The Boss's Secret Mistress Page 8

  They were dismissed. At least Tory thought they were, and was breathing a sigh of relief as she picked up her briefcase and led the way from the room. They were out in the hotel lobby when the American said, ‘Tory, I’d like to talk to you.’

  He didn’t stipulate why but he didn’t need to. He was her boss.

  Alex looked ready to ask but Lucas Ryecart ran on, ‘Simon, perhaps you could give Alex a ride back to Eastwich as his car is in the shop?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ Simon knew better than to object.

  Alex, too, accepted the arrangement and Tory was abandoned altogether. That was how it felt, at any rate, as they walked out of the main entrance.

  She guessed Lucas either wanted to talk to her about the magazine assignment or her current living arrangements, vis-à-vis Alex. Neither prospect was appealing.

  ‘We can talk over lunch.’ He began steering her by the elbow.

  ‘In the dining room?’ Tory wasn’t dressed for five-star lunching.

  ‘We could have a bar meal,’ he continued, ‘or call room service if you prefer.’

  ‘Room service?’ Tory echoed rather stupidly.

  ‘I’m staying here,’ he reminded her.

  She stopped in her tracks. ‘You expect me to go upstairs with you?’

  ‘Expect, no,’ he replied, ‘hope, absolutely.’

  His smile was more amused than lascivious. He just loved yanking her chain.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’ he added.

  ‘I’m not hungry!’ she countered.

  ‘Bar meal it is, then,’ he decided for them and switched direction.

  ‘I said—’ She was about to repeat it.

  He cut across her. ‘I heard. You may not be hungry but I am, so you can sit and watch me eat while we talk business.’

  Business. The word reminded her once more of their prospective positions. She wondered why she kept forgetting.

  ‘Couldn’t we just return to the conference room?’ She wanted to keep things on a formal basis.

  ‘And risk being alone together?’ He raised a brow. ‘Well, if that’s okay with you—’

  ‘No.’ She hastily changed her mind. ‘Let’s go to the bar.’

  ‘Sure, if that’s what you want.’ He inclined his head, making it seem he was accommodating her.

  He really was the most aggravating man, Tory thought as they entered the hotel bar.

  Large and well lit, it lacked intimacy but was almost empty. He installed her into a corner booth and was about to go and order at the counter when a waiter appeared. Lucas ordered a steak and salad, and insisted she have at least a sandwich.

  From the bowing and scraping that went on, Tory assumed Lucas Ryecart was a familiar face.

  ‘Big tipper, are we?’ She couldn’t resist remarking as the young waiter disappeared.

  ‘Not especially,’ he said with a grin, ‘but Chuck is, so I guess I get the obsequious treatment through association.’

  ‘Your magazine-buying friend,’ she recalled out loud. ‘He’s staying here, too.’

  ‘Was,’ he confirmed. ‘A bit too rural for him so he’s moved back into the Ritz.’

  In London, Tory assumed he meant. ‘You make it sound as if he’s living there.’

  ‘He is for the moment,’ he relayed, ‘there and the New York Plaza. He commutes between the two.’

  It seemed an odd way of life, even for a successful businessman. ‘Has he a family?’

  ‘He’s between wives,’ Lucas said, ‘and has no children apart from a grown-up stepson… You’re looking at him, by the way.’

  Had she understood correctly?

  ‘Chuck is your stepfather?’

  ‘Is or was—I’m not sure which. He’s remarried a couple of times since then.’

  ‘Was, I think,’ Tory volunteered, ‘otherwise I’d have a multiplicity. Or two officials, anyway.’

  Tory was normally reticent about her background but it seemed she’d met a fellow traveller, parent-wise.

  ‘How old were you when your parents divorced?’ His enquiry was matter-of-fact rather than sympathetic.

  She answered in the same vein, ‘They didn’t. They were never married.’

  He studied her face. ‘You find that embarrassing?’

