Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed. Sandra Marton

He paused, then leaned towards her. ‘And you shall. In his office, in LA. His secretary called this morning. You have a dinner appointment with him.’

      ‘What?’ Talia stared at her employer in disbelief. ‘I can’t, John. I have a meeting scheduled in an hour. Anyway, I’d never get a flight at the last minute. And I’d have to change my clothes—’

      ‘Changing your clothes is the only thing on your agenda.’ John Diamond shoved back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Someone else will take your meeting. As for flight arrangements, the old boy’s sending his Learjet for you.’ He grinned as he walked around the table and grasped the back of her chair. ‘Pretty impressive, hmm?’

      Panic fluttered its wings in Talia’s breast. What kind of nonsense was this? John knew she didn’t work this way—he’d teased her about it often enough, but she knew that he admired her for it, too. She was a person who believed in planning. That was the way you took control of a situation. But that took time and preparation, and her boss—and Logan Miller—were giving her neither.

      ‘I can’t do it,’ she said. The expression on her boss’s face made her swallow. ‘I mean, I’d rather not do it this way. I—I work best when I have the chance to get myself organised, John. You know that.’

      Diamond’s smile faded. ‘Listen, sweetheart, I’d love to play this your way. But there isn’t time. Miller said he wants to see you tonight.’

      John pulled back Talia’s chair and she rose slowly. ‘Yes, but what’s the rush? The meeting can wait a day or two. I’ll telephone Mr Miller and explain—’

      ‘He’s leaving for South America tomorrow. Brazil or Chile, I don’t know, I’m not certain what his secretary said. Frankly, I was too busy pinching myself to make sure it was happening.’ John took her hand and tucked it into his arm. ‘Do you realise, Talia, that if you can pull this off, Diamond will have its first really classy account?’

      ‘We have lots of good accounts, John. You know that.’

      Her boss shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, ‘we’ve got some good stuff. But nothing as up-scale as Miller. And you know this business, sweetheart. One good client leads to another.’ Diamond smiled as they walked to the door. ‘Don’t look so woebegone, Talia. Anybody would think I was sending you off on something terrible instead of giving you the chance to bring home a fat contract.’

      Talia smiled weakly. John was right. Yes, Logan Miller had a formidable reputation and yes, she had already formed a negative impression of him—but the fact was that he’d asked for her especially because he was pleased with her work. As for preparation, the flight to Los Angeles would give her time to read up on Miller International. Maybe she could even dig up something about the new offices they were planning.

      She drew in her breath. ‘You’re right. And I’m grateful for the vote of confidence.’

      Her boss smiled. ‘I knew I could count on you, sweetheart.’ He opened the door and they stepped into the corridor. ‘I’ve arranged for a car to drive you home so that you can change and get whatever else you need. If Miller asks any questions you can’t field—legal stuff, whatever—just tell him to have his lawyers call ours.’ Talia’s boss looked at her. ‘You’ll do fine, kid. You’ll see. I know you don’t like this last-minute kind of thing, but you’ve already dealt with Logan Miller and come out ahead.’

      ‘I didn’t deal with him, John. I didn’t even see him.’

      Her boss put his beefy arm around her shoulders and began walking her slowly towards the street door. ‘Yeah, but you impressed the hell out of him. With a guy like that, that’s half the battle.’ He squeezed her shoulders as they reached the door. ‘You’ll do fine.’

      Talia smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’

      ‘Break a leg, sweetheart.’

      She winced as she stepped into the crisp San Francisco afternoon. Some day, she thought, she had to convince John Diamond to find a better way to wish her good luck.

      * * *

      Talia sighed as she closed the copy of the Wall Street Journal and lay it on the seat beside her, where it joined a stack of other Journals, a copy of the International Herald Tribune, and several back issues of Business Week magazine. There was an ache in her temples, and she lay her head against the soft leather seat-back and closed her eyes.

      She tended to get headaches when she flew—a friendly flight attendant had once told her it was from insufficient oxygen in the cabin air—but she had the feeling that the pain in her head this time had more to do with all the reading she’d done the past couple of hours than with anything so mundane.

      For one thing, the cabin of Logan Miller’s private jet wouldn’t suffer from insufficient oxygen or anything else. Everything about the plane was plush, from the glove-leather seats to the walnut panelling. It was stocked with all the luxuries of home—not hers, Talia thought wryly, and not anybody else’s she knew. Even John Diamond’s handsome apartment was spartan compared to this.

      ‘Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Roberts,’ the steward had said as soon as she’d settled into her seat. ‘May I bring you something? A sandwich, perhaps? Or a salad? Or—’

      ‘Tea,’ Talia had said. ‘Tea would be lovely.’

      Moments later, she’d been sipping a fragrant brew—’Specially blended for Mr Miller, Miss Roberts, I’m glad you like it’—from what was surely a Limoges cup. An assortment of biscuits, arranged on an antique Sheffield platter, had accompanied the tea. When she’d finished, the steward had reappeared, offering headphones, a compact-disc player and her choice of musical selections, a rolling library of books or, if she’d preferred, the latest in films.

      Talia, who’d only managed to find and read one short article about Miller International before hurrying to the airport, had shaken her head. ‘Thank you, no. I don’t suppose you have any material about the Miller corporation, do you?’

      The steward had smiled, walked to the walnut-panelled bulkhead, and had touched his hand to it. A door had slid open, revealing neatly arranged rows of materials, magazines and newspapers all chronologically organised, each marked to indicate what article contained therein dealt with Miller International.

      Talia had been impressed. ‘You’re very efficient,’ she’d said, smiling at the man.

      He had grinned. ‘I can’t take credit, miss. This was Mr Miller’s idea. He likes things well organised.’

      Well, Talia had thought, settling back with the earliest of the newspapers, at least she and the head of Miller International had that in common.

      Now, two hours later, her head hurt from all the facts she’d tried pounding into it. She knew a great deal about the company, but, for all her reading, she knew little more than she had about Logan Miller. He was described in one article as ‘A man fiercely determined to keep his privacy’, and, from what Talia could see, he’d certainly managed. The closest she’d come to any information about him was in an article that dated back four years. It had mentioned possible serious illness.

      Talia sighed as she looked out of the porthole at the cloudless blue sky. Either Miller had made a rapid recovery or the writer of the article had been misinformed. A man who’d set such a gruelling schedule for his executives at the Weekend Retreat had to be in good health—unless he hadn’t participated and had simply watched his people work themselves into a lather. Sighing again, Talia reached for the next magazine, one dated six months after the last.

      ‘Changes Ahead for Miller International?’ said the cover. Perhaps she could learn something here, she thought, flipping the magazine open. Headache or no headache, she had to keep reading. There had to be some thread that would explain the man before they met…

      ‘Miss Roberts?’ It was the steward, smiling apologetically. ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes. I’m afraid I’ll have to secure the cabinet.’