Outback With The Boss
She was prepared to repent in sackcloth and ashes. She would make a big donation to charity. She could do both. Anything. Just as long as her boss didn’t connect her with that humiliating moment in Henry’s doorway.
This morning, she’d taken great pains to look as different from the previous night’s pouting sexpot as she possibly could. But was it enough? Suddenly, with Mitch Wentworth’s expensive, hand-stitched shoes firmly planted in the middle of her office, Grace doubted the ability of hair gel and a primly fashioned bun to effectively change her appearance. And how helpful were the heavily framed glasses she’d borrowed from her neighbour? Her only reassurance was that last night Mitch had glimpsed her very briefly. And surely the shapeless, dull brown dress disguised her body?
What had actually been said at Henry’s front door was all an embarrassing blur, but with a hefty dollop of luck Mitch Wentworth would have no idea she was remotely connected to Henry Aspinall—or the trollop who’d greeted him last night.
Nevertheless, as he moved towards her, her shoulders lifted and squared as if she was braced to take a blow.
‘Good morning. I presume I have the pleasure of meeting Ms Robbins?’ His dark eyes assessed her carefully, but they showed no sign of recognition.
Yes! Relief flowed and swirled through Grace, but she still couldn’t dredge up a smile as she replied, ‘Good morning, Mr Wentworth.’ She stood and held out her hand to greet him formally, and the room buzzed with her tension. His handshake was predictably strong and firm.
My, he was tall! And broad-shouldered. She’d been prepared for the well-defined bone structure, the thick dark hair and the eyes designed purely for seduction, and last night she’d realised he was a big man. But now, in her small office, he took up far too much space. There was no escaping his spectacular style of masculinity: the kind of looks she’d learned to mistrust instinctively.
‘You come highly recommended. George Hervey gave a glowing report.’
She smiled faintly.
Mitch did not smile back. ‘But, of course, that’s all over now. With me, you will have to prove yourself.’
Prove myself?
Despite her nervousness, a surge of defiance heated Grace’s cheeks. Here we go! The bloodthirsty pirate takes the helm! Her chin lifted automatically, but, just in time, she remembered to mask her stormy reaction by lowering her gaze. Her green eyes had a bad habit of attracting unwanted attention when her dander was up. And already she could feel her hackles rising.
Mitch spoke again, his deep Australian drawl blending with the American twang he’d acquired after many years in the United States. ‘I expect one hundred per cent commitment and loyalty.’
‘Of course, Mr Wentworth.’
He drew in a sharp breath and Grace suspected that her softly spoken subservience irked him. Nevertheless, he continued without missing another beat. ‘You’re a vital key to the success of this New Tomorrow project. But…’ his voice dropped and he paused for dramatic effect ‘…I am that project. You’re working for me now, Grace Robbins. When you think of New Tomorrow, you think of me.’
He was as full of himself as she’d expected! However, she couldn’t ignore the fact that his brainchild was very exciting—a project she itched to become more involved with.
‘Your film has a brilliant premise,’ she replied, and would have continued, but, with an ominous flourish, Mitch reached into his pocket and withdrew something that looked like a magazine.
He threw it onto the table.
Her boss grinned up at her, his face disguised by a bristly moustache.
Rimless spectacles.
And blackened teeth!
Grace’s stomach felt as if it had been pumped full of concrete. Slashed onto the page with thick, black, angry strokes, her graffiti was clear evidence of the tantrum she’d thrown in this very office after her lunchtime discussion with Maria.
How on earth had he found it?
She flinched.
And suppressed a whimper.
Gulped down the urge to scream. Why couldn’t real life be like making a movie? If only a director could jump into her office and yell, ‘Cut! I don’t like the way this scene’s falling. Let’s start again and this time we’ll leave out the magazine…’
But no.
No one was going to rescue her from her own reckless actions. For several seconds Grace hoped she might faint.
No such luck.
Her legs trembled, but didn’t give way. No comforting blackness descended. And Mitch Wentworth remained standing squarely in front of her, pinning her to the spot with his cold, unflinching stare.
‘It seems you have a problem,’ he challenged.
She swayed slightly and grasped the back of her chair.
