The Boss's Secret Mistress. Alison Fraser

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      ‘Tory, I was wondering—’ he gave her an appealing look ‘—if I could go to your place. Just to clean up. And maybe get my head down for an hour or two.’

      Tory’s heart sank. She told herself to refuse point-blank, but it came out as a less definite, ‘I’m not sure, Alex. You know how tongues wag round here and if anyone saw you—’

      ‘They won’t,’ he promised. ‘ I’ll be the soul of discretion.’

      ‘Yes, but—’ Tory didn’t get the chance to finish before Alex smiled in gratitude at her.

      ‘You’re a great girl.’ He jumped up from his desk with some of his old enthusiasm. ‘A wash and brush-up, that’s all I need, and I’ll be a new man.’

      ‘All right.’ Tory was already regretting it as she relayed, ‘I have a spare key in my desk.’

      Alex picked up the quilt from the couch and stuffed it into a cupboard, before following her back down the corridor to her office.

      ‘You’ll need the address.’ She wrote it down on her telephone pad. ‘You can use the phone to find a hotel or something.’

      ‘Kind of you, Tory darling—’ he looked rueful ‘—but I’m afraid hotels are out till pay day. My credit rating is zero and the bank is refusing to increase my overdraft.’

      ‘What will you do? You can’t keep dossing down in the office,’ Tory warned.

      ‘No, you’re right. I don’t suppose you could…’ he began hopefully, then answered for himself, ‘No, forget it. I’ll find somewhere.’

      Tory realised what he’d been about to ask. She also understood he was still asking, by not asking. His eyes were focused on her like a homeless stray.

      She tried to harden her heart. She reminded herself that Alex earned a great deal more than her for doing a great deal less. Was it her problem that he couldn’t manage his money?

      ‘Never mind.’ He forced a brave smile. ‘I’ll be back on my feet soon. I’m due my annual bonus from Eastwich next month—that’s assuming this American chappie doesn’t cancel it.’

      Or cancel him, Tory thought as she looked at Alex through Lucas Ryecart’s eyes. He was a shambolic figure whose past awards would be just history.

      ‘Look, you can use my couch,’ Tory found herself offering, ‘until pay-day.’

      ‘Darling Tory, you’re a life-saver.’ A delighted Alex made to give her a hug but she fended him off.

      ‘And strictly on a keep-your-hands-to-yourself basis,’ she added bluntly.

      ‘Of course.’ Alex took a step from her and held up his hands in compliance. ‘No problem. I know you’re not interested.’

      He should do. Tory had made it clear enough in the beginning and Alex, philanderer though he undoubtedly was, respected the fact. He was also lazy; mostly he ended up with women who chased him. Being handsome in a slightly effete way, he drew a certain type of woman. Tory wasn’t included in their category.

      ‘Five days.’ Tory calculated when their next salary should appear in the bank.

      ‘Fine.’ Alex gave her another grateful smile before turning to go.

      ‘Alex,’ Tory called him back at the door, ‘try and stay sober, please.’

      For a moment Alex looked resentful, ready to protest his innocence. Tory’s expression stopped him. It wasn’t critical or superior or contemptuous. It was simply appealing.

      He nodded, then, acknowledging his growing problem, said, ‘If I don’t, I’ll crash somewhere else. Okay?’

      ‘Okay.’ Tory hoped his promise was sincere. He wasn’t a violent drunk but she still didn’t want him round her place in that state.

      After Alex had gone, she wondered just how big a mistake she’d made. She knew it was one. She trusted it would turn out to be of the minor variety.

      Rather than dwell on it, she returned to her work, but was interrupted minutes later. Her door opened and she looked up, expecting to see Alex again. She stared wordlessly at the man in the doorway.

      Overnight she’d decided it was a passing attraction she’d felt towards Lucas Ryecart. Only it hadn’t yet. Passed, that was. Dressed in black jeans, white shirt and dark glasses, he was just as devastating.

      ‘How’s the tooth?’ he asked.

      ‘The tooth?’ she repeated stupidly.

      ‘Gone but not forgotten?’ he suggested.

      The tooth. Tory clicked. She’d have to acquire a better memory if she were going to take up lying to this man.

      ‘It’s fine,’ she assured. ‘Actually, I had forgotten all about it.’

      ‘Good.’ His eyes ran over her, making her feel her T-shirt outlined her body too clearly. ‘You didn’t have to come in. How do you usually spend your Saturdays?’

      The same way, Tory could have admitted, but somehow she didn’t think he’d be impressed, even if he now owned most of Eastwich. More like he’d think she had nothing better to do with her time.

      ‘It varies.’ She shrugged noncommittally, then glanced down at her work, as if anxious to get on with it.

      He noted the gesture, and switched to asking, ‘Has Simpson gone?’

      ‘Simpson?’ Tory stalled.

      ‘Alex Simpson.’ He leaned on the doorframe, eyes inscrutable behind the dark glasses. ‘At least I assume it was Simpson and not some passing bum, making himself at home in his office.’

      ‘Alex was here, yes,’ she confirmed and went on inventively, ‘He came in to catch up on his paperwork.’

      ‘He was catching up on some sleep when I saw him,’ countered Ryecart.

      ‘Really?’ Tory faked surprise quite well. ‘He did say he’d been in very early. Perhaps he nodded off without realising.’

      ‘Slept it off, is my guess,’ the American drawled back, and, pushing away from the door, crossed to sit on the edge of her desk. He removed the glasses and appraised her for a moment or two before adding, ‘Are you two an item? Is that it?’

      ‘An item?’ Tory was slow on the uptake.

      ‘You and Simpson, are you romantically involved?’ He spelt out his meaning.

      ‘No, of course not!’ Tory denied most vehemently.

      It had little impact, as the American smiled at her flash of temper. ‘No need to go nuclear. I was only asking. I hear Simpson has something of a reputation with women,’ he remarked, getting Tory’s back up further.

      ‘And from that you concluded that he and I…that we are…’ СКАЧАТЬ