Beware of the Boss

by Leah Ashton

  It wasn’t late, and many of the shops remained open. Each flung light across the street, and the walls of colourful fabrics inside drew tourists towards them like moths.

  Lanie’s walk had slowed almost to a standstill. ‘Can I have a look?’ she asked.

  Gray nodded. Even he with his bulk-purchasing approach to clothing had been attracted to the famous Hoi An cloth shops. Le Loi Street was almost entirely full of them—and this was far from the only street in Hoi An like this. From suits to shirts to evening gowns, tourists could have almost anything made to measure—generally overnight.

  If he’d had more time on his fleeting business visits he might even have had a suit or two made. But he hadn’t, and he definitely wouldn’t have time this trip, either.

  For the first time in hours—since he’d dived into the ocean, actually—the real reason for this trip rushed back to fill his brain.

  Temporarily he’d felt as if he was on holiday. A tourist, not a businessman.

  He’d followed Lanie into a shop, but now he turned and walked out the way he’d come.

  * * *

  Lanie ran her hand down the wall of neatly folded silks and satins. Here they were organised in shades from the palest pink to a blood-orange-red, and the textures beneath her fingertips varied from silkiest smooth to roughly textured to delicately, prettily embroidered.

  The fabric covered all three internal walls of the small shop. Suiting fabrics—pinstripes, wool and houndstooth—were just across from her, but it was this pretty wall that interested her. It was funny, really, she’d never been a girly-girl, yet it was this rainbow wall of pastels that had drawn her from the street.

  A young woman had approached her as soon as she’d stepped inside, her black hair shining beneath the bright shop lights. Now she followed Lanie with a thick file full of pages carefully torn from top-end fashion magazines. She kept flipping to a new page, pointing at some amazing dress and ensuring Lanie they could make it for her, saying how beautiful she would look in it.

  Lanie tried to explain that she was just looking to little effect. She knew Gray’s schedule for the weekend inside out, and there was no time for this—no matter how remarkably fast the tailors in Hoi An were.

  Lanie smiled to herself. Her sister would think this hysterical—that Lanie Smith was disappointed she wouldn’t have a chance to shop. Combined with her makeover expedition, she was practically a shopaholic!

  But here—with this wall of fabrics and the stack of fashion books and files on the battered-looking wooden desk in the middle of the shop—there was a possibility that maybe she could get something made just for her. Something perfect and custom-made that would...

  What?

  That would make her beautiful?

  Lanie’s hand stilled on a roll of fabric and she realised she was digging her fingers into it—hard. Enough to tug it a little out of its shelf. The shop girl watched her warily, as if she was about to fling the defenceless fabric onto the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lanie murmured.

  She turned, searching for Gray. He’d been standing amongst the mannequins at the front of the shop, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

  She strode outside, negotiating the parked motorcycles to stand in the middle of the street. Gray should be easy to spot—and he was, way down the street.

  Now she didn’t bother looking into each shop. Instead she walked far faster than the groups of turtle-slow tourists, her flat sandals slapping on the bitumen.

  Gray stood outside a café, his entire attention on his phone. Behind him a blackboard sign proclaimed free wi-fi with any purchase and an untouched frosty colourful drink in his spare hand made it pretty easy to put two and two together.

  ‘Gray?’ she said.

  He glanced up. Not a glance like earlier today, but the type she was far more used to. The type that seemed to look straight through her.

  It was so unexpected she took a step back.

  ‘I need to get back to the resort,’ he said, eyes still on his phone. ‘I need to deal with this.’

  They were supposed to be continuing their walk down to the river. He’d told her of oversized, giant papier-mâché-like sculptures that floated along its surface in the shapes of dragons and fish. And a market across the bridge entirely lit by thousands upon thousands of paper lanterns.

  But she didn’t bother mentioning it to him.

  It was a timely reminder, really. A necessary one.

  Gray was her boss and nothing more.

  Whatever she’d thought had happened down at the beach clearly hadn’t.

  It was as silly and misguided as the idea that somehow just the right outfit could make Lanie Smith beautiful.

  That was never, ever going to happen.

  Just as Grayson Manning would never look at her as anything more than his personal assistant—who had used to be a swimmer, once.

  EIGHT

  Gray was tense. Very tense.

  Lanie sat at the end of a long table, her laptop set in front of her as she took notes.

  There were no conference facilities at the resort, so one of the function rooms had been converted into a meeting room of sorts. Although—wisely, she thought—Gray had decided to leave the floor-to-ceiling windows uncovered. Subsequently there was no mistaking where they were, with a sweeping view over the pools all the way down to the gently swaying palm trees and the pristine private beach.

  For the investors gathered around this table today there would be no forgetting that they were sitting amidst paradise.

  The goal was that all of them would find it impossible not to buy a slice of it for their own—either as a private retreat and long-term investment or to visit a handful of times a year and rent out to the fabulously wealthy for the remainder.

