Seduced By The Boss
‘Yes. Hugh just called down. Can you go up to his office?’
Uh-oh. This must mean that Hugh had seen her parcel and her card. And she had absolutely no idea what his reaction was going to be. ‘Um, sure,’ she said.
‘Don’t look so worried. The boss knows it’s your first day, so he probably just wants to say hello and welcome you to Insurgo,’ Tarquin said kindly.
Bella wasn’t so sure. If that was the case, why hadn’t Hugh come down to the open-plan office? She had a nasty feeling that she wasn’t going to be hearing a welcome speech but a ‘goodbye and never darken our doorstep again’ speech. Clearly the parcel she’d left on her new boss’s desk hadn’t been anywhere near enough of an apology.
Her fears must have shown on her face because Tarquin said, ‘His bark’s worse than his bite. He just isn’t a Monday morning person, that’s all. Whatever he says, don’t take it to heart, OK? Everyone else in the office will tell you the same—and if he does say something horrible to you, he’ll come and apologise to you in the afternoon when he’s human again. It’s just how he is.’
‘Right,’ Bella said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll, um, be back in a minute, then?’ She switched off the music, scribbled the word ‘mist’ on a pad to remind herself what she’d been thinking about, and then headed for Hugh’s office, her stomach churning. Hesitantly, she rapped on the closed door.
‘Come in,’ he said, sounding brusque.
Tarquin obviously hadn’t been joking when he’d said that the boss wasn’t a Monday morning person.
And then her jaw almost dropped when she walked in. The last time she’d seen Hugh Moncrieff, he’d been clean-shaven and wearing a formal suit. Today, he was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with the Insurgo Records logo on it, and his dark hair looked as if he’d dragged his fingers through it instead of combing it. Teamed with the shadow of stubble on his face, it made him look as if he’d just got out of bed. He should’ve looked scruffy and faintly disgusting. But the whole package made him seem younger and much more approachable—not to mention sexy as hell—and her mouth went dry. Oh, help. She really had to remember that he was the boss, not just another one of the team. That made him totally off limits. And, besides, she didn’t want to risk her heart again. Which gave her a double reason not to act on the desire flickering through her—even if he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever met.
He indicated the box of chocolates sitting on his desk. ‘Why?’
Hugh was clearly a man of few words when it came to work. Or maybe it was his Monday morning-itis. ‘Why the gift? Or why chocolates?’ she asked.
‘Both.’
‘The gift is to say thank you, because you went way beyond the call of duty on Friday night. They’re chocolates, because I can hardly buy a man flowers,’ she said. ‘Did I give you enough money to cover everything, or do I still owe you?’
He handed her the envelope, which felt thick enough to contain most—if not all—of the money she’d enclosed with the card. ‘My shoes survived, and the taxi and dry-cleaning bill weren’t much,’ he said.
She knew that wasn’t true. The taxi firm would’ve charged him for valeting the cab and for lost earnings while the cab was out of action, being cleaned. ‘I’d rather you kept it,’ she said, putting the envelope back on his desk. ‘To cover the inconvenience.’
‘No need,’ he said firmly. ‘Is your sister OK? She looked terrible.’
Bella was grateful he hadn’t mentioned the ‘incident’. ‘Grace barely even drinks, normally,’ she said, not wanting him to think badly of her sister. ‘Friday was totally out of character for her. She’s the sensible and together one who sorts everything out; I’m the flaky and unreli—’ She stopped mid-word, realising what she was about to blurt out. ‘Not when it comes to my job, obviously. I’m very together where my work is concerned,’ she added swiftly.
‘But in your personal life you’re flaky and unreliable?’ he asked.
‘Not unreliable, even—just the one who opens her mouth without thinking things through,’ she said ruefully. ‘As you’ve just heard.’
‘But you rescued your sister when she needed your help,’ he said softly. ‘That definitely counts in your favour. Is she OK?’
‘She will be,’ Bella said. ‘I’ve never known her to drink three glasses of champagne in a row, let alone on an empty stomach. I think that’s why... Well. What happened, happened,’ she finished, squirming slightly.
