Boardroom Proposal Read online

  “I bless the day you hired me.”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Copyright

  “I bless the day you hired me.”

  “Do you?” Drew’s eyes moved over her.

  Eve nearly knocked over her wineglass at the look he gave her.

  “Something about me still troubles you,” he said.

  “I don’t think it wise to get personal.”

  He saw the guardedness that entered her face. “Except we’re human. And Evie, though I know it’s the last thing you want, we’re attracted to each other.”

  Suddenly it was out. The secret that ran deep.

  “I have a bit of a problem with breaking the rules,”

  “I can see that ” Drew gave her a half smile. “Is having dinner with your boss breaking the rules?”

  From boardroom...to bride and groom!

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the second book in our MARRYING THE BOSS miniseries Boardroom Proposal by Margaret Way is her 75th novel with Harlequin Romance.®

  Over the following months, some of your favorite Harlequin Romance authors will be bringing you a variety of tantalizing stories about love in the workplace!

  Falling for the boss can mean trouble, so our gorgeous heroes and lively heroines all struggle to resist their feelings of attraction for each other But somehow love always ends up top of the agenda. And it isn’t just a nine-to-five affair .. Mixing business with pleasure carries on after hours—and ends in marriage!

  Happy Reading!

  The Editors

  Look out next month for a further novel in our

  MARRYING THE BOSS series

  Temporary Engagement by Jessica Hart

  Harlequin Romance #3544

  Margaret Way

  Boardroom Proposal

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT TOOK Eve exactly ten minutes to walk from Pearce Musgrave, the merchant bank where she worked, to the new Trans Continental Resources building two streets away in the swish riverside business precinct. She was only a few yards from the entrance when the city hall clock boomed the hour: 1.00 p.m. Right on schedule. Never one to leave anything to chance, she wanted time to cool down and get her thoughts together for the interview ahead. Subtropical Brisbane was in the grip of a heatwave; searing blue skies, steamy air, heat shimmering off the crowded lunchtime streets in quicksilver waves, giving the odd illusion one was walking through pools of water. But the moment she walked through TCR’s automated glass doors, imprinted with the silver and blue interlocking rings of their logo, a current of cold air hit her.

  It felt marvellous. She drew in a grateful breath, looking around the handsome expanse of the foyer with interest. This was TCR’s new building replacing their old headquarters of many years. An ultra-modern glass tower, that late afternoon when the rays of the sun hit it, turned into a blazing column of light. Eve had witnessed the spectacle many times. It also announced to the business sector and the public at large Trans Continental Resources, mines, minerals, natural gas exploration, was one of the top corporations in the country and one of the few that allowed women power and authority. The high-profile Meg Topham held the position of vice-chairman, so promotions were on merit and not on the old boy’s network. An enormous incentive for Eve, who was determined on a successful career.

  At twenty-four, Eve had long since made the decision marriage was not a top priority, although she had played bridesmaid to her girlfriends several times over. Marriage was for the wide-eyed romantics, the super-optimists, women with a history of family love and stability who didn’t know about treachery and betrayal. There were other women not so fortunate. Women who were capable of dying when love was withdrawn from them. Eve had learned that to her sorrow. Love didn’t always go hand in hand with happiness. The father she had thought herself so close to had broken their mother’s heart when Eve was thirteen and her brother, Ben, just nine. Brad Copeland had simply come home one night and told his stunned wife, “I want out, Maureen. I regret hurting you most terribly, but I’ve fallen in love.” The timing had been especially good. Two weeks before Christmas.

  Another woman. Some teenage seductress in his office. Anyway, someone less than half his age. “I need her,” he had cried emotionally, avoiding his wife’s stricken eyes. “I can’t live without her. Our marriage is on the rocks anyway.” A point of view so horribly new, it had overwhelmed their mother. Amazingly she had thought they were all held together by love. Love for each other. Love for their children.

  While their father expounded on the hitherto unimagined rapture that had come into his life and their mother sobbed pitifully, Eve and Ben sat huddled together on the stairs, Ben crying broken-heartedly within the shelter of his big sister’s arms, Eve so angry she felt alight. She had gone all her short life thinking her family was indestructible. Her parents loved each other. Sure they had their fights, but there were plenty of good times.

  Now upheaval and desolation. And all over leaping male hormones. Lust wasn’t love. It was a dark fantasy.

  Memories, one after the other, crowded in, clamouring for attention. She remembered flying down the steps, pummelling her father, calling him every terrible name she could think of and, unlike Ben, she had always been able to articulate her feelings. She remembered her father had difficulty staving her off, hypocrite that he was with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Evie, I’m sorry. God, you can’t know.”

  All these years later Eve carried that scene with her. It never seemed to be far from her mind, like the most profoundly painful memories often are. The grief cut too deeply. It wasn’t a good day to trawl through the wreckage of her parents’ marriage, either. She had this interview to face. She had to project the right image; poise and confidence, ability and potential. Not a young woman with a major trauma in her background. Traumatised people were high risk.

