The Boss's Secret Mistress

‘Who are we talking about, Alex?’ Tory finally asked.

‘Rita, of course.’ A frown questioned her intelligence, then he began to sing, ‘Lovely Rita, no one can beat her—’

‘Shh!’ Tory hushed him once more. ‘You’re going to wake the woman upstairs.’

‘Don’t care,’ Alex announced, this time like a sulky boy. ‘All women are vile… ’Cept you, darling Tory.’ He smiled winningly at her.

Tory rolled her eyes heavenward. She might have taken Lucas Ryecart too seriously that morning, but she was in no danger of it with Alex. Drunk, Alex would flirt with a lamp-post.

‘I thought you were talking about Sue,’ she stated in repressive tones.

‘Sue?’ He looked blank for a moment.

‘Sue Baxter,’ she reminded him heavily. ‘Works at Eastwich. Husband in Navy. Woman you’ve been living with for the last month or two.’

Drunk though he was, Alex understood the implication. ‘You think I don’t love Rita because I’ve been shacking up with Sue? But I do. Sue’s just…’

‘A fill-in?’ Tory suggested dryly.

‘Yes. No. You don’t understand,’ he answered in quick succession. ‘Men aren’t the same as women, Tory, you have to realise that.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Tory assured him, and before he could justify his infidelity on biological grounds she stood and picked up the blanket and pillow she’d dug out earlier. ‘You’re an education in yourself, Alex,’ she added, draping the blanket over him without ceremony. ‘Lift.’

He raised his head and she thrust the pillow under him. ‘You’re not a woman, Tory,’ he told her solemnly, ‘you’re a friend.’

‘Thanks,’ she muttered at this backhanded compliment. Not that she minded much. She didn’t want Alex’s roving eye fixing on her. ‘Goodnight, Alex.’

‘’Night, Tory,’ he echoed, already settling down for the night. Soon he would be out for the count.

It was Tory who was left sleepless.

After an afternoon spent windsurfing and an evening in company, she should be tired enough to sleep through a hurricane, yet she couldn’t sleep through Lucas Ryecart.

Alex had provided a temporary distraction but now he was just another concern. How could she keep Alex sober tomorrow so he would be presentable on Monday for his meeting with Ryecart?

She tried telling herself it wasn’t her problem. And it wasn’t, really. After all, what did she owe Alex? He had given her a chance, taking her on as a production assistant when she’d had little experience, but she’d surely repaid him, covering up for him as she had over that last three months. It would be much the wisest thing to let Alex fend for himself.

Perhaps Alex might even hold his own with the American. After all, he was an intelligent, articulate man with a first-class degree from Cambridge and twenty years’ experience in the television industry.

Whereas Lucas Ryecart, who was he?

The man who was going to wipe the floor with Alex, that was who, she answered the question for herself, and for the second night in a row fell asleep with Lucas Ryecart’s image running round her brain.

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