‘Thank you for the chocolates. They’re appreciated,’ he said. ‘And you have good taste.’
‘I have good taste in a lot of things.’ And then, when she saw the momentary flicker in those amazing blue eyes, she wished the words unsaid. ‘I wasn’t flirting with you,’ she added quickly.
His expression said, much. ‘Take the money,’ he said. ‘I don’t need it. Use it to take your sister out to dinner or something.’
‘Just no champagne, right?’
This time, he smiled. ‘Right. Welcome to Insurgo, Ms Faraday.’
‘Thank you, Mr Moncrieff.’ Formality was good. It put distance between them. And it would stop her getting crazy ideas about a man with a mouth that promised sin and eyes that promised pleasure. Ideas she most definitely couldn’t let herself act upon.
‘Are you settling in all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Tarquin’s given me my first brief and I’m working on it now. The limited edition single.’ She paused. ‘He said it was coloured vinyl. I have to admit, I don’t know that much about how records are physically made. Can the vinyl be any colour you like?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you could do clear vinyl with little wisps of mist running through it?’
He looked surprised. ‘Yes. Would that tie in with your design?’
‘It’s what the music makes me think of. Obviously it’s just an idea at this stage,’ she said swiftly, not wanting to put him off. ‘I’ll do some rough mock-ups of three or four ideas, and then I’m discussing them with Tarquin this afternoon.’
‘Good. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.’
She blinked, surprised. ‘You’re going to be in the meeting as well?’
‘Not that one,’ he said. ‘But when you and Tarquin have agreed which one to work on, then you come and convince me.’
‘Challenge accepted.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Oh, for pity’s sake. This wasn’t about a challenge. This was about...about...
Why had her brain suddenly turned to soup?
He smiled, then, and it felt as if the room had lit up. Which was even more worrying. She didn’t want to start feeling like this about anyone, especially not her new boss.
‘I think I’m going to enjoy working with you, Bella Faraday.’
There was a faint trace of huskiness in his voice that sent a thrill right through her. This was bad. She could actually imagine him saying other things to her in that gorgeous voice. Things that would turn her into a complete puddle of hormones.
No.
This was work. She was really going to have to keep reminding herself that her relationship with Hugh Moncrieff was strictly business. Maybe she’d ask her friend Nalini to put a temporary henna tattoo on her hand saying ‘work’—written in Hindi script, so Bella would know exactly what it meant but anyone else would think it was just a pretty design. The last thing she needed was for anyone to guess how attracted she was to her new boss.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll get back to it, then.’ She gave him what she hoped was a cool, capable smile, and forced herself to walk coolly and calmly out of his office. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. She could run once that door was closed behind her.
She’d just reached the doorway when he said softly, ‘Bella. I think you’ve forgotten something.’
Oh, help. She had to suppress the surge of lust. ‘What’s that?’ Oh, great. And her voice would have to be squeaky. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.
He waved the envelope at her.
‘Keep it.’
He coughed. ‘As your boss, I’m pulling rank.’
If she was stubborn over this, she could lose her job.
If she took the money back, she’d be in his debt.
Caught between a rock and a hard place. Or maybe there was a way out. ‘Then I’ll donate it to charity,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you can suggest a suitable one.’
‘Bella, this isn’t a war,’ he said softly, and she felt horrible.
‘Sorry. It’s just... I don’t want to be in your debt. And I don’t mean just you—I mean in anyone’s debt,’ she clarified.
‘The dry-cleaning bill wasn’t much, and the taxi firm is one I use a lot so they were pretty accommodating. And,’ he added, ‘I’m not exactly a church mouse.’
‘Church mouse?’ she asked, not following. Then she remembered the proverbial phrase. ‘Oh. Of course.’
‘Take the money,’ he said softly, ‘and it’s all forgotten. As far as I’m concerned—and everyone else at Insurgo, for that matter—today’s the first day we’ve met. And I’m notorious in the office for not being a Monday morning person. Nobody usually talks to me until lunchtime on Mondays because I’m so horrible.’
That made her feel better. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and took the envelope.