  It was what Gray did—invest in construction and development and then sell the completed properties. The Vietnam-based corporation with which he’d built this resort—necessary due to Vietnamese law—would retain ownership and management of the main hotel-style half of the complex, while it was the private villas Gray needed buyers for.

  Lanie had kept an eye on the five groups of investors throughout the meeting—on the sharply suited couple who made absolutely no concession to the heat, through to the maxi-dressed, tattooed woman with crazy, curly red hair whom Lanie knew had made her fortune shrewdly on the stock market. She watched their gazes drawn back time and time again to the view—to the promise and the possibilities that Gray was spinning for them.

  She reckoned two of the five groups were already ready to sign on the dotted line—no question. The others—particularly the suits and Raquel of the maxi-dress—needed more work.

  That Gray could convince them she had no doubt. She’d seen him in action before—he was good. Very good.

  But today...

  He was tense. Definitely.

  Gray abhorred the type of presentation in which someone talked at words on a wall or screen. Sure, he’d show short movies, or photos, or the occasional chart or whatever—but generally his skill was talking. That he genuinely believed in the property he sold—his ‘product’, so to speak—came over loud and clear to anyone who met him.

  He was passionate about what he did. Lanie was sure that that alone sold many of Manning’s properties.

  So, as usual, he wasn’t standing at the head of the room and presenting. He was sitting at the table, having a conversation with the investors and answering questions while cleverly weaving his sales pitch into everything he said. Occasionally he’d stand and walk over to the windows to draw further attention to the view, or he’d ask Lanie to hand out yet another glossy photograph, or the impressive projected rental return figures, or research on the estimated growth in tourism in Hoi An over the next five years.

  He was as smooth and as polished
as he always was.

  But he was tense. It was subtle—very much so. When he stood and walked around the room Lanie could see the stiffness in his shoulders beneath his cream business shirt. When he answered pointed and at times abrupt questions he would pause just that little bit longer before responding. And today, rather than I know or This will he was saying I believe or Expectations are.

  She hadn’t really believed him when he’d told her last week that this trip was particularly important, and that was why she needed to accompany him. She’d figured they were basically throw-away words, because she knew at Manning every project was important—particularly from Gray’s point of view.

  But now she’d revised her opinion.

  She didn’t really understand. Based on her knowledge of Manning’s financial state—admittedly gained more from osmosis than anything concrete—everything was going incredibly well. Manning had ridden the Western Australian mining boom over the past decade to remarkably profitable effect. The company had developed and sold the flashy head offices required by the mining conglomerates in the Perth CBD, and had also diversified to invest and build in the mining centres dotted across the state. With the boom, by all reports, now gradually dying down, this new push into tourism and South East Asia was somewhat of a risk, Lanie assumed, but as far as she was aware it was a calculated one.

  Nothing Gray had said or done in the time she’d been working with him had ever indicated that the company was in trouble.

  But today, for the first time, she wondered.

  * * *

  The meeting ended and Gray left with the group briefly—the resort chef was conducting a special Vietnamese cooking class for their guests. When he returned he closed the door behind him and Lanie watched as he let out a long breath—as if he’d been holding it for some time.

  ‘What’s wrong, Gray?’

  She asked it automatically, without thinking.

  Gray’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. For a moment he looked as if he was actually going to tell her—although maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  Then his eyes went cold and flat.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said.

  Then, as if the exchange had never happened, he walked over silently, pulling one of the chairs away from the table to sit beside her.

  He began talking, his attention on her laptop screen—certainly not on her—without any expression at all.

  But every inch of his body radiated tension.

  Not that Lanie had any intention of asking him about it again.

  * * *

  Gray knew he’d stuffed up with Lanie.

  He walked along the path to her villa, rehearsing what to say. He wasn’t getting very far.

  She’d thrown him before. Her question—asked so matter-of-factly—had felt as if it had come from nowhere.

  He’d told himself that this first day had gone well.

  That he had nothing to worry about.

  But then Lanie had asked her question...

  No. That was unfair.

  He’d known he’d been off since he’d left Perth. He’d just been refusing to acknowledge it.

  It didn’t mean it had come as any less of a shock that Lanie had noticed.

  Had the table of investors noticed too? The possibility had floored him. Made him re-evaluate every moment of the day so far.

  So, yes, he’d been rude to Lanie. He knew it.

  But how to explain?

  As if he could just come out with it: You see, it turns out the reputation I’ve built over the past fifteen years isn’t as rock-solid as I thought.

  It bothered him enough that he was bothered by all this. That he clearly hadn’t been able to shake off his frustration as completely as he’d intended.

  Who cared that some of Manning’s clients would apparently much rather his dad was still around?

  It turned out he did.

  He shouldn’t be dealing with it at all.

  So, no. He wasn’t going to tell Lanie the truth.

  But a simple apology wouldn’t cut it either. It had become clear that his assistant was not about to nod and agree to everything any more.

  And he needed her help tonight.

