Hired: The Boss's Bride. Элли Блейк

turned away from the bar for good this time and pointed to a set of deep cream tub chairs in the corner of the plush carpeted room. ‘So how about you and Mitch?’

      ‘Me and Mitch what?’ Kristin asked, sitting, then bopping on her seat along with the Elvis classic purring from the tastefully hidden speakers scattered about the opulent room.

      ‘Have you ever been…on?’

      ‘On what?’

      Veronica rolled her eyes. ‘On. You know… together. We spend so many hours with those we work with it’s only natural to gravitate towards one another.’

      Natural, she thought. That sounds way better than a pathological case of repeatedly mistaking the man in charge as a man in charge of his own life.

      Kristin choked on her drink. ‘Me? And Mitch? Mitch Hanover? A-blonde-a-minute Mitch Hanover? My boss? The man who pays my very nice wages? And lets me take Thursday afternoons off for a manicure and pedicure as thanks for the long hours I put in?’

      Veronica noticed she hadn’t actually answered the question. ‘You don’t think he’s cute?’

      ‘Of course I think he’s cute,’ Kristin said, without even a pause. Then she glanced at Mitch, who was now alone at the bar, talking into his mobile phone with a frown on his face. She took another sip, then looked thoughtfully back at her friend. ‘To tell you the truth, if he’d asked early on I wouldn’t have said no. It’s just…you see he has this particular thing for blondes. Fun and frivolous blondes. Much younger blondes. The kind who wouldn’t know a da Vinci from a Rossetti. Which could be dead dreary and predictable coming from another man, but for our Mitch it’s understandable, really. Considering…’

      Kristin’s words trailed off into an expressive sigh.

      Veronica couldn’t for the life of her think why being a gorgeous hotshot gave a man an excuse not to date women of his own generation. In fact, she found herself taking it somewhat personally. ‘How young?’

      ‘Zygotes. Truly. Wrinkle-free ones for whom gravity was a word they heard at school, not a physical affliction.’

      Veronica kept her eyes dead ahead and controlled her desire to look over her shoulder at the bar, and her handsome eligible boss and the blonde. Like a dog with a bone she asked, ‘Is there one zygote in particular?’

      ‘That’s the thing. They last about as long as a bottle of milk, and then from nowhere a fresh milk bottle magically appears on his arm. Or in the fridge. Or however such an analogy should go.’

      Well, what did you know? Mitch Hanover, for all the orderliness of his perfectly laundered button-down shirts, was a player. Could it be true that he wasn’t on the lookout for someone to darn his socks and pour his nightcaps any more than she wanted to do those kinds of things? A dangerous little thrill scooted down Veronica’s spine and landed in the backs of her knees.

      She nodded. ‘I get your drift.’

      ‘Good. Now your turn. Do you find our boss yummy?’

      Veronica waved a nonchalant hand in the air. ‘Irrelevant.’

      Kristin laughed. ‘God, you’re transparent. Just take my advice and don’t let the tall, dark and handsome man-about-town thing fool you, okay? There are more deep, gloomy chasms in that man’s world than you or I would ever be likely to plumb in this lifetime.’

      Before Veronica had the chance to find out more, Mitch’s deep resonant voice echoed in her left ear. ‘Good evening, ladies.’

      She flinched so hard a glob of tomato pulp spilled out of her drink. She placed her glass carefully on the round table and looked up at Mitch with her most professional smile. ‘Good evening, boss.’

      He nodded her way, no hint of a smile, and she was sure that was all the acknowledgement she was going to get. Until his gaze lingered. For just a moment. But it was a moment in which she felt the sharp tang of electricity hit the back of her throat until she had to swallow in order to catch her breath. It was enough to make her wonder just what indulging in a little fun with the likes of straight-on-the-outside, mysterious-on-the-inside Mitch Hanover might be like.

      Mitch finally blinked and turned his attentions to Kristin, and Veronica felt her whole body slump as though she’d been holding herself upright by nothing more than the strength of his piercing gaze.

      ‘The gang have pushed a few tables together at the back of the bar,’ he said, ‘and ordered a round of some cocktail whose name I dare not repeat in polite company. Are you ready to join us?’

      ‘You betcha,’ Kristin said, pushing her chair back and toddling off in the direction of drinks paid for by someone else, leaving Veronica to deal with Mitch alone.

      She rose more slowly, waiting until her loose black off-the-shoulder dress settled back around her knees before stepping out from behind the table.

      Mitch stood politely by until she was up and walking before falling into step beside her. And while the bar was alive with the noise of happy-hour chatter, discreet music and the pleasant clink of ice on glass, a strange silence stretched taut between them.

      Veronica took it upon herself to break it. ‘So who’s the blonde?’

      Okay, so she had a big mouth. She couldn’t help herself. Her mother had always claimed it was that quality that meant she could sell sea water to sailors. She worried it was that quality that made those same sailors read innocent flirtation as an invitation for so much more.

      Mitch’s expression barely changed. But it did change. She saw a twitch in his cheek. It was the kind of twitch she was infamous for producing.

      And just when she thought he was going to refrain from answering, he said, ‘She’s a friend.’

      ‘Really? Where’d you find her? A campus social?’

      The twitch morphed into a smile, which turned all too quickly into deep rumbling laughter that slithered sensually down Veronica’s arms.

      ‘I was wondering if I’d seen the most bumptious side of you in your interview,’ he said.

      ‘Heck, no. I was on my best behaviour.’

      She thought that might be the end of the conversation until he glanced her way and explained, ‘She works in the coffee shop at the bottom of my office building. As I left tonight she mentioned she’d heard we were going to be here so I asked her to join us.’

      ‘Score one for Blondie,’ she said. ‘Though, do you think I hurt my apartment super’s feelings when I didn’t make the same offer after he asked where I was heading to tonight?’

      At that he turned. The twitch twitched again, drawing the corner of his mouth into a truly intimate smile, one that came with a fierce twinkle in his eye.

      She never should have willed the twinkle. It was far more potent than she possibly could have imagined. She had to scrunch her toes into her shoes to stop from tripping over her high, pointy size eights, which suddenly felt a size too small.

      ‘Her name isn’t Blondie, it’s Stacy,’ he said.

      ‘Of course it is,’ she muttered.

      ‘With a y, no e, which for some reason she seems to think it important to remind me every few minutes.’

      ‘Ha! Classic.’

      He slowed so that she had no choice but to do the same or look as if she was running away from him. He blinked into her eyes for long enough she felt breathless all over, and she wished she hadn’t opened her big mouth in the first place.

      ‘Do you have a problem with my date?’ he asked.

      ‘Not at all,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s not… It’s just…’

      ‘It’s just?’ he encouraged.

      ‘She’s