His Permanent Mistress: Mistress Under Contract. Kate Hardy

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      A minute later the phone in the club rang.

      ‘Lucy, is everything OK?’

      ‘Yep. Actually things are great. I got a job.’

      ‘Another one? Where are you now?’

      ‘Wellington.’

      ‘What happened to Nelson? I thought you liked it there.’

      ‘Oh. All those hours of sunshine. I started to go crazy.’

      Emma’s laugh floated down the line. ‘Stir crazy, huh, Luce. When are you going to stick at something longer than a few weeks?’

      ‘When it rains men. This is a big job though—bar manager.’

      ‘Really? Fab. What do you need me for?’

      ‘I’ve got to get up to speed with the stock management systems and pay rolling and spreadsheets, Emma. Spreadsheets.’ She hated the things.

      Emma laughed. ‘What systems are they using?’

      Lucy looked at the computer and read out the programs on the desktop.

      ‘Piece of cake, Luce, you’ll crack them in no time,’ Emma encouraged. ‘Look, I’ve a spare laptop. I’ll load the software on and send the guide with it by courier tomorrow.’

      ‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Lucy gave her the club address. ‘Con-trolling the ordering out front is no problem, it’s the backroom stuff I need the handle on.’

      ‘Good Lord, Luce. You know what?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You sound motivated. Actually motivated.’

      Lucy stared at Daniel Graydon’s business card. ‘I guess I am. I’m going to nail this job, Emma.’ Because it was the last thing he expected. Three weeks was time enough to prove a point. She wouldn’t just do the job, she’d shine. And once she had? Why, then she’d have a holiday.

      ‘Good for you.’

      She hung up, buoyed by the brief conversation. She walked back into the bar and stood in the middle—surveying her new domain. The club was up one flight of stairs, darkened windows overlooking the busy downtown street. A large pool table stood in one corner. Cosy nooks and comfy seating scattered around the edges, a small dance floor on one side of the bar with the DJ stand on the far wall. The space was small, intimate. It was made for selected entrants. It should be exclusive. Hip. She’d target the young, urban, wealthy—fashion designers, media lovies, movie technicians—and mingle them with the up-and-coming darlings of the political and judicial worlds. Wellington—New Zealand’s city of power and privilege, flavoured with a touch of Hollywood.

      And cool. Undeniably cool. Lucy understood the power of cool. Not that she was, but she could fake it as well as the rest of them. She could spot a trend. She’d suggested themes and altered décor a little in many of the bars and hotel restaurants she’d worked at over the years—and been successful.

      Back in the little office she rooted amongst the chaotic paperwork for a list of staff details and started dialling. An hour later and she’d contacted all but one of them. A couple had already found other work, thinking the club was to be closed for a while, but the others were keen to get back to it. It meant she was short, though—and missing a doorman. But she could work long hours to cover the gap and she knew of the perfect bouncer. She might have been out of town for a year but she had some old friends she knew she could call on. She’d do all the calling necessary to make this work.

      Her new employer provided premium incentive. For whatever reason—probably desperation—he’d offered her the chance. More to the point he’d laid down a challenge. Now it was up to her. And her appreciation of his stud factor was going to have to take a back seat to her proving him wrong.

       CHAPTER THREE

       You find putting things in order satisfying

      ‘PULL together the files on the Simmons case, will you?’ Daniel watched as Sarah, his junior, jerked up from contemplating her computer screen.

      ‘I’m going to work off site for a few hours. Maybe a few days.’ He could keep an eye on what was happening down at the club—just to be sure Lucy was going to be able to do the job she said she could.

      ‘Off site?’Sarah echoed in disbelief. ‘As in not in your office?’

      He grimaced, her incredulity hitting a nerve. So he spent long hours in his office. Month after month he racked up the most billable hours in the firm. On top of that he did his pro bono work. Then he tutored and guest lectured at the university—they were nagging him to join the faculty full-time. He achieved—at a cost. The price was long days, every weekend. But he’d made the decision years ago to dedicate his energy to his career.

      Sarah gathered the relevant documents while he ensured his laptop had the data necessary. He could always download more remotely if he had to.

      ‘Are you needing me to come with you?’ Sarah looked right into his face. He had the suspicion those brown eyes of hers were offering a little more than her legal services. He grimaced again. No. Daniel never needed a woman. He might want one, in which case he’d have her, and then he’d move on, certainly never stopping to develop anything resembling a relationship. His parents had pointedly proved there was no such thing as for ever. No such thing as dependability or reliability. So Daniel had chosen career. He was focused and loving it.

      He shook his head at Sarah. ‘I can email you with any requests I may have.’

      Early evening he climbed the stairs to the club, with an increasing sense of trepidation. She appeared at the top before he’d hit halfway. The hint of anxiety tightening her face faded as she saw it was him.

      He raised his brows. ‘Everything OK?’

      She nodded. ‘Staff are all organised and I’m just starting the clean-up.’

      ‘You want a hand with that?’

      She looked amazed.

      He clarified. ‘You could call in one of the bartenders to help you.’

      ‘No. It’s not that big a job and if I do it myself then I know it’s done and I know exactly what’s there and where it is.’

      He heaved his bag onto the corner of the bar. It landed with a thud. ‘A good manager delegates.’

      ‘A good manager leads by example and is capable of doing everything herself that she asks her staff to do.’

      She was in position behind the bar and he had to admit it looked as if she were made for it. Her hair hung almost to her waist. Long brown locks streaked with sun-kissed honey strands. Neither straight nor curly, it seemed in imminent danger of turning into DIY dreadlocks. It looked as if she’d been swimming for hours and then let it dry in the sun without bothering to brush it through. He had the crazy urge to reach out and СКАЧАТЬ