that difficult? She seemed smart. She’d figure it out.

  * * *

  Lanie almost collapsed into her new, plush leather office chair.

  Her phone trilled its musical message notification from within the depths of her bag, but for now she ignored it.

  Of course she’d forgotten to put it onto silent mode prior to her interview.

  Thank goodness she hadn’t received that message a few minutes earlier. She could just about imagine Grayson Manning’s reaction to that.

  But then would that have been such a bad thing?

  If he’d stuck with his original conclusion—that she wasn’t suitable—she’d have walked out of this office no worse than how she’d walked in: without a job.

  With the added benefit of not working for Mr Grumpy Pants.

  No. Not a bad thing at all.

  And yet she’d had her chance to leave. She had her chance still to walk away. No one would force her to stay. Not even the employment agency she was working for.

  Which reminded her...

  Lanie fished out her phone. As expected, the waiting message was from Teagan. As she’d been whisked up to the twenty-fifth floor in a seriously shiny mirrored lift she’d tapped out an urgent message to her friend:

  What did you do??!

  Because this building was definitely not what Lanie had been expecting of her first assignment with the agency. Yes, she’d known the role was as a personal assistant, but after seven years managing the swim school she’d been unconvinced she really had the skills for such a role—but Teagan had been adamant. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she’d said. ‘Piece of cake,’ she’d said.

  Given her lack of relevant experience, Lanie had imagined she’d be working somewhere small. Somewhere that couldn’t afford a true executive assistant. Somewhere she could kind of figure it all out as she went along.

  Manning Developments was not that place.

  Teagan’s text message therefore did not surprise her at all.

  I spruced up your CV. Just a little.

  Right.

  Lanie rolled her head backwards until it rested on the high back of her chair and stared up at the ceiling.

  The sensible thing to do would be to leave. She didn’t have the experience for a role like this, and if she stuffed it up then the agency, Teagan and herself would all look pretty bad.

  It was sweet of Teagan—annoying, inappropriate, and dishonest—but sweet.

  It should end here.

  But she remained at her vast new desk. For the same reason she’d stayed in Grayson’s office after she’d recognised him as the man from the beach.

  For long seconds she’d searched for the cutting comments he deserved after his performance at the beach—but then, before she’d gathered her thoughts, she’d realised he’d just dismissed her.

  Again. Just as he had at the beach, he’d carried on as if she was irrelevant to his world. Why on earth would she want to work for someone who would treat her like that?

  But she couldn’t let that man—Grayson—ignore her again.

  So here she was. With a job she didn’t really want, working for a man she didn’t like.

  Lanie wiggled the wireless mouse on the desk and the large flatscreen monitor blinked instantly to life, revealing a login screen.

  Her gaze flicked to the still open door to Grayson’s office, but then immediately away. That he would be of no help at all was obvious.

  She stood and headed for the hallway—Caroline, the little plaque on the reception desk had proclaimed. She should be able to point her in the direction of IT Support or something.

  She could do this. It couldn’t be too difficult.

  She’d figure out why she was doing it later.

  THREE

  The little green man started blinking, so with a coffee cup gripped firmly in each hand Lanie made her way across a very busy St Georges Terrace.

  ‘Lanie!’

  A fierce breeze whipped between the high-rise buildings, blowing her loose hair every which way and partially covering her eyes. Not that she needed a visual aid to identify that particular deep and demanding voice.

  Calmly she stepped onto the footpath and Grayson met her halfway, jogging down his building’s steps and deftly negotiating the sea of lunchtime pedestrian traffic.

  ‘We’re going to be late,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  Lanie tossed her hair out of her face and met his gaze as she handed him his triple-shot latte.

  ‘I did mention that there may not be time for a coffee.’
r />   Grayson blinked. As always, he seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Oh...’ he said.

  In the week she’d worked for him this routine had already become familiar. He was rather like a mad scientist—so utterly focussed on his work that the practicalities of life seemed beyond him.

