At The Boss's Command. Darcy Maguire

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      Tahlia lifted her chin and clicked on her inbox.

      TO: [email protected]

      CC: [email protected]

      FROM: [email protected]

      RE: SOS

      Still okay for tonight? Can’t wait to hear about your

      mysterious SOS.

      I’ll bring a couple of my favourite romantic movies to soothe your soul. And chokkies.

      Have you seen Chrystal? She’s acting weird and standing in quiet corners with the pot plants. It’s truly freaky. Do you know what’s going on? Em

      Tahlia sighed. Chrystal was the last thing on her mind. She wasn’t just the office date-a-holic, she was the resident drama-queen.

      As one of the receptionists-cum-fix-it gals Chrystal was all over the place. It could be anything or anyone that had disturbed Chrystal, from a new male in the building to a new female too-good-looking for her comfort to a resident female wearing the same outfit, jewellery or shoes.

      Tahlia’s only surprise was that they all hadn’t heard the latest development in Chrystal’s life firsthand, at least twice.

      Actually, she wouldn’t mind listening to one of Chrystal’s adventures rather than dwelling on Case Darrington.

      TO: [email protected]

      CC: [email protected]

      FROM: [email protected]

      RE: SOS

      You can count on me being there too. The SOS sounds very mysterious. And I’m coming with wine—to enjoy vicariously through my mat—es and doughnuts!

      Re Chrystal: Do you think it could be Liam, that shy programmer downstairs, who’s caught her eye finally? Sure, he’s nothing like Chrystal. He’s as shy as a monk and as nerdy as hell. But he’s cute and he must be the only fresh meat left.

      She’s had to have done every single straight guy in the place, and then some. Except Liam and Darrington, but he’s way out of her league. Tahlia, is he married? I heard you two had lunch—is he the reason for the SOS?

      See you tonight where you must tell all!

      Keely

      Tahlia stared at her screen. She’d love to tell all, but she wasn’t sure she could tell her friends anything if she wasn’t sure what was going on, least of all with herself.

      Where was her usual together self? Would her friends even recognise this babbling bimbo she’d turned into and help her resolve her current angst?

      Should she even try or, as her mother said, deal with it on her own because the challenges in life were to make us grow, not to leech off or lean on others?

      She scrolled through her inbox of business memos. At least her friends would help her wipe her mind of every annoying trace of Case Taxing Darrington with their movies, their treats and their company.

      Maybe she shouldn’t have invited them. How would she survive hours with them and not blurt out her incredibly stupid attraction to Darrington, despite his snobby-arrogant-potential-playboy-jerkdom? They’d think she was an idiot.

      Maybe she could distract them by getting them to help with her criteria for a partner instead, to narrow down her prospects, help her pick the qualities in a man that she could live with for the rest of her life.

      Tahlia snatched up a pen. She wasn’t about to get into dating without a plan. She didn’t want to be responsible for hurt feelings, crushed dreams or unreal expectations. She didn’t want to be anybody’s last straw.

      She closed her eyes against the wave of memories that crashed against her heart. How had her mother picked herself up, carrying all those burdens, after her father had died?

      Had she been haunted by questions, wondering what it had been that broke her husband’s will to live? Had she been tortured by their last argument over unpaid bills, her need for him to be there for her, for him to be a good father?

      Had she wished she could take back her last words, the last time she saw him, time itself? Tahlia’s throat tightened. Like she did.

      She jerked straight-backed, blinking away the ache, and picked up a file and flipped it open. Business was safer to think about, deal with and be involved in than all that personal stuff, except where Darrington was concerned.

      She chewed on her bottom lip. She didn’t like being as out of control as she was around Case Darrington, and feeling way too much.

      It just wasn’t professional and the sooner he was gone the better. And if she had to be the one to show him the door, so be it.

      It would be a giant step in the right direction.

      Case dropped his attaché case and knelt down on the polished timber floor and hugged Edison, nestling his face in his neck, breathing in his heavy doggy scent in an effort to douse the haunting memory of Tahlia’s perfume.

      ‘Hey Edi, you miss me, boy?’ he crooned, slapping Edi’s back and standing up, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes. ‘It’s been one hell of a day.’

      He’d driven himself insane all afternoon, trying to rationalise his impromptu request for Tahlia to be his assistant. Was it logical or a knee-jerk reaction to her story about the last Marketing Executive?

      Running into that Chrystal woman in the lift again had just topped off his agony. At least they hadn’t been alone, but that hadn’t seemed to deter her.

      Evading her probing, very personal questions had been one challenge, avoiding her pushing herself up against him a whole other dilemma.

      Case shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it over the black leather recliner. He was supposed to be the Marketing Executive, not some mouse for the woman to toy with. Hell, if she only knew who he really was!

      One thing he was going to outlaw was desperate women. They freaked him out.

      ‘That you, Mr Darrington, sir?’ Luciana’s heavy accent laced every word and echoed around the high ceilings of his open-plan loft-style apartment.

      The designer had got a bit carried away with the stream running down the hallway under glass and the waterfall in the lounge, but Edi didn’t seem to mind it. Better than the toilet bowl.

      His Italian house-fairy heaved her ample frame from the hallway that accessed the laundry room and kitchen, wiping her hands on her canary-yellow apron. ‘Dinner is in oven. Timer dings, you eat. Yes?’

      ‘Yes, thank you,’ he said, smiling at the woman who liked to think she’d adopted him. He couldn’t live without her. She cleaned the house, cooked and kept Edison company while he wasn’t around. He should have discovered his housekeeper phenomenon before he married Celia; he may have decided he didn’t need the anguish.

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