The Parisian Playboy. Helen Brooks

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      Dark eyebrows lifted and the carved lips twitched a little before Jacques said, ‘Do not beat about the bush, Miss Stanton. Say what you feel.’

      So he thought this was funny, did he? The flare of furious resentment in Holly’s eyes turned the blue purple as she glared at the illustrious head of Querruel International, and in that moment she didn’t care a jot who he was. She stood to her feet, her voice shaking with rage as she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Querruel. That’s exactly what I intend to do. Your managing director’s son is a liar as well as a lech. There is nothing wrong with my work and far from reprimanding me he had taken his molesting of recent weeks to a new high. That was why I slapped his face and he was lucky to get off so lightly.’

      ‘This I can see.’ It was a quiet murmur.

      It wasn’t the moment to think that he had the sexiest voice she had ever heard, richly seductive in spite of the disparagement, Holly thought with a strong burst of self-disgust.

      ‘That’s all utter rubbish.’ Jeff decided he’d been out of the conversation long enough and he glared up at her, spite prevalent in his voice as he said, ‘The actual fact of the matter is that Miss Stanton is not up to the job for which she was employed but I felt sorry for her. I’ve given her endless chances over the last weeks and realised too late she had misconstrued my kindness as personal interest in her. When I had to make it clear I did not appreciate her flirting with me she suddenly went crazy. A woman scorned and all that.’

      Jacques Querruel’s steady gaze moved over the fat, greasy-haired individual sitting in front of him before returning to the lovely young woman standing in front of the desk. She had hair the colour of dark, rich chocolate, smoothly groomed into a shoulder-length bob, eyes as blue as cornflowers and the sort of cheekbones many a model would have killed for. And she was mad. Boy, was she mad. It was as likely she’d made up to the slug in the chair as the pope marrying. He smiled. ‘Do I take it you refute Mr Roberts’s explanation?’ he asked silkily.

      Her nostrils flared. ‘Darn right I do.’ He was aggressively good-looking, hard and chiselled with no sign of softness about him at all. Funny, but from the other woman’s gossip she’d pictured him as more pretty-boy handsome than anything, especially when they’d gone on about the tan and the jet-black hair and wickedly thick eyelashes. He had got all those things, and the eyelashes were gorgeous enough to be utterly wasted on a man, but there was nothing remotely boyish about Jacques Querruel. In fact she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had been born six feet two and radiating power and authority. He couldn’t ever have been a helpless baby or vulnerable little boy.

      ‘It would appear we have something of a stalemate.’ The piercing amber eyes looked from one face to the other. ‘Have either of you proof of what you claim? I take it Miss Stanton’s work bears evidence of her ineptitude?’ he asked Jeff smoothly.

      ‘She—er—I mean, by the time it’s been corrected…it’s eventually brought up to scratch,’ the other man finished lamely.

      ‘And you, Miss Stanton? You have witnesses to Mr Roberts’s over-familiarity?’ The dark eyebrows rose again.

      ‘It’s not over-familiarity,’ Holly said tightly. ‘It’s downright groping of the most intimate kind, and he thinks he can get away with it because he’s the managing director’s son. All the girls avoid him when they can. And, no, I haven’t got any witnesses—Mr Roberts has always made sure of that. Stuck in that little box out there I haven’t exactly got a way of escape or a camera whirring to record his goings-on, have I? And if you are going to ask me if any of the others would come forward to back up what I say, I don’t know. Possibly, if they want to continue working here, the answer would be no.’

      ‘A somewhat jaundiced view, Miss Stanton,’ he drawled, his accent making her name sound very different.

      ‘No, merely realistic,’ she snapped back quickly. She was not going to bow and scrape to this arrogant individual like everyone else; neither was she going to be intimidated into saying anything less than the truth. No doubt Mr Roberts Senior would produce half a dozen female staff to swear that Jeff was approaching sainthood, along with suggesting to Margaret that her new assistant wasn’t quite on the ball, but she couldn’t do anything about that. Whatever, her days at Querruel International were numbered, which was a shame. She had fought off some stiff competition to secure the job and for it to end like this…

      ‘So you have no faith in company procedure for this kind of incident?’ Jacques Querruel asked softly.

      Holly raised her head, her glossy curtain of hair shimmering with the movement. His keen appraisal was making her feel isolated and insignificant but those feelings weren’t new to her and she was adept at hiding them. She swallowed, aware of tension tightening her jaw, but her voice was firm and steady when she replied, ‘I have only been in this company’s employ for eight weeks so I cannot answer that in a general sense.’ She paused. ‘However, with regard to this particular incident, and taking into account the person involved—’ she shot Jeff a glance of pure loathing ‘—I would say it would be very naïve of me to think justice would be done.’

      ‘I see.’ Twice in the last few minutes Jeff Roberts had gone to speak and twice a commanding hand had motioned him to silence. Now Jacques Querruel turned his gaze on the other man as he said even more softly, his voice cold behind the velvet tone, ‘And you, Jeff. Do you think justice will be done?’

      ‘I have every faith in company procedure,’ Jeff said pompously.

      How could a man like Michael Roberts, a man he had every respect for and who was damn good at his job, have a son like this? And moreover think the world of him too? Jacques stood up, hiding his irritation at the situation and himself as he did so. He had known some time ago that he didn’t want Michael’s son to be a permanent fixture in the company, but the man had seemed efficient enough and there had been no reason to suggest getting rid of him.

      Jacques walked over to the massive plate-glass window, staring down into the busy London street below for a moment. He should have followed through on his gut instinct, had Jeff Roberts transferred over to the French office for a few months so he could see how Michael’s son functioned away from his father’s protective hand. Of course, he hadn’t known about this other side of the man… His mouth twisted sardonically. And now he was paying for his procrastination.

      He turned, his mind made up. ‘Suspension on full pay for the time being, Jeff, while this matter is fully investigated.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘No buts.’ The words were crisp and without expression. ‘This is the policy, as you know.’

      ‘But I thought…’ Jeff’s voice trailed away. And then he made the mistake of continuing, ‘You can’t think there’s any truth in this girl’s story? She’s a typist, and I’m…’ He stopped abruptly as Jacques looked straight at him, the Frenchman’s eyes amber flares of light. ‘I mean, my father—’

      ‘Will appreciate the need for absolute integrity in a matter of this kind,’ Jacques finished smoothly.

      Holly knew her mouth was slightly agape just a second after the devastating gaze swung her way, and although she brought her lips quickly together she saw the acknowledgement of her amazement touch the hard mouth in a slight smile.

      ‘Have you anything further to say for the moment, Miss Stanton?’

      Had she? Lots, probably, but right now her brain was as scrambled as an omelette. She shook her head dumbly.

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