  It would have been endearing—except...

  ‘Well, make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  Lanie bit her lip.

  Remember the money. Remember the money...

  It was the money, Lanie had decided. The reason she hadn’t already quit.

  Thanks to Teagan’s creativity with her CV, and her ability so far to fudge her way through the job, she was earning almost twice what she had at the swim school. And she needed the money so she could move out of her mother’s place as soon as possible—before she and Sienna returned from Europe, preferably.

  That was the only reason she was here. Nothing to do with that morning on the beach.

  Lanie nodded tightly. ‘I’ve got a car waiting for us.’ She gestured with her spare hand in its direction, and to the driver idling illegally in the clearway. Grayson opened his mouth, but Lanie jumped in before he could get a word out. ‘The laptop, projector and business specs are on the back seat.’

  In response his eyebrows rose, just slightly. ‘Good,’ he said.

  Again Lanie bit her lip. How about a thank-you, huh?

  She pivoted on her heel and strode towards the car.

  Remember the money. Remember the money. Remember the—

  The toe of her shoe caught on something and Lanie stumbled. But before she had much time to register that the grey pavers of the footpath were rapidly becoming closer her descent was suddenly halted.

  Grayson’s arm was strong and solid and warm around her waist. In an effortless movement he pulled her upwards and towards him, so she was pressed against his impeccably suited body.

  She tilted her chin to look up at him.

  He caught her gaze—really caught it—and for a moment Lanie was completely speechless.

  His eyes weren’t just grey—they were flecked with blue. And with his face now arranged in concern, not hard with tension, he was somehow—impossibly—even more handsome.

  Of course she already knew he was gorgeous. To pretend otherwise would be ridiculous. And, frustratingly, beautiful people didn’t become less beautiful simply by their unlikeable behaviour.

  Less attractive, though. They did become less attractive. He’d proved that, that day on the beach. And each day since then.

  But right now Grayson did not seem unattractive. Right now, with the subtle scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his arm and body confusing her, he was anything but.

  The side of her body he touched...no everywhere he touched, reacted to him. Electricity flooded through her.

  ‘You okay?’

  Because it was all she could manage, she simply nodded mutely.

  He took a step away from her and amazingly she had the presence of mind not to follow him. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and rebalanced on her own two feet.

  She realised she was gripping her coffee cup hard enough to slightly crumple the cardboard, and made herself loosen her grip.

  Then he smiled. It was a subtle expression—far from broad—but it was the first Grayson Manning smile she’d witnessed.

  Once again her ability to form words evaporated.

  He covered the short distance to the car and opened the door for her.

  She slipped past him, not catching his gaze. With every moment she was increasingly aware that she really needed to pull herself together.

  If she was going to keep working for Grayson she needed to erase completely from her subconscious even the smallest skerrick of romantic daydreams involving her boss.

  Obviously the agency would not approve.

  Secondly she—Lanie—did not approve. She might not have extensive experience in the corporate world, but even she knew getting involved with your boss was...well, pretty dumb.

  And thirdly, Grayson was not about to be overcome by lust when it came to Lanie Smith.

  Lanie’s lips quirked up at the idea of Grayson arriving at her front door to take her out to dinner. It was laughable.

  She settled into the soft leather of the back seat as Grayson closed her door, and moments later he was sliding into the car from the opposite side.

  Lanie took a good long gulp of her coffee, hoping that the addition of caffeine would help get her brain back to speed.

  She fully expected Grayson to flip open his laptop as the car pulled way, or to make another one of his seemingly endless phone calls. But instead he turned towards her.

  He cleared his throat, the sound unexpected and awkward in the quiet vehicle.

  ‘Thank you for the coffee,’ he said gruffly.

  Lanie shot a look in his direction, not immediately sure she’d heard him correctly.

  But his expression was genuine. Not quite contrite—that wouldn’t be Grayson Manning—but still...

  ‘Not a problem, Grayson.’

