At Her Boss's Bidding Read online

  He plonked down his empty mug and marched off, leaving Rachel to stand there, staring after him, her stomach revolving as she recalled the bright yellow bikini amongst the clothes Isabel had given her.

  The thought of swimming in a bright yellow bikini in front of her boss sent her into a spin.

  ‘Hop to it, Rachel,’ he threw over his shoulder.

  She hopped to it, but she still kept thinking about that bikini. Though modest by some standards, it was still a bikini. That, combined with the colour, would not present the non-flashy, non-flirtatious image Justin had of her and which he obviously felt comfortable with. She knew it was a stretch of the imagination that he would ever be sexually attracted to her—especially if he didn’t like women—but in the end Rachel decided that the bikini would be accidentally left at home. She had a good thing going with her job and she didn’t want to risk changing the status quo.

  With this thought in mind, she decided not to wear her hair down for the dinner tomorrow night, either. It could go up as usual. And her make-up would be confined to a touch of lipstick. That was all she owned, anyway. It would be crazy to race out and buy a whole lot of stuff for one night. For what? Just to satisfy her feminine pride? Because that was all that was at stake. Her pride. Nothing to do with Justin. He obviously didn’t give a damn how she looked.

  Feeling much better with these decisions, Rachel put her mind to her job. At one o’clock on the dot she was off, the taxi making good time to Turramurra. Packing was a breeze. Isabel’s discarded honeymoon gear was already in a very nice suitcase. It was just a matter of taking some things out, and adding some, namely her bridesmaid gear, along with her toilet bag. She did also add some white sandals from Isabel’s wardrobe, knowing her friend wouldn’t mind.

  She didn’t have time to change but she did put a simple white T-shirt on under her black jacket so that she could take the jacket off once they reached Coolangatta.

  By two-ten she was back in a taxi, heading for Mascot, but this time the going was slower, because it had started to rain quite heavily. They fairly crawled down the Pacific highway. There was an accident at an intersection at Roseville, which caused a back-up, and they moved at a snail’s pace again right down to Chatswood, after which the flow of traffic improved, courtesy of the new motorway. But her watch still showed five after three when she climbed out at the domestic terminal at Mascot. By the time she’d waited in line, been booked in and gone through Security, it was twenty-five to four, only ten minutes from the scheduled boarding time.

  As she hurried along the long corridor towards the nominated gate Rachel hoped Justin wasn’t worrying. She knew he’d already arrived because the lady on the check-in counter had been left instructions on her computer to give her the seat next to him.

  Gate eleven came into sight at last, and so did Justin. He was sitting on a seat at the end of a row in the waiting area, reading an afternoon newspaper, and not looking at all anxious, though he did glance up over the top of the pages occasionally. When he spied her walking towards him he folded the newspaper, smiled and patted the spare seat beside him.

  ‘You made it,’ he said as she dropped down into it.

  ‘Just. The traffic back into town was horrendous. I was wishing I had a mobile phone to call you and tell you my progress.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. I’m here now.’ Breathless, relieved and quite excited, now that she wasn’t stressing about her clothes, or how she would look at tomorrow night’s dinner. It had been years since she’d gone anywhere for the weekend and here she was, flying off to the Gold Coast in the company of a very attractive man. OK, so he was only her boss, and there was nothing remotely romantic between them. But other people didn’t know that. Other people might look at them and think that they were going off for a dirty weekend together.

  Not likely, you stupid girl, a quite savage voice reprimanded inside her head. Just look at him. He’s gorgeous! The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. And just look at you. Talk about drabsville. A few years ago, things might have been different. You were a real looker then. Now you’re a shadow of your former self. No, not even a shadow. A shell. That’s what you are. A cold, empty, sexless shell!

  Rachel sagged back against the seat, a huge wave of depression swamping her earlier excitement.

  ‘I think this trip’ll do you good,’ Justin said suddenly by her side.

  ‘Oh?’ she replied wearily. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You’ve been a bit down-in-the-mouth since your friend’s wedding last weekend. I dare say you’re missing her. And it can’t be much fun, working for a work-aholic bore like me.’

  She stared over at him. ‘You’re not a bore. I like my job. And I like working for you.’

  He smiled at her. ‘And I like you working for me. You are one seriously nice woman. Which is why what my mother said the other day has been bothering me. Tell it to me straight, Rachel. Do you object to bringing me coffee and running little errands for me? If you do, then I want you to say so. Right now.’

  ‘Justin, I don’t mind. Honestly. It’s a change sometimes to get up and do something physical instead of just sitting at the computer, updating files.’

  He frowned. ‘That’s a good portion of your job, isn’t it? Updating the files. That must be boring for someone of your intelligence. I should involve you more in what I do, explain my programs, show you how to analyse the data yourself, make proper use of that good brain of yours. Would you like that?’

  ‘Oh! I…I’d love it! If—er—you really think I could do it, that is,’ she added, her chronic lack of confidence not quite keeping up with her instant enthusiasm over his proposal.

  ‘Of course you can. That way, when I set up my own company, I’ll promote you to being a proper personal assistant with a salary to match, and we’ll hire another girl to work on Reception and data entry.’

