The Parisian Playboy. Helen Brooks

was she mad. It was as likely she’d made up to the slug in the chair as the pope marrying. He smiled. ‘Do I take it you refute Mr Roberts’s explanation?’ he asked silkily.

      Her nostrils flared. ‘Darn right I do.’ He was aggressively good-looking, hard and chiselled with no sign of softness about him at all. Funny, but from the other woman’s gossip she’d pictured him as more pretty-boy handsome than anything, especially when they’d gone on about the tan and the jet-black hair and wickedly thick eyelashes. He had got all those things, and the eyelashes were gorgeous enough to be utterly wasted on a man, but there was nothing remotely boyish about Jacques Querruel. In fact she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had been born six feet two and radiating power and authority. He couldn’t ever have been a helpless baby or vulnerable little boy.

      ‘It would appear we have something of a stalemate.’ The piercing amber eyes looked from one face to the other. ‘Have either of you proof of what you claim? I take it Miss Stanton’s work bears evidence of her ineptitude?’ he asked Jeff smoothly.

      ‘She—er—I mean, by the time it’s been corrected…it’s eventually brought up to scratch,’ the other man finished lamely.

      ‘And you, Miss Stanton? You have witnesses to Mr Roberts’s over-familiarity?’ The dark eyebrows rose again.

      ‘It’s not over-familiarity,’ Holly said tightly. ‘It’s downright groping of the most intimate kind, and he thinks he can get away with it because he’s the managing director’s son. All the girls avoid him when they can. And, no, I haven’t got any witnesses—Mr Roberts has always made sure of that. Stuck in that little box out there I haven’t exactly got a way of escape or a camera whirring to record his goings-on, have I? And if you are going to ask me if any of the others would come forward to back up what I say, I don’t know. Possibly, if they want to continue working here, the answer would be no.’

      ‘A somewhat jaundiced view, Miss Stanton,’ he drawled, his accent making her name sound very different.

      ‘No, merely realistic,’ she snapped back quickly. She was not going to bow and scrape to this arrogant individual like everyone else; neither was she going to be intimidated into saying anything less than the truth. No doubt Mr Roberts Senior would produce half a dozen female staff to swear that Jeff was approaching sainthood, along with suggesting to Margaret that her new assistant wasn’t quite on the ball, but she couldn’t do anything about that. Whatever, her days at Querruel International were numbered, which was a shame. She had fought off some stiff competition to secure the job and for it to end like this…

      ‘So you have no faith in company procedure for this kind of incident?’ Jacques Querruel asked softly.

      Holly raised her head, her glossy curtain of hair shimmering with the movement. His keen appraisal was making her feel isolated and insignificant but those feelings weren’t new to her and she was adept at hiding them. She swallowed, aware of tension tightening her jaw, but her voice was firm and steady when she replied, ‘I have only been in this company’s employ for eight weeks so I cannot answer that in a general sense.’ She paused. ‘However, with regard to this particular incident, and taking into account the person involved—’ she shot Jeff a glance of pure loathing ‘—I would say it would be very naïve of me to think justice would be done.’

      ‘I see.’ Twice in the last few minutes Jeff Roberts had gone to speak and twice a commanding hand had motioned him to silence. Now Jacques Querruel turned his gaze on the other man as he said even more softly, his voice cold behind the velvet tone, ‘And you, Jeff. Do you think justice will be done?’

      ‘I have every faith in company procedure,’ Jeff said pompously.

      How could a man like Michael Roberts, a man he had every respect for and who was damn good at his job, have a son like this? And moreover think the world of him too? Jacques stood up, hiding his irritation at the situation and himself as he did so. He had known some time ago that he didn’t want Michael’s son to be a permanent fixture in the company, but the man had seemed efficient enough and there had been no reason to suggest getting rid of him.

      Jacques walked over to the massive plate-glass window, staring down into the busy London street below for a moment. He should have followed through on his gut instinct, had Jeff Roberts transferred over to the French office for a few months so he could see how Michael’s son functioned away from his father’s protective hand. Of course, he hadn’t known about this other side of the man… His mouth twisted sardonically. And now he was paying for his procrastination.

      He turned, his mind made up. ‘Suspension on full pay for the time being, Jeff, while this matter is fully investigated.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘No buts.’ The words were crisp and without expression. ‘This is the policy, as you know.’

      ‘But I thought…’ Jeff’s voice trailed away. And then he made the mistake of continuing, ‘You can’t think there’s any truth in this girl’s story? She’s a typist, and I’m…’ He stopped abruptly as Jacques looked straight at him, the Frenchman’s eyes amber flares of light. ‘I mean, my father—’

      ‘Will appreciate the need for absolute integrity in a matter of this kind,’ Jacques finished smoothly.

      Holly knew her mouth was slightly agape just a second after the devastating gaze swung her way, and although she brought her lips quickly together she saw the acknowledgement of her amazement touch the hard mouth in a slight smile.

      ‘Have you anything further to say for the moment, Miss Stanton?’

      Had she? Lots, probably, but right now her brain was as scrambled as an omelette. She shook her head dumbly.

      ‘Then perhaps you would like to go into your…little box and write out a full statement of exactly what you allege occurred today, along with any other incidents which are relevant. Dates and times as far as possible, please. Mr Roberts will be doing the same in here with me.’ He reached over and pressed the buzzer on the desk as he finished speaking, and Margaret appeared immediately like a genie out of a bottle, indicating the managing director’s secretary had been burning with curiosity.

      ‘Coffee, please, Margaret,’ Jacques said pleasantly as Holly began to walk out of the room. ‘And a cup for Miss Stanton too, if you would be so kind? She will take hers in the little box.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Mr Querruel?’

      Holly left them to it, shutting the door behind her before she dived across Margaret’s office and into hers. She sat down at her word processor, glancing about the small space and aware her heart was beating like a drum and tears born of reaction weren’t too far away. She took several deep breaths, willing herself to keep calm. It was a little box. He might not have liked the terminology, but, nevertheless, that was what it was, she told herself militantly as she forced her mind away from the main trouble of the day and on to Jacques Querruel’s last words.

      Margaret appeared in the doorway a moment later and her homely, middle-aged face was a picture. ‘So what’s happened?’ she whispered urgently, adding inconsequentially, ‘I’ve ordered the coffee.’

      Holly told her as quickly and concisely as she could whilst they both kept an ear cocked for any movement from Mr Roberts’s office, and when she had finished the older woman amazed her by putting a comforting arm round her shoulders as she said, ‘He’s a nauseating little bug, Holly, and he’s needed squashing for a long time. I’ve never had any trouble with him, of course—’ Margaret had been happily married for three decades and had two grown-up children ‘—but I know at least one girl who’s left rather than cause a fuss when he kept bothering her. I’ve tried to speak to his father about it on a couple of occasions but I met with a blank wall. Mr and Mrs Roberts lost two children in a road accident before Jeff was born the following year, so he’s always been able to do nothing wrong in their eyes.’

      ‘Whatever happens, I’m not going to be the flavour of the month with him, then, am I?’ Holly commented miserably.

      ‘Oh,