TEMPTED BY HER BOSS (5 page)

CHAPTER THREE

G
RACE
WAS
FROZEN
. She wanted to jump up and down and let out a scream. But professionalism stopped her.

Instead, she reached out her hand to take Donovan’s. Zing. The current shot straight up her arm. She couldn’t acknowledge it. She was watching his eyes for any hint that he might have felt it too. But Donovan Reid was as cool as the proverbial cucumber.

‘Are you sure? You don’t need to do an interview or an evaluation?’

He shook his head. ‘My team. My choice. I’d only need to go to internal interviews if I didn’t have a candidate.’ He gave her a smile. ‘But I do. Do you want to be part of the team, Grace?’

Did she want to be part of the team? Did teenage girls dream of being Mrs Beiber? Did every medical student dream of meeting their own Dr McDreamy or McSteamy?

She shot him her best beaming smile. ‘I’d love to be part of the team, Donovan. What do you want me to do first?’

* * *

‘Why didn’t I open the envelope?’ groaned Anna as she flopped down on Grace’s bed.

Lara was much more pragmatic as she poured wine into three glasses. ‘Well, even if I had opened the envelope, I would never have remembered all the stuff about Marburg virus off the top of my head.’ She raised her glass, ‘So, here’s to you, Grace. The best girl won.’

Grace’s stomach gave a little flip as she reached for her glass and clinked it against her friends’. She knew they were happy for her, even though there was deep-rooted envy. It was normal in their profession. They all wanted to do their best.

Lara walked over to her wardrobe and started pulling out clothes. ‘Yes, yes, no, no, definitely no.’ Clothes were littered over the room like coloured fluttering butterflies.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘We’re helping you pack. You’re going to Florida with the best-looking guy for miles around. I want to make sure you look your best.’

She held up a bright orange bikini. ‘Oh, yes!’

‘Oh, no.’ Grace grabbed it from the bed and stuffed it in a drawer. ‘I won’t have cause to wear a bikini. It’s the last thing I’ll need.’ She looked at the other things on the bed, picking up one of her black skirts. ‘What’s wrong with this? Why did it get a no?’

Anna giggled. ‘I can tell you. It’s too old-fashioned. It doesn’t enhance your best bits.’

‘And what are they, if I have them?’

She rolled her eyes and picked up an alternative, pencil skirt. ‘Your ass!’ both girls said in unison.

Lara pulled out a couple of dresses and fitted shirts. ‘These are the same style, pencil skirts that show off your shape and fitted dresses that make us all jealous of your boobs.’

She wrinkled her nose at the bright blue dress and similar styled black and white polka-dot one. ‘Aren’t they a bit
too
fitted for work? I’m not sure that’s what I should be wearing.’

Anna shook her head and held one up. ‘What’s wrong? They cover all the bits that should be covered, they’re a perfectly respectable length and—look—no sleeves. It’s going to be hot down in Florida. You need to be comfortable.’

Lara nodded, holding up a red and then a bright pink shirt. ‘And these will look great with your black pencil skirt. You need to wear more colour, Grace. It suits you.’

‘Why do I feel as if you’re giving me a secret makeover?’

Anna and Lara exchanged knowing glances, before sitting on either side of her on the bed. Lara tapped her thigh. ‘We just don’t want you to waste a valuable opportunity.’

Anna had started lifting her hair and was looking at it as if she was imagining taking a pair of scissors to it. ‘Stop that!’ Grace batted her hand away. ‘My valuable opportunity is my chance to prove myself as a capable fieldwork team member.’ Maybe if she kept saying it loudly enough she might start believing it herself.

The thought of being stuck on a flight between Atlanta and Northwest Florida Beaches with Donovan Reid was more than a little daunting. Now the crisis was over and a new investigation was starting, she was sure he would have lost all interest in her.

Maybe rethinking her wardrobe wasn’t such a bad idea at all?

Lara tapped her shoulder and dumped a set of straighteners in her suitcase. ‘Watch out for the frizz down there, it’s very humid.’ She lifted a strand of Grace’s hair too. ‘You should maybe think about a deep conditioning treatment.’

Grace stood up, ‘What is the obsession with my hair? Is something wrong with it?’

