Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed. Sandra Marton

from the wall and nodded. ‘The Miller thing. I suppose you might say that, yes.’

      A lock of auburn hair fell over Talia’s forehead and she brushed it back impatiently. ‘You’re due here at seven. Until then, you’re just in the way.’ Her eyes moved over him again. ‘I take it you can put your hands on black trousers? We’ll provide the jacket and bow-tie.’

      He laughed and put his hands on his hips. The movement made the muscles roll beneath his skin, and she thought, yes, definitely a surfer with that sun-bleached hair and taut body. Only someone who spent his time in constant activity could look so—so…

      ‘And a white shirt,’ she said, while a flush ran up under her skin.

      He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said solemnly. ‘Black trousers, white shirt. Anything else, Miss…?’

      ‘And black shoes. Polished, of course.’

      A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Of course. Miss—Miss…’

      ‘Roberts.’ Her voice was crisp. ‘Talia Roberts. I’m in charge.’

      The man stared at her for a minute, and then he took a step towards her. ‘How nice to meet you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And I’m—’

      ‘I don’t care in the least who you are,’ she said coldly.

      His smile dimmed a little. ‘That’s not very polite, Talia. When you deal with people, you might—’

      Her chin rose. ‘My name is Miss Roberts. And if I need advice, I’ll certainly not ask for it from someone like you.’

      The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘If I were you, Miss Roberts—’

      ‘But you’re not. And if you want to get paid tonight, you’d better learn to do as you’re told.’

      His smile turned to ice. ‘Are you always this unpleasant to the people who work for you?’

      No, she thought in surprise, she wasn’t. Courtesy to staff was one of the things she prided herself on. Then why, she wondered, was she being so rude to him? The answer came quickly. Because he was impertinent. Because he had no business here. Because—because he made her uncomfortable and edgy and—

      ‘Dammit to hell!’

      The chef’s voice roared across the kitchen as the Welsh rarebit boiled over. Talia took one look and grabbed for a towel. When she turned around again, the man had vanished.

      She forget all about him as the afternoon passed. There were a dozen last-minute crises, none—thank goodness—that couldn’t be handled. Finally, with only moments to spare, Talia hurried to her room to shower and change for the evening. When she was dressed, she looked into the mirror and smiled. She’d been right, the grey suit and silk blouse were perfect. She looked as cool and collected as…

      Talia jumped. For a second, her reflection had seemed to waver; she’d imagined she’d seen the stranger looking back at her, smiling his insolent smile.

      She turned away sharply and picked up her bag. If the man showed up, which she doubted, she’d tell her people to keep a careful eye on him. He was more likely to try and skive off than work. He might even try to come on to the few women executives scattered in the group, and she didn’t need that kind of headache. The cocktail party, and the dinner following, would bring enough problems of their own.

      The hall was silent. The inn was three storeys high, and Logan Miller’s people had all been housed on the first two levels. Talia had taken a room on the third floor, where she could monitor things without intruding on them.

      Her heels clicked loudly as she walked down the corridor. The floating staircase loomed ahead, an impressive structure of redwood, stainless steel and glass. She paused at the top, her hand on the polished wood railing, and looked down. In a little while, all her months of planning and hard work would come together. And everything would be fine—she’d left nothing to chance.

      ‘You’re such a stickler for detail, Talia,’ one of her assistants had said today, smiling. ‘I bet it runs in the family.’

      Wryly, Talia had been tempted to tell her the truth. ‘Not in my family it doesn’t,’ she’d almost said. ‘The only detail my mother ever worried about was getting married before her pregnancy showed. And my father’s only thought was how long it would take before she wouldn’t give a damn if he left and never came back.’

      But she’d simply laughed and spouted some nonsense about preparing for every possible contingency. Which was what she always did, she reminded herself as she started down the stairs. It was one of the reasons why she had nothing to worry about tonight.

      What could possibly go wrong?

      * * *

      An hour later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The cocktail party was in full swing, and it was going as smoothly as silk. Talia made a cursory appearance, just long enough to check the trays of hors-d’oeuvre and the stock at the bar. The Miller executives seemed to be having a great time. They’d been subdued at first, standing in little clusters, talking quietly. Every now and then, an anxious face would turn to the doorway. But as time passed and they sipped their drinks, their inhibitions fell away and the level of noise and laughter grew.

      On her second trip through the ballroom, Talia overheard a snatch of conversation that confirmed what she had already suspected. ‘Maybe we’ll luck out,’ one man said to another. ‘Maybe the old man’s been detained in New York.’

      Talia breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed open the swinging door that led back to the kitchen. So, Logan Miller hadn’t shown yet. Maybe that explained why things were going so well. Everything was moving along as she’d planned—even though they were one server short. Her assistant hadn’t complained about it, but of course Talia knew they were.

      She’d been watching for the man she’d had the run-in with earlier, and he hadn’t shown up. It was just as well. If he’d been there—

      ‘Oof! Sorry, Talia, I didn’t see you there.’

      The saucier had stepped down hard on her foot. Talia smiled determinedly. ‘My fault,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘I’ll just—’ She whirled around as a pot clattered to the tile floor. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean…’

      The head chef looked at her. ‘Sounds like there’s a pretty good party going on out there. Why don’t you go have a drink or something?’

      Talia laughed and shook her head. ‘Not me. I’m just the hired help—they don’t want me crashing their party.’

      He sighed. ‘Listen, boss, I’m trying to do this diplomatically but the truth is, you’re in the way. We’d all be grateful if you’d skedaddle. We’ll yell if we run into trouble.’

      She nodded. It was a nice thing to say, but trouble was highly unlikely. The staff were efficient and well trained, and they didn’t need her underfoot. Her job was planning and co-ordinating; the chef was right, she really was in the way right now.

      Talia smiled, snatched a cracker from a tray as it went by, and walked to the door. ‘Call if you need me,’ she said, and she stepped out into the dusk.

      She felt as if she’d walked into another world. The noise of the kitchen vanished, replaced instantly by the silence of the soft September evening. A breeze carried up from the sand, fragrant with the rich scents of the Pacific, mingling with the clean tang of pine drifting down from the rounded hills that rose behind the inn. Talia stood still for a moment, face lifted to the sky, and then she began walking slowly along the gravel path that wound uphill, through the pines to the grove of redwoods towering beyond them.

      It was hard going, thanks to the pitch of the land and the height of her grey suede heels, but she decided to make the best of it. For starters, the air smelled too sweet and fresh to go back inside. For another—for another, she was just as glad to put off the time she’d have