The Temp and the Tycoon

Liz Fielding was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain – with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between. She finally came to a full stop in a tiny Welsh village cradled by misty hills and these days, mostly, leaves her pen to do the travelling. When she’s not sorting out the lives and loves of her characters, she potters in the garden, reads her favourite authors and spends a lot of time wondering… “What if…”

For news of upcoming books – and to sign up for her occasional newsletter – visit Liz’s website at www.lizfielding.com

The Temp and the Tycoon

by

Liz Fielding

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CHAPTER ONE

‘WAIT for me!’

Talie Calhoun sprinted across the marble lobby of the Radcliffe Tower as the lift doors began to close. The occupant of the lift obliged by holding the doors, and she beamed a grateful smile in his direction.

‘Thank you so much! It’s my first day and I am sooo late,’ she said, all in a rush as she checked her wristwatch and let out a tiny wail of anguish before looking up at her fellow passenger. Nothing unusual there. Looking up was what she did, mostly. Her grandmother had warned her. If she didn’t eat up her spinach and crusts she wouldn’t grow tall and her hair wouldn’t curl.

One out of two to granny.

Oh, good grief. It was just her luck that the man was a serious babe magnet. Slate grey eyes, cheekbones to die for, a mouth that you just knew would melt your bones. If you were in the market to have your bones melted, that was. In short, the kind of man that you wouldn’t want to meet unless your make-up was perfect, your clothes elegant—but sexy—and your hair totally in control. Instead, she was pink in the face, dishevelled and flustered. She wasn’t even going to think about her hair…

‘That’s not good, is it?’ she said, offering a smile. But if she’d been hoping for reassurance, she was out of luck.

‘It does suggest a certain lack of enthusiasm,’ he replied coolly.

Would it have hurt the wretch to smile?

‘Which floor?’ he enquired.

‘Oh…’ She consulted the card she was holding. ‘Thirty-two, please.’ Then, as her knight errant pressed the button for her floor, ‘It’s not true, you know,’ she said. ‘I am incredibly enthusiastic.’

He lifted his left eyebrow no more than a millimetre. It expressed a world-weary lack of belief that she found totally galling.

‘No, honestly!’ she protested. Then, ‘But you’re probably right. This may be the shortest temp job in the entire history of temping.’

‘If it was important, maybe you should have set your alarm a little earlier.’ Her outraged response to this calumny was still a fledgling thought when he said, ‘Who are you going to work for?’

‘The Finance Director.’

‘Then you are in trouble.’

A twinge of unease tightened her stomach. She couldn’t be that unlucky…

‘Look, it wasn’t my fault. My alarm was set for six o’clock. I was almost here an hour ago.’

‘I should perhaps warn you that the Finance Director never accepts “almost” as good enough.’

‘Please… Tell me that you’re not him…’

‘No. You’re safe for another couple of minutes.’ His smile was definitely worth waiting for. Tiny creases appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes to demonstrate that, although it was more ironic than ha-ha-ha, it was the genuine article.

‘Whew!’ she said, flapping her hand as if to cool her cheeks—actually, it wasn’t wholly pretence. ‘That would have been a really bad start.’

‘Late is bad enough. Have you got a good excuse prepared? Delay on the Underground is a favourite, I believe.’

‘With good reason,’ she declared. ‘But it wasn’t anything that simple. I wish it was.’

The eyebrow did its job again, inviting her to elaborate. Or maybe in disbelief… ‘Look, it’s just me, okay? I seem to have this fatal attraction for calamity, mayhem and misadventure. Today it was some poor man having a seizure down in the Underground.’

‘That’s a reason for him being late, not you,’ he pointed out.

‘Yes, but I will get involved.’

‘Oh. I see.’

For a moment she suspected that he was laughing at her. No, his mouth was perfectly straight…

She dragged her gaze from the kind of lower lip that sent a rush of hormones to her brain.

‘He’d, um, collapsed on the platform. People were walking right past him. I suppose they thought he’d been taking drugs or something. It wasn’t exactly a rerun of While You Were Sleeping—’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The movie? Where the girl rescues the guy when he falls onto the track and then everyone thinks she’s his fiancée…’ She stopped. Clearly he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. ‘Obviously I couldn’t just leave him there.’