‘Obviously, you’ve got a problem with me,’ Mitch repeated in a cold, flat voice.
Where had she heard that the best defence was to attack? With a shaking, accusing finger, she pointed at him. ‘You—you’ve been spying on me!’
He stared at her in simmering silence. Then, to her surprise, he shook his head and walked away. For several seconds, Mitch stood with his back to her, but Grace could sense his anger in the rise and fall of his shoulders. He turned swiftly to face her again. ‘I don’t spy, Ms Robbins! I called here yesterday evening to check out the office. My office. And it didn’t take the help of a special service investigator to uncover what you left lying so blatantly on your desk. Right here!’
Grace looked away. He was about to sack her. She knew it. And if she stretched her imagination to take in his point of view she probably couldn’t blame him.
But she loved this job. Over the past four years, it had become the single most important thing in her life! Somehow, she dragged her eyes upwards again to find Mitch studying her. His hands were now shoved deep into his trouser pockets. If he was going to fire her, she wished he would get it over quickly.
‘Do you want to see this project through?’
‘Huh? I—I mean I beg your pardon?’
‘New Tomorrow. You want to stay on the team?’
‘Yes, I do. Very much. I’m actually very committed to New Tomorrow. I—’
‘You want to work with me?’
For a fraction of a second she hesitated, but it was long enough to elicit another of his quick frowns.
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
Mitch picked up the offending magazine and tossed it into her waste-paper basket. Then he began to pace the small square of carpet in the middle of her office. ‘Okay. We’ll forget about this, Grace.’
Grace? He’d dropped the Ms Robbins?
‘I don’t have any problems at this stage,’ he continued. ‘If you have problems you should get them off your chest.’ He shot a questioning glance her way.
She shook her head.
‘You’re quite sure?’ he persisted.
Of course she had objections about Mitch Wentworth. She had a list as long as both his arms. But what could she do with them?
Especially now, when he’d skilfully backed her into a corner?
How could an employee criticise her boss for the way he’d bulldozed his way into taking over George Hervey’s little film company? As for her other problems—there was no way she could lambaste a man for his killer good looks.
She really had no choice but to offer an olive branch. ‘I have no complaints,’ she told him. ‘And—and I apologise. You were never meant to see the silly doodling on that magazine. I admit…I’ve been…rather thoughtless.’
He half turned and eyed her speculatively, his hands resting on his hips, pushing his suit coat aside. He was still too damned good-looking to be let loose in small spaces.
‘But,’ she finished defiantly, ‘can you spare me another speech?’
He chuckled and, for the briefest of moments, his eyes danced before his frown slid quickly back into place. ‘No, Grace, I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me for a little longer. You see, from now on, people will have to get used to following my orders. And the New Tomorrow project must dominate everybody’s thinking. It’s my single focus and it’s got to be the focus for everyone else on the team. For anyone who’s not on that wavelength, there’s going to be a lot of pain and suffering. And if heads have to roll…’ his own head cocked to one side and he glared at her ‘…then so be it.’
‘I understand,’ Grace responded, a little flush mounting on her cheeks. How dared he suggest she wasn’t focused? She’d always taken great pride in her professional commitment. ‘I’m quite well aware that I’m playing with the big boys now.’
Perhaps she had gone too far. Grace squirmed uneasily as Mitch’s jaw clenched and his frown lingered while he studied her face. ‘The big boys…’ he repeated softly. His dark eyes linked for an uncomfortably long moment with hers. They moved to her mouth.
And Grace felt as if she’d stepped into quicksand.
How did he do it?
His hands were now lodged firmly in both trouser pockets and he was standing a good metre and a half away and yet, the way his eyes touched her—she felt as if his mouth was caressing hers—intimately.
This was ridiculous!
She tightened the lips he seemed to be studying so intently. And, her mind racing, she began to talk—anything to cover her turmoil. ‘I—I think you’ll find that I’ve been networking successfully on the location options, Mr Wentworth. I’ve already contacted the property owners in the Tablelands and Gulf regions. I’ve been inundated with offers of accommodation from tourist operators in the north. I have contour maps from the army, information on the roads…The internet is invaluable…’
Mitch held up his hand. ‘Hold it. Okay, I’m impressed, but I don’t need an itemised account just yet. I’m sure it’s all in your report.’