  Gray jogged up the steps to the front door of Lanie’s villa, but just as he raised his hand to knock it swung open.

  Lanie stood before him in her one-piece bathers, towel in hand—and nothing else.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, taking a step back.

  His gaze travelled down her body—he was male and breathing, after all—and confirmed that she looked equally amazing in her swimsuit today as she had yesterday.

  Tall and athletic, with never-ending legs, she looked like the world class swimmer he now knew she was. One with subtle curves in all the right places and—his gaze made it back to her face—blush-red cheeks and a furious expression.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked. Her tone was pure frost. ‘I believe I’ve finished work for the day.’

  The combination of a near naked Lanie and his lack of preparing anything reasonable to say meant he blurted his words out.

  ‘How did you know something was wrong today?’

  Instantly her eyes softened, but she crossed her arms across her chest, her towel hanging forgotten from one hand.

  She raised an eyebrow, and what she was thinking was obvious: Seriously?

  Gray ran a hand through his hair. ‘If I was rude to you before, I’m sorry.’

  Silence.

  He tried again. ‘I apologise for my behaviour earlier. You’ve been a huge help to me this trip, and it was unfair of me to lash out at you about something which is not your fault.’

  Lanie raised her chin slightly. ‘Better.’

  Her arms had uncrossed, and now she was fiddling with the towel in her fingers. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ she asked.

  Not particularly. But he wasn’t about to quit while he was ahead. ‘Sure.’

  * * *

  Lanie had hoped the addition of a summery dress over her bathers and swift exit from the too-cosy confines of her villa would help. She’d felt far too exposed—both literally and figuratively—in her swimsuit, and had figured the beach would give her the space—mental and physical—she needed.

  It was only somewhat successful. Having a business conversation while half-naked and in what was effectively her bedroom was clearly not an optimum scenario. But likewise walking along China Beach with six feet two inches of Grayson Manning with his suit trousers rolled up and his dress shoes in his hand didn’t feel anything like a meeting in his office back in Perth, either.

  But still, it would have to do.

  As usual, the beach was deserted. The lapping waves nearly brushed their bare feet and a gentle breeze ruffled the dense line of palm trees. The sting of the sun had lessened, but it was still warm against Lanie’s skin.

  Gray cleared his throat. ‘Why did you ask if something was wrong today?’

  It was obviously difficult for him to ask, and no less the second time around.

  Part of her wanted to push—to make him tell her what was wrong first. She shot a glance at him as they walked side by side and noted the hard edge to his jaw, and the way his gaze was remaining steadfastly ahead.

  No, he wasn’t going to tell her.

  ‘Well,’ she said after a while, ‘it wasn’t any one obvious thing.’

  Instantly she sensed Gray relax, and that reaction surprised her. What had he expected?

  ‘I doubt anyone else noticed,’ she continued, and now Gray’s attention moved from something in the distance back to her. ‘I’ve just watched you in so many meetings that the subtleties stood out for me.’

  He nodded. ‘Like what?’

  So she expla
ined.

  At some point they both came to an unspoken agreement to stop walking, and sat in the shade beneath a palm tree, their legs stretched out in front of them.

  Gray didn’t interrupt as she spoke, and it didn’t take all that long, really.

  ‘Thanks,’ Gray said when she’d finished.

  They were both staring out at the ocean as the sun set behind them.

  Lanie was making a move to stand up when Gray spoke again.

  ‘It’s about my father,’ he said.

  Lanie sat down again, looking directly at Gray. He’d gone tense once more, almost as if he was angry.

  ‘Okay...’ she said.

  ‘You wanted to know,’ he said, with an edge to his tone, as if she’d somehow forced it out of him.

  She went to stand again. ‘Don’t do me any favours, Gray. You can tell me if you want. Or not. Up to you.’

  He stood too, and in silence they headed back to the villas. Gray was walking much faster than before—big, generous strides. Certainly not leisurely.

  Halfway back, he spoke again. ‘My dad retired a few months ago,’ he said. ‘For years he’s been little more than a figurehead. He’s been my mentor, I guess, but not active in negotiations or anything like that. So, logically, his official retirement shouldn’t have made a difference to anything.’

  ‘Has it?’

  Gray came to a stop. He shoved both his hands into his pockets as he faced her. ‘That’s the stupid thing. It hasn’t. At least I don’t think so. Everything’s fine. Manning’s fine.’ He seemed to realise something. ‘Is that what you’re worried about? Job security? There’s nothing to worry about on that front.’

  She should have been worried about her job, but no. She’d been worried about Gray.

  Ha! How stupid. As if Gray would worry about her.

  A memory of Gray’s hand at the small of her back at the airport, and his concern that day when she’d tripped on the street, momentarily confused her. It was easier to think of Gray as her grumpy, unreasonable, thoughtless boss. Not the man who’d raced her to the beach, or who hadn’t judged her when she’d revealed more than she’d meant to at dinner last night.