Unchained Destinies. SARA WOOD

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      ‘Just wanted to say that you’ll be hearing from me.’ Stiff and proud, she turned, collected the two largest paint tins and carried them to the outer door.

      ‘You’re not trying to coax me to let you stay or…anything else?’ he asked in surprise, stepping forward to stare after her.

      ‘No. See you in court,’ she answered crisply.

      ‘Court?’ He gave a small, incredulous laugh.

      ‘Yup.’

      The laugh came again. ‘Suing?’ She didn’t answer. ‘Did you have a written agreement, a contract?’

      ‘Yes,’s she said, unperturbed. There had been a generous price for the job and she knew there’d been a backhander arranged for Antal. Disapproving of such corruption, she’d pretended not to see the money change hands, telling herself that Vigadó cheated so many people, he shouldn’t be surprised if his staff cheated him too. She prayed her father would never find out what she was doing.

      ‘I hope you’ve got a work permit,’ he snapped.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Well! You personally don’t seem to be on very firm ground,’ he said scathingly. ‘How are you intending to sue me? By claiming sexual harassment?’

      At the low, meaningful probe, she gave him a mysterious smile and turned her back on him. ‘Now. Where did I put my flat brush…?’

      ‘Try a charge like that and my lawyers will expose your background and your case will fall through,’ he said contemptuously.

      ‘I’m not trying it,’ she said, calmly taking one ladder at a time to the corridor outside.

      Vigadó moved further into the room. ‘Then what the hell are you playing at?’ he asked with exasperation steaming from every word.

      Mariann grinned to herself. She’d successfully captured his attention. Tycoons hated mysteries and they had to be in control. ‘I’m not playing. It’s not a game to me. I’m trying to make a livelihood,’ she said, weaving elements of truth into her answer. How could this be a game, when her job as editor depended on it? ‘I care passionately about my work. I’m just starting out and I need to get more experience—’

      ‘You will,’ he drawled. ‘With a body like that, you will, I can assure you.’

      She ignored his taunt. ‘You have no reason to break the contract,’ she said with dignity. ‘We’ve worked darn hard, hour after hour without proper breaks, to get the job done fast. My arms ache, I’ve been inhaling paint fumes so I feel nauseous, I’ve spilled paint all over me and I’m fed up with your bad-tempered behaviour just because you turn up earlier than expected yet you want everything to be perfect!’ She risked an indignant glare. ‘Oh, no. Neither I nor the firm will be suing you!’

      ‘No?’ he prompted, his brows drawn together in puzzled lines.

      ‘No. you’ll be suing me,’ she said simply. And she picked up her Thermos flask and sandwiches with a purposeful air.

      ‘Wait a minute! I’m riveted, Tell me why and maybe we can short-circuit this proposed court appearance,’ he said drily.

      ‘Well, I’ll be telling my story to a newspaper, of course!’ she said, wide-eyed and artless.

      ‘You’ll what? Which story?’ He’d taken two quick strides and caught her beneath her armpits, lifting her in the air till she was Devel with his thunderous face. ‘Which story?’ he snarled.

      ‘Put me down and I’ll tell you!’ she gasped. ‘Unless you want a Thermos and a packet of cheese and pickle smashed over your head!’

      ‘Your hand wouldn’t get that far,’ he growled, but dumped her roughly on the floor nevertheless. ‘Speak.’

      She stood her ground, whereas she would have preferred to move back from the alarmingly angry rise of his expanded chest. ‘I’d tell them the story I’ve just told you. How hard I’ve tried to please their home-grown whiz-kid’s imperious demands, slaving my fingers to the bone, going without sleep—’ She caught a malevolen flicker in his eyes and hastily scrapped the rest of her litany. ‘Basically, I’m going to appeal to the Hungarian people’s sense of fair play, and their empathy with people who work long hours, and tell them how badly you treat your employees—’

      His hands stayed her. ‘Oh, no. I won’t let you do that. There are enough lies flying around about me as it is. I’m impressed,’ he said slowly. ‘No wonder you landed the job.’ Mariann kept her eyes lowered and held her breath. ‘What a clever woman you are! You do know how to get what you want,’ he murmured, tucking blonde strands behind her ear. ‘That kind of perseverance and dedication deserves some kind of reward.’

      ‘Oh!’ He was weakening! ‘You’re so right! I am relieved you see it my way at last!’ she cried happily, deciding to flatter him. ‘I knew there was a decent heart inside that ruthless exterior—’

      ‘Please,’ he protested mockingly. ‘You’ll ruin my reputation for tyranny.’

      ‘I won’t tell,’ she grinned. ‘And…I’ll do my best—’

      “I’ll make sure you will,’ he said softly and smiled a thin, unnervingly venomous smile as though he meant to examine every inch of paintwork and pronounce judgement on it. ‘I can well imagine that you’re very good at your job. You can understand my suspicion. You’re the most unlikely-looking decorator I’ve ever seen.’

      ‘I know. It’s the outfit, isn’t it?’ she said innocently, catching his glance wandering hungrily over her bare legs again. The sultry expression in his dark eyes suggested he wanted to work his way up from her feet, tasting every inch of skin. She quivered and quickly suppressed the deliciously curling sensation that had come with that thought.

      ‘And your reason for dressing like that is…?’

      ‘Sweat!’ she said, hoping to kill all thoughts of sex— her own thoughts as well as his—with her bombshell directness. ‘If I don’t strip off the layers, I get overheated. Your offices are awfully hot with the central heating turned up all day and it’s too bitter outside to open the windows. I like fresh air. I’m a country girl myself, you see.’

      ‘Is that so?’ he stated flatly. ‘I had no idea the East End of London was considered to be the country.’

      She gazed at him in consternation and then recovered herself. ‘It isn’t. My family live in Devon,’ she explained hastily. ‘Dad retired there.’

      ‘Is that how you got the job at Kastély Huszár?’ he queried in a tone of mild curiosity. ‘The English manager comes from Devon, I believe.’

      She blinked. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, wondering what Vigadó would do if he knew ‘the English manager’ was her brother John! ‘You have to use all the contacts you can,’ she said disarmingly.

      ‘No doubt you’ve made some worthwhile contacts СКАЧАТЬ