‘Have a nice day,’ he said, and that smile made her feel warm all over.
‘You, too,’ she said. But this time she lost her cool and fled before she could drop herself in it any more.
CHAPTER THREE
EVEN THE IDEA was crazy.
Asking Bella was completely out of the question. She was practically a stranger; and she worked for him. Two huge reasons why Hugh knew that he should put this whole thing out of his mind.
Hugh paced up and down his living room. The problem was, now the idea was in his head, it had taken root. And he knew why. He could tell himself that asking Bella to play the role of his unsuitable new girlfriend was simply because she was vivacious enough to make it convincing. It was true enough. But he knew that the real reason was a little more complicated than that. Spending the weekend together in Oxford would give them a chance to get to know each other better. See where things took them.
Crazy. Stupid. Insane.
He knew better than to mix work and pleasure. Last time he’d done it, the whole thing had gone so badly wrong that he’d nearly lost Insurgo—letting down his business partner and the people who depended on them for their jobs. Only the fact that Roland, his other best friend, had bought into the business as a sleeping partner had saved him from having to shut the business down. He’d worked stupid hours and he’d managed to stabilise everything, but he would never take that kind of risk again.
Strictly speaking, he knew this wasn’t quite that kind of risk. Bella wasn’t Jessie. She was part of the team, not one of his artists. She’d signed a contract with him rather than making a verbal agreement she could back out of because it would be her word against his. Getting to know Bella wasn’t going to put Insurgo at risk.
But it still made him antsy. Since Jessie, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t trust anyone with the battered remains of his heart. He’d keep an emotional distance. So why couldn’t he get Bella Faraday out of his head? Why did he keep remembering that frisson of awareness when she’d kissed his cheek in the taxi? Why did her smile make him feel as if the room lit up?
And, more importantly, what was he going to do about it?
By Thursday morning, Bella felt as if she’d been working at Insurgo for ever. The rest of the team turned out to be total sweethearts, and they all shared a love of music, cinema and art. Everyone pitched in with ideas and suggestions, and nobody minded if theirs was passed over for a better one. And she absolutely loved working there.
The previous afternoon, they’d had a discussion in the office about which song fitted them, so that evening she’d made little name-cards for everyone’s desk with a quick caricature of them and the title of ‘their’ song in place of their name.
It seemed mean to leave Hugh out just because he was upstairs rather than in the open-plan office with everyone else, so she made a card for him as well. ‘I Don’t Like Mondays’ fitted him to a T, she thought.
That morning, as the rest of the team filtered in to the office and saw the name-cards on their desks, there was much hilarity.
Then Hugh walked into the office—clearly not in a good mood, again—and Bella rather wished she hadn’t done a name-card for him after all.
‘Ms Faraday—a word?’ It was more of a command than a question, and his expression was completely impassive.
‘Yes, Mr Moncrieff,’ she said, and followed him meekly up to his office.
Even though he didn’t say a word to her on the way up, she had a pretty good idea what this was about. He hadn’t been amused at all by his name-card.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as soon as he closed the door. ‘We were messing about yesterday—’ Then she stopped as she realised how incriminating her words were. ‘Over lunch, that is,’ she said swiftly, hoping that she’d saved the situation. She didn’t want to get her new colleagues into trouble. ‘We were talking about the song title that could be used instead of your name to describe you, and I drew the cards last night at home. It was just a bit of fun and I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘You picked an appropriate one for me,’ he said.
Though every single day seemed to be Monday, where his mood was concerned. He really wasn’t a morning person. She winced. ‘Sorry. Are you very cross with me?’
‘No—and, just for the record, I don’t mind a bit of messing about in the office. It helps creativity, and I know everyone on the team puts the hours in. As long as the job gets done on time and within budget, I don’t actually care how it’s done.’
‘Then why did you want to see me?’ Bella asked, now completely mystified. If he wasn’t about to haul her over the coals for unprofessional behaviour, then what?
‘Your hair.’
She frowned. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘You were blonde, yesterday. Platinum blonde.’
‘Ye-es.’ She still didn’t follow.
‘And today your hair’s red.’
