After Hours.... Christy McKellen

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘I’m excellent at working on my own initiative and I’m precise and thorough. You’ll see when you hire me,’ she said, forcing a confidence she didn’t feel any more into her voice.

      He continued to scowl at her, his hand still gripping the door as if he was seriously contemplating shutting it in her face, but she was not about to leave this doorstep without a fight. She’d had enough of feeling like a failure.

      ‘Give me a chance to show you what I can do, free of charge, today, then if you like what you see I can start properly tomorrow.’ Her forced smile was beginning to make her cheeks ache now.

      His eyes narrowed as he appeared to consider her proposal.

      After a few tense seconds of silence, where she thought her heart might beat its way out of her chest, he nodded towards the folder she was still clutching in her hand.

      ‘Is that your CV?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes.’ She handed it to him and watched with bated breath as he flipped through it.

      ‘Okay,’ he said finally, sighing hard and shoving the folder back towards her. ‘Show me what you can do today, then if I’m satisfied I’ll offer you a paid one-month trial period. After that I’ll decide whether it’s going to work out as a full-time position or not.’

      ‘Done.’ She stuck out a hand, which he looked at with a bemused expression, before enveloping it in his own large, warm one.

      Relief, chased by an unnerving hot tingle, rushed through her as he squeezed her fingers, causing every nerve-ending on her body to spring to life.

      ‘You’d better come in,’ he said, dropping the handshake and turning his broad back on her to disappear into the house.

      Judging by his abrupt manner, it seemed she had her work cut out if she was going to impress him. Still, she was up for the challenge—even if the man did make her stomach flip in the most disconcerting way.

      Shaking off her nerves, she hurried inside after him, closing the heavy door behind her and swivelling back just in time to see him march into a doorway at the end of the hall.

      And what a hall. It had more square footage than her entire flat put together. The high, pale cream walls were lined with abstract works of art on real canvases, not clip-framed prints like she had at her place, and the colourful mosaic-tiled floor ran for what must have been a good fifty metres before it joined the bottom of a wide oak staircase which led up to a similarly grand stairwell, where soft light flooded in through a huge stained-glass window.

      Stopping by a marble-topped hall table, which, she noted, was sadly devoid of flowers, she took a deep calming breath before striding down the hallway to the room he’d vanished into.

      Okay, she could do this. She could be impressive. Because she was impressive.

      Right, Cara? Right?

      The room she entered was just as spacious as the hall, but this time the walls were painted a soft duck-egg blue below the picture rail and a crisp, fresh white above it, which made the corniced ceiling feel as if it was a million miles above her and that she was very small indeed in comparison.

      Max was standing in the middle of the polished parquet floor with a look of distracted impatience on his face. Despite her nerves, Cara couldn’t help but be aware of how dauntingly charismatic he was. The man seemed to give off waves of pure sexual energy.

      ‘My name’s Cara, by the way,’ she said, swallowing her apprehension and giving him a friendly smile.

      He just nodded and held out a laptop. ‘This is a spare. You can use it today. Once you’ve set it up, you can get started on scanning and filing those documents over there,’ he said, pointing to a teetering pile of paper on a table by the window. ‘There’s the filing cabinet—’ he swung his finger to point at it ‘—there’s the scanner.’ Another swing of his finger. ‘The filing system should be self-explanatory,’ he concluded with barely concealed agitation in his voice.

      So he wasn’t a people person then.

      ‘Okay, thank you,’ she said, taking the laptop from him and going to sit on a long, low sofa that was pushed up against the wall on the opposite side of the room to a large oak desk with a computer and huge monitor on top of it.

      Tamping down on the nervous tension that had plagued her ever since she’d walked away from her last job, she booted up the laptop, opened the internet browser and set up her email account and a folder called ‘Firebrace Management Solutions’ in a remote file-saving app. Spotting a stack of business cards on the coffee table next to the sofa, she swiped one and programmed Max’s mobile number into her phone, then added his email address to her contacts.

      Throughout all this, he sat at his desk with his back to her, deeply absorbed in writing the document she must have stopped him from working on when she’d knocked on his door.

      Okay. The first thing she was going to do was make them both a hot drink, then she’d make a start on the mountain of paperwork to be digitally backed up and filed.

      Not wanting to speak up and disturb him with questions at this point, she decided to do a bit of investigative work. Placing the laptop carefully onto the sofa, she stood up and made for the door, intent on searching out the kitchen.

      He didn’t stir from his computer screen as she walked past him.

      Well, if nothing else, at least this was going to be a very different experience to her last job. By the end of her time there she could barely move without feeling a set of judging eyes burning into her.

      The kitchen was in the room directly opposite and she stood for a moment to survey the lie of it. There was a big glass-topped table in the middle with six chairs pushed in around it and an expanse of cream-coloured marble work surface, which ran the length of two sides of the room. The whole place was sleek and new-looking, with not a thing out of place.

      Opening up the dishwasher, she peered inside and saw one mug and one cereal bowl sitting in the rack. Hmm. So it was just Max living here? Unless his partner was away at the moment. Glancing round, she scanned the place for photographs, but there weren’t any, not even one stuck to the enormous American fridge. In fact, this place was so devoid of personalised knick-knacks it could have been a kitchen in a show home.

      Lifting the mug out of the dishwasher, she checked it for remnants of his last drink, noting from the smell that it was coffee, no sugar, and from the colour that he took it without milk. There was a technical-looking coffee maker on the counter which flummoxed her for a moment or two, but she soon figured out how to set it up and went about finding coffee grounds in the sparsely filled fridge and making them both a drink, adding plenty of milk to hers.

      Walking back into the room, she saw that Max hadn’t budged a centimetre since she’d left and was still busy tapping away on the keyboard.

      After placing his drink carefully onto the desk, which he acknowledged with a grunt, she took a look through the filing cabinet till she figured out which system he was using, then squared up to the mountain of paperwork on the sideboard, took a breath and dived in.

      * * *

      Well, she was certainly the most determined woman he’d met in a long time.

      Max Firebrace СКАЧАТЬ