She stood in front of the mirror looking at her reflection. She’d had long brown hair for as long as she could remember. On the odd occasion she might get some highlights or the odd hair dye job when she got it trimmed, but apart from that she usually tied it up for work. She frowned, taking a look at her ends. Maybe it was a bit straggly. Maybe it could do with a tidy up?

‘Do you think I should get it cut?’

Anna stood behind her, putting her hands around either shoulder and resting them on her shoulder bones. ‘What about a few inches? It might be easier to handle. Give it a bit more volume.’

Grace took a deep breath. She’d never had her hair that short before. She looked at the several straggly inches that hung beneath the position of Anna’s hands. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

She looked at the clock. ‘I don’t have time. I need to be at the airport in five hours. I’ll never be able to get my hair cut before then.’

Lara swung her legs off the bed. ‘Yes, you can. There’s a salon in the mall that stays open really late. I’ll call them now.’

‘But what about my packing?’

Anna shrugged. ‘I’ll do it. Take out some toiletries and some underwear. I’ll just throw in everything we’ve got on the bed, along with shoes and some casual gear for under the hazmat suit.’

She’d forgotten about that. Wearing the hazmat suits in a hot climate was going to be really uncomfortable. Thank goodness her friends could keep her right.

She looked at the clothes on the bed. Truth was, if her friends left right now, she’d probably pack a whole load of bland clothes that she wouldn’t even think about. Having their expertise was actually quite exciting after all, Donovan had commented how much he liked her green shirt...

‘Come on, slowcoach!’ yelled Lara. ‘I’ve just spoken to the salon. They can take you in twenty minutes. Let’s go.’

Grace grabbed her bag. A new haircut. A revamped wardrobe. And a chance to prove herself to her team leader. What more could a girl want?

* * *

Donovan stuffed things into his carryon bag. He hated luggage with a passion and had no intention of standing around while a conveyer belt of multicoloured suitcases filed past at two miles per hour. He only hoped the rest of team were as prepared as he was.

He folded one suit and a couple of shirts and ties. The rest of his clothes were casual. He was going to be on the ground investigating or in the local lab. He wouldn’t need a lot of professional clothes. Just as well, as his latest suit and handmade shoes had just been incinerated. He winced when he remembered how much those shoes had cost. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time—spend a little extra, shoes that were measured and moulded to fit. It had been like wearing a pair of comfortable slippers, the Italian leather had been so pliable. Too bad they were gone for ever.

He flung his shaving gear and toiletries into a wash bag and stuffed that inside his bag. His last item was his most essential. His tablet. He’d stored all the information that the DPA had on Marburg virus, along with incidences and procedures manuals. He liked to have everything he needed at the touch of a button.

He smiled. Or maybe he should just have Grace Barclay at his side. Her knowledge seemed to rival his own and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He glanced around his apartment. White, clean lines everywhere. She’d pretty much nailed the place with her description. Not that it bothered him. He wasn’t fixated on soft furnishings and curtains. He was much more interested in the glass around him. The view of open space.

As long as he had a window with a view outdoors he was fine. Put him in a room with no windows and within a few minutes he started to get antsy. It wasn’t a big deal. Because he didn’t let it be. He’d never used the elevators at the DPA. The stairs were the healthier option anyway, and there were windows in the stairwell. It didn’t matter that they were small, they were still there. And that’s what was important.

Up until now the only place in the DPA that had really made him uncomfortable was Frank’s lab. A totally enclosed environment. It needed to be. There were too many potential toxins in that lab. Any of them escaping into the natural environment would be a disaster.

He’d just about held it together today in the isolation room. There had been lots of practice drills involving the room before but he’d always had a timescale. He’d always known he’d only be in there for a few hours. Today the timescale had been indeterminable, and it had almost given him away.

At one point he’d noticed Grace’s green eyes fixed on him, watching the slight tremor in his hands with a question in her eyes. He’d ignored them. Had focused on one of the many other things that he’d had to be concerned about. It had helped. It had helped him stop visualising the walls of the elevator he’d been trapped in as a child. Six long hours in an elevator by himself. It had seemed like fun for a six-year-old to jump in the elevator and press the button, watching the doors slide closed on his horrified mother’s face. Typical mischievous little-boy behaviour. Only it hadn’t been so much fun when the lift had ground to a halt.

