The Billionaire Boss's Forbidden Mistress

‘Didn’t you read about the takeover in yesterday’s paper?’ Ted asked her.

‘Er…no, I didn’t,’ Leah replied, not wanting to seem too on the ball. She didn’t exactly play a blonde bimbo role at work, but at the same time, she didn’t drop any clues over who she really was. She liked it that she was treated as a simple working-class girl from Gladesville. No one at Beville Holdings had ever been to her waterview apartment or connected her surname—Johannsen—with the diamond dynasty.

‘Well, his name is Mr Pollack and he arrived over an hour ago to check out the factory. He’ll be heading over to your section soon, I’ll bet, so just as well you’re not late.’

‘What’s he like?’ Leah asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

‘Not too bad. I think my job’s safe. When he drove up to the gate just after seven and announced who he was, I still asked him for ID, and he seemed to like that.’

‘Good for you. What’s he driving? A flash car, I’ll bet.’

‘A dark blue sporty one.’

Leah’s top lip curled. Typical. Her father had declared yesterday that Jason Pollack wasn’t some kind of playboy—despite his living in a penthouse.

But men like that always ran true to form. Give a man money and he didn’t choose to putter around in anything small, or sedate. Rich people picked cars that supposedly reflected their personality, and power.

Leah had once zipped around Sydney in a red, top-of-the-range roadster, a present from her father on her twenty-first birthday. She’d traded it in for a white, second-hand hatchback when she got this job, not wanting anyone at work to think of her as a rich bitch. She wanted to be liked for herself, not her money.

‘Thanks for the warning, Ted,’ Leah said, and drove on, turning into the staff car park, which was surprisingly full. All the managers’ cars were there, an unusual occurrence for this hour on a Monday morning. They must have heard about the takeover, too, and decided to put their best feet forward.

The only empty car space in the row nearest the main office building was right next to a dark blue sports car.

Leah hesitated, then slid her vehicle in next to it, determined not to surrender to these silly nerves, which were currently turning her insides into a washing machine.

He was just a man, for pity’s sake. She’d met men just as attractive. And just as rich. Heck, she’d been married to one!

Okay, so she’d found Jason Pollack’s photo extremely attractive. So what?

Once she actually met the man, his undoubtedly up-himself personality would soon stop these ridiculous stomach flutters.

Admittedly, a dark blue sports car suggested that Jason Pollack wasn’t a total show pony, like her ex. Carl would have rocked up in something flashy and gold, or silver. That was exactly what she’d seen Carl sitting in the last time their paths crossed. Something flashy and silver.

Leah climbed out from behind the wheel and walked round to her passenger side, opening the door there to retrieve her handbag and peeping into the blue sports car at the same time.

Not a thing on the leather seats, or on the floor. Nothing to give her a glimpse of Jason Pollack’s character. Except that it looked like he was a neat freak. There wasn’t a single piece of rubbish anywhere. Or a spot of dirt. The car gleamed in the morning sun, both inside and outside.

People like that were usually very critical, and controlling.

‘Better get a move on then, girlie,’ she muttered to herself as she zapped the lock on her key and hurried up the path that led to the head office, a rectangular brick building built in the early sixties, but which had been totally renovated late last year.

You couldn’t tell by looking at the place that Beville Holdings hadn’t made a profit lately. You’d think everything was coming up roses.

Pushing through the front door, Leah headed across the deserted reception area straight for the nearby powder room. Her wristwatch said twenty-three minutes past eight. She only had five minutes to check her appearance before she was due to be sitting behind the semicircular reception desk, looking cool, calm and collected.

Despite her self-lecturing, Leah felt anything but.

Jason said good-bye to the factory foreman, thanking him for his help, but brushing aside the man’s offer to accompany him over to the head office.

Jason wanted to think. And he thought better when he was by himself.

He walked slowly along the well-signed path, wondering what he was doing, buying a company that made shower gels, shampoos, sunscreens and moisturisers. What in hell did he know about such products?

