Gray Quinn's Baby by Susan Stephens Read Free Book Online Page A

now—understood?’
    Actually, no, I’m a bit confused. Magenta thought Quinn had called a meeting to discuss her position with the company going forward, but perhaps that directive hadn’t made it through to the sixties. She decided to prompt him, if only to find out how much had travelled with her in the dream. ‘So, you’re having another meeting first?’
    â€˜What are you talking about?’ Quinn demanded impatiently.
    â€˜Another meeting before our meeting…?’
    Quinn had no worries about touching Magenta. Taking hold of her shoulder in a firm grip, he steered her into an alcove out of sight of the rest of the office. ‘Not in front of everyone, Magenta…’ And then his eyes warmed in a way that made her heart stop. ‘Later, maybe—if I have the time.’
    Magenta’s mouth formed a question, but she was so stunned by Quinn’s brazenly sexual behaviour her voice refused to function, and when she did speak it was only to ask Quinn what he wanted her to do with his hat and coat.
    â€˜Why, hang it up, of course,’ he said as if she were one card short of a pack. ‘And when you’ve done that I’ll need plenty of coffee—hot, strong and black. Oh, and when you come into the meeting later, don’t forget your shorthand notebook.’
    â€˜My—?’
    â€˜You’re the office manager now, Magenta—that’s quite a promotion for you. You’ll have to sharpen up if you want to set the seal on this position.’
    She’d set something in concrete—the deeds of the building, perhaps, before she dropped them from a great height on Quinn’s head…
    But someone else owned the building now, she remembered, biting her lip. Steele Design had been called Style Design when her father had bought it. She had no stake at all here.
    Now she found herself staring at the back of her own office door as Quinn closed it in her face.
    Then it flew open again. ‘Magenta?’ Quinn rapped. ‘My office. Now.’
    You could have heard a pin drop behind her. They all anticipated her immediate dismissal, Magenta guessed. She countered that expectation with her sweetest smile. ‘Of course,’ she replied respectfully; respectful was good—essential—at least until she learned the ropes. Walking inside, she shut the door behind her.
    â€˜Let’s get one thing clear,’ Quinn said, handing Magenta the hairpiece she had left on his desk. ‘You do not use my office in my absence for grooming purposes. You do not come in here at all, unless at my express invitation. And, if I’m at work early, you are too.’
    â€˜And how would I—?’
    â€˜How would you know?’ he interrupted, narrowing his eyes. ‘I was coming to that. Do you have your notebook? No? Carry it with you at all times? You have a “must do” list, don’t you? When I give you a memo to alert you to the fact that I will be in here at six in the morning, I expect you to note it down. Why are you late, by the way?’
    Magenta opened her mouth and wondered which of the million and one reasons on the tip of her tongue would workbest in Wonderland. ‘I apologise,’ she said, thinking better of making a fight out of it just yet. ‘I just thought you might appreciate a couple of days to become acclimatized.’
    â€˜Acclimatised? I’ve come over from the States, not the moon. What’s wrong with you limies?’ Limies? Whoah ; that was an old term Magenta guessed hadn’t been used much since the war. The term was a hangover from the way-back-when days, when British sailors were given limes to counteract scurvy. Surely they were way past that?
    â€˜I need you here on time, Magenta,’ Quinn continued to rap. ‘You’re my assistant as well as the office manager. If the job’s too much for you, just let me know.’
    â€˜It isn’t—I mean,