Her eyes blazed. ‘How can I help babbling? You make me nervous when you…when you keep staring at me…like that.’ A swift flood of heat rushed into her cheeks.
Mitch took a step closer and, for a breath-robbing moment, Grace thought he was going to touch her. ‘You don’t like men looking at you?’ he asked lazily.
‘Of course I don’t,’ she snapped while her heart thundered.
His eyes left her then, and he turned to the opposite wall, but an annoying little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘No woman does!’ she said indignantly. What was so darned amusing?
‘Ogling women is certainly inappropriate in the work-place,’ Mitch agreed, while he appeared to examine with fascination a ‘Save the Rainforest’ poster on her wall. ‘I apologise if I seemed to be staring. You have an intriguing…face.’
Grace gulped, uncertain how to react.
He moved to the door then stopped. With his thumb, Mitch traced the straight timber edge of the door frame.
Grace’s heartbeats continued to trouble her. He hesitated as if he still wanted to tick her off about something and she wished he’d get it over and done with.
A dreadful thought struck and her hands clenched so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. Surely he wasn’t about to announce that he’d recognised her after all? He knew she was the hussy in the wispy triangles of black lace?
Not now?
But when his eyes swung back to hers, although they glinted with secret amusement, he merely nodded his head and said with studied politeness, ‘Nice to meet you, Grace. I’ll look forward to reading your report.’
He turned and left and Grace’s knees buckled. She sank onto a chair.
Groaning, she tried to reassure herself that Mitch couldn’t have known about last night in Henry’s flat. She was panicking about nothing. If he’d recognised her, he would have brought it out in the open—the way he had with the magazine.
Yikes! The magazine! With a moan of despair, she buried her face in her hands. The magazine! The underwear! How could she cope?
Staring through her fingers at her keyboard, Grace knew the full meaning of regret. But, she decided after a few minutes of blistering remorse, what she regretted most was that the human brain wasn’t more like a computer. If only there was a safe way to wipe a man’s memory…and get away with it.
CHAPTER THREE
MITCH closed Grace’s preliminary report on location options for New Tomorrow and placed it carefully on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at his watch and stretched his arms above him. He was surprised that it was already seven p.m. No wonder his stomach was growling with hunger. In the past three days since he’d arrived in town, there’d been so much work to get through that he’d stayed back in the office each night, then grabbed a snack from the sandwich bar next door rather than eating properly in the hotel’s restaurant.
He allowed his arms to drop again and inter-linked his hands behind his neck. It was his favourite position for thinking.
And he needed to think about Grace Robbins.
This report she’d submitted was impressive. The clear, concise writing, the maps and illustrations, the impeccable layout and thorough attention to detail showed beyond doubt that Grace was absolutely professional. She was one smooth operator.
In the two months since she’d moved from the Sydney office to be part of the advance team working out of Townsville, Grace had assimilated an amazing amount of information about the northern region and all of it was highly relevant to their project. While reading her report, Mitch had become excited by all the potential location sites she’d outlined.
What had really surprised him was her uncanny grasp of what he was trying to achieve with this movie. He’d only sent a fairly sketchy proposal; she hadn’t even read a full script. But it was as if he and Grace had already shared several in-depth conversations about his hopes and expectations for New Tomorrow.
An assistant who could methodically work her way through extraneous details to find exactly what was relevant was a great asset. But one who could also share his artistic vision was a rare find. When her efficiency and presentation skills were also considered, Mitch knew George Hervey had been right. Grace was of inestimable value to the company.
It was a pity these qualities didn’t come with a pleasant, sunny personality. There was only one way to describe Grace—well-balanced—with a huge chip on both shoulders!
Throughout the three days he’d spent in the office, her face had remained a polite, but frowning, almost unfriendly mask. And, while it didn’t particularly bother him, Mitch was beginning to think he’d dreamed up that vision of an alluring, provocative beauty framed by the doorway of Henry Aspinall’s flat.