  ‘No!’ she claimed a little too sharply. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘No reason,’ he mollified. ‘It’s hardly unusual these days…So were they the original pot-smoking hippies?’

  Tory resented that question, too. ‘Is that relevant to my work at Eastwich?’

  ‘It might be,’ he responded evenly, ‘if you were to work with Alex on his drug story. It’s best to go into these things with an open mind.’

  Tory was tempted to argue with him, to say she was as objective as any good documentary-maker should be, but she wasn’t sure if she were in this case. The truth was her mother had done drugs in the past. So-called soft drugs, but they had made Maura more feckless than ever. Tory had been old enough to know and disapprove, but too young to do much about it. It was one of the times she’d voluntarily decamped and returned to her grandparents in Purley.

  ‘I would prefer to work on another story,’ she declared at length.

  ‘Fine by me,’ he acknowledged with a brief smile. ‘How convincing do you think you’d be as a features editor for a woman’s magazine?’

  For a split second Tory thought he was recommending she seek alternative employment, then she realised he was referring to the programme he’d proposed.

  ‘You want me to do the Toi/Vitalis job?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Because I’m a woman?’ That had been Simon’s rationale.

  ‘No, not especially,’ Lucas Ryecart denied. ‘I just can’t envisage Alex trekking over moorland unless there’s a pub at the end of the road and I don’t see Simon in the role of observer, blending quietly into the background.’

  Tory couldn’t argue with either statement but was left feeling the job was hers through default.

  ‘Right,’ she murmured, her expression saying more.

  ‘You’re not happy?’

  ‘Do I have to be?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ he countered. ‘I don’t want a good programme sabotaged by a lack of commitment on your part. So, if you’re not up to this assignment, I’d sooner you say so now.’

  And that’s me told, Tory thought as she once more glimpsed a hard businessman behind the easygoing charmer.

  The food arrived, giving her a moment or two to consider her response.

  ‘I am up to it,’ she claimed in a more positive manner. ‘When do I start?’

  She’d intended to sound keen but she wasn’t prepared for his answer.

  ‘This afternoon. You have an appointment with Personnel at the offices of Toi.’

  ‘In London?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What if I don’t get the job?’

  He smiled at her naïvety.

  ‘You already have. The interviews were last month. You’ve been a feature writer on a regional newspaper and this is your first magazine post.’

  While he ran through her proposed cover, Tory suddenly realised what she was really taking on. She was going to have to lie about herself and her background and keep those lies consistent.

  ‘Will anyone know I’m not a bona fide employee?’

  ‘Only the personnel director of the group, and he’s aware of your role.’

  Tory wasn’t altogether sure if she was.

  ‘You don’t expect me to provoke trouble?’ she asked uncertainly.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said with emphasis. ‘We want no charges of manufacturing material otherwise Eastwich’s credibility will be blown. Sit back and observe like you did today.’

  Tory couldn’t help asking, ‘Is that a criticism?’

  ‘A comment,’ he amended. ‘After Alex and Simon’s self-promotion, your reticence was almost refreshing although potentially limiting, careerwise… That’s advice, by the way, not a threat.’
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br />   Tory nodded, accepting what he was saying. She had to push herself forward more.

  She did so now, telling him, ‘I do have ideas, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ he responded. ‘The trouble is, you let them be appropriated by other people.’

  ‘We work as a team,’ she stated a little testily.

  ‘Yeah?’ He raised a brow in disbelief. ‘Perhaps someone should tell that to Alex and Simon. They seem to be playing on opposite sides. And your loyalty…well, we both know where that currently lies.’

  With Alex, he meant, and Tory found herself colouring as if it were true. But it wasn’t. Not in the sense he was implying.

  ‘Alex is my boss. That’s all!’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘Because it’s true.’

  ‘Okay, I’m your boss, too,’ he reminded her unnecessarily. ‘Can I come and share your flat?’

  He gave her a mocking smile.

  Tired of defending herself, Tory replied in the same vein. ‘Sure. Why not? You could pull rank and pinch the sofa from Alex.’

