One Night with Her Brooding Boss. Cathy Williams

tyre. Pressing back against the car, she shut her eyes, waiting for the tears to stop threatening. Finally, having convinced herself it was no use worrying about something she couldn’t change, she decided to go inside, get warm and call a cab. Or she could always catch the underground; there was a tube station near her house.

      And here came the security guard. Hurrying over to him, Magenta explained she would call someone to come and rescue her car.

      When she returned to the office her father was ready to leave, to sign the deal to sell his shares.

      ‘I thought you’d gone,’ Clifford Steele complained, checking the angle of his silk tie. ‘No family members muddying the water until this new man has settled in and I have his money in the bank—those are the rules.’

      ‘And I was obeying them. I was just loading up the car when I discovered I had a flat. And guess what? ‘ Magenta added dryly. ‘I don’t have a spare.’

      ‘Call a cab,’ her father advised without a flicker of remorse. ‘Can’t stay,’ he added, wrapping a cashmere muffler around his neck. ‘I’m off to sign the final papers. Just make sure you’re out of here in case Quinn decides to come and take a look at his latest acquisition.’

      She heard the note of resentment in her father’s voice and kissed his cheek. It couldn’t be easy selling out to a younger, more successful man. Clifford Steele might be high-handed, and his extravagance might have brought the company to its knees, but he was her father and she loved him and would do nothing to risk his comfortable retirement. It was up to her to sort the mess out now in an attempt to try and save her colleagues’ jobs.

       If the new owner allowed her to.

      Gray Quinn might not keep her on, Magenta realised anxiously. Thanks to her father’s outdated belief that men ran businesses while bricks and mortar provided better security for a woman, she owned the building but not a single voting-share.

      ‘As you’re still here, make yourself useful,’ her father instructed. ‘I’m sure the men would like a cup of coffee before you go. So you’re a senior account exec,’ he added with impatience when he saw her face. ‘But no one makes a cup of coffee like—’

      ‘A well-trained woman?’ Magenta suggested, tongue-in-cheek.

      ‘Like you, I was about to say. You work too hard, Magenta, and you take yourself far too seriously. Stress isn’t good for a woman your age,’ her father commented in his usual tactful manner. ‘If you’re not careful it will give you wrinkles. You should take a break—get a decent night’s sleep.’

      ‘Yes, Dad.’ Her father might have stepped straight out of their sixties campaign, when men had a high opinion of themselves and women were still working out how to let them down lightly, Magenta mused wryly. ‘That’s just the way it is’, her father was fond of telling her whenever she complained he was a dinosaur. ‘That’s just the way you are’, she always amended fondly.

      He had some parting words for her. ‘If you’ll take my advice, Magenta—which I doubt—you’ll make yourself scarce until the new owner is settled in. Quinn will soon lose interest and leave the running of the company to the old guard.’

      ‘Goodbye, Dad.’

      Lose interest? That didn’t sound like the Gray Quinn Magenta had read about. ‘Dynamic and cool under pressure’ was how the financial papers described him—not to mention ruthless and tough. Oh yes, and practically invisible. If there was a good photograph of Gray Quinn in existence, he had managed to keep it out of the public eye. Life under her father’s autocratic rule had been bad enough, but Quinn was an unknown quantity, and Magenta’s major concern was for her colleagues. Of course, if Quinn wanted a clean sweep, he might fire them all—and if he squashed the zing out of the ad agency’s creative personnel it would go down anyway.

      If Quinn booted her, she would just have to keep an eye on things from the sidelines, Magenta concluded, going to the window to stare out. If she had to remortgage her house and start a new company to keep everyone in work, then she would.

      And what exactly was she looking for now? The biker? She should know better.

      She did know better, and pulled away.

      Turning her back to the window, she huffed wryly. Business might come easily to her, but where men were concerned she had a long history of failure. She didn’t have the right chat, the right look—and the guy on the bike would almost certainly know that she hadn’t had a date in ages. He looked like some sort of expert where women were concerned. Magenta smiled as she perched on the edge of the desk to call a cab. The famous orgasm was probably a fiction dreamed up by ad men, anyway.

      There were no cabs, at least not for an hour or more. Snow and Christmas shoppers were held to account for the shortage of vehicles.

      So, the underground it was.

      Having checked she had everything she would need to work at home, Magenta called the garage to come and sort out the car and then brought her team into the office for one last discussion. The holidays were almost on them and she wanted everyone to feel confident about launching the campaign in the New Year before she left.

      Would she even be coming back? Magenta wondered as her friends filed into the room. She couldn’t afford to think like that. She owed it to the team to be positive. She couldn’t let them see how worried she was. This wasn’t the end of Steele Design, it was a new beginning, she told herself firmly as she announced, ‘I’m going to be working at home for the time being.’

      ‘You can’t leave the week before Christmas,’ Magenta’s right arm, Tess, stated flatly.

      ‘I’ll be in touch with you the whole time.’

      ‘It’s not the same,’ Tess argued. ‘What about the Christmas party?’

      ‘There are more important things than that—like keeping our jobs?’ Magenta suggested when Tess protested. ‘And why can’t you organise it? ‘ Magenta prodded gently.

      ‘Because you have the magic,’ Tess argued.

      ‘I’ll be in touch every day, I just won’t be physically sitting at my desk—where, apparently,’ Magenta added mischievously, ‘I might present a threat to Quinn. Yes, I know I’m scary,’ she said when the team began to laugh.

      While she had them in a good mood she turned the conversation to business. ‘You’re a fantastic team, and it’s crucial that Quinn sees the best of you guys, so I want you to forget about me and concentrate on making a good first impression.’

      ‘Forget about you? ‘ Tess scoffed. ‘How are we going to do that when you haven’t even given us a theme for the party yet?’

      ‘Glad to hear I’ve got some uses,’ Magenta said dryly, glancing at her wristwatch. She was starting to feel edgy. She had made a promise to her father to keep out of the way, so there wasn’t much time for dreaming up ideas for the party. ‘Keep it simple,’ she instructed herself out loud. ‘What about a sixties theme?’

      ‘Brilliant,’ Tess agreed. ‘We’ve got half the props already, and you’d look great in a paper dress.’

      ‘Ah…I won’t be at the party this year.’

      ‘Well, that’s nonsense. What will it be like without you?’

      ‘Much more fun, I should think.’ Magenta was remembering how she’d pulled the plug the previous year when she had thought the men in the office were getting a little out of hand. ‘I’m only on the end of the phone.’

      ‘I give you twenty-four hours and you’ll be back here,’ Tess predicted. ‘There’s too much going on for you to stay away. And there’s another thing,’ she murmured, drawing Magenta aside. ‘I’ve noticed something different about you this morning. Can’t put my finger on it yet, but I will.’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      ‘Ha!’