  He nodded, then glanced away through his darkly tinted window at the passing traffic.

  Without looking at her, he spoke again.

  ‘You can call me Gray.’

  * * *

  The beach was near deserted the following morning. Gray’s bare feet smacked rhythmically against the wet sand, his progress only occasionally punctuated with a splash when the waves stretched across his path.

  Luther was well ahead of Gray, having abandoned his ball to begin enthusiastically digging a hole to China. Beyond Luther rocky fingers of coastline stretched into the ocean, and distant cranes for hoisting shipping containers formed blurry silhouettes against the sky.

  It was cool—it was only July after all—and all but the most dedicated swimmers had abandoned the beach on such a dull and overcast day.

  But today Gray needed to run.

  Maybe he’d hoped the bite of the frigid air in his lungs would help. Or, more likely, it was that heavy ache in his legs that he craved.

  Because out here he was in control. He could run as far as he wanted—further even than his body wanted to go.

  And Gray liked being in control. He was used to it. Expected it.

  He was in control of everything he did in both his business and his private life. He knew what he was doing and could plan with absolute confidence how things were going to work out.

  By Gray’s reckoning, his father’s retirement should be no more than a blip on Manning’s radar—after all, it had been many years since Gordon Manning had spearheaded a project. For the past five years Gray had been Manning’s CEO in all but name. So Gordon’s retirement was nothing more than a formality. Nothing would change except he’d eventually have to repurpose his dad’s offices.

  That was how it was supposed to be happening.

  It was still how Gray thought it should have happened.

  But it hadn’t.

  Things had changed.

  That irritating e-mail from the suddenly cautious investor was just one example. Not of many—far from it—but enough to frustrate the hell out of Gray.

  An extra question here or there shouldn’t bother him. Or decisions taking longer than he felt they should. Or even that subtle, almost but not quite imperceptible shift in the atmosphere at meetings...

  Even Gray had to smile at that. Since when had he been so sensitive to a change in feel?

  Well, whatever it was that had changed—it had. And it did bother him. Because it wasn’t just an irritation...all these questions and atmosphere-shifts...it had the potential to impact his bottom line.

  In fact it already was.

  And Gray was not going to tolerate that.

  In his
peripheral vision, Gray noticed a lone figure walking near the dunes. As he glanced in her direction the woman waved, while her other hand firmly held an oversized floppy hat to her head.

  Automatically Gray waved back, then refocussed. Deliberately he crossed from the wet sand to the dry, wanting the extra demand on his muscles the deep, soft sand forced from his body.

  It turned out that, despite the many years since his dad had actually led a Manning project, for some of his clients Gordon Manning had been a very real and very important presence—somewhere behind the scenes.

  The reality that it had truly been Gray they’d been working with—not Gray as Gordon’s mouthpiece—didn’t matter, and that exasperated Gray.

  He deserved the trust he thought he’d already earned. He deserved his stature in Australia’s business community.

  A larger wave pushed far up the beach and Gray’s bare feet splashed through foamy puddles as the water slid back into the ocean.

  It also annoyed him that he hadn’t realised this reality. That he hadn’t fully understood what it meant to be Gordon Manning’s son, regardless of his own track record and years of success.

  So it was frustrating and exasperating and irritating...

  But it was also...

  Gray’s time.

  Now was his time to prove himself.

  And nothing could be allowed to stand in his way.

  * * *

  Lanie dropped her arm as Gray disappeared into the distance. He’d waved each morning since she’d started at Manning, although he’d shown no sign of realising she was the woman he’d been so rude to on the beach that morning of the relay final. Now, knowing Gray, she doubted he ever would.

  She’d considered telling him—but what would that achieve?

  Lanie knew the answer to that: a blank stare, followed directly by a look that said Why are you wasting my time with this?

  That was a look she was quickly becoming familiar with. At least now she didn’t take it personally. Pretty much everything not immediately related to Manning and preferably relevant right at that moment elicited exactly that look.