‘Obviously,’ he said. And then he did smile. Really smile. He was clearly killing himself with the effort not to laugh out loud.

Why did men always do that?

Because she was only five foot three in her thickest socks and twenty pounds overweight, according to some stupid height/weight chart in one of her aunt’s slimming magazines?

Why was it that only tall, thin people were taken seriously?

‘You find that funny?’ she demanded.

‘No! No, absolutely not,’ he said, rapidly losing the smile. ‘You weren’t afraid?’ Then, ‘I suspect that’s why none of those people stopped.’

‘Of course it was, but he was sick. He needed help. I grabbed the nearest person and wouldn’t let go until the poor woman got out her mobile phone and called for an ambulance. Then I did what I could to make him comfortable. Of course it took the paramedics forever to get through the rush hour traffic, and then I had to stay and explain what had happened, what I’d done.’

‘Is he going to be all right?’

Okay. He’d smiled at the wrong moment, but he had asked the right question…

‘I think so. He was a bit dazed, but he seemed to have pretty much recovered by the time I finally got away.’ The lift stopped, the doors slid back. ‘Uh-oh. This is my floor. Well, thanks for holding the lift.’

‘Anytime. Just yell,’ he said, and then he smiled again. And her bones…melted.

Oh, good grief. She’d yelled… In the hallowed precincts of the Radcliffe Tower…

‘I only do that in an emergency,’ she said, again wishing she was six inches taller so that people would take her seriously.

She was tired of men smiling indulgently at her. Not that she could have done anything about it if they were gazing at her with undiluted passion. But even so. A girl needed a morale boost once in a while.

‘Keep your fingers crossed for me.’

‘I will,’ he said, then spoiled the effect by saying, ‘But I doubt that will be necessary. I suspect you could talk your way out of anything.’

Jude Radcliffe was still smiling as he walked into his own suite of offices on the top floor of the tower. Catching his PA’s startled expression, he straightened his face and said, ‘Call Mike Garrett, will you, please, Heather? Tell him I’d appreciate it if he didn’t give his temp a hard time about being late. She dealt with a medical emergency on the Underground on her way to work.’

‘Good heavens. Was it serious?’ Then, with a frown, ‘What were you doing on the Underground?’

‘I suspect it was dramatic, rather than life-threatening, and I wasn’t involved. I just rode up in the lift with the woman.’

‘You seem to have covered a lot of ground in a short time. What’s her name?’ she asked, picking up the telephone.

‘She never stopped talking long enough for me to ask her.’

‘Obviously she had no idea who you were.’

‘I doubt that it would have made any difference.’

‘Really? Well, good for her. Description?’

‘How many temps do you think they’ll have arriving late in Finance?’ he said, suddenly regretting the impulse to get involved. ‘She’s small, with hair like an exploding mattress.’

‘What colour mattress?’

‘Blonde.’

‘Ah.’

Ah? What did ‘ah’ mean? He refused to ask.

‘Keep an eye on her, will you? See how she does. If we’ve got a suitable permanent opening we might consider her. If she’s interested.’ Realising that Heather was looking at him with a speculative little smile, he said, ‘The woman stopped to help a total stranger when everyone else walked by. People like that are rare.’

‘If she was telling the truth. It must have occurred to you that she might simply have been lying in wait for you to arrive with this heart-touching story well prepared?’

That he hadn’t—not for one minute—was disturbing. It was usually his first thought, and his last one, too. ‘Anything is possible,’ he replied, and, in an attempt to discourage any foolish ideas that might be lingering in Heather’s normally intelligent head, ‘Which is the reason I asked you to keep an eye on her.’

‘Right. Of course it is. And which is most important, Jude? Her skills or her social conscience?’

At which point he knew that he was being teased. That his PA thought he’d been snagged by some eye candy with an above average IQ who’d taken the trouble to use more than her looks as bait. And that, for once in a long while, he’d fallen for it.

