Do Not Disturb. Anna Cleary

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Praise for Anna Cleary

      ‘At the Boss’s Beck and Call is simply outstanding! Liberally spiced with wonderful characterisation, wicked repartee, spicy love scenes, brilliant dialogue and a believable conflict.’ —www.cataromance.com

      ‘Ms Cleary has created characters

      who give tons of emotion and a story as mysterious

      and compelling as watching a romantic movie.

      Thoroughly enjoyable and highly entertaining.’

      —www.cataromance.com on

      Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin

       Also by Anna Cleary

      Wedding Night with a Stranger

      At the Boss’s Beck and Call

      Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin

      Taken by the Maverick Millionaire

       Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      About Anna Cleary

      As a child, ANNA CLEARY loved reading so much that during the midnight hours she was forced to read with a torch under the bedcovers, to lull the suspicions of her sleep-obsessed parents. From an early age she dreamed of writing her own books. She saw herself in a stone cottage by the sea, wearing a velvet smoking jacket and sipping sherry, like Somerset Maugham.

      In real life she became a schoolteacher, where her greatest pleasure was teaching children to write beautiful stories.

      A little while ago, she and one of her friends made a pact to each write the first chapter of a romance novel in their holidays. From writing her very first line Anna was hooked, and she gave up teaching to become a full-time writer. She now lives in Queensland with a deeply sensitive and intelligent cat. She prefers champagne to sherry, and loves music, books, four-legged people, trees, movies and restaurants.

       Do Not Disturb

      Anna Cleary

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For my lovely niece, Linda.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE tall, dark-haired guy in the suit strode into the meeting room of Martin Place Investments, and the hum of conversation faded into silence.

      Mirandi Summers sat straight in her chair, her pulse-rate a little elevated. Everyone else was in black or shades of grey. She hoped her violet dress wasn’t too pretty for the office.

      ‘Morning,’ Joe Sinclair said without bothering to glance at his assembled market analysts, too concerned with checking the hardware for his presentation.

      ‘Morning, Joe.’ The responses came from around the room, some bright and eager to please, others more subdued.

      This morning Joe looked authoritative and slightly on edge, something in his manner creating more than the usual tension. How he’d changed in ten years. Hard to imagine him burning up the bitumen on his bike now.

      ‘Ah, here we go.’ The boyish grin that had the temps drooling made a brief appearance on his lean, tanned face, then vanished.

      A brilliant, multi-coloured graph illuminated the screen. On it a number of spiky criss-crossing lines curved upwards, shooting towards infinity.

      ‘There now. Look at that.’ Joe’s cool blue eyes grew sharp and focused, a line creasing the space between his brows. ‘You see before you the future. Looks good, doesn’t it?’ He sent a commanding glance around at his employees and Mirandi joined the chorus of assent. ‘And it will be good, people, I think I can promise you that. It will, but only if we are willing to learn from the mistakes of the past.’

      He frowned and pulled a face. ‘Tomorrow, as you know, I’ll be flying off to this conference in Europe. Before I leave I want to know everyone has a clear view of the factors influencing MPI’s current direction.’

      He touched the button again and another graph lit the screen, this one’s projections not quite so sunny. He swept the faces of listeners. ‘I’m keen to hear your ideas. Can anyone suggest—’

      Suddenly he stopped in mid-sentence. His frown deepening, he swung around until his acute blue glance lighted on Mirandi at the end of the row.

      ‘Oh—er…Miss Summers. You’re here. Are you—intending to stay?’

      Mirandi felt something grab in her insides. Under the weight of her red hair her nape grew uncomfortably warm. ‘Well, yes. Of course.’ She glanced about her. All the other market analysts were assembled, their laptops at the ready. ‘This is the future projections meeting, isn’t it?’

      Joe Sinclair gave his ear a meditative rub. ‘Yes, it is. Just that I was under the impression—Ryan had mentioned something he wanted you to do this morning. Didn’t I hear you say that, Ryan?’

      Beside Mirandi Ryan Patterson stirred himself to attention. ‘Oh, did I? Yeah. Yeah, that’s right, Joe. Sorry, Mirandi. I forgot to mention the Trevor file.’

      Mirandi gave a small, gurgling laugh. ‘Oh, the Trevor file. Now that’s a mistake from the past if ever there was one.’ Everyone joined in her light-hearted laugh, including Ryan Patterson. Everyone except Joe Sinclair, that was. His black lashes were lowered, as it it pained him to look at her.

      Smarting, Mirandi changed position slightly and crossed her legs. ‘As it happens, Joe, I’ve reconciled the Trevor file. It’s all finished and accounted for.’

      There was a moment of stunned silence, then the other analysts burst into a round of surprised applause and congratulations. Mirandi couldn’t help but feel gratified. The Trevor file was notorious and had been around for a long time. Perfect material for a new MA to cut her teeth on. Especially if the boss needed something to keep her occupied whilst keeping her at a distance.

      Joe smiled too, though Mirandi felt his quick smouldering glance leave a trail of sparks down her legs. ‘Have you, now? Slick work. But have you written the letters to old Trevor and his sons to let them know the outcome?’

      Mirandi’s flush climbed higher, but she said in dulcet tones, ‘Well, as you know, Joe, Ryan’s assistant will be back next week and I suspect she’d like to have that pleasure.’

      Beneath his lashes, Joe’s half-lidded glance lasered Mirandi from across the room, though he said with silky gentleness, ‘I don’t think you understand quite how we operate here, Miss Summers. Until those letters are in the mail the file is incomplete. I’m sure you don’t want to leave unfinished business for others to deal with.’