The Boss's Bedroom Agenda. Nicola Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ had a feeling the boss’s good looks hadn’t gone completely unnoticed by the enthusiastic volunteer.

      ‘But surely you know all this? I would’ve thought the lure of working with a man like Mr Voss would be irresistible to anyone interested in this business?’

      ‘Oh, working with Mr Voss is irresistible all right.’

      Beth’s memory worked down from that chiseled face to the way he’d filled out his charcoal suit, how his powder-blue business shirt had stretched taut across his chest and how he’d strutted rather than walked.

      In those few minutes he’d hauled her up for being tardy she’d had the impression of a self-assured guy, a guy on top of his game, a guy who could turn a girl’s head without trying.

      Not that he was her type. She preferred her men scruffier, less domineering, more casual, and the super-confident Aidan Voss definitely didn’t fit that bill.

      Not that she should even consider him as any ‘type’. Lana would keel over and break her other ankle if she thought for one second Beth was sizing up their boss as ‘sexy guy’ material.

      ‘Well, here we are.’

      ‘Thanks,’ Beth said, momentarily distracted by thoughts of

      Aidan as sexy and pulling up just in time to stop slamming into Dorothy’s ramrod-straight back.

      ‘I’ll be fine from here,’ she added, eager to get rid of the volunteer so she could start doing some serious exploring and familiarise herself with the room. Though she’d studied up on the museum and done some serious swotting with Lana, she couldn’t afford to make any more gaffs. Her job depended on it and, in turn, her ticket out of here and into her dream gallery.

      Dorothy hesitated, toying with her name badge while a small frown creased her brow. ‘Can I ask you something?’

      ‘Sure.’ Beth hoped it wasn’t a question about Phar Lap’s location or where the authentic Neighbours set was.

      ‘Where did you get those amazing shoes?’

      She laughed and wriggled her toes, still rueing her broken satin-toed pumps but delighting in her Manolos.

      ‘I’m hopeless with fashion and I’d kill to have a pair like that.’

      Feeling decidedly like Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady about to make over Eliza Doolittle, Beth said, ‘Why don’t we meet for lunch and I’ll let you in on all the best shoe shops in Melbourne?’

      ‘Great. See you in the cafeteria at one.’

      Dorothy’s genuine smile was the first hint of real warmth she’d seen in the rather plain girl and as she watched her walk away in her brown trousers and matching jacket, with a prim cream blouse, severe hairstyle and not a skerrick of style, Beth definitely felt like the professor about to make a grand magnanimous gesture.

      It wasn’t till she entered the room, her eyes assaulted by myriad displays that made her dizzy, did she realise she’d made a mistake.

      She should be focussing on getting up to scratch in here, not indulging her passion for retail therapy. This job was too important and she’d already made a less than favourable impression with her lateness.

      Sighing, she shook her head and headed for the first display. This business of being a good, sensible, dedicated tour guide was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought.

      Aidan sat back in his oversized leather chair and stared out of the wide window at the Royal Exhibition Building framed by a cloudless blue sky.

      He loved the old building, had loved this view the first moment he’d entered his dad’s office as a cocky archaeological student determined to take on the world. Or, more correctly, travel the world in search of the ancient relics that made his pulse pound with excitement and always had since he’d accompanied his parents on his first dig as an inquisitive five-year-old.

      He’d never forgotten the feel of hot sand beneath his hands as he’d dug alongside them with a miniature spade, the heat of an unforgiving Egyptian sun beating down as he’d scrabbled harder and harder until he’d found the small mummy figurine his father had assured him was there.

      It wasn’t till years later he’d realised his dad had planted it there for him to find, but by then he’d chosen his path. He’d wanted to be an archaeologist, the best in the business. His dad might have chosen a desk job despite being the top historian in Australia, but he’d wanted more, had craved more.

      Rather ironic, considering he now sat in his dad’s vacated chair, the last place he wanted to be.

      Grabbing the phone, he punched number one on speed dial, knowing his dad would berate him for interrupting his siesta, remembering times gone by when the indefatigable Abe Voss would’ve been out and about at this time of the morning, prime exploratory time before the scorching outback sun sent even the hardiest explorer scurrying for shade.

      ‘Abraham Voss speaking.’

      Abe’s clipped tones elicited a wry grin. Aidan had never known the old man to answer the phone any other way, especially when he had more important things to do with his time.

      ‘Hey, Dad, it’s me.’

      ‘What’s up?’

      Aidan stiffened, Abe’s gruff, brisk tone the same abrasive way he’d spoken to him all his life, as if he were an interruption to be tolerated.

      No niceties, no normal exchange of pleasantries. But then, what did he expect—for him to change just because he was doing the old man a favour?

      Swallowing his annoyance, he swivelled his chair away from the view and picked up Beth Walker’s résumé.

      ‘I met the new tour guide this morning. She’s not what I expected.’

      ‘She’s something else, isn’t she? I knew she’d be perfect for the job.’

      ‘Something else’ was right. The minute he’d laid eyes on Beth Walker he’d known she was perfect—though, inappropriately, work had been the furthest thing from his mind.

      Frowning, he tapped her résumé against the desk. ‘Her credentials aren’t super impressive. Tour guide at Flemington during the Spring Racing Carnival and at the Melbourne Grand Prix isn’t exactly the same as here, is it?’

      ‘Are you questioning my judgement?’

      Hell, yeah.

      But he wouldn’t push it. The only reason he was sitting in this chair was because his father had asked him to, had made the first overture in his life to acknowledge his skills, and he wasn’t about to sabotage the tentative professional mateship they’d developed lately.

      ‘Guess her demeanour threw me a little.’

      ‘Why? Because she’s a tad on the exuberant side?’ Abe snorted, an exasperated sound that told him exactly what he thought of this phone call. ‘Look, Lana Walker will be a huge credit to the museum. She’s the best curator on the СКАЧАТЬ