CATHERINE GEORGE - Bargaining With The Boss

Letter to Reader Dear Reader, Pennington, my favorite location, is my own creation. Having lived near two attractive towns in the heart of England, I combine the best features of both, not least the picturesque buildings from olden times. My fictional town has wide streets, quaint tearooms and public gardens ablaze with flowers; there are irresistible shops with elegant clothes and jewelry, while others are filled with bargains in antique furniture and porcelain. Surrounded by lush countryside, Pennington is full of charm—a place where dreams come true. Sincerely, Title Page Bargaining With The Boss Catherine George www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication To Claudia Lucia Capitanio, with my thanks. CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“You don’t know how relieved I feel at the prospect of having you back working with me. I’ve missed you...”

Eleri’s heart thumped as she looked down at their clasped hands, knowing she should pull away. “You were used to me, that’s all.”

He reached up to turn her face to his, and their eyes met. “You mean I took you for granted.”

Eleri didn’t trouble to deny it, because his nearness was affecting her so badly she was afraid to trust her voice. With a smothered groan James pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily.

Dear Reader,

Pennington, my favorite location, is my own creation. Having lived near two attractive towns in the heart of England, I combine the best features of both, not least the picturesque buildings from olden times. My fictional town has wide streets, quaint tearooms and public gardens ablaze with flowers; there are irresistible shops with elegant clothes and jewelry, while others are filled with bargains in antique furniture and porcelain. Surrounded by lush countryside, Pennington is full of charm—a place where dreams come true.

Sincerely,

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Claudia Lucia Capitanio, with my thanks.

CHAPTER ONE

A BITING east wind blew flurries of snow across rolling uplands where Northwold Breweries blended with such ecological care into its Gloucestershire surroundings. The various specialist buildings and linking walkways were masked by skilfully landscaped banks and trees, and normally the sixty-acre site was a green and pleasant place. But on this particular January morning the stark white view from the managing director’s office resembled a lunar landscape.

Eleri Conti arrived early, as she always did, and went into James Kincaid’s office with her usual glow of anticipation for this first, private part of the day alone with him.

He was standing at the window, tall, loose-limbed, dressed in one of his dark custom-made suits and a flamboyant tie as usual. But when he turned his face wore a grim, haggard look so dauntingly different from usual that Eleri’s smile of greeting died a sudden death. In her favourite black gabardine suit and white shirt, her dark hair caught back with a large ebony clasp, she faced him across the desk as she’d faced him at this hour almost every working day for the past year. But today something was obviously wrong. The atmosphere was bleak enough to rival the day outside.

‘Good morning, Eleri. I think you’d better sit down.’ He waved her to a chair.

‘Good morning, Mr. Kincaid.’

He sat staring down at his desk in brooding silence while Eleri grew colder by the second as all kinds of worrying scenarios crowded her mind, not least the loss of her job as personal assistant to the managing director.

At last James Kincaid squared his formidable shoulders and looked up, his eyes sombre. ‘There’s no way to make this easier. I wish there was. In short, Eleri, I’ve been informed that someone at this branch of Northwold leaked information about the Merlin takeover. As a result someone else made a nice little killing on the market.’

Eleri went white. ‘And you are accusing me of leaking the information?’ she asked in utter disbelief.

‘No!’ James Kincaid shook his head vehemently, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Or at least not accusing. I’m merely asking if you know anything about it.’

‘Which is the same thing.’ Eleri had to exert rigid self-control to remain erect in her chair. She felt physically sick, as though the man opposite had dealt her a body-blow. Which, by doubting her integrity, he had. And worst of all she felt searingly hurt—because the accusation had been made by James Kincaid, for whom she cherished feelings kept strictly hidden. No one, either in Northwold or in her family, had the least idea that she was the victim of that tired old cliché: the secretary in love with her boss.

What, she thought bitterly, did she find so attractive about the man? He was far from classically handsome, with swarthy skin, unruly brown hair, forceful nose and a wide though well-cut mouth. Straight, dark brows above deep-set pewter-grey eyes warned the onlooker that this was no man to suffer fools gladly, and he wore his expensive clothes carelessly, as though from the moment he put them on he never gave them another thought. But, in comparison with James Kincaid, for Eleri all other men suffered. Willpower kept her utterly still in her seat as James took up a pen, rolling it between his fingers. Familiar with every little mannerism of his by heart, it gave Eleri deep satisfaction to see that he was affected—if only a little—by stress.

At last he looked up and began to explain rapidly. ‘Eleri, just before the takeover went public on Tuesday, a trader in a London bank did a swift, profitable bit of dealing—buying Northwold shares at the old price then selling them a short time later when they rose quite sharply once the news was out. It was a relatively modest sum, and the trade only attracted attention because my sister’s husband works for the same merchant bank. Up to that point the takeover was top secret.’ He paused, his reluctance apparent as he added, ‘Of the office staff here, you alone knew about this beforehand. And I know that a friend of yours works at the bank in question.’

