Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife

‘Come in.’

The barked-out command made Lizzie stiffen slightly. Cormac Douglas was in the Edinburgh office for only one week out of four, and she found she preferred the other three. His terse commands were taken better by e-mail or a short note left on her desk than face to face.

Lizzie pushed the door open. ‘Mr Douglas? I was just going to head out unless you need me…?’

Cormac stood by the window, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, his gaze studying the grey cityscape stretched out before him. ‘Need you?’ he repeated as if considering the question. He turned to face her, his eyes sweeping her form in a strangely assessing way. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’

‘All right.’ Lizzie waited for instructions. She was used to staying late when Cormac was in town, although she’d finished all the work he’d given her. Something must have come up.

‘Do you have a current passport?’ he asked, and Lizzie blinked, nonplussed.

‘Yes…’

‘Good.’ He paused and Lizzie had the feeling he was considering what to say. An odd thought, since Cormac Douglas was the kind of man who always knew what to say. ‘I have a business engagement,’ he finally explained tersely, ‘and I need a secretary to accompany me.’

‘Very well.’ Lizzie nodded, as if this was something she’d done before. In the two years she’d worked for Douglas Architectural Designs, she’d never accompanied Cormac anywhere, not even to a local work site. He preferred to do things on his own. Besides, he was more likely to take one of his assistants from the London office with him than Lizzie, a plain, parochial Edinburgh girl. ‘Where are we going?’

‘We leave for the Dutch Antilles tomorrow evening and return on Monday. It’s a very important commission.’ He paused, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ Lizzie’s mind was spinning, although she strove to look unruffled. The Dutch Antilles…If her geography wasn’t too far off, that was in the Caribbean and at least eight hours by plane. If Cormac was travelling that far simply to court a commission, it had to be serious. And so did she.

She swallowed, heard the audible gulp, and forced herself to meet Cormac’s harsh gaze.

‘Is there anything I can do to arrange the travel?’

‘Yes, book the tickets.’ He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘The information’s there. I’ll be out of the office tomorrow, so I’ll meet you at the airport, first-class lounge. Just text me the relevant information.’

Lizzie nodded, used to such terse commands. She picked up the paper and scanned the few scrawled details.

She could hardly pump Cormac for information, or ask him what kind of clothes she should bring. Or why he had chosen to bring her.

She swallowed down her curiosity and smiled stiffly. ‘Is that all?’

His gaze swept over her once more and a strange sardonic smile curved his mouth. Lizzie had the eerie feeling she’d somehow done something that Cormac had expected…and it was a disappointment.

‘That’s it,’ he said and, sitting down at his desk, turned back to his work, dismissing her from both his presence and his mind.

Lizzie slipped silently from the room.

Back at her desk she sank into her chair, her knees weak.

She was going to the Caribbean. She pictured white sandy beaches, tropical forests, tropical drinks. People, laughter, sultry breezes. For a moment she allowed a thrill to trickle through her like quicksilver, awakening nerves, dreams, even desires she hadn’t known she still had.

Who knew what could happen? Who she might meet?

She had plans for this weekend. Big ones.

After making the necessary travel arrangements, Lizzie got up and shrugged on her coat.

She was going to the Caribbean…with Cormac Douglas.

For a moment she paused, her coat halfway on, as she considered what a trip with her boss would be like. Together on a plane, in a hotel, on the beach.

Would Cormac soften in a new, more relaxed environment? Or would he be just as tense and short with her as always?

She pictured him for a moment, tried to imagine his face in a smile rather than a scowl, eyes crinkled with laughter rather than narrowed in scorn. It was virtually impossible. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Cormac Douglas smile—a kind smile rather than something born of contempt or cold-blooded business acumen.

She gave herself a mental shake; she had no place imagining what Cormac would be like. It didn’t matter. All he wanted her for was to take notes, carry papers. And do it well.

And yet…the Caribbean. With Cormac. Another thrill racked her like a shiver—illicit, dangerous. Real.

A fine misting drizzle was falling when Lizzie left work, heading into the busy nightlife of the Old Town.

A few of the other secretaries from the office had invited her out when she’d first started working there, but she’d never been able to go because of Dani.

Now they no longer asked.

Lizzie shrugged this off; caring for Dani was enough, had always been enough.

Except now she was gone.

The last three days had been strange, still, silent. Lizzie accepted it with pragmatic determination, told herself she needed time to develop her own friends and pastimes, things she’d never had time to have before. Time to find a life.

And it would start by jet-setting off to the Caribbean.

A giggle escaped her, a breathless sound of pure feminine fun.

Three days in Sint Rimbert…Anything seemed possible. She was doing what Dani had told her to do. Seizing life.

Even if she had to go with Cormac Douglas, at least she would be getting out, meeting people, having a bit of an adventure.

It was a start…of something.

She left the lights, misty through the rain, of Princes Street and headed towards her house in Stockbridge, a short walk from Edinburgh’s Old Town.

The Georgian town house was in an area that had become affluent and cosmopolitan, and as always Lizzie was aware how shabby and run-down her house looked among the others—a weed among roses. It needed new windows, a coat of paint and a dozen other things, as well. None of them were within her budget, but it was home, a house full of memories she wanted to keep.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, entering the dim hallway. As she had been since Dani’s departure, Lizzie was conscious of the silence, the emptiness, the blank spaces.

‘Empty nest syndrome at twenty-eight,’ she murmured, annoyed with herself. Defiantly she turned on the radio in the kitchen, glanced in the cupboards to see what she could make for a meal and then headed upstairs to change.

He had a wife. Cormac knew he would have to tread carefully. It was a delicate business, maintaining a deceit.

Still, he thought he knew how to play his secretary. Intimidation was the key to someone like her. He shook his head in contemptuous dismissal.

Miss Chandler was one of those unfortunate people in life whose only purpose was to be used.

Use or be used.