Hell Hath No Fury by Rosie Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

completely accurate.
    When the client was impressed, Maureen found that her superior, Mark Carling, accepted the accolade; when there were brickbats, she was the one expected to field them.
    â€˜I am quite prepared to accept responsibility when it’s the result of an error on my part, but I’m not going to be used as a scapegoat,’ she told him angrily.
    â€˜We work as a team so—’
    Maureen had seen red. ‘Then as the team leader you should be the one to accept all responsibility; the criticism as well as the praise,’ she’d interrupted.
    It had been like declaring war. The other members of the staff sided with Mark. They were not directly involved. They simply keyed into a computer whatever information was handed to them. They didn’t have to meet any clients. In Maureen’s estimation they were human robots in every way.
    â€˜I couldn’t believe my ears when you flared up at Mark like that,’ Cindy Little, Mark’s secretary, commented when they met in the Ladies cloakroom later that day. ‘You’re usually so quiet!’
    Maureen shrugged. ‘I don’t see why I should take the blame for his inefficiency,’ she said abruptly.
    As Cindy carefully renewed her lipstick their eyes met in the mirror. ‘You’re the one who does the research,’ she said pointedly.
    â€˜I work from his brief! If Mark doesn’t understand what the client wants then he should let me talk to them.’
    Cindy shrugged her slim shoulders non-committally but her grey eyes narrowed, and Maureen knew she had said more than she should have done.
    Next day, Mark Carling had called her into his office. He didn’t ask her to sit down, but kept her standing in front of his desk like an errant junior. Tilting back in his black leather swing chair he stared at her insolently. His small mouth was pursed, as if he was savouring the words he was about to utter like some juicy morsel.
    Maureen guessed that Cindy had reported their conversation.
    â€˜I understand you don’t approve of my methods. You seem to think you should be the one to meet clients, and be briefed by them direct?’
    She said nothing, refusing to be goaded into an argument. Confrontations weren’t her style. She watched his plump face darken, his foxy opaque eyes fill with hate.
    â€˜I suppose you think you could do my job better than I can?’
    Again she refused to be drawn. There was no point in starting a battle she couldn’t win. She’d done her research and knew he was the company chairman’s brother-in-law.
    Six weeks later she’d left the marketing company where she’d worked for almost ten years, and then she’d set up on her own as a freelance researcher.
    She thought back over some of the more intricate research projects she handled since she’d been working solo, comparing her reaction when each of them had ended with her present mood.
    She’d always felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction whenever a client complimented her on her efficiency. This time she had the dual role of being both the client and the operator, and she felt more than mere satisfaction – she felt tremendous gratification.
    The days and nights of careful planning had paid off, as she had intended it should do. Meticulous attention to detail was the key to successful research. Now it was proving to be equally effective when applied to materialistic matters, she thought smugly.
    The moment she’d read Philip Harmer’s letter, and realized why he’d withdrawn his proposal of marriage, she’d resolved to be revenged. And not just against him, but also against those who had been initially responsible.
    She had used the same methods as if she had been working for a client. It was the only way to keep her emotions under control.
    Until she’d met Philip Harmer she had always kept her relationship with her clients on a strictly business basis. He had been