Beware of the Boss. Leah Ashton

floor-to-ceiling windows.

      ‘I’d delete all that stuff at the end, and just say Regards. Or Sincerely. Or however you normally sign off your e-mails.’ She met his eyes, and this time she didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights. She watched him steadily, and there was a sharpness to her gaze that he appreciated.

      Her eyes were definitely hazel, he realised. Not brown.

      When he didn’t say anything, she explained further. ‘Judging by the e-mail trail beneath this one, you’ve been having this conversation for a while.’

      Gray nodded.

      ‘And you want a resolution? But you don’t want to be seen as pushy?’

      ‘Exactly,’ he said, surprised.

      ‘Well, then,’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Sometimes saying less is more.’

      She straightened up and took a step away from his chair.

      Silently, he deleted his half-written sentence, ended the e-mail as she’d suggested, then hit ‘Send.’

      Good. It was gone.

      He stood, and with this action, the woman took another rapid step away. Then she rolled her shoulders back, and thrust out her hand.

      ‘Elaine Smith,’ she said, very crisply. ‘Lanie.’

      Automatically he grasped her hand. It was cool and delicate. And she was tall. But even in heels she was an inch shorter than him.

      Her suit jacket was a dark grey and a little tight across the chest—and her soft pink shirt wasn’t sitting quite right, with one side of her collar higher than the other. Combined with her loose, wavy hair and lack of discernible make-up, no one would call her perfectly presented.

      He would call her pretty, though. Very pretty.

      Gray rapidly dispatched that unexpected musing. The appearance of his employees was irrelevant. All he cared about was their ability to do their job.

      And, despite her slightly odd initial reaction to him, there was an air of practicality to this woman that was appealing. Plus she’d been right about the e-mail.

      Most importantly he needed an assistant, and she was here.

      ‘I have a meeting in half an hour in West Perth.’

      For a moment she looked at him blankly. ‘So I have the job?’

      He nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, of course.’

      A beat passed.

      He sighed. ‘Anything else?’

      ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘No.’

      He turned back to his computer and a moment later she walked away, her heels again clicking loudly.

      He briefly wondered if she needed help figuring out how to log into her computer or anything—but then another e-mail popped in that he urgently needed to attend to, and that was that.

      Surely it wasn’t that difficult? She seemed smart. She’d figure it out.

      * * *

      Lanie almost collapsed into her new, plush leather office chair.

      Her phone trilled its musical message notification from within the depths of her bag, but for now she ignored it.

      Of course she’d forgotten to put it onto silent mode prior to her interview.

      Thank goodness she hadn’t received that message a few minutes earlier. She could just about imagine Grayson Manning’s reaction to that.

      But then would that have been such a bad thing?

      If he’d stuck with his original conclusion—that she wasn’t suitable—she’d have walked out of this office no worse than how she’d walked in: without a job.

      With the added benefit of not working for Mr Grumpy Pants.

      No. Not a bad thing at all.

      And yet she’d had her chance to leave. She had her chance still to walk away. No one would force her to stay. Not even the employment agency she was working for.

      Which reminded her...

      Lanie fished out her phone. As expected, the waiting message was from Teagan. As she’d been whisked up to the twenty-fifth floor in a seriously shiny mirrored lift she’d tapped out an urgent message to her friend:

      What did you do??!

      Because this building was definitely not what Lanie had been expecting of her first assignment with the agency. Yes, she’d known the role was as a personal assistant, but after seven years managing the swim school she’d been unconvinced she really had the skills for such a role—but Teagan had been adamant. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she’d said. ‘Piece of cake,’ she’d said.

      Given her lack of relevant experience, Lanie had imagined she’d be working somewhere small. Somewhere that couldn’t afford a true executive assistant. Somewhere she could kind of figure it all out as she went along.

      Manning Developments was not that place.

      Teagan’s text message therefore did not surprise her at all.

      I spruced up your CV. Just a little.

      Right.

      Lanie rolled her head backwards until it rested on the high back of her chair and stared up at the ceiling.

      The sensible thing to do would be to leave. She didn’t have the experience for a role like this, and if she stuffed it up then the agency, Teagan and herself would all look pretty bad.

      It was sweet of Teagan—annoying, inappropriate, and dishonest—but sweet.

      It should end here.

      But she remained at her vast new desk. For the same reason she’d stayed in Grayson’s office after she’d recognised him as the man from the beach.

      For long seconds she’d searched for the cutting comments he deserved after his performance at the beach—but then, before she’d gathered her thoughts, she’d realised he’d just dismissed her.

      Again. Just as he had at the beach, he’d carried on as if she was irrelevant to his world. Why on earth would she want to work for someone who would treat her like that?

      But she couldn’t let that man—Grayson—ignore her again.

      So here she was. With a job she didn’t really want, working for a man she didn’t like.

      Lanie wiggled the wireless mouse on the desk and the large flatscreen monitor blinked instantly to life, revealing a login screen.

      Her gaze flicked to the still open door to Grayson’s office, but then immediately away. That he would be of no help at all was obvious.

      She stood and headed for the hallway—Caroline, the little plaque on the reception desk had proclaimed. She should be able to point her in the direction of IT Support or something.

      She could do this. It couldn’t be too difficult.

      She’d figure out why she was doing it later.

      THREE

      The little green man started blinking, so with a coffee cup gripped firmly in each hand Lanie made her way across a very busy St Georges Terrace.

      ‘Lanie!’

      A fierce breeze whipped between the high-rise buildings, blowing her loose hair every which way and partially covering her eyes. Not that she needed a visual aid to identify that particular deep and demanding voice.

      Calmly she stepped onto the footpath and Grayson met her halfway, jogging down his building’s steps and deftly negotiating the sea of lunchtime pedestrian