Nicola Marsh - Hired by Mr. Right

Funnily enough, the thought of spending a sophisticated evening dining with the exquisite Monique Taylor and her parents didn’t hold half the appeal it once had. He’d grown up with the leggy brunette and had dabbled in a kiss or two once they’d reached their late teens, but he’d never been interested in taking it further. Though Monique was beautiful, educated and attuned to his world, there was no spark to light his fire. Not that she hadn’t tried, many times.

Dylan relented. ‘Okay, it will be nice to catch up with the Taylors but, just to let you know, there won’t be any romance between Monique and I, ever. She isn’t my type.’

His mother was no slouch when it came to matchmaking her only son and she latched on to his last words in a flash. ‘Oh? Then what is your type?’

A petite woman, with short blonde curls, green eyes he could drown in and a cheeky smile that just wouldn’t quit. The thought popped unbidden into his mind and, for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, he wondered if he’d lost a grip on reality since he’d laid eyes on his new butler.

He stood quickly and made for the door. ‘Bye, Mum. I have a meeting scheduled.’

Liz smiled knowingly. ‘Run all you like, Son, but you can’t hide from love for ever.’

Dylan refrained from answering. The day he fell in love would be the day he surrendered his sanity and he had no intention of doing that. He had too much to do yet to fulfil his dad’s wishes, the one driving force that kept him going these days.

Him, in love? No way.

SAM paced the study while waiting for Dylan. She couldn’t believe the way she’d reacted to him—stupid, stupid, stupid! She’d known what she was letting herself in for when she had applied for this job. After all, she’d heard about Dylan’s charms firsthand from Ebony, whose family had known the Harmons for ever. Ebony had extolled high-and-mighty Dylan’s virtues for a full hour before Sam had covered her ears and yelled ‘la-la-la’. If she’d heard one more word about the rich, handsome, responsible, caring man soon to be her boss, she would’ve thrown up.

So, she’d steeled herself for the challenge at hand, knowing that Dylan’s looks would have little effect if she set her mind to doing a good job to prove a point to her snobby family. She’d focused all her energy on taking a crash course on butler etiquette, Ebony-style. Thankfully, her best friend had come through for her in every way, going as far as giving her a fake reference when Liz Harmon had called after the gruelling interview she’d endured.

Now that she was here at the Harmon mansion in the posh Melbourne suburb of Toorak, she should be ecstatic. If she could last the distance in this job it would prove to her family once and for all that she could eke out an existence for herself, without their prehistoric expectations for her to marry and produce heirs to continue the royal line. Not that her title meant anything here in Australia; in fact, most of her Russian ancestors had reneged on their royal heritage a century ago, but not her family. They were hell-bent on resurrecting the past and restoring glory to the Popov name. Strangely, many historians here were interested in the Popovs too, which was why she’d had the sense to change her surname when applying for this job.

‘So much for obeying orders.’

Sam jumped as Dylan’s voice interrupted her musings and she whirled to face him. ‘I’m here on time, I’ve kept out of your bedroom and breakfast is waiting.’ She gestured to the sideboard. ‘What else did you want?’

He strode across the room and helped himself to a piece of toast and a cup of coffee before sitting behind a large mahogany desk. ‘I thought I told you to lose that uniform.’

She frowned, as memories of their intense exchange in his bedroom flooded back. ‘I don’t think we agreed on that.’

‘You’re right. We didn’t get to finish that conversation, did we?’ He stared at her over the rim of his cup and she could have sworn she read desire in his eyes.

Great. Despite her mental pep talk a few minutes earlier she still harboured ridiculous fantasies where her spunky boss was concerned. He could have any woman in the world and she thought she’d captured his interest in half an hour? Yeah, right.

‘I thought all your staff wore uniforms.’ She tried her best to look demure, clasping her hands behind her back. How she’d last more than a week in this subservient act, she’d never know. For some strange reason this man brought out the worst in her. She felt compelled to trade quips with him, to ruffle his oh-so-suave feathers, to get the better of him in any exchange.

He placed his cup on the desk and rested steepled fingers on his chest. ‘Not my personal assistant.’

‘I’m your butler, not your PA.’ Somehow, the title of PA conjured all sorts of vivid images of how personal she could get with the delectable Dylan.

‘You’ve just been promoted. If you’re up to it, that is.’

He’d done it again, known exactly how to push her buttons. As if she would ever back down from any challenge he threw at her.

‘So you’re that impressed with me, huh?’

He shook his head. ‘No need to fish for compliments, Samantha. I’ve read your résumé and I’m intrigued. Why would a woman with a degree in economics want to work as a butler? And, even better, work for a man with a reputation for being a hard taskmaster?’

She squared her shoulders and hoped that the little white lies she had to tell to keep this job wouldn’t show on her face. ‘I enjoy a challenge. Working for someone with your vast experience in the business world will be a bonus, if and when I decide to enter that field.’ She hoped her answer would satisfy his curiosity—when in doubt, flatter.