Eleri stared at him in bitter disbelief. ‘You really believe I would pass information to someone in a position to make use of it?’ Her eyes flashed coldly. ‘My friend would never do such a thing—even if I had been stupid enough to be so—so—’

‘Indiscreet?’

‘Unprincipled,’ she corrected stonily. ‘I told no one about the takeover, Mr Kincaid. No one. And I deeply resent your suspicions.’ She jumped to her feet, but he waved her back to her seat.

‘Sit down, please.’

The outer door opened and Bruce Gordon, the technical director, came in like a whirlwind. ‘James, I need—’ He stopped suddenly as he looked from James Kincaid to Eleri. ‘Sorry.’

‘Give us a few minutes, Bruce,’ said James tersely, and the other man nodded, backing out hurriedly.

Eleri sat in silence, making no attempt to disguise her hostility as James Kincaid went on with his explanation.

‘My brother-in-law,’ he said heavily, ‘works at Renshaw’s, in the City.’

Eleri stiffened. Renshaw’s was a merchant bank. And her friend, Toby Maynard, worked there on the trading floor. To mask her dismay she took the war into the enemy’s camp. ‘Did you tell your brother-in-law about the takeover, Mr Kincaid?’

His eyes hardened. ‘No, Eleri, I did not. Nor would it have mattered if I had. Sam would never have acted on it unlawfully.’

Knowing indignant protestations were useless, Eleri searched in her memory for some chance remark she might have let fall to Toby. Suddenly her face cleared. The last time she’d seen Toby she hadn’t even known about the takeover! Her personal involvement had been in the final stages only.

‘Until last week,’ she said crisply, ‘I knew nothing about the takeover. As you know very well, since you were the one who informed me one night last week when we were working late together. I’ve spoken to no one at all on the subject. And particularly not to the—the acquaintance in question, because he was in Val d’Isere on a skiing holiday until yesterday. Until last night I hadn’t spoken to him for three weeks. He rang me last night, as soon as he arrived back.’

‘If you mean someone by the name of Maynard, I’m afraid you were misinformed. He arrived back several days ago.’

Eleri’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘You’re wrong! Besides, how could you possibly know Toby’s the one—?’ She stopped, biting her lip.

‘You’ve obviously worked that out for yourself,’ said James wearily after a long, uncomfortable pause. ‘Sam told me. Maynard works for him—though of course he has no idea Sam is related to me, and therefore connected with Northwold, which is more to the point.’

The silence in the office deepened, emphasised by the usual morning sounds outside as the administration block filled up with people arriving to complain about the weather and get on with the business of the day. Eleri was deaf to it all. She sat rigid, her mind going round in circles.

At last she got to her feet, her face bleak below the smooth black hair. ‘Would you excuse me for a few minutes, please, Mr Kincaid? I need to make a phone call.’

He rose, nodding. ‘By all means. I suggest you drink some coffee and come back in half an hour. We’ll discuss this further.’

Eleri closed the connecting door behind her and sat down at her desk, then picked up her phone, punched out the number of Renshaw’s Bank in the City of London and asked for Toby Maynard. When told he wasn’t available, Eleri asked for Victoria Mantle instead.

‘Vicky, it’s me. Is Toby in today?’

There was a pause before her friend’s reply extinguished Eleri’s last flicker of hope.

‘Eleri,’ said the other girl, sounding miserable, ‘Toby’s gone.’

‘Gone? What do you mean? Gone where?’

‘Gone as in sacked, told to clear his desk and scram. Sorry, love. Toby’s been a total idiot.’

‘I’ve only just heard he came back early from Val d’Isere.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ Vicky swore colourfully. ‘He’s been back for days. Look, he’s probably at home. Ring him. Give him hell. I’ve got to go. See you tonight, love. Bye.’

Eleri waited for a moment, pulled herself together, then rang Toby’s flat and listened, frustrated, to the recorded message. ‘It’s Eleri, Toby. See you later,’ she said swiftly, then put the phone down and stared blankly at the pile of unopened mail in front of her, feeling as though her world were falling apart. At last, with sudden decision, she typed quickly on the keyboard of her computer, waited while the letter was printed, then signed it. She pressed the button on her intercom, asked James Kincaid if she might come in, then went through the communicating door and crossed the large, orderly office.

Without a word Eleri handed over the letter, and waited. James read the few terse lines of resignation then jumped to his feet, glaring at her.

‘I flatly refuse to accept this.’

Her chin lifted. ‘You must see that in the circumstances it’s impossible for me to work here any longer.’

He made a swift gesture of negation. ‘Just give me your word you had nothing to do with the leak and we’ll forget all about it.’

Eleri stared at him, incensed. “‘Forget all about it”?’ she retorted, no longer caring what she said. ‘You accuse me of being a party to insider trading, and then expect me to carry on as if nothing had happened? Always supposing,’ she added bitingly, ‘that I managed to convince you I was blameless, of course.’