  Their eyes met and his smile faded. ‘You’re trying to say you’re not sleeping with Alex?’

  ‘No, I am saying that,’ she corrected. ‘Ask him, if you like.’

  ‘Then why the pretence that Alex is living elsewhere?’ he challenged.

  ‘Because sometimes other people take two and two and make five,’ she countered pointedly.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Other people have heard of Alex’s reputation with women. I understand he’s tested out more than one sofa since his wife left.’

  Tory knew that was true enough so didn’t comment. She said instead, ‘Look, I like to keep home and work separate. And as far as work goes, Alex is my boss, plain and simple.’

  It begged the question, ‘And home?’

  Tory felt she’d already answered it, and said flippantly, ‘An extremely annoying flatmate who leaves the top off the toothpaste.’

  He smiled briefly but disbelief lurked behind his eyes. Why could he not accept the truth?

  Tory shook her head and, to her relief, he finally moved the conversation back to the magazine project, briefing her in what he saw as her role—passive but observant.

  ‘When do I actually start work there?’ Tory asked with some anticipation.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he replied succinctly.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ She hadn’t been expecting such short notice.

  He nodded. ‘That’ll give you four days at the magazine before the team-bonding weekend.’

  ‘But the magazine’s in London,’ she protested faintly.

  ‘Which is where we’re going now,’ he added, ‘or as soon as we’ve finished lunch and you’ve gone home to pack.’

  Pack?

  ‘You want me to stay over?’ Tory was wide-eyed with suspicion.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  He looked back at her, all innocence.

  ‘In London?’

  She wanted to make sure she’d understood.

  ‘That’s the general idea, yes.’

  He nodded.

  ‘With you?’ She stared back stonily.

  ‘If you like, although I hadn’t planned on it,’ he revealed. ‘It’s certainly an interesting proposition.’

  ‘I w-wasn’t…I didn’t…I—I…’ Tory stammered on until she saw the grin spreading on his face.

  ‘No, I know.’ He let her off the hook.

  But he still laughed.

  Damn the man.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LUCAS RYECART went on to explain. Tory had her appointment with the magazine at four p.m. and the plan was for her then to stay at a London hotel while she worked the rest of the week at Toi. At the same time he had a meeting with an investment banker and would be staying overnight at an entirely different hotel. Both venues were in central London so common sense dictated they travel down together. End of story.

  Chastened, Tory accepted his offer of a lift and he trailed her back to her flat so she could pack a case. He waited outside for her.

  They then travelled at speed towards the capital and Tory stared out at the motorway embankment rather than engage in further conversation. Having virtually accused him of luring her to the big city for immoral purposes, she felt silence was now her best option.

  They’d reached the outskirts of London when her mobile rang.

  Taking it out of her bag, she recognised the number calling as her office one. She pressed the receive button and wasn’t too surprised to find it was Alex, wondering where she was. She didn’t really get a chance to answer before he launched into a diatribe against the American, based on that morning’s meeting.

  Tory quickly switched the phone to her other ear, hoping Lucas hadn’t caught the words ‘arrogant ass’ as Alex warmed to his theme. It seemed his enthusiasm for the American had dimmed somewhat.

  She repeated Alex’s name a couple of times in warning tones before actually cutting across him to say, ‘Actually, Mr Ryecart’s here beside me if you want to speak to him.’

  It stopped Alex in his tracks momentarily, then he dropped volume as he proceeded to play twenty questions. Most she managed to field with ‘yes’s or ‘no’s and kept her voice carefully neutral.

  To say Alex wasn’t best pleased at her sudden secondment was an understatement and, in typical self-centred Alex fashion, he began to wonder how he was meant to get to work in the mornings, before he realised her car would still be in Norwich and was, therefore, available. She should have refused, of course. She didn’t altogether trust Alex to drive it in a sane, sensible, sober fashion, but he pleaded and cajoled and called her Tory darling until she finally surrendered, more to shut him up than anything else.