  Eve tucked her briefcase under her arm, walking across another TCR logo worked into the grey marble floor in a giant mosaic. They certainly knew how to announce themselves.

  The adrenalin flowing, she headed straight for the bank of lifts, resisting the childish urge to skid across the polished floor. Of course, she knew executive assistant with the company could mean almost anything from general dogsbody to someone who would be given real opportunities It was a gamble, in a way, changing jobs, and God knows she was no gambler. But for once she had given in to her gut instincts.

  Ever since she had left university with first-class honours in commerce and business administration she had been working for Pearce Musgrave. She’d had a fast rise in the three years she had been there but she had to accept, despite the praise that came her way, she might never be able to break through the glass ceiling. The hierarchy, the big decision makers at Pearce Musgrave, were all men. There was no woman at the top. A sprinkling in the second rank. Second rank didn’t suit her. She was in it for the long haul. It was when she was passed over for promotion by a male colleague—to be fair, a smart guy, but Eve knew and so did everyone else his combined skills didn’t stack up against hers—she decided to cast her net further. Ben had more years ahead of him at med school. Then his internship. Brilliant, sensitive Ben was in for the long haul, as well. Despite the two of them working their
butts off the money just disappeared.

  After the most devastating effects of “Cyclone Sally”—Eve’s name for the divorce and her father’s second wife—had worn off, their father had behaved “not all that badly” according to him. He had paid for their education right through high school until the demands of his second family, two new kids on the block, had altered the situation. Money became very tight and an ongoing problem.

  Eve had worked her way through university, all her spare time spent serving behind the counter and doing the books for an old family friend, a respected jeweller, who had offered her the job out of kindness and who she had rewarded by turning his business around for him. For their mother there had been no inner resources to fall back on. Their mother had suffered. How she had suffered! Eve found out early how intense was a woman’s grief when her man walked away from her. From that day on Eve was the one who coped, her own battered emotions fuelled by anger and the determination her family would succeed on their own. Her number one priority had been to protect her mother and little brother.

  Those who had known Eve as a little girl trying to take the collective pain on herself would say differently, but Eve knew she hadn’t done a good job. Her mother, most tragic of all tragedies, had been killed in a road accident just before Eve’s twentieth birthday.

  “She just walked off the pavement right in front of me,” the distraught motorist told the police.

  Eve and Ben chose to believe it was an accident. They both cried about it even now. Their mother would never have left them Not deliberately. It was just she had become lost. Unbelievably their father, the man her mother had loved and despised, had tried to rally around at the time, but Eve at flashpoint in her grief told him in no uncertain terms to stay away from the funeral. They were still being punished for his “rotten cheating ways”.

  No man would ever get the chance to cheat on her, she had vowed. She would rather go through her life alone than face what her mother had faced.

  “I’m hard,” Eve thought. “A tough old nut of twenty-four.” It was a lie she had carefully constructed. Her vulnerable core she concealed from the world.

  Ben was the only chink in her armour. Her Achilles heel. Eve loved her brother with all her heart. Ben was the golden thread that ran through her life. Strangely, and she could never figure out why, she wanted marriage for Ben. She wanted him to find the right woman to love. Fatherhood, a good life. Brilliant as he was, Ben couldn’t face life alone. Their father’s early defection had left him sad and exposed though he, too, had learned to grow a protective shell. But the fear never left him. It just burrowed deep.

  Waiting for the lift, Eve took time to glance around, smiling faintly at others who smiled back. A small crowd had gathered, business men and women chatting in groups. Some of the floors she knew were occupied by a prestigious firm of solicitors and TCR’s own legal department. No sign of Sir David Forsythe, legendary mining magnate and chairman of the corporation. No sign of Drew Forsythe, the son and heir, lately voted chief executive officer by the board. Sir David was said to be inordinately proud of his son, so wonderfully successful in his own right.

  Drew Forsythe, the womaniser. Although she had never met him—never moved in such high-flying circles—Eve was certain she knew all about him. He had divorced his beautiful young society wife after what, four years? Nothing sickened her more than men messing around. Eve had a girlfriend from a wealthy family who had met Drew Forsythe on several occasions and confided, “Dangerous is the word that comes to mind. Connery playing Bond. So smooth but with a kinda edge, know what I mean?” This with a playful dig in Eve’s ribs. Lisa was always trying to take a rise out of her control freak of a friend.

  But Eve’s father had been handsome and charming, as well. Still was. She saw him from time to time when he tried to waylay her as she was coming from work. He was desperate to make it up to her. To Ben. But so far as they were concerned that part of their life was over. Their father’s betrayal had shattered their world and caused the premature death of their loving mother. The barriers were drawn.

  The descent of the lift intruded on the thoughts that were always on the edge of her consciousness. Eve stood back as it discharged its cargo before taking the next consignment aboard. A middle-aged man in a pinstripe suit indicated to her there was still room, but Eve shook her head smilingly and turned away. She would wait for the next and with any luck have it to herself.