  ‘Justin! I…I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Just say yes, of course.’

  She beamed at him. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘That’s another thing I like about you. You don’t argue with me. Aah, there’s the boarding announcement. Come on, let’s be one of the first on board. Then I can settle back to reading the newspaper and you can read that book you’ve got in your bag.’ He was on his feet in a flash and off.

  ‘How do you know I’ve got a book in my bag?’ she asked after they’d been through the boarding-pass check and were striding down the tunnel towards the plane.

  ‘Rachel, give me credit for some powers of observation,’ he said drily. ‘I do realise I have my nose buried in computer screens most of the day but I’d have to be a total moron not to notice some of your habits. You read every single lunch-hour. And I imagine every day on the train to and from work. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What kind of books do you like?’

  ‘Oh. All kinds. Thrillers. Romances. Sagas. Biographies.’

  ‘I used to read thrillers obsessively when I was at uni,’ he said in a happily reminiscent tone. ‘But I have to confess my reading rarely extends beyond the newspapers and business-based magazines these days.’

  ‘I think that’s a shame. Reading’s a great pastime. And a good escape.’

  ‘A good escape, eh? Yeah, you’re right. It is. Maybe I should try it,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘instead of the gym.’

  Rachel just caught this last possibly meant-for-his-ears-only remark, and wondered what he was trying to escape from. The memories of his marriage?

  If his mother was to be believed then his ex-wife had been the bitch from hell. But if that was the case, then why would Justin have married her in the first place? He didn’t strike Rachel as being a fool, or a pushover.

  Relationships were a minefield, Rachel mused as she trailed after Justin past the welcoming flight attendants and into the body of the plane. And most marriages were a right mystery to all but the people involved. Justin’s mot
her would naturally blame her son’s wife for their break-up, but did she really know what had happened between the pair of them?

  Justin stopped abruptly next to row D and turned to her. ‘You have the window seat,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind sitting on the aisle. Actually, it gives me a bit more leg room.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully, and slid into the window seat. She liked to see where she was going.

  Once settled, Rachel took out her book then stowed her black shoulder bag under the seat in front of her, ready for take-off. ‘I hope it’s not raining up there too,’ she said as she peered out at the rain-soaked tarmac.

  Justin looked up from the newspaper. ‘It isn’t according to the radar weather map I looked up on the internet just before I left the office. It’s fine on the Gold Coast today with a top temperature of twenty-seven degrees. And more of the same is forecast for the weekend.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ she said with a happy sigh.

  When Justin resumed reading his newspaper, Rachel opened the family saga she’d been reading the last couple of days. It wasn’t riveting so far, but she liked the author and trusted her to get her in eventually.

  Soon, she was off in that imaginative world of the story, so she didn’t see the man who boarded the plane shortly afterwards. Or his female companion. If she had, Rachel would have recognised both of them.

  She missed seeing them again at Coolangatta Airport, as it was so easy to do in crowds. Though, admittedly, she had been occupied chatting away with Justin at the luggage carousel and hadn’t looked round at the other people waiting to collect their bags. She missed them again in the foyer of Sunshine Gardens, because she and Justin were already riding the lift up to their ocean-view apartment by the time they arrived.

  Rachel might not have seen them at all till the following night at the dinner—which would have been an even greater disaster—if she hadn’t discovered on reaching the door of their apartment that her door key didn’t work.

  ‘It must be faulty,’ Justin said when his worked fine. ‘I’ll call the front desk when I get inside and they can bring you up another one.’

  ‘No, I’ll go back down now and get one myself,’ Rachel said. ‘You saw how busy they were.’

  ‘Rachel, you’re much too considerate sometimes.’

  ‘Not really. I’ve always found it’s quicker and less irritating to just do things myself, rather than wait for someone else to do it.’

  ‘True. That’s why I carried the luggage up myself instead of leaving it to the porter. I’m like you, I think. I can’t stand waiting for things. When I want something I want it now. Off you go, then. I’ll put your case in your bedroom and find the coffee-making equipment. Or would you rather I pour you a drink drink?’

  ‘Coffee for now, I think. But you don’t have to make it.’

  ‘I know that. Call it repayment for services rendered.’

  ‘Justin, you are much too considerate sometimes,’ Rachel quipped as she hurried off, smiling when she heard his answering laugh.

  Rachel had no sense of premonition as she rode the lift down to the ground-floor level again. Why should she have?

  The lift doors opened and she walked out into the terracotta-tiled foyer, glancing around again at the décor as she made her way over to the reception desk.

  Actually, this hotel reminded her of an island resort she’d gone to once with Eric. High ceilings, cool colours and glass walls overlooking lush green gardens with lots of water features.

  Eric…

  Now, there was a right selfish so-and-so if ever there was one. If she’d known how shallow he was she’d never have fallen in love with him in the first place, let alone agreed to marry him.

  Rachel gave herself a swift mental shake. She wouldn’t think about Eric. Ever again.

