Outbid by the Boss (3 page)

Think about it, the goddess of single women whispered in her ear.

You’ll be stuck in an English manor house with a broad-shouldered, handsome millionaire; it’s the stuff of dreams.

Sam shivered. She remembered the rock hard feel of Chas Porter’s chest when she had collided with him at the auction hall, the way he’d raked her over from head to toe when she had stepped back and the sudden leap of fire in his eyes when she challenged him. For a moment, she was
dazzled by the possibilities. Phooey on the goddess and her theories. Chas Porter was not a man to be trifled with. “Well, I’m not someone to be trifled with either,” Sam said aloud, her voice sounding a little hollow even to her own ears. The man might be all steel and fire, but she was...determined.
A survivor.
Someone who knew how to win with her hard-earned smarts and dogged persistence.

What was the candlestick to him anyway? Surely, he had more than enough antique silver of his own.

A horn tapped behind her, breaking her reverie. Traffic was moving again. Sam mentally shifted gears. Her curiosity would have to wait.

The dusty van rumbled up the crest of the hill, and then swung off the main road, leaving Sam back where she’d started. Trailing sedately behind her
boss,
broke, indebted and indentured. Even her little black dress was being held hostage.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Or was there?

Another large traffic circle lay ahead. They were nearing the outskirts of Coventry. Chas yielded to the traffic and signaled his intention to head northeast.

Sam moved into the slip lane behind him.
His world, his rules.
Angry with herself for submitting so easily, she shifted gears and sped up.

She intended to follow him, she really did, but at the last possible moment, she roared by the turn. Not indentured. Not following meekly. She went round the traffic circle a second, and a third time, putting enough distance between her and Chas Porter to flaunt her independence. He could think what he liked. She’d had a lot more riding on this trip to New York than Sotheby’s, and she refused to fall into line like some recalcitrant schoolgirl.

After double-checking the map displayed on her dashboard, Sam glanced at the side mirror then deftly shifted lanes. Learning how to drive on the opposite side of the road had been a good investment, especially when it came to dealing with traffic circles. You miss your turn, you simply go around again.

Point made, Sam reached up and popped open the sun roof. The rush of cool air tousled her hair and calmed her overheated emotions. Zipping past the turnoff had been childish and she knew it, but cutting loose had made her feel better.
Back in control of her own destiny, even if only for a short time.
She’d spent months keeping her natural exuberance under wraps while she made her
mark at Burton-Porter. No question, Chas Porter had the pedigree and the business acumen to be the star of the show. Her place was to flawlessly assess value, draw attention to overlooked treasures as antique silver collections became available, and ensure that the firm’s, and his, reputation were unassailable.

Having been raised to know that reading the needs of the powerful was a survival skill, Sam carried herself accordingly – always wearing well-cut suits, the odd piece of silver jewellery, and just enough pressed powder and lipstick to feel good about herself. Not that she’d ever been one to put herself on display. Sam knew her thick, auburn hair was her best feature, but even that was kept in check. The rest of her was, well, a constant reminder not to overdo the cream cakes and double lattes.

Her stomach gurgled in response.

Sam groaned aloud. She really was hungry.

There was a pub ahead on the right, its sign swinging in the breeze. Sam eyed it longingly, but nipping in for a quick sandwich would only make things worse.
Especially when the rental agency was just up the road.
Even from this distance, Sam could see Chas lounging against the back of his car with his arms crossed. His stance was that of a predator biding his time, relaxed yet with muscles coiled ready to spring. Sam shivered. The dark glasses he wore made him look even more commanding…if that were possible.

If she was going to keep both the candlestick and her job, she would have to act as though she were in the showrooms at Burton-Porter dealing with a well-heeled client, instead of raging against the ruggedly handsome man now orchestrating her every move.

At least, he was easy on the eye. With disquieting warmth, Sam remembered how she had felt when he had briefly held and steadied her. In that instant she had felt safe. No man had ever made her feel that way before.

Sam braced herself for whatever was to come and turned into the parking lot.

Carefully nosing into a vacant space, she cut the ignition and set the handbrake. She grabbed her shoulder bag with its precious cargo off the passenger seat and slipped out of the car.

“Waiting long?” she asked Chas politely.

The dark glasses swung her way.
“Long enough to settle your account.”

“Just add it to my tab,” said Sam archly. She began walking towards the small building which housed the offices of the rental car agency.

“Where do you think you’re going?”
barked Chas.

Without breaking her stride, Sam stretched out her arm and jangled the car keys.

“I told you I’d already settled the account.”

Sam spun around to face him. “Don’t they have to check the car for damages?” she asked, forcing herself to smile sweetly.

“Not if they want our business.” They glared at each other across the tarmac, but the expression on Chas Porter’s face brooked no protest.

“Fine,” said Sam. Chin up, she strolled back to the rental car, tossed the keys inside, and then paused to draw a calming breath. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, she decided silently, then that’s the way it would be. She’d pushed her luck enough for the moment.

“Now that that’s done, I suggest we stop for a bite to eat.”

“Fine,” Sam repeated. At least she wouldn’t suffer the embarrassment of a rumbling stomach in his lordship’s company.

Sam gave him a wide berth and strode up the side of the sedan, half-expecting him to open the door for her. Obviously, he was not as gallant as she’d thought. He hadn’t budged.

A deep chuckle reached Sam as soon as her hand closed around the door handle.

“Planning on driving my car as well, were you?”

Face burning, Sam snatched her hand away. Nearly two years in England, a brand new British drivers licence, and in her seething fury, she’d forgotten which side of the car she was supposed to be on.

“My apologies,” drawled Chas as she marched past his grinning face to the passenger side. “I thought you had purposely driven around the roundabout an extra time or two just to spite me…but it turns out you really don’t know where you’re going, do you?”

