Outbid by the Boss by Stephanie Browning Read Free Book Online Page B

Atlantic by now. Our boss shanghaied me this morning to help catalogue the collections."
    Mrs. Weekes stopped at the next doorway. "In that case, I suspect you've had a long day…You do seem a bit pale. Are you all right?"
    Sam frowned. What should she say? That the day had been one long series of disasters and that she and Chas had sparred like children? Or should she mention that she had used company funds to buy herself a silver candlestick?
    "I’m fine, thank you. Just in need of a good cup of tea."
    "Then why don’t you settle in while I nip downstairs and fetch you a pot of tea and something to tide you over." Mrs. Weekes reached for the door handle. The door swung inwards. Sam followed the housekeeper inside. "Will this suit you, then, Miss Redfern?" she asked placing Sam's bag at the foot of the bed.
    "Oh, lovely," Sam breathed as her gaze swept over the elegant four-poster bed, the Edwardian dressing table and chair, and on to the armoire glowing richly in the soft light from the nightstand. There was even a window seat with a bevy of soft pillows all done up in dusty rose and sage to match the window's voluminous curtains.
    "Compared to my flat in London, Mrs. Weekes, this is the height of luxury."
    Pleased by the compliment, the housekeeper crossed over to the window and drew back the curtains. "I'll just let in a bit of air, shall I?" With a practised hand, she released the catch on the casement and nudged open the window. Give it a minute or two," she advised, "and you'll think the room was done up fresh."
    Sam slipped her heavy purse off her shoulder and set her suitcase on the floor. "Um...the bathroom is?"
    "Over there, dear." The housekeeper pointed to a white panelled door on the far wall next to which sat an inviting chintz-covered wing chair in the same peony and rose pattern as the drapes.
    She paused to worry a wrinkle out of the bed covers. "I often set out a plate of sandwiches in the dining room when we have late arrivals," she said massaging the small of her back as she straightened. "Down the stairs, turn right, second door on the left."
    "Thank you, Mrs. Weekes. I'll be fine." said Sam.
    As soon as the housekeeper was out the door, Sam headed for the sanctuary of the window seat. She tugged off her boots and dropped them to the floor. At least, her toes were happy. What a day. She was tempted to flop back against the cushions and just lie there but first...she had to call Mia. How had she been so stupid as to tell her friend anything at all in their earlier conversation? Discretion not being Mia's strong suit, the last thing Sam wanted was to have everyone in the office scratching their heads over an estate sale that didn't exist. Sooner or later, someone would link Mrs. Weekes to Porter Hall and the whole sordid story would be revealed.
    But when Sam switched on her mobile, she had no reception. She held it up to the window and watched the little icon search the heavens in vain.
    Porter Hall was in a dead zone.
    No service. No contact. And nowhere to go.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Chas swirled the aged single malt in his glass and uttered a soft string of curses. Life wasn't fair and, quite frankly, it was often ill-timed. Before today, his relationship with Samantha Redfern had been cool and professional and, he liked to think, based on mutual respect.
    Not anymore.
    During the course of a single day, he'd admired her moxie, lost his temper and been utterly intrigued by her. And now he couldn't decide whether he was totally enamoured with her or just plain furious.
    Probably a bit of both.
    In an effort to banish the picture of her flashing eyes and defiant chin, Chas began to mentally catalogue her crimes of the day.
    She had stolen the candlestick using money from the firm he owned, created a potentially embarrassing furor at his company, and most heinous of all, caused the wreck of his car. Chas tried to whip himself into a satisfying rage at Ms. Redfern, but the image of her standing there,