‘You’ve been working for me too long to ask that,’ he said, deciding that enough was enough. ‘When you’ve spoken to Mike, bring in the New York file. I want to fine-tune the details before I leave for Scotland.’

Talie enjoyed working for the Radcliffe Group. The job was demanding, but she relished the opportunity to stretch herself. So much of her time in the last couple of years had been lived within the confines of her home; the chance to get out into the workplace, talk to some people who knew nothing about her, do ordinary stuff for a couple of weeks, was her version of respite.

Even if it meant having to cope with her aunt’s attempts to get her involved in a slimming regime.

Her only disappointment was that she hadn’t met her knight errant of the lift again. She’d hoped to thank him properly. She would put him right about Mike Garrett, too. Mike had been totally understanding about why she was late that first morning, was an absolute sweetheart to work for, and she sincerely wished she had more than just the one week standing in as holiday coverfor his secretary.

Unlike the eponymous owner of the Tower.

Jude Radcliffe, according to her new colleagues, who’d whisked her off to their favourite lunchtime watering hole and wasted no time at all in filling her in on just how lucky she was not to have been assigned to the top floor, was a total bastard to work for.

She might have dismissed this as pique that their personal billionaire, although apparently sex-on-legs and unaccountably unattached, was totally oblivious to their charms. However, a couple of the other senior secretaries who’d worked for him when his PA was away shuddered so convincingly at the memory that she knew it had to be true.

His PA was considered to be something of a dragon, too, although she’d seemed pleasant enough when she’d stopped at Talie’s desk later in the week to ask if Mike was free, taking the time to ask how Talie was settling in, make sure she’d found her way around, ask what her plans were, suggest she leave her CV with Human Resources.

Since Jude was away the week she worked for his company she didn’t have the opportunity to check him out for herself. Apparently his idea of a holiday was walking in the Scottish Highlands—shock, horror, face-pulling all around. It didn’t sound that terrible to Talie, but she didn’t say so. She was a temp, and her opinion didn’t count. She was just there to listen. But it was clear the rest of his employees felt the least he could do was indulge himself in a lavish lifestyle and give them something to gossip about over the skinny latte. And when they looked at her, expecting her to agree that the man was a disappointment all around, she did her best to hide her amusement and agreed with them.

’Natalie! I can hear the phone!’

She was already halfway down the stairs before her mother called out. Phone calls early in the morning or late at night always meant bad news and she snatched it up. ‘Yes?’

‘Talie? Talie Calhoun? This is Heather Lester. From the Radcliffe Group? We spoke—’

‘I remember,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if I snapped, but I was—’

‘Asleep. I’m the one who should apologise, for disturbing you in the middle of the night. I do know how unsettling late-night phone calls can be. Unfortunately I’ve got a bit of a crisis and it wouldn’t wait until morning.’

About to explain that she hadn’t been asleep, Talie said, ‘Oh.’ Then, ‘What kind of crisis?’

‘Before I go into details, can I just ask if you have a valid passport?’

‘Well, yes.’ She had once had a life and holidays abroad, like ordinary people.

‘Well, that’s the first hurdle. The thing is, I’m supposed to be flying to New York with Mr Radcliffe tomorrow morning—actually, it’s this morning now—but my daughter has gone into labour two weeks early and her husband is away, so she needs me.’

‘And you need someone to take your place?’

‘At zero notice.’

‘And you’re asking me?’ Talie caught her breath. ‘To go to New York?’ With the total bastard?

‘My choice is limited. There aren’t too many secretaries who can take shorthand verbatim. And Mike spoke very highly of you.’

‘He did? Gosh, how kind of him. I’d give him a reference as a great boss anytime.’

‘That speaks volumes in itself. He’d rather type his own reports than cope with incompetence. However, I’d be lying if I said he was as difficult as Jude. I wouldn’t want you to get the impression that this trip will be a holiday. It’ll be damned hard work.’

Yes, but it would be damned hard work in New York!