  When he finally hung up, she waited expectantly for comment from the American. She didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘So do you agree with him?’ Lucas Ryecart drawled. ‘Am I an arrogant ass?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘I’m not deaf.’

  Tory supposed he would have to have been not to have caught Alex’s initial remarks.

  She tried bluffing. She was almost certain Alex hadn’t used Lucas’s name once.

  ‘You’re assuming that Alex was talking about you,’ she muttered back.

  He glanced from the road, fixing her with a sceptical look. ‘Unless he happens to have a beef with another swaggering Yank. That’s always possible, I suppose.’

  Tory coloured as she realised he’d heard even more than she’d realised.

  ‘Well, you know what they say about eavesdroppers,’ she replied with some idea of putting him on the defensive.

  ‘What?’ He gave a short, mocking laugh. ‘That they should immediately pull over onto the hard shoulder and climb out of the car while their passengers take abusive calls about them?’

  This time Tory didn’t argue back. He was right, of course. It was absurd to accuse him of eavesdropping when he could hardly have avoided listening to Alex’s rant and rave.

  She switched tacks. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve taken offence but it’s par for the course to bitch about your boss and you have put Alex’s nose a little out of joint.’

  She felt she’d laid on the right degree of humility but he made a dismissive sound.

  ‘You think I care about Simpson’s opinion? Believe me, I’ve been insulted by better men than him. The question was: do you agree with him?’

  Tory was tempted to say, Yes, she did, but it seemed an act of extreme recklessness in their present situation.

  She plumped for a circumspect, ‘I have no thoughts on the subject.’

  To which he muttered, ‘Coward,’ but in an amused rather than unpleasant tone. ‘By the way, I wouldn’t inform Simpson I’d overheard him.’

  ‘Why not?’ She would have imagined he’d want the opposite.

  ‘A man in his position has only two ways to go,’ he continued. ‘He’ll either feel the need to climb down and so embarrass us both with an apology I don’t want a
nd he won’t mean. Or he’ll be compelled to back up his remarks with a show of machismo for your benefit which, at the very least, will support my gut instinct that Simpson isn’t worth the trouble he causes.’

  ‘Right.’ Tory saw the point he was making and the wisdom of it. ‘I’ll keep quiet.’

  ‘Smart move,’ he applauded her decision, then ran on, ‘You know what really sticks in my craw about Simpson?’

  Tory assumed it was a rhetoric question so didn’t volunteer an answer.

  Lucas continued, ‘Forget the anti-American insults or his pompous posturing, the worst thing is the fact that he’s just not good enough for a girl like you.’

  Tory sighed loudly, wondering what she could say back to that. She was weary of denying involvement with Alex.

  She said instead, ‘And who do you imagine is?’

  ‘Pretty much any personable, intelligent man without a drink problem would be an improvement,’ he drawled back.

  Not himself, then. Did that mean he’d lost interest? Tory supposed she should have been pleased but perhaps she was female enough to feel piqued as well.

  She was considering her reply when he switched to saying, ‘I’ll leave that thought with you. Meanwhile, let’s test your navigation skills. There’s an A to Z in the glove compartment. We’re looking for a Hermitage Road, NW something.’

  ‘Okay.’ Tory was glad of a change of subject and did as he suggested.

  She didn’t have to make much reference to the A to Z because she knew this part of London, and she guided him to the offices of the magazine without too much trouble.

  ‘You’re pretty good at giving directions,’ he commented as they drew up outside the offices of Toi.

  ‘For a woman, you mean?’ Tory read the unspoken words in the compliment.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ he claimed even as a half-smile admitted it.

  ‘I come from London,’ Tory confessed, and, seeing she had five minutes to her appointment, began to collect her things together. ‘Is the boot open?’

  ‘Boot?’ he repeated, then translated, ‘The trunk?’

  ‘Possibly,’ she replied dryly. ‘I need my case.’

  ‘Won’t it keep till I pick you up?’