The way she scurried around the office with her head down, dressed in sombre browns and greys, she looked like a drab brown mouse. It was hard to believe she’d ever made a sexy come-on in her life.
Perhaps he should have said something to clear the air. But he hadn’t wanted any blurring of business and private matters between himself and the woman with whom he had to work so closely.
He flipped open the plastic cover of the report and turned again to Grace’s recommendations. Pen in hand, he read through them once more, circling certain points and making notes in the margins. She had certainly presented some thought-provoking options.
Grace was in the mood for cooking something special. It was an inspiration that didn’t hit her often, so she tended to make the most of it, preparing large quantities that would last her for many meals. Occasionally she felt expansive and threw a dinner party, but tonight she was making her favourite curry and she wasn’t planning on sharing it with anyone.
On the way home from work, she stopped off at the local supermarket and bought all the necessary ingredients. And after a long, warm soak in scented bath oils, she padded into her kitchen, drew the red gingham curtains closed and slipped her favourite Spanish guitar CD into the player.
In the four years she’d worked for Tropicana Films, she’d always made a deliberate effort to separate her work and her leisure. At the end of the working day, she relished time for herself to clear her thoughts. Now it was especially important to forget about her new boss and the persistent, niggling worry that he might have recognised her as the figure flaunting herself in Henry’s doorway.
What if Henry had said something to Mitch?
Shaking her head furiously, she tried to push aside such invasive thoughts and turned up the volume on the CD player. The fluid sounds rippled around her and she began to feel better than she had in days.
Three days.
She hummed softly under her breath as she diced lamb, and chopped onions and garlic. And within twenty minutes the small kitchen was redolent with the rich fragrance of lamb simmering in curry leaves, fresh coriander, crushed cummin and chilli.
Totally absorbed in her task, she was stirring in the final ingredient, coconut milk, when a knock on her door startled her. Quickly, she lowered the heat and snatched up a towel to wipe her hands as she headed for the door.
The last person she expected to find on her doorstep was Mitch Wentworth. Grace’s heart plummeted.
‘Wow, something smells wonderful.’ He sniffed the air appreciatively.
‘Er, hello, Mr Wentworth,’ she murmured, only just resisting the temptation to slam the door in his face. At least she was fully clothed this time. Not that her favourite old tracksuit was exactly suitable attire for greeting the boss. Especially when he was still in the elegantly tailored business suit he wore to the office. Her hand strayed to her hair which, aided by the soak in the bath and the warmth of the kitchen, had loosened and begun to fall in wispy strands around her face. She rubbed one bare foot against the other. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Do I smell roghan josh curry?’ Mitch asked.
Her eyes widened. ‘Madras, actually,’ she answered warily. Surely he wasn’t looking for a meal?
‘Ah, yes. I should have noticed.’ Mitch smiled and Grace took a step back. She needed to put some distance between herself and that smile. ‘There is faint aroma of coconut,’ he agreed. ‘Roghan josh has yoghurt, doesn’t it?’
‘You—you like curries?’ Why did she ask? Every man she’d ever met liked curries. But rarely were they so familiar with the details of the ingredients. ‘This one needs to simmer for a good while yet,’ she hastened to add, in case he had any bright ideas about inviting himself for dinner.
‘There’s no need to look so nervous, Grace. I won’t be invading your privacy for very long,’ Mitch reassured her as if he’d been reading her mind. ‘And I’m sure Henry Aspinall would have something to say if I ate his share of dinner.’
‘Hen—Henry?’ Grace stammered. What exactly did he know about Henry?
‘He’s been chasing me to look at his graphic designs and when I first met him he mentioned you and he were…good friends.’
‘Oh.’ Grace gulped. Nervously, she waited to see if Mitch was going to expand on this information. When he didn’t, she added, ‘So why have you come here?’
‘Do you mind if I come in for just a moment? There are a few things I need to discuss with you and I’d like to clear them up tonight.’
Mitch expected her hesitation, but he also knew Grace would invite him in. She had seen that he was holding the folder with her report and curiosity sparked from her green eyes. Valiantly ignoring his hunger pangs, he followed her into the small sitting room, rich with the fragrant, spicy smells that drifted from her kitchen.
