The Temp and the Tycoon. Liz Fielding

way to work.’

      ‘Good heavens. Was it serious?’ Then, with a frown, ‘What were you doing on the Underground?’

      ‘I suspect it was dramatic, rather than life-threatening, and I wasn’t involved. I just rode up in the lift with the woman.’

      ‘You seem to have covered a lot of ground in a short time. What’s her name?’ she asked, picking up the telephone.

      ‘She never stopped talking long enough for me to ask her.’

      ‘Obviously she had no idea who you were.’

      ‘I doubt that it would have made any difference.’

      ‘Really? Well, good for her. Description?’

      ‘How many temps do you think they’ll have arriving late in Finance?’ he said, suddenly regretting the impulse to get involved. ‘She’s small, with hair like an exploding mattress.’

      ‘What colour mattress?’

      ‘Blonde.’

      ‘Ah.’

      Ah? What did ‘ah’ mean? He refused to ask.

      ‘Keep an eye on her, will you? See how she does. If we’ve got a suitable permanent opening we might consider her. If she’s interested.’ Realising that Heather was looking at him with a speculative little smile, he said, ‘The woman stopped to help a total stranger when everyone else walked by. People like that are rare.’

      ‘If she was telling the truth. It must have occurred to you that she might simply have been lying in wait for you to arrive with this heart-touching story well prepared?’

      That he hadn’t—not for one minute—was disturbing. It was usually his first thought, and his last one, too. ‘Anything is possible,’ he replied, and, in an attempt to discourage any foolish ideas that might be lingering in Heather’s normally intelligent head, ‘Which is the reason I asked you to keep an eye on her.’

      ‘Right. Of course it is. And which is most important, Jude? Her skills or her social conscience?’

      At which point he knew that he was being teased. That his PA thought he’d been snagged by some eye candy with an above average IQ who’d taken the trouble to use more than her looks as bait. And that, for once in a long while, he’d fallen for it.

      ‘You’ve been working for me too long to ask that,’ he said, deciding that enough was enough. ‘When you’ve spoken to Mike, bring in the New York file. I want to fine-tune the details before I leave for Scotland.’

      Talie enjoyed working for the Radcliffe Group. The job was demanding, but she relished the opportunity to stretch herself. So much of her time in the last couple of years had been lived within the confines of her home; the chance to get out into the workplace, talk to some people who knew nothing about her, do ordinary stuff for a couple of weeks, was her version of respite.

      Even if it meant having to cope with her aunt’s attempts to get her involved in a slimming regime.

      Her only disappointment was that she hadn’t met her knight errant of the lift again. She’d hoped to thank him properly. She would put him right about Mike Garrett, too. Mike had been totally understanding about why she was late that first morning, was an absolute sweetheart to work for, and she sincerely wished she had more than just the one week standing in as holiday coverfor his secretary.

      Unlike the eponymous owner of the Tower.

      Jude Radcliffe, according to her new colleagues, who’d whisked her off to their favourite lunchtime watering hole and wasted no time at all in filling her in on just how lucky she was not to have been assigned to the top floor, was a total bastard to work for.

      She might have dismissed this as pique that their personal billionaire, although apparently sex-on-legs and unaccountably unattached, was totally oblivious to their charms. However, a couple of the other senior secretaries who’d worked for him when his PA was away shuddered so convincingly at the memory that she knew it had to be true.

      His PA was considered to be something of a dragon, too, although she’d seemed pleasant enough when she’d stopped at Talie’s desk later in the week to ask if Mike was free, taking the time to ask how Talie was settling in, make sure she’d found her way around, ask what her plans were, suggest she leave her CV with Human Resources.

      Since Jude was away the week she worked for his company she didn’t have the opportunity to check him out for herself. Apparently his idea of a holiday was walking in the Scottish Highlands—shock, horror, face-pulling all around. It didn’t sound that terrible to Talie, but she didn’t say so. She was a temp, and her opinion didn’t count. She was just there to listen. But it was clear the rest of his employees felt the least he could do was indulge himself in a lavish lifestyle and give them something to gossip about over the skinny latte. And when they looked at her, expecting her to agree that the man was a disappointment all around, she did her best to hide her amusement and agreed with them.

      ’Natalie! I can hear the phone!’

      She was already halfway down the stairs before her mother called out. Phone calls early in the morning or late at night always meant bad news and she snatched it up. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Talie? Talie Calhoun? This is Heather Lester. From the Radcliffe Group? We spoke—’

      ‘I remember,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if I snapped, but I was—’

      ‘Asleep. I’m the one who should apologise, for disturbing you in the middle of the night. I do know how unsettling late-night phone calls can be. Unfortunately I’ve got a bit of a crisis and it wouldn’t wait until morning.’

      About to explain that she hadn’t been asleep, Talie said, ‘Oh.’ Then, ‘What kind of crisis?’

      ‘Before I go into details, can I just ask if you have a valid passport?’

      ‘Well, yes.’ She had once had a life and holidays abroad, like ordinary people.

      ‘Well, that’s the first hurdle. The thing is, I’m supposed to be flying to New York with Mr Radcliffe tomorrow morning—actually, it’s this morning now—but my daughter has gone into labour two weeks early and her husband is away, so she needs me.’

      ‘And you need someone to take your place?’

      ‘At zero notice.’

      ‘And you’re asking me?’ Talie caught her breath. ‘To go to New York?’ With the total bastard?

      ‘My choice is limited. There aren’t too many secretaries who can take shorthand verbatim. And Mike spoke very highly of you.’

      ‘He did? Gosh, how kind of him. I’d give him a reference as a great boss anytime.’

      ‘That speaks volumes in itself. He’d rather type his own reports than cope with incompetence. However, I’d be lying if I said he was as difficult as Jude. I wouldn’t want you to get the impression that this trip will be a holiday. It’ll be damned hard work.’

      Yes, but it would be damned hard work in New York!

      She hugged the excitement close to her chest and said, ‘Well, of course. I don’t imagine Mr Radcliffe takes his secretary away with him purely for decoration,’ she said. And then clapped her hand over her mouth as she realised how that must sound. ‘Oh, crumbs. I didn’t mean—’

      ‘It’s okay, Talie. I know exactly what you meant. The other thing I have to impress on you is the need for total discretion.’

      ‘I always assumed that was the first requirement of the job, Mrs Lester. But if you’re concerned, then maybe you should send someone you know.’

      ‘It’s Heather. And I’m asking you. Yes or no? Will you go?’

      Reality beckoned.

      ‘I’d absolutely love to, but the thing is I’ve already