A tiny bit brighter red than she’d intended, because she’d been so busy making the name-cards the previous evening that she’d left the dye in for a few minutes longer than she should’ve done, but she liked it. ‘Yes.’ Where was he going with this? ‘Is there a problem with my hair colour?’ she asked carefully.
‘No, not at all.’
She really didn’t understand. ‘Then why did you call me into your office?’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
Apart from the fact that you weren’t supposed to answer a question with a question, what did that have to do with anything? She frowned. ‘You’re not supposed to ask me things like that. My relationship status has nothing to do with my job.’
‘I know. I’m not asking you as your employer.’
She caught her breath. Did that mean he was asking her out?
No, of course not. That was totally ridiculous. Just because she had a secret crush on him, it didn’t mean that her feelings were in any way returned. And in any case her boss was the last man she’d ever date. It would cause way too many problems, and she really couldn’t afford to give up her new job. There was no guarantee that the receivers dealing with her former client would give her any of the money owing to her, because she’d be way down the pecking order in the list of creditors. And, with Kirk having cleaned out their joint bank account so she no longer had any savings to her name, she was stuck. ‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked, trying hard to sound polite rather than aggressive.
‘Because I need you to do something for me, and I need to know whether I’m going to have to have a conversation with an overprotective boyfriend first.’
She was still none the wiser. ‘Now you’ve really got me worried.’
He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Bella, don’t be difficult.’
That was rich, coming from him, she thought. Hugh Moncrieff was the walking definition of difficult. He was also the walking definition of sexy, but she had to keep a lid on that thought.
‘Can you just answer the question?’ he asked. ‘Are you single or not?’
‘I’m absolutely single,’ she said crisply, ‘and I intend to stay that way.’ Just so it’d be totally clear that she wasn’t trying to flirt with him—or anything else.
‘Good.’ He gave her a sweet, sweet smile. One that made a lot of warning bells ring in her head. ‘Bella, remember when I helped you out last Friday night?’
The warning bells got louder. ‘Ye-es.’
‘Good.’ He paused. ‘I need a favour.’
So much for him saying that they’d forget what had happened. Clearly there were strings attached, after all. How disappointing. ‘What sort of favour?’ she asked carefully.
‘I need you to be my date for a family event.’
That was the last thing she’d expected. Had she misheard? ‘To be what?’ she asked.
‘My date for a family event,’ he repeated.
That was what she thought he’d said. The words ‘date’ and ‘Hugh Moncrieff’ were a dangerous combination. ‘Why?’
‘A more pertinent question, in the circumstances, is “when?”,’ he said dryly.
OK. She’d play it his way. ‘When?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Next weekend.’
What? ‘As in tomorrow or as in next Friday?’
‘As in a week on Saturday,’ he clarified.
Talk about lack of notice. Did he think that she didn’t have a social life? ‘Where?’
‘Oxfordshire.’
‘Right.’ She stared at him. ‘So let me get this straight. You want me to go to a family do with you in Oxfordshire and pretend to be your girlfriend.’
‘Yes.’
She folded her arms. ‘Now I think “why” might be pertinent. And I think I deserve a proper answer.’
‘If you want to know the truth, it’s because you,’ he said, ‘will annoy my family.’
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘That’s not very nice—to me or to them.’ And it made her feel as if he was using her. Just like Kirk had. Even though Hugh was being upfront about it rather than pretending he loved her, the way Kirk had, it still stung.
‘Given that you told me you were flaky and unreliable in your personal life, I think that’s a fair assessment.’
He had a point. Just. ‘It’s still not very nice,’ she said.
‘I didn’t expect you to go all Mary Poppins on me,’ he drawled.
She resisted the urge to slap him or to say something rude. Just. ‘That’s because you don’t know me very well. What do you want to achieve?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You said you want to annoy your family. What do you really want to happen?’
When he still looked blank, she sighed. ‘Look, you’re at point A and you clearly want to be at point B. What do you need to do to get from A to B, and is having a fake girlfriend really the most effective way to do it?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a bit sensible.’
‘Coming from me, you mean?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t come from me, actually. It’s the way my sister looks at things.’
