locked in his study. He hadn’t washed or dressed and when he did emerge from behind the locked door he hardly said a word.
Ed might have been able to get through to him, if he’d been there Libby might have been tempted to offload her own problems on her level-headed brother, but Ed had spent most of the weekend at the hospital so she had been left to work things out for herself.
Some people reached for a bottle when they had a problem; Libby headed for the kitchen. She found being elbow deep in flour and the smell of baking therapeutic and soothing, but not this time. She had produced enough cookies and brownies to feed an army and still felt no more certain about what she was doing.
Was the offer genuine …?
Did she want it to be?
Could she do it, bearing in mind that she would haveto see the man, be polite to him, pretend that he hadn’t propositioned her in the most brazen way imaginable?
Pretend that she hadn’t considered it, not in a serious way, but
wondered
—she was only human—what would it be like to be touched by a man like that …?
Not that she had any intention of finding out, no—if this offer turned out to be legitimate she was going to make her position clear from the outset; if he laid a finger on her she would sue the pants off him!
An unfortunate analogy considering her tendency to mentally undress him.
She made her plans all the time conscious that her precautions might be unnecessary, that there was a very real possibility that she might turn up and find nobody at the Alejandro building knew who she was, but while there was even the slightest possibility she could save the family from financial ruin she had no choice but to at least find out, even at the risk of a moment or two of toe-curling embarrassment.
Unwilling to raise her family’s hopes until things were clearer, she had told them the paper was sending her to cover a trade conference in the City.
For someone who wanted to write fiction, she realised that her powers of invention needed a bit of work, though her brother and parents had too much on their minds to question someone who normally covered fêtes and supermarket openings being asked to report on a conference or, for that matter, a local paper wanting to devote space between the wedding announcements and details of farmers’ markets to international trade.
When she had arrived at the Alejandro building that morning Libby’s hands had been shaking with a combination of trepidation and excitement.
Now as she smoothed down the pencil skirt she had changed into they were shaking with anger.
She glanced in the full-length mirror and checked the pins that held her hair at her nape in a simple chignon. The voltage of her upbeat smile dimmed as she allowed the façade to slip and gave a snort of self-disgust. Why had she thought for even one minute that his offer was on the level?
‘I can do this,’ she growled between clenched teeth. ‘And it could have been worse,’ she reminded herself, mentally replacing the dark tailored trousers, matching waistcoat and plain white silk shirt shewas now wearing with a saucy maid’s apron and short skirt.
The image pulled the corners of her mouth upwards as she vented a laugh that just stayed the safe side of hysteria as she struggled to see the funny side of the situation. A sense of humour, she reflected grimly, might be the only thing that was going to get her through today with her sanity intact.
A sense of humour was something that Melanie, from Human Resources, had
not
displayed when Libby had exclaimed,
‘You’ve got to be joking!’
Clearly a literally minded woman, she had looked mildly exasperated and consulted her clipboard before returning her frowning attention back to Libby. ‘I understood this was your size.’
Libby glanced at the label sewn into the shirt, then at the trousers. She was a size ten top and size eight bottom; so was the uniform she was holding.
‘It is my size. The size isn’t the
Ed might have been able to get through to him, if he’d been there Libby might have been tempted to offload her own problems on her level-headed brother, but Ed had spent most of the weekend at the hospital so she had been left to work things out for herself.
Some people reached for a bottle when they had a problem; Libby headed for the kitchen. She found being elbow deep in flour and the smell of baking therapeutic and soothing, but not this time. She had produced enough cookies and brownies to feed an army and still felt no more certain about what she was doing.
Was the offer genuine …?
Did she want it to be?
Could she do it, bearing in mind that she would haveto see the man, be polite to him, pretend that he hadn’t propositioned her in the most brazen way imaginable?
Pretend that she hadn’t considered it, not in a serious way, but
wondered
—she was only human—what would it be like to be touched by a man like that …?
Not that she had any intention of finding out, no—if this offer turned out to be legitimate she was going to make her position clear from the outset; if he laid a finger on her she would sue the pants off him!
An unfortunate analogy considering her tendency to mentally undress him.
She made her plans all the time conscious that her precautions might be unnecessary, that there was a very real possibility that she might turn up and find nobody at the Alejandro building knew who she was, but while there was even the slightest possibility she could save the family from financial ruin she had no choice but to at least find out, even at the risk of a moment or two of toe-curling embarrassment.
Unwilling to raise her family’s hopes until things were clearer, she had told them the paper was sending her to cover a trade conference in the City.
For someone who wanted to write fiction, she realised that her powers of invention needed a bit of work, though her brother and parents had too much on their minds to question someone who normally covered fêtes and supermarket openings being asked to report on a conference or, for that matter, a local paper wanting to devote space between the wedding announcements and details of farmers’ markets to international trade.
When she had arrived at the Alejandro building that morning Libby’s hands had been shaking with a combination of trepidation and excitement.
Now as she smoothed down the pencil skirt she had changed into they were shaking with anger.
She glanced in the full-length mirror and checked the pins that held her hair at her nape in a simple chignon. The voltage of her upbeat smile dimmed as she allowed the façade to slip and gave a snort of self-disgust. Why had she thought for even one minute that his offer was on the level?
‘I can do this,’ she growled between clenched teeth. ‘And it could have been worse,’ she reminded herself, mentally replacing the dark tailored trousers, matching waistcoat and plain white silk shirt shewas now wearing with a saucy maid’s apron and short skirt.
The image pulled the corners of her mouth upwards as she vented a laugh that just stayed the safe side of hysteria as she struggled to see the funny side of the situation. A sense of humour, she reflected grimly, might be the only thing that was going to get her through today with her sanity intact.
A sense of humour was something that Melanie, from Human Resources, had
not
displayed when Libby had exclaimed,
‘You’ve got to be joking!’
Clearly a literally minded woman, she had looked mildly exasperated and consulted her clipboard before returning her frowning attention back to Libby. ‘I understood this was your size.’
Libby glanced at the label sewn into the shirt, then at the trousers. She was a size ten top and size eight bottom; so was the uniform she was holding.
‘It is my size. The size isn’t the
Similar Books
