Overtime in the Boss's Bed. Nicola Marsh

into him.

      He’d been less than impressed—until he’d locked eyes with the gorgeous blonde on the other side of the room, and suddenly his drenched shirt hadn’t mattered, the evening had not been so mundane.

      He was a firm believer in following instincts. His gut reaction had made him millions in the financial arena, where Cartwright Corporation ruled.

      So when she’d fled, he’d followed.

      She’d verbally retreated. He’d verbally sparred.

      And he’d been getting somewhere too. Her flashing eyes and lush mouth had been at odds with her defensive body language…until this.

      Fishing his vibrating mobile phone out of his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID and begged off the luscious blonde, asking her to wait for him as he headed for the far side of the balcony.

      He never turned off his mobile phone—the height of rudeness, as his last PA had kept reminding him. But then she didn’t run a corporation and control billions of dollars. The money market never slept, and neither did he these days.

      He hadn’t slept in a long time—not since the fateful night that had catapulted him into this business in the first place.

      And that was why he had to take this call.

      Not because it would make or break Cartwright Corporation, but because it was from the one person who understood exactly what had happened that night, and was still dealing with it in his own way.

      Taking a deep breath, he stabbed the answer button. ‘Rhys, how’s it going?’

      ‘Not bad, bro. You?’

      ‘Same old. Where are you?’

      ‘Japan for a few more days, then I head for the States.’

      ‘You coming home eventually?’

      ‘We’ll see.’

      A resounding no, as usual. While he’d thrown himself into the family business after the accident, Rhys had fled. Studying interstate, escaping overseas once his degree came through, avoiding Melbourne and everything being a Cartwright entailed.

      Callum envied him.

      He’d been like that once, a lifetime ago, when he’d been carefree and selfish and irresponsible.

      When he’d still had an older brother.

      The Cartwright boys, people had called them, lumping them all in together. They’d been a team—before the accident, before Archie died, before their lives had been turned upside down.

      ‘Where are you?’

      ‘Sydney. Some boring cocktail party for work.’

      Rhys paused, the faint static doing little to disguise the concern in his voice.

      ‘Better than being alone tonight?’

      Callum mumbled a noncommittal response, rammed his free hand into his pocket, and deliberately relaxed his tense shoulders.

      He didn’t want to discuss this.

      He never wanted to discuss it.

      Talking about what had happened this night fourteen years ago wouldn’t change it. Nothing would.

      ‘I’m hanging out with some mates tonight.’

      ‘Good.’

      Silence stretched, as it always did on their rare phone calls. They didn’t have much to say to one another these days, what with most topics invariably leading to the past and what they’d done.

      He glanced at his watch, cleared his throat. ‘Do you need anything? Money?’

      ‘I’m all right, but thanks.’

      ‘Okay, then. Gotta go.’

      ‘Cal?’

      ‘Yeah?’

      He heard the faintest hiss of breath before Rhys said, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

      Callum disconnected in a hurry, the gut-wrenching twist of sorrow deep in his gut telling him otherwise.

      It was his fault—every shocking, mind-numbing moment of that night fourteen years ago.

      He could forget most days, chase away his demons by submerging himself in business until the figures blurred before his eyes, but on nights like this it all came rushing back in an agonising avalanche of horrific memories.

      Rubbing a weary hand across his eyes, he shoved the phone back in his pocket, turned, scanned the crowd for the blonde.

      She’d vanished.

      He wanted to pick up where they’d left off, to continue their flirtation. She’d be a firecracker, he could tell. All sass and mouth. Just the type of distraction he needed right now.

      Tonight he wanted to forget.

      Everything.

      He’d thrown the job offer out there as a challenge, though a small part of him had hoped she’d take him up on it. He needed a fill-in PA desperately. The only temp agency he trusted had no one available for eight weeks and he was seriously floundering.

      Even a beautiful dancer, with a smart mouth, a movie star name and a body built for ballroom rather than clerical, would be better than his current predicament.

      He scanned the crowd, the entrance, finally spotting her beneath a towering indoor plant near the lobby.

      He should leave, head back to his hotel, find solace in a pricey single malt Scotch. Instead he found his feet veering towards her, and at that moment she glanced up, tossed her blonde hair and pinned him with a curious stare.

      The impact of those large blue eyes slugged him all the way to his toes.

      She glowed with vitality, from the tips of her silver-painted toenails to the top of her mussed, just-out-of-bed hair.

      She wasn’t his type—far from it. But there was something about her, something about her boldness, that reached to him on an instinctual level.

      ‘Is it too much to hope you’re waiting for me?’

      ‘Way too much.’

      ‘I asked you to wait around for me back there.’

      Shrugging, she flicked a less-than-impressed stare his way. ‘Guess I don’t always do as I’m told—so sue me.’

      Oh, yeah, she was a firecracker all right. Exactly what he needed tonight: hot, feisty, sassy, a world away from wallowing in memories he’d rather forget.

      ‘Yet you’re still here?’

      She cocked her head to one side, studying him. ‘I was waiting to say goodbye to a friend, but I think she’s ditched me for one of those hunky waiters.’

      ‘What? Those fake-tanned, muscle-bound Neanderthals?’

      Her glossed lips curved into a smile and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

      She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen: full lips, even white teeth, and a smile that could make a man forget where he was and why.

      ‘Naked himbos not your thing?’

      ‘Himbos?’

      ‘Male equivalent of bimbo.’

      She rolled her eyes, her tolerant expression reading don’t you know anything? as he chuckled.

      ‘Looks like she’s a no-show.’

      She pushed off from the monstrous terracotta pot where she’d propped herself, partially hidden amid the lush foliage of a palm, and it hit him all over again how utterly beguiling this woman was.

      It had little to do with the sexily mussed blonde hair hanging halfway down her back, the wide luminous blue eyes or