Chapter 7
7
S am hated confusion.
She preferred order, precision, and being in control. However, as she joined Dylan for a late night supper in his den so they could continue working, she knew her preferences had taken a serious hit following the meeting with his mother a week ago.
Rather than berating her for lying and firing her as expected, Liz Harmon had almost clapped her hands in glee as Sam regaled her with a truthful account of her life to date. The older woman had been only too pleased to keep Sam’s secret so she could continue in her farcical role as Dylan’s P.A.
But why? Sam had to know people’s motivations; it was the only way to stay one step ahead. However, she had no intention of giving Liz Harmon the third degree when the woman had done her a huge favour. In fact, for someone who barely knew her, Liz had accepted her version of events with few qualms. In her place, Sam knew she wouldn’t have been as trusting.
“Daydreaming again?”
Sam jumped as Dylan strode into the room and hoped she’d gain control over the fluttery feeling in her gut whenever her boss came within ten feet of her. Her absurd physical reaction to the man hadn’t dimmed one iota over the last seven days. If anything, being near him made her want to do all sorts of wild and wicked things, such as strip off and lay across his desk.
Maybe then she’d have a hope of grabbing his attention, because that’s all he seemed interested in, the endless stream of paperwork crossing his desk taking up every minute of his day.
She must’ve imagined the slight glimmer of interest in his enigmatic gaze on her first day, because he’d lived up to his reputed image of the cold, calculating, business tycoon ever since.
His love for the family business bordered on obsession, and she wondered if he ever loosened his tie, took off his shoes, and strolled barefoot in the lush gardens surrounding the mansion.
By his permanent serious expression as he glared at her, she doubted it.
“Daydreaming is healthy. You should try it some time.” She noted the tense neck muscles, the lines around his mouth, the smidgen of dark rings under his eyes, and hoped her banter might lighten his mood.
He piled a plate with club sandwiches and grabbed a caffeine-laden energy drink from the sideboard before responding. “Who says I don’t?”
“You don’t look like the type to indulge in fanciful dreams.”
He couldn’t look anymore uptight if he tried. He wore a different suit, shirt, and tie for every day of the week, each outfit expertly tailored but boringly conservative, and she’d yet to see him with a hair out of place. Except that first morning in his bedroom—though she’d managed to effectively block out that provocative memory.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Daydreams are wasted. Maybe I prefer to indulge in fanciful dreams at night?”
Sam looked up quickly, wondering if she’d imagined his lowered tone, the slight husky edge? Probably, as his dark stare remained unreadable as he took a precise bite out of a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich. She ignored the irrational wish to replace the sandwich as his supper. She wouldn’t mind him nibbling on her, not one bit.
Spurred on by a crazy urge to match wits with him, she took a sip of coffee and feigned innocence. “What you do at night is no concern of mine.”
“Would you like it to be?”
Damn, he was good. Just when she thought she’d got the better of him, he uttered a loaded comeback like that.
“That depends,” she said. “I thought I’d worked enough nights lately, and there’s only so much typing, filing, and book-keeping a girl can take.”
“I wasn’t talking about work.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Her heart hammered as she called his bluff. She loved sparring, especially with a man as sharp as Dylan, and she wondered how far she could push it, though every ounce of common sense urged her not to match wits with her boss.
“You’ve been doing a great job, Samantha. I’m pleased with your work ethic and you’ve hardly had a night off since you started. How would you like a tour of Melbourne at night?”
He devoured the last of his sandwich, concentrating on his plate as if her answer meant nothing. However, she noticed he ran a finger around the inside of his tight collar, a gesture she’d noted only when he seemed rattled.
“Sounds great. Know any good tour operators?”
He looked up and fixed her with a piercing stare, the chocolate depths of his eyes drawing her in, deeper than she intended to go.
“Why settle for good when you can have the best?”
“You’re that confident?”
“You’ll have to try me and find out.”
His lips quirked into that killer smile she’d rarely glimpsed since the first day.
She knew accepting his invitation would be a dumb idea. He’d made the offer as repayment for a job well done, and spending time with him after hours could be dangerous.
She had no intention of getting involved with her boss. Her life was complicated enough.
However, she did want to see Melbourne, and what better way than a personal tour with a man who set her pulse racing? If the scenery bored her, she could always cast surreptitious glances his way.
“Okay.” She nodded. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll make the arrangements and let you know.” He stared at her for a moment, like he wanted to say something else.
However, he cleared his throat and picked up a stack of contracts. “Let’s get back to these. We still have a lot of work to finish.”
Work was good. Work, she could do. What she couldn’t—and shouldn’t—do was her boss, and she struggled to focus as he droned on about profit margins and shares.
Besides, she had plenty of time to fantasise about her evening out with Dylan once she reached the confines of her bedroom later tonight. In the meantime, she’d continue doing a good job, because she had no intention of letting him renege on his offer.
A night out on the town with a gorgeous guy, even if he was her grumpy boss, sounded like fun, and it had been far too long since she’d had any.