Nothing at all.

Still, he supposed retail was retail. Get the advertising right and good sales usually followed.

Judging by their performance over the last two years, Beville Holdings had not got their advertising right. Either that, or they were charging too much for their products. Or their management was less than efficient.

Jason wished he’d done some more market research before plunging in last Friday and buying a controlling share.

Never in his life before had he bought a company because of a dream. A dream, for pity’s sake!

It had happened last Saturday night, the night he’d broken up with Hilary. He’d been upset because she’d been upset, and the last thing he’d ever wanted to do was to hurt Hilary.

They’d met just over six months ago, at a dinner party that Jason had been persuaded to attend, and which had been cripplingly boring till Hilary winked at him from across the table. Later, he’d discovered that their hostess had been doing some matchmaking, Hilary having not long been divorced. She was his age, slim, dark, and very attractive, as well as intelligent and confident. Jason had ended up in bed with her that night, his first woman since Karen’s death four years earlier. His libido had finally bypassed his grief and come to life again, and, having come to life, wasn’t going to stay silent any more.

In hindsight, Jason was amazed that he’d stayed celibate for so long. Sex had always been very important to him.

He’d first discovered the pleasures of the flesh when he’d been sixteen, his partner an older girl of nineteen who knew a thing or two. She’d lived two doors down from him, and she’d spent many a Saturday afternoon during one long hot summer, showing Jason exactly how to please her, and vice versa. When her family moved, Jason had been devastated for a while. At sixteen, it had been impossible to separate lust and love.

Eventually, he’d recovered from his broken heart, and, after that, never been without a girlfriend. Though he’d never fallen in love again.

Till he met Karen.

Jason smiled softly to himself as he thought of his wife.

Another older woman, but this time fifteen years older. Forty-two to his twenty-seven. Yet they’d been perfect together. And so ecstatically happy.

Of course, everyone else thought he’d married his boss’s widow out of cold-blooded ambition. Hilary probably hadn’t believed him when he had said he’d loved his wife.

Jason supposed it was only reasonable that, after sleeping with Hilary every weekend for six months, she might expect him to propose.

In his defence, he’d made it clear right from the start of their relationship that he wasn’t interest in remarrying.

But last Saturday night, Hilary had started pressing for him to marry her and he knew he couldn’t. Because, as attractive as Hilary was, he just wasn’t in love with her, and once you’d been in love—really, deeply in love—you couldn’t settle for less.

After Hilary flounced out, saying she never wanted to see him again, he hadn’t been able to sleep. So he’d popped one of the sleeping pills that the doctor had prescribed for him after Karen died and which were hopelessly out of date. But at the time, he hadn’t cared. He just wanted oblivion.

But his sleep had been full of dreams, mostly of Karen, telling him—as she often had during that final awful week—that he wasn’t to grieve, that, one day, he’d meet someone else, someone more right for him than she’d been, someone who’d give him babies and a wonderful life.

Silly dreams, because Jason knew that wouldn’t happen.

And then, seemingly only seconds before he woke, had come this other odd, startlingly vivid dream.

He was driving out in the country and suddenly, in the middle of a mown paddock, he saw this massive billboard with a blonde on it. She’d been photographed from the back from her hips up, and was naked. The effect was incredibly sexual. She had a slender but curvy shape, porcelain-like skin and dead straight, glisteningly golden hair streaming halfway down her bare back. Her arms were stretched up in front of her, tossing a bottle of shampoo up into a bright blue sky, golden rays coming out from it as if it were the sun. Across the bottom of the billboard were the words: START EVERY DAY WITH SUNSHINE.

Jason had driven right off the road in the dream as he stared at the blonde, the accident jolting him awake. He’d been relieved to find it was only a dream, but the image on that billboard had stayed in his mind all day, tantalising him. Haunting him.

He knew he’d never seen such an ad before. He had heard of a brand name called Sunshine. Vaguely. But he thought it was attached to cleaning stuff, not shampoo.

