The Boss and His Secretary. Jessica Steele

housekeeper—who was, after all, a mother first and foremost—went back to looking after her daughter.

      ‘You’re sure?’ Osgood Compton asked when she told him, his lovely beaming smile surfacing for all he tried to hold it down.

      On Saturday, well aware by then that her employer liked to have a nap at some time during the afternoon, Taryn wondered if he might like to sit outside and have his tea. She had made his favourite cake only that morning.

      She was in the act of taking a tray of china out to the garden table when the sound of a car coming up the drive drew her attention. So far as she knew Mr Compton was not expecting visitors. That was not to say, however, that his visitors would not be welcome.

      Though as she watched the long sleek, this year’s model car halt outside the main entrance door, Taryn left what she was doing and hurried outside to it, her protective instincts to the fore. There was only one visitor, she saw, but if this person had accidentally called at the wrong address then she did not want him or her disturbing Mr Compton’s nap by ringing the doorbell.

      She arrived at the driver’s door just as a tall, dark-haired man, somewhere in his mid-thirties, was getting out. He saw her and stiffened—absolutely thunderstruck.

      Taryn stared at him. ‘Who…?’ she began, seeing no reason at all why this man should be staring at her every bit as if he knew her from somewhere.

      ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’ he demanded, to her utter astonishment.

      His attitude had rattled her. ‘Do I know you?’ she snapped hostilely. But straight on the heels of that came a spark of recognition. He was dressed in shirt and trousers now, which was perhaps why it had taken a minute or two to sink in. But she had seen him before, and that time, about two months ago now, he had been immaculately suited and had been carrying an expensive-looking briefcase.

      She did know him. Shock washed over her. If she was not very much mistaken he was the man who had been in the lift that day she had reeled out of Brian Mellor’s office! This man was, in fact, the man she had that day been rude to!

      He had demanded to know what the blazes she was doing there. But what on earth was he doing here? Taryn thought it was time she found out!

      CHAPTER TWO

      WHERE it had taken up to a minute for Taryn to recognise the man, and to recall where she had seen him before, he, it seemed, with barely a glance to her face, blonde hair and trim figure, had at once recognised her. Even though she too had been business-clad at that time.

      With his, ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’ still ringing in the air, she felt at a distinct disadvantage. It was more than time she asked him the same question. ‘We aren’t expecting visitors,’ she told him pointedly.

      ‘Aren’t we?’ he rapped, clearly not liking the fact that she had taken upon herself the role of the occupant’s Rottweiler. And, not deigning to wait for her reply, he, without more ado, strode past her, making for the door she had just come from.

      Taryn chased after him. ‘Who are you?’ she challenged his back.

      She thought he was going to ignore her, but he halted and turned about. ‘Do I take it that you’re the incomparable Taryn the phone lines between here and New York are full of?’

      Her eyes widened in amazement. ‘You know—?’ She broke off. Osgood Compton’s daughter lived in New York. ‘You have the advantage,’ she said, getting her breath back.

      ‘Jake Nash,’ he supplied. ‘You’re my great uncle’s temporary, looking-to-be-permanent housekeeper?’ he questioned toughly.

      ‘I intend to leave as soon as Mrs Ellington is able to come and take over,’ Taryn replied crisply. And as this Jake Nash, somehow happening to be the antagonistic great-nephew of a true gentleman, again made for the door, ‘Mr Compton will be having a nap,’ she stated quickly, adding reluctantly, ‘If you’d like to come with me to the kitchen I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

      He seemed to hesitate, as if about to demand who did she think she was, to be giving orders to a member of her employer’s family. But he stood back after a moment to allow her to go in first. ‘That might be a good idea,’ he conceded.

      He seemed to know his way to the kitchen, but no sooner were they there than she was realising why he had thought it might be a good idea. For in no time, ignoring her suggestion that he take a seat at the kitchen table while she set the kettle to boil, Jake Nash, standing and leaning his tall length against one of the kitchen units, was in there straight away, with one question after another.

      ‘You are my uncle’s housekeeper?’ was the first of many.

      ‘Temporary—and ready to go as soon as his permanent housekeeper’s daughter is well enough to be left, and her mother returns,’ Taryn answered.

      ‘That’s a definite?’

      ‘What does it have to do with you?’ she asked snappily, starting to feel more than a touch niggled at his sauce, and giving up all pretence of making this man a pot of tea. ‘You’re not my employer,’ she stated, when she could see from the raised eyebrows that he was a man who just wasn’t used to being answered back.

      ‘It seems you’ve been making yourself more than useful in the short time you’ve been here?’ he said curtly.

      ‘It’s what I’m employed to do!’

      ‘To the extent of going on long walks with your employer?’

      ‘Not so very long.’

      ‘To the extent of taking him to the pub?’

      ‘He took me!’ she exclaimed, unsure how she suddenly came to be defending herself. ‘Excepting for once, when it was pouring with rain and he was getting a little fed up being stuck indoors. Anyway—’

      ‘From what I hear, you’ve even introduced him to the iniquities of playing darts?’ he cut in.

      Taryn almost laughed at that. In fact, had she not known better, she would have said that there was a twinkle of laughter in Jake Nash’s eyes. But she didn’t believe that for a second. ‘Just what is this—?’ she began. But suddenly, and with shock, what he had said about the phone lines between here and New York being full of her began to take on a startling meaning. ‘His daughter—Beryl—she’s been in touch with you, hasn’t she?’

      Jake Nash studied her, and seemed, she thought for one absurd moment, to be a little taken with her dainty features and dark blue eyes. ‘She rang my mother,’ he agreed.

      ‘She wanted you to come and check me out?’ Taryn couldn’t quite believe what her intelligence had brought her.

      ‘It’s Taryn this, Taryn that. Can you blame her?’

      ‘She thinks I’m after his money!’ Taryn exclaimed, aghast. ‘That—that he’s somehow sm-smitten with me!’ Appalled, she could hardly get the words out.

      ‘Beryl has met Mrs Ellington,’ he responded evenly. ‘She has never met you. You can’t blame her for having a daughter’s natural concern.’

      ‘So the minute she rang, you hared down here to make sure I—’

      ‘I had business this way today,’ he cut in. ‘It was no problem to make a detour.

      ‘Jake!’ A glad cry from the doorway rent the air. Taryn looked over to where her refreshed temporary employer had just come in, and was grateful in this instance that he was slightly hard of hearing. ‘How good to see you!’ he exclaimed, as the two men met in the middle of the kitchen and shook hands. She did not want him upset by the unpleasantness of Beryl keeping her eye on her. ‘You’ve obviously introduced yourself to Taryn,’ he went on beaming. ‘I just can’t believe that I’ve been so lucky with not one housekeeper but two.’

      ‘Would you like tea now?’ Taryn asked, feeling Jake Nash’s