She hugged the excitement close to her chest and said, ‘Well, of course. I don’t imagine Mr Radcliffe takes his secretary away with him purely for decoration,’ she said. And then clapped her hand over her mouth as she realised how that must sound. ‘Oh, crumbs. I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s okay, Talie. I know exactly what you meant. The other thing I have to impress on you is the need for total discretion.’

‘I always assumed that was the first requirement of the job, Mrs Lester. But if you’re concerned, then maybe you should send someone you know.’

‘It’s Heather. And I’m asking you. Yes or no? Will you go?’

Reality beckoned.

‘I’d absolutely love to, but the thing is I’ve already got another temp job lined up and I can’t let them down—’

‘I’ve already spoken to the agency. They will rearrange the booking if you are willing to take this assignment.’

In the middle of the night?

Apparently sensing her disbelief, Heather said, ‘I’m a personal friend of the manager. Who speaks very highly of you, I might add.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, if you’re sure. I mean, surely there’s someone else at the office…’ She stopped, remembering how the other women at the office spoke about Jude Radcliffe. ‘Who can do shorthand,’ she finally managed.

Heather laughed. ‘Not like you, Talie. You’ll have my undying gratitude if you’ll take this on.’

And clearly the undying gratitude of the right-hand woman to Jude Radcliffe was something well worth having. In the unlikely event that she would ever be able to take on a full time job.

Assuming that all objections were disposed of, Heather went on, ‘A car will pick you up at nine-thirty to take you to the airport. The driver will have everything you need in a carry-on bag, including some notes I made in case something like this happened.’

‘Heavens, that was lucky.’

‘Not lucky. It’s called forward planning. Babies have a habit of doing their own thing. You’ll have my laptop, too, and there’s everything you’ll need on that. Jude’s been away, so I’m sure he’ll want to work on the plane. Have you got a notebook handy?’

Heather spent ten minutes or so briefing her before rushing back to her daughter. Talie replaced the receiver and sat on the bottom of the stairs for a moment, staring down at the pages of shorthand notes she’d taken down, utterly stupefied by the speed at which events had overtaken her.

She needed to move. She needed to pack…

‘Who was that?’ Her mother’s voice finally filtered through the disbelief that something so amazing could have happened to her. ‘Who could be so thoughtless, calling at this time of night?’

She stirred, went back upstairs to her mother’s room. ‘It’s okay, Mum, it was work. A special temping job has come up and I’m going to have to go away for a few days—’

‘Away? Where? I can’t—’

‘You’ll be fine,’ she said, firmly putting a stop to her mother’s panicky reaction. ‘Karen is here until the end of the month, remember? And I’ll ring you every day.’ She decided it would be wiser not to mention exactly where she’d be phoning from… ‘I bought some videos for you today,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘A couple of old Doris Day movies.’

‘Really?’ Her mother brightened momentarily. Then, ‘If only your father were here.’

‘I know, Mum. I know.’ She brushed the hair back from her mother’s forehead and kissed her. ‘You go back to sleep. I’ll bring you some breakfast before I leave tomorrow.’

‘Heather? I’ve been trying to get you all morning. What’s this damn nonsense about you not coming to New York? I’m at the airport and the flight has already been called.’

‘I’m sorry, Jude. I did try and get you last night, but I could only get your answering machine and it ran out before I could explain—’

‘And then you switched off your phone.’

‘I can’t have it on in the hospital.’

‘Hospital! What hospital? What’s happened?’

‘Nothing to worry about. It’s just my daughter. She’s gone into labour early and she’s having a bit of a torrid time, poor darling. They’re considering a Caesar—’

‘And you’re a surgeon?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Stop fooling around and get to the airport. You can buy the baby something special at Tiffany’s—’

‘Talie can take shorthand as fast I can, and she’s fully briefed. I promise, you won’t even miss me.’

Talie? Who the devil was Talie?

‘Your daughter’s got a partner, hasn’t she? She doesn’t need you to hold her hand—’

‘Jude, I have to go.’

‘I refuse to cope with some stranger. I want you. Here. Now!’

‘She’s not a stranger!’ Then, ‘Isn’t she there? The car was supposed to have picked her up at nine-thirty.’