She’d behaved like a fool, thought Sam.

And they both knew it.

Thirty-love, Chas Porter.

By the time they arrived at the elegant inn he had chosen for lunch, Chas found himself more than a tad irritated. Not only had this new version of Miss Redfern barely spoken during the twenty minutes it had taken them to reach their destination, she had slipped out of the car the
second they got there. Without waiting for him to reach her door.
His scowl softened as he watched her approach the inn’s weathered steps and then pause as if suddenly unsure. Caught by the way the sunlight burnished her hair with flares of red and gold, Chas felt his body tense. He had to force down the enticing image of what it would feel like to wind his fingers in the soft curls and pull her into his grasp. She turned to him then, one eyebrow arched enquiringly and he felt the heat crackle between them. The soft skin at the base of her throat took on a blush that rose to her face, highlighting the creaminess of her flawless complexion and the emerald green of her eyes.

Hiding the pressing surge of awareness, Chas gestured toward the door and said gruffly, “Shall we go in?”

Sam nodded and went ahead, hesitating for a moment at the entrance when the formally clad maître d’ came forward to greet them.

The only sign she gave that this wasn’t an everyday lunch was the telltale up tilt of her chin as they were ushered past elegant arrangements of orchids to a table set with pristine linens and gleaming silverware. She smiled pleasantly and took her seat, barely moving until the waiter had poured their ice water.

Bemused and somewhat wary to find his firm’s ever-so-cool silver appraiser was as prickly as a hedgehog, Chas kept his eye on Sam as she drained the last of her water. When she’d let out a satisfied sigh, he asked. "And are you hungry as well?"

"Starving."

She exchanged her empty glass for a menu, blithely holding it in front of her face so that it shielded her from view. "You?" she asked.

"Famished," replied Chas. Miss Redfern was definitely turning into a rather unexpected personality. She had flouted his orders in every possible way short of outright rebellion and he was not entirely sure he liked it. His work required focus and held no place, personally or professionally, for a woman who zigged and zagged. He wanted the women in his personal life to sparkle with elegance and charm without ever outstaying their welcome. Professionally, he wanted his employees to act like…well, like Samantha Redfern had until the candlestick had come into her possession. Chas’ lips tightened. He had no intention of encouraging Miss Redfern’s sudden show of independence.
Yet how to explain this insane desire to take her under his wing?

"Their steak and kidney pie is excellent," he informed the top of her head. "And it comes with a salad."

"Thank you." Sam lowered her menu, snapped it shut and set it to one side, carefully aligning its spine with the edge of the linen tablecloth.

In spite of his determination to regard her as just another employee, Chas noticed that her fingers were long and tapered. She wore no rings, just a slim silver bracelet on her right arm, wristwatch on her left.

He signalled the waiter.
"Red wine?"

"I could use a drink," Sam admitted.

Chas quickly scanned the wine list.
"Bad day?"

"Umm, I'd say 'mixed', at best."

Amused, Chas quickly placed their order and then leaned back in his chair, unabashedly studying Sam as she discreetly took in the restaurant's opulent surroundings.

Had she grown up in England, her accent, her schooling and her connections, often an important part of their business, would have told him everything he needed to know about her. Perhaps he didn't know his staff as well as he thought. An oversight he was determined to rectify.
Beginning now.

"So," he said, "Miss Redfern."

Her green eyes drifted back to his. "Mr. Porter."

"Lest we sit here like a long-married couple who have lost the ability to converse, try telling me something about you I don't know."

Her left brow rose in a perfect arch. "Like what?"

"Like why you would bid way beyond your pay grade to buy one silver candlestick?"

He'd meant to be flip but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Chas realized his earlier fury was still close to the surface. He considered apologizing, but Sam cut him off.

"You, sir," she hissed across the table, "have a lot of...."

"What?" Chas shot back.
"Leverage?"

"Actually, what I was going to say was...." she stopped abruptly.

Their waiter was hovering a few feet away with their wine.

Chas waved him forward. The young man presented the bottle to Chas, then deftly removed its cork and poured a small amount in Chas’ wine glass.

Casually swirling the ruby red liquid about the bowl of his glass, Chas tried not to think about Sam glaring at him from the other side of the table. She knew he'd watched her take a shawl from her suitcase and wrap it around the candlestick. She knew he suspected it was now in that oversized bag of hers resting on the floor next to her chair. But what she didn't know was how much he was enjoying every second he spent in her company.

Raising his glass, he breathed in the wine's burgundian bouquet. It was superb. He took an appreciative sip and with a nod to the waiter, their glasses were filled.

"Is there anything we might drink to without getting into a fight?" he asked Sam as the young man withdrew.

"How about my impeccable taste in silver," suggested Sam raising her glass in mock salute.

She touched the glass to her lips and took a slow sip, letting it linger as she savoured its bouquet. "This is delicious."

"I'm glad you like it..." Chas sat quietly with his wine and waited.

And then Sam began to speak. “I saw a painting when I was a young girl…called Five O’Clock Tea. It was only a picture in a book…about women silversmiths,” she blushed slightly.
“Two young Victorian women sitting on a chintz sofa.
There’s a silver tea service arranged on the table in front of them. One wears a hat and gloves and sips from a delicate porcelain cup. She’s the visitor. They’re just friends having tea, yet it was so…captivating.”

Enchanted, Chas watched the memories play across Sam’s face. She really was beautiful, and so much more real to him than she had ever been before.

She must have sensed he was looking at her. “I guess I was hooked.”

“On silver?” asked Chas.

Sam laughed.
“Tea parties.
My grandmother was a good sport.”

Suddenly, Chas found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Their gazes caught across the table, the one waiting for the other. Then the jagged ring of a mobile phone stole the moment.