Oh-So-Sensible Secretary

Jessica Hart Oh-So-Sensible Secretary

© 2010

For Nikki at 2DC,

with many thanks for all her work on the Web site

CHAPTER ONE

EVERYTHING was in place. A sleek computer sat on my desk, humming gently. A notebook and freshly sharpened pencil were squared up to one side of a high-tech phone, but otherwise the desk was empty, the way I like it. I can’t bear clutter.

There was only one thing missing.

My new boss.

Phin Gibson was late, and I was cross. I can’t bear unpunctuality either.

I had been there since eight-thirty. Wanting to make a good impression, I’d dressed carefully in my best grey checked suit, and my make-up was as subtle and professional as ever. Rattling over the keyboard, my nails had a perfect French manicure. I was only twenty-six, but anyone looking at me would know that I was the ultimate executive PA, cool, calm and capable.

I might have looked cool, but by half past ten I certainly wasn’t feeling it. I was irritated with Phin, and wishing I had bought myself a doughnut earlier.

Now, I know I don’t look like the kind of girl with a doughnut fetish, but I can’t get through the morning without a sugar fix. It’s something to do with my metabolism (well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it), and if I don’t have something sweet by eleven o’clock I get scratchy and irritable.

OK, even more irritable.

Chocolate or biscuits will do at a pinch, but doughnuts are my thing, and there’s a coffee bar just round the corner from Gibson & Grieve’s head office which sells the lightest, jammiest, sugariest ones I’ve ever tasted.

I’d fallen into the habit of buying one with a cappuccino on my way into work, and waiting for a quiet moment to get my blood sugar level up later in the morning, but today I’d decided not to. I wasn’t sure what sort of boss Phin Gibson would prove to be, and I didn’t want to be caught unawares with a sugar moustache or jammy fingers on our first day working together. This job was a big opportunity for me, and I wanted to impress him with my professionalism.

But how could I do that if he wasn’t there?

Exasperated, I went back to my e-mail to Ellie, my friend in Customer and Marketing.

No problem, Ellie. To be honest, I was glad of something to do. There’s a limit to what you can do as a PA without a boss-who STILL hasn’t appeared, by the way. You’d think he could be bothered to turn up on time on his first day in a new job, but apparently not. Am already wishing I was back in the Chief Executive’s office. I have a nasty feeling Phin and I aren’t going to get on, and unless

– Original Message-

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Sent: Monday, January 18, 09:52

Subject: THANK YOU!

Summer, you are star! Thank you SO much for putting those figures together for me-and on a Friday afternoon, too! You saved my life (again!!!!!).

Any sign of Phin Gibson yet??? Can’t wait to hear if he’s as gorgeous as he looks on telly!

Exx

‘Well, well, well…Lex must know me better than I thought he did.’

The deep, amused voice broke across my exasperated typing and my head jerked up as I snatched my fingers back from the keyboard.

And there-at last!-was my new boss. Phinneas Gibson himself, lounging in the doorway and smiling the famously lop-sided smile that had millions of women, including my flatmate Anne, practically dribbling with lust.

I’d never dribbled myself. I’m not much of a dribbler at the best of times, and that oh-so-engaging smile smacked a little too much of I’m-incredibly-attractive-and-charming-and-don’t-I-know-it for my taste.

My first reaction at the sight of Phin was one of surprise. No, thinking about it, surprise isn’t quite the right word. I was startled.

I’d known what he looked like, of course. It would have been hard not to when Anne had insisted that I sit through endless repeats of Into the Wild. It’s her flat, so she gets control of the remote.

If you’re one of the two per cent of the population fortunate enough never to have seen it, Phin Gibson takes ill-assorted groups of people to the more inhospitable places on the planet, where they have to complete some sort of task in the most appalling conditions. On camera.

According to Anne, it makes for compulsive viewing, but personally I’ve never been able to see the point of making people uncomfortable just for sake of it. I mean, what’s the point of hacking through a jungle when you can take a plane?

But don’t get me started on reality TV. That’s another thing I can’t bear.

So I was braced against the extraordinary blue eyes, the shaggy dark blond hair and the smile, but I hadn’t counted on how much bigger and more immediate Phin seemed in real life. Seeing him on the small screen gave no sense of the vivid impact of his presence.

I’m not sure I can explain it properly. You know that feeling when a gust of wind catches you unawares? When it swirls round you, sucking the air from your lungs and leaving you blinking and ruffled and invigorated? Well, that’s what it felt like the first time I laid eyes on Phin Gibson.

There was a kind of lazy grace about him as he leant there, watching me with amusement. So it wasn’t that he radiated energy. It was more that everything around him was energised by his presence. You could practically see the molecules buzzing in the air, and Phin himself seemed to be using up more than his fair share of oxygen in the room, which left me annoyingly short of breath.

Not that I was going to let Phin guess that.

‘Good morning, Mr Gibson,’ I said. Minimising the screen just in case, I took off the glasses I wear for working at the computer and offered a cool smile.

‘Is it possible that you’re my PA?’ The blue eyes studied me with a mixture of surprise, amusement and appreciation as Phin levered himself away from the doorway and strolled into the room.

‘I’m Summer Curtis, yes.’

A little miffed at his surprise, and ruffled by the amusement, I pushed back my chair so that I could rise and