At that moment the automatic doors slid back, and as Jude Radcliffe caught sight of an unmistakable mop of blonde hair that even under restraint looked in danger of exploding he stopped listening. It was the pocket-sized blonde bombshell from the lift. She was pushing a trolley laden with a mountainous heap of luggage and talking to an elderly woman who was searching her handbag in a totally distracted manner.

‘Heather,’ he said, ‘you’re fired.’

And he cut the connection.

Talie, looking around desperately for someone in uniform to grab and ask for help, suddenly found herself confronted by her knight errant, freed from the armour of navy pinstripe and looking totally gorgeous in a grey cashmere sweater that exactly matched his eyes.

‘Good heavens, are you going to New York, too? How brilliant! I thought I was going to be on my own with Jude Radcliffe, and everyone says he’s a total…’

She stopped. The girls in the office might well be right, but it occurred to her that saying the first thing that came into her head might not be wise since, knight errant or not, he had to be one of Jude Radcliffe’s famously bright young men. And, ignoring that enticing left eyebrow, which was inviting her to continue, she turned quickly to the elderly lady she’d rescued as she’d struggled with her trolley.

‘This is Kitty,’ she said. ‘She’s going to visit her new grandson in New Zealand. At least she would be if she could find her ticket.’

‘It’s all right, dear. I’ve found it. It was stuck between my book and my box of tissues.’

Talie breathed a huge sigh of relief as the woman finally produced the folder from the depths of her bag. ‘I’ll just take her to find her queue and then I’ll be right back.’

‘You’re going nowhere. Our flight has already been called. You should have been here an hour ago.’

‘I know, but there was an accident in the tunnel,’ she said, a touch less brightly as it occurred to her that her knight might be dressed casually for travelling, but his expression was as unyielding as granite. Typical. Just when she could do with a smile or two to allay nerves that were stretched to breaking point, she finally got ‘serious.’

‘And you had to give first aid?’ he enquired.

‘Not this time,’ she said, and, assuming he was teasing her, began to relax and smiled up at him. She was on her own with the smiling, she discovered. Losing her own rapidly, she said, ‘I’ll only be a minute—’

‘You’re not listening to me, Talie,’ he said, in a tone that stopped her in her tracks.

‘Oh, you know my name?’

‘It’s not a name. It’s the word that goes in front of “ho.”’

‘It’s short for Natalie,’ she replied, refusing to allow him to rile her, furious with herself for being foolish enough to daydream for a whole week about riding in the lift again with him. ‘The alternative is Nat,’ she said. ‘Which would you choose?’

There was a pause that lasted a heartbeat, no more.

‘Talie what?’

‘Calhoun,’ she said, certain that she’d won a very small victory. But, refusing to fall into the trap of smiling again, she offered him her hand in her most businesslike manner. ‘I’m standing in for Heather on this trip. Her daughter has—’

‘I know what her daughter has done,’ he said, taking her hand and clasping it in his, holding it a touch more firmly than was quite comfortable. Rather more ‘You’re not going anywhere’ than ‘How d’you do?’ ‘And I hope they run out of gas and air.’

‘That’s not very nice. I’m sure she didn’t do it deliberately.’ Then, seeing from his expression that she wasn’t doing herself any favours, she said, ‘I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.’

He didn’t immediately fill the void, but instead gave her a look that took in her entire appearance, from the top of her embarrassing hair, via the comfortable trouser suit—it had been a toss-up between style and comfort and, taking into consideration the fact that she’d be sitting in it for seven hours, she’d gone for comfort—to her lowest heels. Right now she wished she’d gone for style, four-inch heels and to hell with practicality…

At that moment Kitty stopped fussing with her bag and looked up. ‘Good Lord, aren’t you Jude Radcliffe?’ she said. ‘I bought shares in your company after I saw you on TV. You were so charming when that nasty interviewer was rude to you…’

‘Charm is all a matter of perspective. From Miss Calhoun’s point of view I’m a total…’ And that enticing left eyebrow invited her to fill in the blank.

The word that slipped from her lips wasn’t the one she’d heard applied to him. But it was near enough.