‘Your sister Grace? As in the woman who downed three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach...?’ he said, with mischievous emphasis.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘Don’t you dare be rude about my sister,’ she warned. ‘I already told you: that was really unlike her. It was due to special circumstances—and don’t bother asking what they were, because I’m not going to tell you. It’s none of your business.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, disarming her. ‘Actually, I like the way you stand up for your sister. And you have a point.’
‘So why you do want to annoy your family?’ she asked.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is even more confidential than anything commercial I talk to you about.’
‘That’s obvious,’ she said, rolling her eyes at him. ‘You’re my boss, so anything you say to me in this room stays in this room unless you say otherwise.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Since you ask, the reason is because I’m sick and tired of them nagging me to settle down. So if I turn up to my brother’s engagement party with someone who looks completely unsuitable, maybe they’ll shut up and get off my case.’
She digested this slowly. He was saying she was unsuitable because of her hair? ‘So basically you’re asking me to play the kooky wild child. You want me to turn up with a mad hair colour, wearing ridiculous shoes and a skirt that’s more like a belt?’
‘What you wear is entirely up to you,’ he said. Then he looked thoughtful. ‘But, as you mentioned it first, yes, I think you probably have the chutzpah to carry off that kind of outfit.’
She still couldn’t quite work out if he was insulting her or praising her. Instead, she asked the other thing that was puzzling her. Well, apart from the fact that he was single. Even though he tended to be grumpy in the mornings in the office, she knew he had a good heart. He’d rescued her and Grace when they’d needed help, even though at the time they’d been complete strangers—and at the time it hadn’t felt as if there were any strings. Plus he had beautiful eyes and an even more beautiful mouth. The kind that made you want to find out what it felt like to be kissed by it.
She shook herself. That was something she shouldn’t be thinking about. ‘So why does your family want you to settle down?’
When he didn’t answer, she pointed out, ‘If you ask me to design something for you, then I need a brief to know what your target market is and what you want the design to achieve. I need to understand why before I can design something to suit. This is the same sort of thing. If I don’t understand why you want me to play someone unsuitable, I’m not going to be able to deliver the goods, am I?’
‘So you’ll do it?’
‘I didn’t say that. I still reserve the right to say no.’ If saying no was actually an option. Would her job depend on this? ‘But if you tell me why and I agree with your reasoning, then I might consider it.’ She spread her hands. ‘Anything you tell me is confidential. But I would also like to point out that I do have a social life, actually, and I did have plans for the weekend.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He raked a hand through his hair, suddenly looking vulnerable. Which was almost enough to make her agree to help him, regardless of his motives.
Weird.
Hugh Moncrieff was old enough and tough enough to look after himself. You didn’t get to be the successful owner of an independent record label if you were a pushover. He didn’t need looking after by anyone. But that expression in his eyes had touched a chord with her. It reminded her of the look in Grace’s eyes when she’d confessed that she didn’t fit in with Howard’s family and didn’t think she ever could. That she’d felt trapped and miserable.
Was that how Hugh felt about his own family?
And why did she suddenly want to rescue him, when she was usually the one who had to be rescued?
‘Of course you have a social life,’ he said. ‘And I don’t expect you to say “how high” every time I ask you to jump.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad that’s clear.’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘And I know I’m out of order, asking you to play a part.’
‘It does make me feel a bit used,’ she admitted.
‘I don’t mean it quite like that. I need help to deal with a tricky situation.’
‘Just like I did—and you helped me, so it makes sense that I should return the favour.’ Put like that, she thought, his request was much more reasonable.
‘If it’s possible for you to change your plans for the weekend and you do agree to help me by being my date, just be yourself. That’ll do nicely.’
‘Because I’m unsuitable?’ she asked. Just when she’d started to feel OK about it, he’d made her feel bad again. Stupid. ‘That’s a bit insulting.’
‘That isn’t actually what I meant. You’re confident,’ he said. ‘You’re direct. You don’t play games.’
‘But you’re asking me to play a game. Well, play a part,’ she corrected herself. ‘Which is pretty much the same thing.’