Oh-So-Sensible Secretary / Housekeeper's Happy-Ever-After: Oh-So-Sensible Secretary. Jessica Hart

on the top. Not a scanner, then.

      Puzzled, I opened it up. Inside, sitting on a paper napkin, was a doughnut.

      There was a business card, too. I pulled it out. It had Phin’s name and contact details on one side. On the other he had scrawled, ‘I didn’t want to think of you without your sugar fix. P x’

      My throat felt ridiculously tight. Nobody had ever done anything as thoughtful for me before.

      Of course it didn’t mean anything, I was quick to remind myself. It was just part of Phin’s pathological need to make everyone like him. His charm was relentless.

      But still I found myself—annoyingly—thinking about him, about where he was and what he was doing, and when I picked up the phone and heard his voice my heart gave the most ridiculous lurch.

      ‘Just thought I’d check in,’ said Phin. ‘I hardly know what to do with myself. I’m so used to you telling me what to do and where to be all day. I’ve got used to being organised. Are you missing me yet?’

      ‘No,’ I lied, because I knew he’d be disappointed if I didn’t. ‘But thank you for the doughnut. How on earth did you organise it?’

      ‘Oh, that was easy. I had a word with Lucia—who, by the way, smiled at me the other day, so you’re not the only favourite now—and I asked her to send you a selection, so that you get something different every day I’m away. I think we’re in a doughnut rut.’

      ‘I like my rut,’ I said, but I might as well have spared my breath. Phin was determined that I would try something different.

      Sure enough, the next day an apricot Danish arrived at half past ten, and even though I was determined not to like it as much as a doughnut, I had to admit that it was delicious.

      The next day brought an almond croissant, and the one after that an apple strudel, and then an éclair. Pastries I’d never seen before appeared on my desk, and I found myself starting to glance at the clock after ten and wondering what I’d have with my coffee that day. I’d try and guess what would be in the box—vanilla turnover? Pain au chocolat?—but I never got it right.

      Inevitably word got round about my special deliveries. I wasn’t the only one who was guessing. I heard afterwards they were even taking bets on it in Finance.

      ‘I wish my boss would send me pastries,’ my friend Helen grumbled. ‘You’d think in Food Technology it would be a perk of the job. You are lucky. Phin’s so lovely, isn’t he?’

      I heard that a lot, and although I always said that he was a nightmare to work for, the truth was that I was finding it hard to remember just how irritating he was. When he walked into the office the following Tuesday, my heart jumped into my throat and for one panicky moment I actually forgot how to breathe.

      He strolled in, looking brown and fit, his eyes bluer than ever, and instantly the air was charged with a kind of electricity. Suddenly I was sharply aware of everything: of colour of my nails flickering over the keyboard—Cherry Ripe, if you’re interested—of the computer’s hum, of the feel of the glasses on my nose, the light outside the window. It was as if the whole office had snapped into high definition.

      ‘Good morning,’ I said, and Phin peered at me in surprise.

      ‘Good God, what was that?’

      ‘What was what?’ I asked, thrown.

      ‘No, no…it’s OK. For a moment there I thought I saw a smile.’

      ‘I’ve smiled before,’ I protested.

      ‘Not like that. It was worth coming home for!’ Phin came to sit on the edge of my desk and picked up the stapler. ‘I’m not going to ask if you missed me because you’ll just look at me over your glasses and say no.’

      ‘I would have said a bit—until you started fiddling,’ I said, removing the stapler from his grasp and setting it back into its place. ‘But now I’ve remembered how irritating you are.’

      Deliberately, Phin reached out and pushed the stapler out of alignment with one finger. ‘Irritating? Me?’

      ‘Stop it,’ I said, slapping his hand away. I straightened the stapler once more. ‘Haven’t you got some other trip to go on? I’m sure they must need you in Ulan Bator or Timbuktu or somewhere.’

      ‘Nope. Next time you’re coming with me.’ He had started on the scissors now, snapping them at me as he talked. ‘So, what’s the news here?’

      ‘We’ve set up your Glitz interview for Thursday,’ I told him. ‘The interviewer is called Imelda Ross, and she’s bringing a photographer with her. They’ll be at your house at ten, so can you please make sure you’re ready for them?’

      ‘That’s an appointment, not news,’ he said. ‘What’s the gossip? Has Lex run off with a lap dancer? Has Kevin been caught siphoning funds to some offshore bank account?’ Kevin was our Chief Financial Officer and famously prudent.

      ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. Everyone’s been doing what they always do.’

      Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Jonathan was looking much more relaxed these days. I had shared a lift with him a few days earlier, and instead of being stiff and awkward he had smiled and chatted about the spell of fine weather.

      I’d replayed the conversation endlessly, of course, and was hugging the hope that he might be warming to me again. Between that and Phin’s pastries I’d been happier than I’d been for ages—but I didn’t think that would be of much interest to Phin, even if I had been prepared to confess it, which I wasn’t.

      ‘According to the gossip mags, Jewel Stevens has got a new man,’ I offered instead.

      ‘Has she? Excellent! I was hoping she’d lost interest.’

      ‘She rang looking for you a couple of times, but I didn’t think you’d want to speak to her in Peru, so I said you were out of contact.’

      ‘Summer, you’re a treasure,’ he told me, putting down the scissors at last and digging around at his feet. ‘So, even though you haven’t missed me, you deserve a reward,’ he said as he produced a paper bag. ‘I’ve brought us something special to celebrate my return.’

      The ‘something special’ turned out to be a cream doughnut each. ‘I didn’t feel we knew each other well enough to tackle one of these before,’ he said as I eyed it dubiously, wondering how on earth I was going to eat it elegantly.

      ‘I defy you to eat one of these without making a mess,’ Phin added, reading my expression without any difficulty.

      I couldn’t, of course. I started off taking tiny nibbles, until he couldn’t bear it any more.

      ‘Get on with it, woman,’ he ordered. ‘Stop messing around at the edges. Take a good bite and enjoy it! That’s not a bad recipe for life, now I come to think of it,’ he said, watching as I sank my teeth obediently into the middle of the doughnut and cream spurted everywhere. ‘The doughnut approach to living well. I might write a book about it.’

      ‘Make sure you include a section on how to clean up all the mess,’ I said, dabbing at my mouth with my fingers, torn between embarrassment and laughter. I spotted a blob of cream on my skirt. ‘Ugh, I’ve got cream everywhere!’

      ‘The best things in life are messy,’ said Phin.

      ‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ I said, as I carefully wiped the cream from my skirt. ‘But maybe I’ll make an exception for cream doughnuts. It was delicious!’

      With a final lick of my fingers, I got to my feet. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ I said.

      Phin got up, too. His smile had faded as he watched me eat the doughnut, and his expression was oddly unreadable for once. He was looking at me so intently that I hesitated.

      ‘What?’