end.
How could it be when shame over what a fool she’d made of
herself possessed Sarah’s mind day and night in the ten days that followed?
When she suffered the recurrent worry that there would be a phone call from a
tabloid newspaper, asking her to comment on the story they were about to run. Sarah
Harrington embroiled in sex-for-cash scandal. Her father might be in New
York right now but Sarah didn’t kid herself he wouldn’t find out about something
so potentially damaging to the Harrington name. He’d be livid. And she would be
unable to show her face. She’d probably have to quit the company, go somewhere
quiet to lick her wounds. Dye her hair and take up needlepoint.
Actually, that didn’t sound so terrible. Needlepoint might
be relaxing. Living somewhere under an assumed name…oh, that sounded like
heaven on a day like today, when the meetings and the phone calls never came to
an end. It wasn’t labor that troubled her. Sarah had worked diligently from the
time she took her first piano lesson at the age of three, so knuckling down and
getting the job done was second nature.
But the performing, that took its toll on her.
As the key figurehead of Harry’s Nook, and as a Harrington,
Sarah had to project a certain aura, a façade of cool confidence and unruffled
capability. To prove she wasn’t in charge of the chain of wine bars that were a
subsidiary of her father’s conglomerate solely because of her relationship to
him, it was imperative she work twice as hard as anyone else. And as a woman
often required to stare across boardroom tables at an intimidating row of
dark-suited, middle-aged men, Sarah had to act three times as tough as any of
them. If the veneer slipped in any one of those areas, she was toast.
It was exhausting .
Yet the one time recently she’d let her guard down and truly
been herself, she’d done it for a man who’d lied to her. The shields were there
for a reason.
“Miss Harrington, your three o’clock is here.”
Sarah glanced up to see her secretary standing in the
doorway, carrying a cup from a local coffee shop that Sarah had discovered did
the best macchiato in the world. Heather traversed the carpeted floor and set
the cup on Sarah’s desk. “I thought you might need one of these.”
“You’re a godsend.” Sarah removed the lid and breathed in
the scent of the strong brew with relish before taking her first sip. “What
would I do without you?”
The woman of around fifty with kind blue eyes and a chic bob
of salt-and-pepper hair, smiled wryly. “I think you’d find someone else to run
out for your macchiato three times a day.”
Sarah returned her smile. “Seriously though. Aren’t you due
for a raise or something?” The woman always anticipated Sarah’s needs before
she herself guessed what they were. That had to be worth a lot more than a base
secretary’s wage.
Heather said, “You pay me very well, Miss Harrington.”
Sarah was embarrassed to realize she had no idea what salary
her employee earned. Shouldn’t she understand more about the woman who’d
bothered to learn exactly how she liked her coffee and scheduled every last one
of her appointments? Shouldn’t they at least be on a first-name basis? “Call me
Sarah, why don’t you?”
Heather’s surprise was obvious, as was her discomfiture.
“Oh, I don’t think I’d be comfortable, Miss Harrington.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Sarah was a Harrington. Harringtons
weren’t on a first-name basis with their employees, it simply wasn’t done.
Sarah’s smile froze in place. Silly to be stung that the woman didn’t want to
become friendlier with her. “Whatever you think is best. Send Mr. Cawley in.”
The secretary slipped out of the office appearing relieved
to escape. Her demeanor bugged Sarah. Was she really that fearsome? Heather had
only worked for her a short while, since Sarah had set up base camp in
Melbourne. Her previous secretary, Bonnie, hadn’t been able to leave the
How could it be when shame over what a fool she’d made of
herself possessed Sarah’s mind day and night in the ten days that followed?
When she suffered the recurrent worry that there would be a phone call from a
tabloid newspaper, asking her to comment on the story they were about to run. Sarah
Harrington embroiled in sex-for-cash scandal. Her father might be in New
York right now but Sarah didn’t kid herself he wouldn’t find out about something
so potentially damaging to the Harrington name. He’d be livid. And she would be
unable to show her face. She’d probably have to quit the company, go somewhere
quiet to lick her wounds. Dye her hair and take up needlepoint.
Actually, that didn’t sound so terrible. Needlepoint might
be relaxing. Living somewhere under an assumed name…oh, that sounded like
heaven on a day like today, when the meetings and the phone calls never came to
an end. It wasn’t labor that troubled her. Sarah had worked diligently from the
time she took her first piano lesson at the age of three, so knuckling down and
getting the job done was second nature.
But the performing, that took its toll on her.
As the key figurehead of Harry’s Nook, and as a Harrington,
Sarah had to project a certain aura, a façade of cool confidence and unruffled
capability. To prove she wasn’t in charge of the chain of wine bars that were a
subsidiary of her father’s conglomerate solely because of her relationship to
him, it was imperative she work twice as hard as anyone else. And as a woman
often required to stare across boardroom tables at an intimidating row of
dark-suited, middle-aged men, Sarah had to act three times as tough as any of
them. If the veneer slipped in any one of those areas, she was toast.
It was exhausting .
Yet the one time recently she’d let her guard down and truly
been herself, she’d done it for a man who’d lied to her. The shields were there
for a reason.
“Miss Harrington, your three o’clock is here.”
Sarah glanced up to see her secretary standing in the
doorway, carrying a cup from a local coffee shop that Sarah had discovered did
the best macchiato in the world. Heather traversed the carpeted floor and set
the cup on Sarah’s desk. “I thought you might need one of these.”
“You’re a godsend.” Sarah removed the lid and breathed in
the scent of the strong brew with relish before taking her first sip. “What
would I do without you?”
The woman of around fifty with kind blue eyes and a chic bob
of salt-and-pepper hair, smiled wryly. “I think you’d find someone else to run
out for your macchiato three times a day.”
Sarah returned her smile. “Seriously though. Aren’t you due
for a raise or something?” The woman always anticipated Sarah’s needs before
she herself guessed what they were. That had to be worth a lot more than a base
secretary’s wage.
Heather said, “You pay me very well, Miss Harrington.”
Sarah was embarrassed to realize she had no idea what salary
her employee earned. Shouldn’t she understand more about the woman who’d
bothered to learn exactly how she liked her coffee and scheduled every last one
of her appointments? Shouldn’t they at least be on a first-name basis? “Call me
Sarah, why don’t you?”
Heather’s surprise was obvious, as was her discomfiture.
“Oh, I don’t think I’d be comfortable, Miss Harrington.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Sarah was a Harrington. Harringtons
weren’t on a first-name basis with their employees, it simply wasn’t done.
Sarah’s smile froze in place. Silly to be stung that the woman didn’t want to
become friendlier with her. “Whatever you think is best. Send Mr. Cawley in.”
The secretary slipped out of the office appearing relieved
to escape. Her demeanor bugged Sarah. Was she really that fearsome? Heather had
only worked for her a short while, since Sarah had set up base camp in
Melbourne. Her previous secretary, Bonnie, hadn’t been able to leave the
Similar Books
