One Night with Her Brooding Boss. Cathy Williams

she pressed on. ‘Nancy mentioned you have people working here who suffer from asthma, heart conditions.’

      ‘And you think I should get rid of them?’

      ‘No! ‘ Magenta exclaimed, wondering how two people could be so far apart in their thinking. ‘I want you to ban smoking in the office.’

      Quinn laughed as if she had said the funniest thing that year. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you handle that.’

      ‘Okay, I will. It’s either that or I’ll have to open all the windows wide—and I don’t think you would want the girls’ work-rate to drop if their fingers seized up with cold. Didn’t you say there would be a lot of work coming down the line for them?’

      Quinn’s face creased in a deceptively attractive smile, but his eyes were dangerous. ‘Nicely done, Magenta, though I must admit I prefer my secretaries decorative rather than combative.’

      A shiver of worry crept down Magenta’s spine when Quinn added brusquely, ‘Are we finished here?’

      ‘Yes. Yes, of course we are.’

      ‘You’re sure I’ve heard all your complaints?’

      So now he had her down as a moaner. Great. ‘I’ll get started on those notes for you, shall I?’ she said brightly.

      ‘You do that,’ Quinn said, turning back to his work. ‘Oh, and don’t forget to take the coffee tray with you when you go.’ He didn’t even bother to look up from the document he was studying.

      ‘I hope this is satisfactory? ‘ Magenta asked Quinn later that day, handing him the typewritten notes she had prepared. It was a long time since she had typed anything without the option of making corrections on a computer.

      ‘Don’t deviate from this standard.’ He handed the document back again.

      Could she survive this level of praise? She had only spent most of her lunch hour mastering the art of using a cranky typewriter with a ribbon that came off and keys that stuck. From what she’d seen, all the office hardware needed a thorough overhaul. This might be the sixties, but surely they didn’t have to use faulty equipment? She put her concerns to Quinn.

      ‘You’ve just put yourself in charge of repairs and renovations. I hope you can handle that on top of your other new duties?’

      She would have to. But she was so eager to get stuck in, she was taking on more and more, when what she really wanted to do was form a team. To call together and convince those girls in the typing pool that they could do a lot more than type up lists and letters for the men.

      ‘Dinner tonight?’

      She stared at Quinn. ‘Would you like me to book a dinner reservation for you? ‘

      ‘I’m prepared to make a few allowances until you get up to speed, Magenta, but if you don’t start paying attention when I speak to you my patience will very quickly run out.’

      Quinn’s patience? Had she missed something?

      ‘I believe I just asked you if you would care to join me for dinner tonight.’

      Her heart raced. Her mind said no. But how could she refuse him without causing offence?

      How could she accept Quinn’s invitation to dinner without compromising her position? Since falling down this rabbit hole he had shown her no warmth at all—though he had shown the occasional flicker of another type of interest; if her heart would stop hammering long enough for her to say anything remotely intelligent, she must find a way to refuse him. ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, but unfortunately I have so much work to do…’

      ‘You have to eat.’

      His charm offensive was overwhelming. ‘I’ll probably have a sandwich here. I’m conscious of the tight deadline you’re working to as far as launching the ad campaign in the New Year is concerned, and I’m also working on some ideas of my own.’

      ‘You’re doing what?’

      ‘Trying a new angle.’ Her voice was starting to shake. Quinn’s expression wasn’t exactly encouraging. He couldn’t imagine a lowly woman coming up with a single original idea. She owed it to the team she was now determined to build to prove him wrong.

      ‘I take it these ideas you mention have nothing to do with the work you do for me?’ His tone was critical.

      They had everything to do with the creative work she wanted to do for him. ‘Correct, but—’

      ‘If the work you do for me suffers…’

      ‘It won’t suffer.’

      Standing up, Quinn propped one hip against the desk, managing to look both formidable and desirable at the same time. ‘It had better not,’ he said.

      Half-man, half-beast—all male… The shout line on a sixties massage-cologne rushed into Magenta’s mind. The thought of massaging it into Quinn was quickly stifled. She held her breath as he stared at her thoughtfully.

      ‘Let me see those ideas when you’re ready.’

      Did she have to feel so gratified at his grudging concession?

      ‘And don’t tire yourself out working on personal projects to the point where you’re no good to me.’

      ‘I’m only too happy to stay behind and work.’

      ‘You should have asked the girls to help you.’

      The girls had enough to contend with from the men during normal working hours without Magenta asking them to stay behind and do more work for her. ‘I’m fine—honestly. You go.’

      ‘May I? ‘ Quinn demanded ironically. ‘That’s very good of you.’

      ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—’

      ‘Goodnight, Miss Steele. Remember to lock the door behind you when you leave.’

      Watching Quinn stride towards the exit made her wish that just for once she could be a femme fatale that no man could walk out on.

      Dream on, Magenta thought wryly, turning back to her work.

      She was stiff from sitting at her mean little work-station for hours on end, working on the final tweaks to the campaign, when the sound of the lift arriving made her tense with alarm. She felt exposed and vulnerable without an office door to lock and sat bolt-upright as the lift doors slid open.

      It was almost a relief to see Quinn emerge, but what was he doing here?

      Her heart thundered with anticipation. ‘Have you forgotten something? ‘ She hurried to greet him. However much Quinn infuriated her, there was no doubt he injected life and vitality as well as a sense of security into the empty, silent office—though she still felt uncomfortably like a soldier on parade.

      ‘Miss Steele.’ Quinn’s eyes were sparkling in a very un-Quinn-like way—which was to say his expression was both warm and amused, leaving her a very confused and shaken-up soldier. ‘Can I get you something?’ she pressed.

      ‘Coffee?’ Quinn suggested.

      ‘No problem.’ She could smell the night air on him, cold, clean and fresh. There was snow on his collar, and ice crystals sparkling like diamonds on his thick, black hair. It was a change to see Quinn looking so windswept, a good change that took her back in time—or was that forwards?—to a young biker removing his helmet and shaking out his unruly mop of inky hair.

      ‘You didn’t expect me to come back tonight,’ Quinn guessed correctly. Shrugging off his overcoat, he tossed it over the back of a chair and walked with her to the kitchen. ‘I saw the lights from the street and took pity on you.’

      ‘How kind,’ she murmured. ‘Strong and hot?’ she said, pushing the kitchen door open.

      Quinn’s