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You’re not some kind of spy, are you?’

Sam sighed. ‘Your mother checked out my credentials and I’m sure you’ve discussed my appointment with her by now. What do you think?’

‘I think that if you’re half as good as your résumé says you are, you’d be perfect as my PA. So, what do you say?’

Okay, she wasn’t completely stupid. Being Dylan’s personal assistant would be a heck of a lot more interesting than bowing and scraping to him and a lot less damaging. After all, she had a lot less chance of seeing him almost naked as his PA than as his butler. ‘I accept. Thanks for the opportunity.’

He nodded his approval. ‘Good. Now that’s settled, let’s get started. I need to dictate some letters that need to be sent ASAP. While I do that, you can sort through this pile of invoices. In monthly and alphabetical order please, with the most urgent bills to be paid uppermost.’

She took the pile and seated herself opposite him, thankful for the huge desk. No chance of accidental contact across a great divide of mahogany, though there’d been nothing accidental about the way he’d caressed her cheek earlier that morning. Though she tried to concentrate on the task at hand, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek as he spoke into a Dictaphone, his low tones soothing her. He’d dressed in the outfit she’d predicted earlier, though it looked a heck of a lot better on the man than on a hanger.

Visions of their morning interlude drifted into her mind and, before she knew it, she’d mentally undressed him down to the skimpy towel he’d worn as he’d strolled into his bedroom looking a million dollars. How she’d managed to maintain composure, she’d never know. At least those boring drama classes at high school had been good for something. Old Mrs Lincoln would have been proud of her You don’t affect me one bit performance she’d given Dylan that morning.

At that moment, the man in question hit the ‘stop’ button and looked up.

‘Having trouble keeping up?’ He pointedly stared at the pile of invoices in front of her and raised an eyebrow.

Fighting a losing battle with a rising heat that flooded her cheeks, she shook her head. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’ Lame, even by her standards, but what could she do when the object of her lustful fantasy was glaring at her with those dark eyes that screamed, Come and get me?

‘About what? Some old boyfriend you’ve left behind in Sydney?’

‘I’m not from Sydney.’ She responded without thinking and, predictably, he pounced on her answer.

‘But I thought you’d been working for the Larkins?’ His stare intensified, leaving her squirming like a bug under a ten-year-old’s magnifying glass in the sun.

Crossing her fingers behind her back, she hoped her voice remained steady. ‘I was, but I’m from Brisbane originally.’

‘Ah.’ Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued, ‘So, what about the boyfriend?’

For a moment, she hoped he was asking out of interest in her as an available woman, before reality set in. The likes of Dylan Harmon would never be interested in the hired help, unless it was for one thing. And she had no intention of making that bed or lying in it.

‘You’re my boss, not my owner. My private life is none of your business.’ She folded her arms in a purely defensive gesture, wishing she could ignore that probing stare. Unfortunately, her action drew his stare downwards before he quickly returned his gaze to her face.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’ll be spending a lot of time travelling between our outback property and Melbourne, with little time off for socialising. I need to know that you’re one hundred per cent committed to this job. Otherwise, I’ll find someone else.’ He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk, as though impatiently awaiting her answer.

Though it went against the grain, she had to tell him about her private life—or lack of one. She needed this job and she hadn’t come this far to lose it now. ‘There’s no one special in my life at the moment. You’ll have my entire focus for the time I’m employed.’

His face softened at her response. ‘Good. I need all your attention…for the tasks at hand.’

His pause, combined with the subtle change in body language as he leaned towards her, sent her imagination spiralling out of control again. She stared at him, caught in the hypnotic intensity of his smouldering eyes, wanting to look away yet powerless to do so. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn that he felt the bizarre attraction she’d conjured up out of thin air too.

‘Are you free tonight?’

She blinked and resisted the impulse to nod like a schoolgirl being asked out on her first date. ‘That depends on you.’

He smiled, the rare flash of brilliance illuminating his face and sending her heart hammering in her chest. ‘Oh, really? How so?’

Ignoring her pounding pulse and wondering how she could control her treacherous reactions to her handsome boss, she said, ‘I didn’t know the hours I’d be expected to work. Your mother suggested I discuss it with you.’

‘So, if I say I need you tonight, you’re mine for the evening?’

Oh-oh. She didn’t need this sort of encouragement. Her overactive imagination was doing fine on its own, thank you very much, without help from his innuendo.

She cleared her throat. ‘As your butler, I would’ve expected to work evenings. As your PA, I thought most work could be accomplished during the day.’

His smile broadened, if that were possible. ‘Not for what I have in mind.’

Thankfully, the intercom buzzed on his desk, saving her from answering. She took a deep breath and wondered if he played word games with all his female staff. Was he actually flirting with her or was her limited experience with men rearing its head?