Hired for the Boss's Bedroom by Cathy Williams

she could ever physically be attracted to him, not when her head told her that it made no sense—and she was always careful to be guided by her head now.
    So why shouldn’t she enjoy talking to someone who seemed interested in her art? In fact, she even found herself showing him some of her past illustrations, ones she had done for a trilogy about a ballerina.
    ‘So you don’t just do the fairies,’ Leo murmured, impressed by what he saw, but not liking the way the evening was descending ever increasingly into friendly chit-chat. ‘Tell me something, do you make a living from this?’
    ‘Depends on what you call “a living”.’ Heather stashed her portfolio to the side of the sofa and sat back down. ‘Compared to what you probably earn, I don’t even begin to make a living, but then again I realised a long time ago that money’s way overrated.’
    ‘Yes?’ Leo’s ears pricked up. ‘Tell me about it.’ He stood up and began pacing the small room, pausing to look at pictures in frames, eventually settling on the sofa with her. Sitting on the opposite side of the room was not working for him. In a minute she would be gearing up to remind him of how tired she was before she sent him on his way.
    His frustration levels were growing by the second.
    ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Heather said casually. ‘You just have to read about all those super-rich, super-privileged people who end up in rehab all the time. I mean, have you ever thought that you might end up in rehab one day?’
    Distracted from his intention to go beyond the harmless conversation about art and culture and steer them into edgier waters, Leo raised his eyebrows, amused.
    ‘I’ll admit, that that’s one thing I’ve never worried about.’
    ‘Why not?’ Heather looked at him thoughtfully. She could feel every nerve in her body on red alert. It wasn’t a massive sofa, and, now that he had plonked himself on it, it seemed to have shrunk to the size of a pin cushion. If she stretched her foot out just a tiny bit it would make contact with his thigh, so she was making very sure to huddle into herself. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her arms were firmly clasped around them.
    ‘Why should I? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a loser. People end up in rehab when they’ve lost control of their lives.’
    ‘Or when they’re lonely, maybe. Then they take refuge in all sorts of things.’
    ‘But I’m not lonely, and the concept of taking refuge in anything is abhorrent to me. I have no time for people who waste their lives in drugs or alcohol. And how did we get onto this anyway?’
    ‘Because I said that money can buy a lot of things, but it doesn’t buy happiness.’ She looked at him and her breath caught in her throat. The sun had dipped, and the long shadows in the room accentuated the angles of his face, the beautiful, harsh set of his features. Their easy banter had lulled her into a false sense of security, she realised. She had silenced those nagging little voices at the back of her mind, but they had resurfaced with double their vigour, telling her that she could pretend to feel in control, but underneath the pretence was the reality that she was attracted to him. Staring at him like a dumbstruck teenager was just one of the things she wanted to do. The rest brought her out in a cold sweat.
    ‘I mean,’ she said, poised to redress the balance, ‘you’re rich, and yet can you honestly say that you’re completely happy?’
    Leo raked restless fingers through his dark hair and wondered how he had managed to get caught on the back foot. ‘Yes, I can, but I expect you’re going to tell me that actually I’m not.’
    ‘You can’t be completely satisfied with your relationship with Katherine and Daniel,’ Heather said flatly. She regretted her outburst the minute it left her lips, but it was too late, and she conceded that it might be the only way to fight the dawning realisation that she was attracted to the