Highly Unsuitable. Кейт Хьюит

before she reminded herself this wasn’t about her. She wasn’t a liar, anyway. Keeping your own counsel about your problems was another thing entirely. But how could he feel like that?

      ‘All right. I guess you obviously don’t want those sorts of complications in your life.’ She hoped her tone was sufficiently bland that he wouldn’t guess that his attitude had shocked her.

      ‘Correct. What I want is someone sensible, who won’t be swayed by silly emotional ups and downs. Someone I’ll be able to tolerate at my side for decades to come. A woman who respects, as I do, that the concept of being in love is an illusion.’

      ‘Tolerate. Yes, right. And no being in love.’ This was more like the man she knew and worked for. The vulnerability angle summarily banished, she wrote the words ‘Must be able to tolerate husband who does not love her’ at the top of her notepad.

      With effort, she held off from adding anything about liposuction or teeth. Then, with a confidence that was born purely of blind hope, she added, ‘We’ll find someone appropriate for you. Don’t worry.’

      Claire could do this. It wasn’t as if she really cared about Nicholas.

      ‘I’ve already found her.’

      Who is she? I’ll rip her throat out. Claire’s pencil drew a deep, squiggly line across the page and tore through to the pages below. She forced her hand to stop, and looked up, feigning a calm expression she didn’t feel. ‘You have?’

      ‘Indeed.’ He seemed quite pleased about it, too. ‘You understand, Claire, that I’ve been very impressed with your work performance?’

      They were back to that again. ‘I appreciate it.’

      ‘We’ve tested our ability to get along with each other.’ Abandoning his connection with her file, he unravelled his long, lean fingers and began to tick points off on them. ‘At times we’ve disagreed on subjects, solutions to problems, ways to move on a matter.’

      The first time that had happened Claire had worried for a whole day that she might have blown her job. She conjured up what she hoped was an agreeable sort of smile. ‘We have. But we’ve always managed to work things out.’

      ‘Exactly.’ He carried on with his points. ‘Sometimes I’ve been short with you. At other times you’ve been frustrated with me. We’ve weathered the crises, the deadlines, the days when everything went sour. We’ve coped well because we’re both straightforward people, and particularly because neither of us has brought our emotions into the working relationship. I admire that about you, Claire.’

      ‘You do?’ She tried to clear the croak out of her throat. ‘Um, that is, you do?’

      He nodded. ‘You keep a cool head. You look at things in a sensible manner. Business partnerships thrive on sensible, unemotional standards, and so will the kind of marriage I have in mind.’

      ‘I’m…glad…you feel that way.’ I’m stunned you feel that way. That you have such a cynical view of love. That you believe people devalue themselves somehow if they allow their emotions to come into play. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable in the kind of relationship you have in mind.’ With whatever poor woman you believe will fit your criteria. Claire was beginning to believe that she, herself, really would be better off out of it.

      ‘Then perhaps it’s time I told you exactly who I have in mind for this relationship.’

      She unconsciously straightened. ‘Please do.’

      ‘You, Claire,’ he said, ‘happen to be the only woman I can imagine filling the role of my wife.’

      The words did pass through her eardrums. It was just that her brain would only absorb them to a certain degree. All she knew was he wanted to get married and he already had the woman picked out. He hadn’t needed to mention any of this to her, and make her heart break out in chilblains, let alone make her think she would have to measure hip spans.

      A spark of anger flared. So what? She didn’t even care. ‘I’m sure that would be exactly—What?’

      Did she have wax in her ears? Claire could think of no other explanation for mishearing him so completely.

      ‘Pardon me, but I thought you just said that I—’

      ‘I said it.’ He lowered his head and proceeded to stare her down through the lock of thick black hair that had flopped over onto his high, intelligent forehead. Waiting. Expectantly. For her to say something.

      She did. And she hardly had to work at all to keep her hand from reaching for that errant lock and smoothing it in one long, sensual, inviting sweep. The man had asked her to marry him.

      How wonderful! To marry the boss, the man of her dreams. Her stomach did a backflip. Panic stirred to life somewhere at the centre of her psyche and threatened to shut down all systems permanently. She couldn’t comprehend this.

      ‘Right. I see. You think I would be the best choice for the position of Mrs Nicholas Anthony Monroe, now that you’ve decided there should be one? A Mrs Monroe, I mean.’

      Even as she spoke she expected him to laugh and tell her this was all some sort of joke or something. He had to laugh, right? But he didn’t. Her boss really had just asked her to marry him.

      Her lungs did their best to fold in on themselves, but Claire forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly through her nose. She could deal with this. It was a piece of cake.

      No, I can’t deal with this. It’s mad. Insane. Totally off the planet. And he has to know it.

      She scrambled to pull her stunned thoughts together. There had to be some way to understand this. To get it to make sense. He wanted to marry her. Out of the blue. Without any warning whatsoever. It was fantastic. Unbelievable. Terrifying.

      It was a completely unemotional invitation. Claire’s joyous bubble popped. He might as well have asked her to pull a report, or update the virus software on their inter-office computer network. ‘Why?’

      ‘Why you, Claire?’

      Yes. Out of all the women he could have asked, why ask her? She nodded mutely.

      ‘I’ve come to know you, and I’ve realised what a trophy you would be. I want you at my side.’

      ‘I see. A prize. Sans emotions, of course.’ She tried to make it sound as though she were amused.

      It was true that she had a brain like an electronic organiser, but that was a small, insignificant part of her overall make-up. She was also caring, emotional, feeling. What a way for him to describe her. She might as well go out and throw herself off the edge of a cliff right now.

      But he wasn’t finished with her yet. ‘You’re also naturally charming, and capable enough to cope with any hostess duties that might come your way.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She took care to keep the sarcasm from her tone, but there was something innately insulting in such a cold assessment of her character. In this man thinking she would appreciate being seen as nothing more than an animated wife-doll who would stand at his side and make all the right noises.

      ‘You’d have anything you wished, of course—within reason.’ He waved a hand. ‘As my wife, you would enjoy a wealthy lifestyle.’

      All those millions, offered so casually. Had he any idea what he was throwing out there? She wasn’t avaricious, but he couldn’t know that. Couldn’t know just how driven she was in the money department at the moment.

      Nothing was worth sacrificing her ideals about love and marriage, though. Not even a convenient way to end her cash problems a little more quickly. Not that she would ever take advantage of marrying him to get money. Besides, her efforts to take care of the situation were going okay. She was getting there. Slowly.

      Nicholas was, ironically, the key to her plan, but as her high-paying boss, not as a potential life mate conveniently loaded with the green stuff. Claire was well shot