in.’
His chuckle came, dark and warm.
She imagined him at the other end, his eyes simmering with laughter, and blew him an inaudible kiss. ‘I must go and get ready for work. I’ll see you later.’
No arguments this time. ‘Don’t worry about Georgie. I’ll see he’s taken care of.’
It was eleven o’clock when she finished work, by which time her arms, legs and back ached. There had been a second mountain of onions - a thousand more plates and the pans had got heavier as the evening progressed.
Leon said nothing as she staggered past him into the shower, but when she came back wrapped in her robe, there was a brandy waiting for her.
Warmth flooded through her limbs as she sipped it, and she shook her head when he quipped, ‘I guess it’s no good asking you to go out dancing or anything.’
Bed felt like heaven - but before she knew it the alarm was ringing and it was time to get up again.
Day two was a repeat of the first, except her aches intensified and her hands seemed to take on a permanent onion smell.
Leon shook his ruefully from side to side as he handed her the brandy on the second day.
On day three she dropped a dish, and the newly-chopped onions slid all over the floor. The chef sighed as she stopped to pick them up, but said nothing. They ran out of clean plates at dinner and she was there until midnight cleaning up, the chef stopping to give her a hand.
‘This job is too hard for you, Miss Channing. I don’t know what the boss is thinking of letting you do it - and I’m going to tell him so.’
She was too tired to drink the brandy that night.
The next morning the alarm clock failed. It was eleven when she woke. Panicking, she struggled out of bed and groaned as she tried to straighten up. Every muscle seemed to be on fire.
Leon appeared in the doorway. ‘You needn’t hurry, Darcie.’
She stared at him through bleary eyes. ‘The alarm didn’t go off.’
‘You slept through it.’
She shoved the hair back from her face. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Because I started someone else in the job this morning.’ He held up his hand when she glared at him. ‘Before you say anything you regret, Darcie, it was on the Chef’s advice. He said you’re doing your best, but can’t cope - he bawled me out allowing you to do the job in the first place. He was right. I should have put my foot down.’
She sighed, and nodded, feeling too relieved to be angry. ‘If I ask nicely, will you make me a mug of tea whilst I dress? I’m parched.’
His expression became one of incredulity. ‘You don’t mind about the job?’
She managed a shrug of remarkable casualness under the circumstances. She didn’t like poor losers. ‘I hated the job. I only did it because you were being so male superior - and let me tell you something else. That job should have been given to someone who really needed it ... someone who’s been out of work and has children to support.’
‘Like Dave McCauley?’ he said silkily.
She made her eyes all round and innocent. ‘Dave who?’ she cooed, then retreated into the bathroom and gazed soberly at her reflection in the mirror.
Piling her tousled hair high on her head she stared critically at it and muttered as her stomach disintegrated into a multi-million pieces, ‘Off with the old and on with the new. I think I might get this cut off before the wedding.’
Chapter Seven
The subject of their marriage didn’t arise for a couple of days.
She’d moved into her office the next day to find a computer desk had been set up to one side. The computer was an updated version of one she’d used on her secretarial course, so wouldn’t be much trouble to master - besides, Shirley had offered to help her if she ran into trouble.
There was also a stack of stationary - and a red rose in a bud vase.
She spent the first two days on the telephone - and by the second evening had come up with a list of requirements needed for wedding packages, and their
His chuckle came, dark and warm.
She imagined him at the other end, his eyes simmering with laughter, and blew him an inaudible kiss. ‘I must go and get ready for work. I’ll see you later.’
No arguments this time. ‘Don’t worry about Georgie. I’ll see he’s taken care of.’
It was eleven o’clock when she finished work, by which time her arms, legs and back ached. There had been a second mountain of onions - a thousand more plates and the pans had got heavier as the evening progressed.
Leon said nothing as she staggered past him into the shower, but when she came back wrapped in her robe, there was a brandy waiting for her.
Warmth flooded through her limbs as she sipped it, and she shook her head when he quipped, ‘I guess it’s no good asking you to go out dancing or anything.’
Bed felt like heaven - but before she knew it the alarm was ringing and it was time to get up again.
Day two was a repeat of the first, except her aches intensified and her hands seemed to take on a permanent onion smell.
Leon shook his ruefully from side to side as he handed her the brandy on the second day.
On day three she dropped a dish, and the newly-chopped onions slid all over the floor. The chef sighed as she stopped to pick them up, but said nothing. They ran out of clean plates at dinner and she was there until midnight cleaning up, the chef stopping to give her a hand.
‘This job is too hard for you, Miss Channing. I don’t know what the boss is thinking of letting you do it - and I’m going to tell him so.’
She was too tired to drink the brandy that night.
The next morning the alarm clock failed. It was eleven when she woke. Panicking, she struggled out of bed and groaned as she tried to straighten up. Every muscle seemed to be on fire.
Leon appeared in the doorway. ‘You needn’t hurry, Darcie.’
She stared at him through bleary eyes. ‘The alarm didn’t go off.’
‘You slept through it.’
She shoved the hair back from her face. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Because I started someone else in the job this morning.’ He held up his hand when she glared at him. ‘Before you say anything you regret, Darcie, it was on the Chef’s advice. He said you’re doing your best, but can’t cope - he bawled me out allowing you to do the job in the first place. He was right. I should have put my foot down.’
She sighed, and nodded, feeling too relieved to be angry. ‘If I ask nicely, will you make me a mug of tea whilst I dress? I’m parched.’
His expression became one of incredulity. ‘You don’t mind about the job?’
She managed a shrug of remarkable casualness under the circumstances. She didn’t like poor losers. ‘I hated the job. I only did it because you were being so male superior - and let me tell you something else. That job should have been given to someone who really needed it ... someone who’s been out of work and has children to support.’
‘Like Dave McCauley?’ he said silkily.
She made her eyes all round and innocent. ‘Dave who?’ she cooed, then retreated into the bathroom and gazed soberly at her reflection in the mirror.
Piling her tousled hair high on her head she stared critically at it and muttered as her stomach disintegrated into a multi-million pieces, ‘Off with the old and on with the new. I think I might get this cut off before the wedding.’
Chapter Seven
The subject of their marriage didn’t arise for a couple of days.
She’d moved into her office the next day to find a computer desk had been set up to one side. The computer was an updated version of one she’d used on her secretarial course, so wouldn’t be much trouble to master - besides, Shirley had offered to help her if she ran into trouble.
There was also a stack of stationary - and a red rose in a bud vase.
She spent the first two days on the telephone - and by the second evening had come up with a list of requirements needed for wedding packages, and their
Similar Books