He couldn’t help noticing that it was a lovely room—not extravagantly decorated, but comfortable and welcoming. And the raw, emotive passion of the guitar music in the background was a surprise. Another layer to the Grace Robbins enigma.
Mitch’s gaze roved slowly around the cosy setting. The lighting was low, creating a soothing mood. And the warm, natural earth colours of the terracotta tiled floor and the two large Aboriginal paintings dominating the main wall gave a sense of mellowness. In the opposite corner, beneath a black and white movie poster of Bogey and Bacall, a fat earthenware pot held a sheaf of dried grasses. Beside it sat an overly plump floor cushion covered with a stone-and claret-coloured design.
He’d rarely settled in one spot long enough to establish his own home, but when he did make purchases these same earthy tones, sunburnt ochres and browns were the colours that always attracted him.
The chocolate brown sofa was deep and soft and Mitch sank into it gratefully. Grace sat opposite him on a woven cane chair and clutched at a sienna and black striped cushion as if her life depended on it. Nevertheless, he didn’t miss the way she curled into the deep chair with catlike elegance.
‘You decorated this place yourself?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I thought the New Tomorrow project would take long enough to warrant moving all my gear from Sydney.’
Mitch nodded. ‘It’s very attractive. I’m looking forward to finding a home base for myself.’ His glance drifted to the fish tank on a stand behind her chair. Two goldfish and a black fish. ‘I have a sister-in-law who is a feng shui expert. She claims that aquariums are very helpful for creating…’ he paused, searching for the right word, but gave up with a smiling shrug ‘…a happy environment.’
Grace’s mouth twitched as she gestured to the fish. ‘I’ve read that. These guys are the Marx Brothers.’
‘Let me guess. The black one is Groucho.’
‘Of course.’ She laughed. Then she looked startled as if she hadn’t meant to let down her guard. ‘Um—what did you want to speak about?’
She was edgy—probably in a hurry to get rid of him before Aspinall turned up. Mitch suppressed a sigh as he pictured the other man wolfing down her delicious meal. He avoided thinking of any other delights in store for Henry Aspinall by flipping her report onto his knee and tapping his finger against the cover. ‘This is good, Grace. Very good. I have to say I’m very impressed by how quickly you’ve made yourself familiar with the North Queensland territory.’
Her eyes lit up with pleasure. Mitch found their sudden sparkle arresting.
‘It’s very interesting country,’ Grace replied, unconsciously crossing one long, towelling-clad leg over the other. ‘As I said in my report, I think there are many location options on our back doorstep.’
Mitch had never noticed before just how sexy faded blue terry towelling could be. He dragged his gaze away. Her body shouldn’t, couldn’t be a factor here. Praising her business skills was the way to win over Grace Robbins. ‘Your report is very persuasive. That’s why I’m here tonight. I’d like to start investigating some of these outback locations straight away.’
‘Immediately?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
She nodded thoughtfully and Mitch could sense her thoughts whirling behind those wide green eyes as she calculated what needed to be done. ‘You’d definitely check out Undara?’ she queried.
He referred to his scribbled notes. ‘The ancient lava tubes? Yes. They sound fantastic for the underground scenes. And I want to look at some of the old deserted mining towns, too.’
‘Like Ravenswood or the Mount Surprise district?’
‘They’re the ones.’ Mitch nodded.
‘You’d hire a four-wheel drive?’
Mitch could tell that she was catching onto his enthusiasm. The cushion she’d been clutching earlier slipped unheeded to the floor.
‘I think that would be best. Then I could mosey on and explore more of the outback. I want to take a good look at the Gulf country. There’s so much great wilderness terrain out there.’
‘And with its own peculiar kind of beauty,’ Grace supplied. She leaned forward, an excited pink tinting her cheeks. ‘I’m sure you’ll find just what you’re looking for in the Gulf.’
For the briefest moment, Mitch had the eerie feeling that there was something deeply prophetic about her words—as if he would actually find something much more meaningful than a location for his film. He blinked and shook his head. Grace might be clever, but she could not see into the future. Working overtime on top of jet lag could produce the weirdest sensations.
He smiled at her. ‘You understand what I’m looking for, don’t you?’