  But, perversely, when she walked up to the reception desk the man booking in reminded her strongly of Eric, despite only viewing him from the back. He had the same sandy blond hair. The same way of holding his shoulders. The same elegance.

  The attractive brunette standing next to him seemed familiar as well. Rachel listened to them chatting away together as they checked in, their voices horribly familiar.

  And then, suddenly, they both turned around.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JUSTIN was suitably impressed the moment he stepped inside the apartment. It had a cool, comfy feel, with plenty of space, even to having its own foyer, which was unusual in hotel apartments.

  As he dropped their two suitcases next to the hall stand—a sturdy yet elegant piece with a smoked-glass top and carved oak base—Justin caught a glimpse of himself in the matching mirror above. His hair, which possibly needed a cut, was all over the place. That’s what happened when you had to walk across windy tarmac, as they had at Coolangatta airport. No tunnels to spoil you.

  Straightening, Justin smoothed back the wayward top and sides with the flat of his hands, then moved a little closer to the mirror to peer at the bags under his eyes.

  Could do with a good eight hours’ sleep, he thought as he turned and went over to slot his room key into the gizmo beside the door. The lights came on automatically, as did the air-conditioning. That done, Justin strode into the main living area, where he stripped off his jacket and tie, tossed them over the back of one of the nearby dining chairs then took himself on a quick tour of the rest of the apartment.

  Absolutely everything met with his approval, even the crisp citrus colours they’d used on the walls and soft furnishings. Normally, lime and yellow and orange would not be to his taste but the brightness was offset by the wall-to-wall cream carpet, the cream woodwork and the extensive use of pine. The kitchen was all pine, with white counter-tops and white appliances, and the bathrooms—thank heaven—were white as well. Justin had had about enough of that all-over black marble in the hideously pretentious bathroom at his office.

  He contemplated giving Rachel the main bedroom, then decided she would only protest, so he put her bag in the second bedroom, which suffered little for size. Both bedrooms also had access to the balcony that stretched the full length of the apartment and had a view that looked pretty spectacular, even from inside.

  How much better would it look from the balcony itself?

  Justin decided to find out before making the coffee, and wasn’t disappointed. You could see for miles, from Tweed Heads on his right to Surfer’s Paradise in the northern distance with its tell-tale skyline of skyscrapers. The sea was looking breathtakingly beautiful, even now, with the sun having set and the sky darkening from its earlier bright blue to a dusky grey. Admittedly, first thing in the morning the sun might be a bit too brilliant as it rose over the horizon and slammed straight into the windows behind him, but in the afternoon and evenings it would be wonderful to sit outside here in one of the deckchairs, sipping some chilled white wine.

  ‘I wonder if Rachel likes white wine,’ he said to himself, and seriously hoped so, because the scenario he’d just pictured in his mind didn’t seem quite so appealing on his own. He would ask her when she got back, and if she did he’d see about having Room Service send up a bottle or two. Then later he’d take her to the swankiest restaurant in the place for dinner. Hotels like this always had at least one à la carte eating establishment.

  Rachel deserved a bit of spoiling, he decided, after all she’d been through these past few years.

  Justin breathed in the refreshing salt-sea air for thirty seconds longer before returning to the living area and going in search of the coffee-making equipment. It crossed his mind whilst he rummaged around in the cupboards that Rachel was taking a good while. Presumably, the front desk was still busy. Or maybe they couldn’t find another key to this room. He made a mental note to find out what had actually happened. Guy would want to know what he thought of the service. The last thing a new owner needed to do was to have to sack staff then find replacements. Far too expensive and time-consuming an operation.

  The electric jug found, Justin filled it and p
ut it on, then set about emptying a small packet of—wow!—quality coffee into each of the two white mugs he’d located. No cheap muck. That was good. Very good. He hated hotels that supplied low-grade products. He’d have to remember to ask Rachel what the shampoo and conditioner were like. He could actually never tell the good from the bad in that department, but a woman would know. Guy was right in that regard.

  The water had boiled and Justin was standing there, deciding whether to pour his or wait for Rachel to come back, when there came a knock on the door. He hurried over to answer it, tut-tutting to himself on the way.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said when he wrenched open the door to find Rachel on the other side. ‘They didn’t have another key.’

  Rachel just stood there, her face ashen, her eyes anguished, her hands clutched tightly in front of her.

  Justin, despite not being the most intuitive male in the world, was quick to appreciate her distressed state.

  ‘Rachel!’ he exclaimed. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘I…I…’

  Clearly, she could not go on, her throat making convulsing movements as she struggled for control.

  ‘Come inside,’ Justin said and, taking her left elbow, steered her quite forcibly into the apartment. Her hands remained clutched tightly in front of her and she looked as if she was going to burst into tears, or faint.

  Once Justin had kicked the door shut behind them, he guided her over to the three-seater opposite the television and plonked her down into the middle cushion, then sat on the pine coffee-table, facing her.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said softly, taking her still clasped hands within his. ‘Tell me what happened?’

  She gave a small laugh that held a decided edge of hysteria.

  ‘What happened?’ she repeated. ‘They didn’t recognise me, that’s what happened. He didn’t recognise me. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Eric.’