That evening, he’d rung Harry Wilde—Harry ran an advertising agency he used occasionally—and asked him if he knew of Sunshine shampoo, or of such an ad.

He hadn’t.

Jason had then gone to an all-hours supermarket and found that there was indeed a range of products with the Sunshine label, all made by a company called Beville Holdings. Further investigation via his broker revealed Beville Holdings was a small but well-established manufacturing company, owned by a parent company in England. Their shares were quite low, due to their not making a profit and not declaring a decent dividend for the past two years.

‘And a week later, here I am,’ Jason muttered to himself. ‘The owner of said profitless company.’

Jason found himself standing outside the main door of the head office building, shaking his head wryly up at the Beville Holdings sign. He didn’t really believe in fate, or karma. In the main, he was a practical man.

But he could not deny that he’d been less than practical this past week. That crazy dream had robbed him of his savvy approach to business. As soon as he’d found out there was a real company that made Sunshine products, he’d felt compelled to buy the place, without doing any solid market research, a process that normally took many weeks.

Bob had thought he’d lost his marbles.

Still, if he listened to Bob all the time, he’d never buy anything. Bob was a great PA, but not the most decisive of men. Not a risk taker in any way, shape or form.

Businessmen had to take risks, occasionally. In the main, however, they were informed risks. Jason had to admit that, this time, he’d gone out on a limb.

Still, it could be an interesting project, he told himself, turning Beville Holdings around. A real challenge. He’d been getting into a rut lately.

Success would depend on what he discovered in here, Jason decided as he pushed through the half-glass door. If serious problems lay in the sales and marketing departments, things could get tricky.

Golden handshakes were the only answer for getting rid of bad management, and that was very costly.

So was this décor, Jason realised as he set foot on the plush jade carpet that covered the spacious reception area. His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the cream leather seating and the expensively framed watercolours that graced the cream walls, his thoughtful gaze finally resting on the very modern, but very unmanned reception desk.

He was glancing at the time on his watch—it was eight twenty-seven—when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Jason turned in time to see a young woman emerge from the ladies’ room across the way.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat.

She was blonde, and beautiful, wearing a pale green dress that clung to her perfect breasts and swished around her perfect legs. She seemed startled when she saw him, stopping in mid-stride. But then, with a toss of her lovely head, she headed in his direction, her hips swaying provocatively.

‘Good morning, Mr Pollack,’ she said crisply as she stretched out her hand towards him. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you came in, but I’m not due to start till eight thirty.’

So she knew who he was, did she? Probably saw his photo in the paper yesterday, Jason realised as he took her hand, holding it within both of his as he absorbed more of her incredible beauty at closer quarters.

‘That’s perfectly all right, Miss…er…’

‘Johannsen,’ she supplied. ‘Leah Johannsen. I…I’m the receptionist here at Beville Holdings.’

Jason knew lots of companies hired lookers to man their front desk, but this girl was totally wasted here. She could have been a model, she was so striking. Those eyes. That mouth. That stunning hair. So shiny and silky looking, with just the hint of a wave as it rippled down over her slender shoulders.

It made you want to touch it. Kiss it. Wrap it around your…

Jason gave himself a severe mental shake, hoping his face did not reflect his thoughts. Indulging in that type of sexual fantasy was not Jason’s usual bent.

But once the image filled his mind, it was joined by others. To his annoyance, his flesh soon followed and he found himself glancing down at her left hand to see if she was wearing any rings.

The shot of adrenalin that came when he saw that her fingers were bare startled Jason. It wasn’t like him to lose it over a pretty girl.

But of course this girl wasn’t just pretty. She was perfection.

And suddenly, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted Hilary.

But then he hadn’t ever really wanted Hilary as such, had he? He’d just wanted regular sex. Any attractive woman would have done.

But you really want this girl, came a voice from inside that Jason didn’t recognise. It was dark and driven and utterly ruthless. You want her and you’re going to have her, come hell or high water!

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