It hadn’t been fun at all when the alarm hadn’t sounded when he’d pressed the button and it had felt as if no one could hear him shout.

It had taken him a long time to finally hear the distant voices of adults calling to him.

Six hours, staring at four walls, was a long, lonely time for a little boy. It had felt like for ever. His imagination had run riot and left him with a permanent, and no doubt irrational, fear of being trapped again.

So windows were his friends. If he could see out of a window he was fine. Anything else he kept brief and to the point. Enclosed spaces were definitely time limited for Donovan Reid.

There was a nuzzle of something wet and soft at his feet. Casey. He bent down and picked up the little terrier, giving him a hug. ‘Hey, boy. You’re getting collected any time. You’re going to stay with Auntie Hannah for a few days.’ He was lucky. Not only did Hannah dog-walk for him, she was also able to take Casey for a few days at a time when he was on assignment. Dog-walking and dog-sitting services weren’t cheap in Atlanta, but he would have hated to leave Casey in kennels.

He’d never actively looked for a dog. A pet had been the last thing on his mind. But Casey had kind of found him. One night when he’d been out running he’d noticed Casey lying by the side of the road. He’d hesitated for a few seconds—what did he know about dogs?—but as soon as he’d looked into the big black eyes he’d been sucked in. A few hundred dollars’ worth of vet bills later he had become the proud owner of a terrier of unknown origin.

And it was an interesting partnership. Casey was more temperamental than most women he’d known. Snarky some days, loving on others, and absolutely determined to get his own way. On more than one occasion he’d grabbed hold of Donovan’s trouser leg and dragged him towards the door when he wanted to be walked.

Hannah rang the doorbell and walked in. Her immediate attention went to the dog and she dropped to her knees and started tickling Casey behind the ears. ‘Hey, boy. You’re going to come with me for a while.’ She picked up the plastic bag sitting on the counter, filled with Casey’s favourite dog food. Donovan only merited a mere wave. ‘Give me a call when you’re due back, Donovan. Casey and I will be fine,’ she clipped his lead onto his red collar and walked him out the door.

Donovan took a quick glance around the apartment, set his alarm and headed for the airport. It was a late flight and check-in wasn’t until eleven p.m. but a few members of his team were already there when he arrived, checking in their specialised equipment. He could travel light, but the equipment required by the team was a logistical nightmare.

He was going through one of the check lists when the voices around him stopped. He looked up. Dave and John were totally ignoring him, their attention focused elsewhere. Dave lifted his hand and waved. ‘Over here, Grace,’ his shout came out as something resembling a squeak, and the two other men smiled in amusement.

Donovan glanced across the concourse. And blinked. Twice. He could hear movie theme music playing in his head. What the hell?

It seemed like Grace was moving in slow motion—one shapely leg striding in front of the other—with every eye in the building on her. Her hair had been cut shorter by a few inches and a red wrap dress enhanced every curve. Her black jacket was clutched in one hand, and her suitcase dragged behind her.

Dave murmured, ‘If that’s what she looks like with her clothes
on...’

Both sets of male eyes turned to face Donovan, their question apparent.

‘Stop it, guys,’ he said brusquely. ‘Let’s keep it professional.’

He kept repeating those words in his head because not one of his thoughts about Grace right now could be described as professional.

Why had she cut inches from her hair? He’d liked watching the way it had streamed down her back, finishing at the base of her spine, in the shower. But it bounced as she walked across the concourse in her stiletto heels. It was just touching her shoulders now, the colour more vibrant and a few little curls appearing. Darn it—it was sexier than before.

As she neared, his gaze was drawn to her green eyes. Now her face wasn’t clouded by the expanse of hair, they stood out even more. Fixing on him with that deep colour.

Grace Barclay had attracted his attention before. But the Grace Barclay standing in front of him now was stunning.

Her case trundled to a stop and her face fell as she glanced at her companions. ‘Are you ready to go?’

Donovan could sense her discomfort. It was just after eleven at night and she was dressed as if she were going to a power meeting in the office. He and the rest of the guys were dressed in jeans and baseball hats. He could curse. He should have given her a heads up about what dress code was expected on field assignments. He only hoped her heavy-duty case—that looked as if it held three weeks’ worth of clothes—wasn’t filled with suits and stiletto heels. They wouldn’t be any use where they were going.