Undressed by the Boss. Nicola Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ a distant relative of his, still hanging on the wall. Attitudes here were still in the Dark Ages. He intended A’Qaban to be a country of equal opportunity, where everyone would be treated with respect. The employees here had some shocks in store when that happened, but for now Casey was stuck with the ancient regime, and it pained him to see her embarrassment when she came out of the shop.

      ‘I’m sorry to keep you, Raffa, but there’s nothing I like in here.’

      ‘Don’t apologise.’ Seeing her face fall, and knowing she couldn’t afford anything in the shop, he nudged Casey into the shadows, where no one could see what they were doing.

      She turned her face up to him, staring at him warily.

      ‘Call it an advance on your wages,’ he murmured, wanting to save her pride.

      ‘No … Please …’

      Her tiny hand pushed his away as he tried in vain to pass a wad of banknotes to her.

      ‘I mean it, Raffa. Please don’t …’

      He eased back, respecting her position, and had to satisfy himself with a raised brow at the snooty manageress as they left the shop.

      Seeing his face clearly in the light, the woman blenched.

      Without a word of complaint Casey headed for the next shop, but when she was shown the same lack of attention he decided he must put her out of her misery.

      ‘No, really—I’ve learned a lot,’ she explained when he again drew her to one side.

      Such as she couldn’t afford anything in A’Qaban? Such as people without enough money got snubbed here? That wasn’t what he wanted for his country. He felt ashamed, and was already reaching for his wallet again when Casey’s face suddenly lit up.

      ‘Ah, that’s what I need,’ she exclaimed, heading off in the direction of a well-stocked stationery shop.

      ‘Don’t get distracted,’ he warned. He was sympathetic, but he’d brought her here for a purpose, not for a protracted shopping trip.

      ‘Will you wait outside for me?’

      He ground his jaw. He could understand she wouldn’t want him witnessing any more embarrassing situations, but now was not the time to be searching for a postcard home. ‘Will you please take some money from me and get whatever it is you need?’

      ‘I won’t need a lot of money for this,’ she informed him.

      Intrigued, he followed her into the shop, where she bought a clipboard and a pen. ‘That’s it?’ he said as she paid for them.

      ‘What more do I need?’

      ‘Do you intend wearing them?’ he asked dryly.

      Casey’s response was to press back against the counter, clutching her purchases to her breast like a shield.

      ‘That was a joke?’ he prompted lightly.

      ‘Of course I don’t intend wearing them.’

      She acted bold, but not for the first time he sensed her fear of him as a man. It was raw and very real to her, and it made him curious, but for now he stepped away. The last thing on his mind was to intimidate her.

      ‘Will you come with me?’ she said, as if concerned she’d tried his patience too far.

      ‘Lead the way …’ He made a gesture for her to go first, noticing her lips were parted and her gaze was fixed on him. And she was breathing too fast. She was a lot more innocent than he could ever have imagined, but she was aroused.

      She was vulnerable, he told himself sternly as she walked past, and as such Casey Michaels was untouchable.

      He matched his stride to her shorter one, keen to see where this was going. He waved his guards away when they threatened to get in her way. She was retracing her steps, he noticed with interest, heading back to the first shop. He waited while she went inside. He waited with rather less forbearance when the same snooty assistants were rude to her again. They ignored her. Or at least they ignored her for the first five minutes—after which they paid her a lot more attention. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Casey had taken up a position in the centre of their store and was using her clipboard to write down what appeared to be a detailed inventory of their stock.

      ‘Can I help you?’ the assistant detailed to apprehend Casey demanded.

      ‘No, thank you,’ Casey replied politely. ‘But I’m pretty sure I can help you.’

      Botoxed brows rose as far as they were able.

      His ears pricked up. He took a step forward and had to curb his impatience to step in. If the woman saw him, whatever project Casey had embarked on would be sunk.

      ‘Actually,’ Casey continued in the same pleasant and confiding tone, ‘I’m conducting a survey for Sheikh Rafik al Rafar bin Haktari on the level of service customers receive in his stores.’ As the woman tensed, she added, ‘The Sheikh does own this boutique, I believe?’

      ‘Together with every other shop in the mall,’ the assistant confirmed, in a voice that not only lacked its former sneer but had gained a wobble.

      ‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ Casey agreed. ‘You see, I am what’s known in the trade as a Secret Shopper.’

      At this point he thought the assistant in more need of assistance than Casey, and had to admit he was impressed by the end result—which involved Casey making a clean sweep of the store without a penny changing hands.

      ‘Sale or approval,’ she explained to him breezily on her way out.

      He got it now. He would pay for them eventually. Clever? Yes. But ultimately disappointing. It always came down to money in the end. He could only hope that if Casey intended to repeat the exercise she would choose a younger range of clothes for her next rapacious fashion trolley-dash.

      But she had another surprise in store for him.

      ‘I shan’t keep them,’ she confided as they strode together down the brilliantly lit mall.

      ‘So what will you do with them?’ He waved a hovering security guard forward to take the packages.

      ‘Return them, of course.’

      ‘But how does that help your situation?’

      She gave him a look, clearly getting into her stride now. ‘Can I have a little longer to prove my point?’

      ‘As long as there is a point to prove, you can take as long as you like—within reason.’

      Her next stop was a cashpoint machine. Instinctively, he checked around for paparazzi. Sheikh Rafik al Rafar, billionaire tycoon, waiting patiently beside a cashpoint while his companion du jour extracted a measly two hundred dollars—counting it carefully before stowing it safely in her purse—that would make a great headline.

      ‘That should be enough,’ she said, glancing up at him.

      Wisely, СКАЧАТЬ