The Last-Minute Marriage. Marion Lennox

      It was worth working for. It was a great smile.

      ‘I brought corporate clothes,’ she told him. ‘I’m not silly. But I’ve come from Australia. I came in a hurry because my aunt was dying, but I did pack decent clothes. Unfortunately the airline is playing keepings-off with them.’

      ‘Keepings-off?’

      ‘I put my clothes on the plane in Sydney. I put me on the plane in Sydney. I got off the plane here, but clearly my suitcase fell out somewhere around Hawaii. So now someone in Hawaii’s wearing my good, Charles-facing suit while I’m forced to wear the only clothes I have. I had one pair of decent shoes but I was stupid enough to use the same pavement as a New York mutt with poor choice in toilet placement. With ten minutes to make it here, Aunt Hattie’s sandals were all I had.’

      ‘You didn’t think of buying something else?’ he asked, and that was a mistake. He’d shoved her down the stairs, he’d hurt her, and she’d reacted with humour. Now, though, he got a blaze of anger that made him take a step back.

      ‘Yeah. Toss a little money at the problem and it’ll go away. Of course. What’s money for? Just like Charles. You leave your mother with Peta until it looks like you’ll inherit; then you haul her over to the other side of the world. Economy class. When she’s dying! Even when you can afford all this! Only you don’t really want her. You dump her in some appalling nursing home to die alone, making sure you get her to change her will first…’ She bit her lip and the wash of pain across her face was dreadful.

      ‘Um… I don’t have a mother,’ he said cautiously and the anger exploded even more.

      ‘Of course you don’t. I wasn’t talking about you. I was just grouping you.’

      ‘Categorising me?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I see.’ He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what was going on. Her anger was palpable and he needed to break through it in order to get some… Well, some order.

      ‘Who’s Peta?’ he asked.

      ‘Me.’ She glowered.

      ‘You’re Peta? Hi. I’m Marcus.’

      She wasn’t about to be distracted.

      ‘I can do without the introductions. I haven’t finished being angry yet.’

      His eyebrows hiked. ‘I’m sorry. But… Peta?’

      ‘My dad wanted a boy,’ she snapped, recovering momentum. ‘And will you be quiet when I’m letting off steam? You and Charles and Attila the Hun in there, you judge. You think just because I’m not wearing an Armani suit—yeah, I can tell it’s Armani, I’m not stupid, no matter how patronising you sound—that I don’t matter. I’ll never get to see Charles. I’ve used the last of my money to care for and bury Hattie, and if I don’t get to see him…’ She gave a deep, raspy breath, the pain and the shock of the last few minutes finally surfacing to the point where they couldn’t be hidden.

      She’d been using her anger as a barrier, Marcus realised, and it wasn’t working. Whatever was behind was breaking through.

      ‘This is stupid,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t give a toss, and anyway, you’ll have a secretary like Attila in there, and even if I threaten to sue the pants off you, you’ll just turn to your secretary and say fix it. Keep her away from me…’

      ‘I wouldn’t…’

      But of course he would.

      ‘Mr Benson?’ a voice said behind them and it was Ruby. His cool, unflappable assistant to whom he handed life’s problems. Life’s hiccups. The personal stuff. ‘Is there a problem, Mr Benson?’ Ruby said smoothly. ‘How can I help?’

      Ruby was wonderful. She was the answer to Marcus Benson’s prayers.

      Somewhere in her indeterminate post forties, a stout and sensibly dressed Afro-American, Ruby gave off the aura of someone’s mother or someone’s aunt. She was neither.

      Nor did she have any secretarial qualifications. She had been an obscure, unnoticed clerk in Marcus’s vast financial empire when he’d found her almost by accident seven or eight years back. Marcus had been trying to juggle a Japanese delegation, a team of lawyers after his blood, and a posse of journalists and photographers from Celebrity-Plus Magazine. His highly qualified secretary had wilted under pressure.

      In desperation he’d gone to the outer office and called for anyone—anyone!—who could speak even a little Japanese.

      To his astonishment Ruby had risen ponderously to her feet. She’d studied a little Japanese at night school, she’d told him, and he’d expected nothing. But what he’d got… In twenty minutes she’d charmed the Japanese businessmen and organised an on-site lunch, she’d diverted the reporters with vouchers to a nearby exclusive wine bar, and she was calmly taking notes while Marcus coped with the lawyers. And when he appeared flummoxed she even suggested priorities.

      Her priorities were always right. Marcus had never looked for another assistant. Ruby didn’t move fast. She was unflappable, and she was worth diamonds. More than diamonds. Now she assessed the situation at a glance, she figured what Marcus wanted and she proceeded to provide it.

      ‘If Mr Benson has hurt you, we’ll do everything in our power to rectify it,’ she told the girl. ‘Mr Benson has an appointment right now which must be kept, but I can help.’ She gave Marcus an enquiring look—a look they both knew—which asked whether she should be sympathetic. She got a nod. A distinct nod and a smile. The combination of nod and smile was Marcus’s sign language for go all out to be nice.

      And Marcus meant it. He was feeling really guilty here. If Ruby could make things better for this chit of a girl, then it’d be worth losing his precious assistant for half a day.

      ‘I’ll take you to the local medical facility and let someone see that ankle,’ Ruby was saying as Marcus backed away a little. Letting her take charge. ‘We’ll replace your damaged clothes. I’ll buy you a decent meal and I’ll organise a cab to take you home. Is that okay?’

      Marcus’s face cleared. It sounded good to him. Generosity would definitely help here. There was still the niggle of guilt, but Ruby would assuage it.

      But it seemed they were not to be let off so easily. Or maybe they were being let off too easily.

      ‘Thank you.’ Peta pushed herself into a sitting position. She glanced from Ruby to Marcus and back again. Her face had shuttered, showing no pain, no anger…just nothing. It was a defence, Marcus realised. A shield.

      ‘Thank you but I don’t need help,’ she told Ruby, with another half glance at Marcus that said, Yeah, hadn’t she been right all along? Here was his secretary ready to sweep his problems under the carpet. Peta’s look said she knew exactly the type Marcus was—the type who decreed when life got too difficult, pay someone.

      Her look also said the sooner she was shot of him the better she’d like it.

      ‘I’m not going to sue, and my problems are not your problems,’ she told them both. ‘I have an appointment to see Mr Higgins. He’s running hours late as it is. If I leave now he’ll say I missed my appointment and I can’t afford to do that. So thank you, but I’ll stay here. Filthy or not. I can’t afford to lose this chance.’

      ‘Mr Higgins won’t see you like that,’ Ruby told her, blunt as ever, and Marcus’s face tightened.

      ‘I’ve already told her that. I doubt if he’ll see her at all.’

      Ruby’s lips pursed, acknowledging that he might be right. ‘But if she has an appointment…’

      ‘You know Charles, Ruby. He’s not about to let Peta anywhere near his corporate offices looking like this.’

      ‘Hey, excuse me,’ Peta said cautiously, looking up at the