  Unguarded she moved closer as the other lift descended, preparing to step in. No one else approached. A couple who had entered the foyer was standing in conversation with a man who was leaving. She heard a snatch of their conversation. The financial crisis in Asia. It was on everyone’s lips and dominated the news. How would it affect TCR? The word was they would be largely insulated from the meltdown with their long-term contracts.

  So engrossed was she in her own speculations, Eve was totally unprepared for the sight that now seared her eyes. A sight so electrifying, for all its brevity, it flooded her with impressions. What she caught in the stark fluorescent lighting was a man and a woman, the sole occupants of the lift, springing apart from a passionate embrace. The woman with her head thrown back, tears glittering on her long, shuttered eyelashes. Her dark brown hair thick and lustrous was cut to shoulder length, her skin a matt cream, her slim body immaculately turned out in beautiful expensive clothes.

  Lady Forsythe! Eve recognised her in a blinding flash. Sir David Forsythe’s second wife.

  The man Eve would have known anywhere. Drew Forsythe, his tall, lean body as smooth and springy as a jungle cat. Drew Forsythe. The man who had everything. Except honour. Eve felt a hot rush of disgust and intolerance.

  There are some moments in life when the best thing to do is turn and run. But she couldn’t seem to move, immobilised by her own dark memories and a sick rage that had never left her. What a sordid little conspiracy right in the middle of a powerful corporation. Someone should have warned her. Or did no one yet sense a scandal?

  Let it go, she urged herself, taking a few deep breaths. Disturbing as the sight was, it didn’t warrant the strength of her reaction. After all, she wasn’t personally involved.

  Even when the door opened fully and the pair were in plain view, the woman still appeared dazed, standing stock-still as if to regain her bearings. And why not, with a man prepared to play such dangerous games?

  Sir David, a widower for many years, had remarried little over a year ago. Eve remembered clearly all the press coverage. His bride was a partner in a highly successful public relations firm, mid-thirties no more, much the same age as Sir David’s own son. Sir David, who had retained much of his remarkable good looks, had to be over sixty.

  But money and power were the great aphrodisiacs, weren’t they? They turned a lot of women on even if men were always the winners taking and discarding at will. Eve felt sick with contempt. If Drew Forsythe had begun some impossible, potentially deadly affair with his father’s wife he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.

  Belatedly the woman came to her senses. She turned her head, large, drowning blue eyes, giving Eve the oddest little smile, gently vulnerable, but seemingly without guilt as though in being locked in her stepson’s arms she had done no wrong. Obviously there were different rules for the mega rich.

  “You’ll be all right, then?” Drew Forsythe asked her, those sexually inviting dark eyes totally focused on her lovely face.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” She reached back with a quick intimate gesture and patted his cheek before stepping past Eve into the foyer. The air carried the subtle fragrance of her perfume. First. Van Cleef & Arpels. Eve recognised it with pain. Once her mother had worn it, revelling in her femininity.

  “Until tonight then.” Forsythe flashed the woman a smile of overwhelming attraction; a beam of sunshine that lit his dark features. Creases ran down his lean cheeks, fine white teeth contrasted with his dark tan. He was, Eve knew, a yachtsman of some note.

  Only then did
he notice Eve. “Going up?” He turned to her, voice very confident and vibrant, eyes narrowing as he began to take in her expression. Hell, that green gaze was like an icy crush of emeralds. He refused to believe a total stranger could look at him in such a way.

  “Yes, thank you.” Her voice was low-pitched, polite, but a touch brittle as though she was making quite an effort to appear casual.

  He frowned, measuring her. Neat. No nonsense. Prim little blouse. Skirt to just above the knee. Tallish. Too thin. Luminous skin devoid of makeup. She looked like a novice on the loose from her convent, only there appeared to be forces seething behind the buttoned-up exterior. “What floor?” he asked, still looking at her.

  “Five, thank you.” Her dark blond head was primly secured at the nape. Good hair, he noticed. Did she have to scrape it back?

  He pressed a couple of buttons and the doors closed, giving Eve an involuntary jolt. Settle down for God’s sake, she admonished herself. For all his philandering he wasn’t a sex maniac. Trying to collect herself, Eve stared up at the panel above the doors. What she was feeling within the narrow confines of the lift was most unwelcome. An instinctive thing, almost elemental. She had never felt so female in her life.

  “Then you must be here for an interview?” he questioned her, wondering how this little nun with the chiselled bones could cut it in a tough professional world.

  She nodded, still without looking at him. “Executive assistant. My appointment is for one-fifteen.”

  “Really?” He leaned back nonchalantly against the wall, a six footer plus, studying her profile. Her features had a refinement to them, even a decided elegance. “Then you can cast your mind over what you so obviously thought you saw—” he flicked back a cuff, glancing at his gold Rolex “—for a good eight minutes.”