Gray Quinn's Baby by Susan Stephens Page A

‘There are a couple of things I’d like to suggest for the good of the company—and I only mention them as your office manager and secretary to save you unnecessary aggravation in the future.’
    â€˜Spit it out.’
    â€˜Take smoking.’ Quinn was an overwhelming presence in the room—a fact her body refused to ignore however she felt about it. Determinedly, she pressed on. ‘Nancy mentioned you have people working here who suffer from asthma, heart conditions.’
    â€˜And you think I should get rid of them?’
    â€˜No!’ Magenta exclaimed, wondering how two people could be so far apart in their thinking. ‘I want you to ban smoking in the office.’
    Quinn laughed as if she had said the funniest thing that year. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you handle that.’
    â€˜Okay, I will. It’s either that or I’ll have to open all the windows wide—and I don’t think you would want the girls’ work-rate to drop if their fingers seized up with cold. Didn’t you say there would be a lot of work coming down the line for them?’
    Quinn’s face creased in a deceptively attractive smile, but his eyes were dangerous. ‘Nicely done, Magenta, though I must admit I prefer my secretaries decorative rather than combative.’
    A shiver of worry crept down Magenta’s spine when Quinn added brusquely, ‘Are we finished here?’
    â€˜Yes. Yes, of course we are.’
    â€˜You’re sure I’ve heard all your complaints?’
    So now he had her down as a moaner. Great. ‘I’ll get started on those notes for you, shall I?’ she said brightly.
    â€˜You do that,’ Quinn said, turning back to his work. ‘Oh, and don’t forget to take the coffee tray with you when you go.’ He didn’t even bother to look up from the document he was studying.
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    â€˜I hope this is satisfactory?’ Magenta asked Quinn later that day, handing him the typewritten notes she had prepared. It was a long time since she had typed anything without the option of making corrections on a computer.
    â€˜Don’t deviate from this standard.’ He handed the document back again.
    Could she survive this level of praise? She had only spent most of her lunch hour mastering the art of using a cranky typewriter with a ribbon that came off and keys that stuck. From what she’d seen, all the office hardware needed athorough overhaul. This might be the sixties, but surely they didn’t have to use faulty equipment? She put her concerns to Quinn.
    â€˜You’ve just put yourself in charge of repairs and renovations. I hope you can handle that on top of your other new duties?’
    She would have to. But she was so eager to get stuck in, she was taking on more and more, when what she really wanted to do was form a team. To call together and convince those girls in the typing pool that they could do a lot more than type up lists and letters for the men.
    â€˜Dinner tonight?’
    She stared at Quinn. ‘Would you like me to book a dinner reservation for you?’
    â€˜I’m prepared to make a few allowances until you get up to speed, Magenta, but if you don’t start paying attention when I speak to you my patience will very quickly run out.’
    Quinn’s patience ? Had she missed something?
    â€˜I believe I just asked you if you would care to join me for dinner tonight.’
    Her heart raced. Her mind said no. But how could she refuse him without causing offence?
    How could she accept Quinn’s invitation to dinner without compromising her position? Since falling down this rabbit hole he had shown her no warmth at all—though he had shown the occasional flicker of another type of interest; if her heart would stop hammering long enough for her to say anything remotely intelligent, she must find a way to refuse him. ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, but