The Thorn in His Side by Kim Lawrence Page A

problem.’ The problem was the thought of a pair of amber eyes sizing up her vital statistics so accurately.
    In response to the older woman’s questioning look—at this stage she had still hoped that this was some mildscrew-up—and not wanting to get anyone in trouble, she had explained, ‘I’m not actually part of a catering team. This is my first day as an intern …’
    The woman had directed a puzzled look at Libby.
‘And …?’
    Then it had dawned on Libby. ‘You expect me to serve drinks?’
    ‘Oh, nothing alcoholic,’ Melanie from HR had replied as though the
type
of beverage were Libby’s problem. ‘This is a working brunch and very informal, just a thank you from Mr Alejandro to the team that have been working out the details for the first Alejandro trade summit.’
    Somehow Libby had stood there, heard the woman blather on proudly about how this event was set to become a yearly international event—as if she cared—and not screamed or broken the furniture.
    She was discovering new depths of self-control!
    Libby could have stormed out of the building right there and then; she had wanted to, it was only the knowledge that this was exactly what the sadistic, twisted rat wanted her to do that had prevented her.
    Genuine! Rafael Alejandro was about as genuine as the smile she had glued on her face.
    Aware that the other woman was waiting for a response instead she had forced herself to say, ‘I didn’t realise.’ That makes me a total gullible idiot.
    But she’d have the last laugh, Libby thought, managing not a laugh but a very creditable hoarse croak as she lifted her chin to a defiant angle and approached the door of the changing room.
    Rafael had obviously expected her to throw some sort of spoiled-princess-afraid-to-get-her-hands-dirty hissy fit … and confirm his view that she was some spoiltairhead. The wretched man was used to pulling strings and having people dance—well, not this time, boss, she thought grimly.
    This was no longer about saving the firm—that had obviously always been some sort of twisted joke—this was about pride and she would be the best damned waiter he had ever seen.
    If she walked it would be at his invitation and not before.
    When Libby got to the big top-floor room people had already begun to arrive, singly and in groups. Some were already helping themselves to the food in the silver-topped servers.
    Rafael was not there as yet, her racing heart slowed in reaction to the reprieve.
    The person in charge, a silver-haired man wearing a black suit, appeared at her elbow; he did not comment on her lateness as he explained that her brief was to make sure the coffee supply did not run out.
    ‘Offer top-ups, but do not be intrusive.’
    And she had been afraid that she would not be up to the job!
    As she went about her task Libby kept an eye on the door. She was so jumpy that she messed up the simple task she had been given and slopped half a pot of coffee over the pristine white cloth that coveredthe tables arranged buffet style along one wall.
    Blushing and apologising profusely, she grabbed a napkin from a stack and began to dab at the spreading stain, stepping back with a grimace as the liquid dripped onto her shoes.
    The brief hush that fell was not, as she first thought, because everyone was staring at her making a simpletask look like brain surgery, but because Rafael had appeared in time to witness her humiliation.
    As her eyes brushed those of the tall dynamic figure framed in the doorway her shaking hand sent a half-filled cup flying.
    Libby gave a cry. The sound was closely followed by an even louder smashing noise of breaking crockery and the jeering laughter of some smug junior exec whom she had given the brush-off to earlier.
    If all eyes had not been on her they were now. Libby stood frozen to the spot with horror while she felt the tide of hot mortification spread across every inch of her skin.
    Any hotter and she’d add to the mess on the floor.
    ‘If