The Boss's Proposal by Cathy Williams

around.
    â€˜Familiar with this program?’
    Vicky nodded.
    â€˜Good, then you’ll have no problem finding your way around. You’ll have to go through those files and update the computer, and there are one or two problems on a couple of them—discrepancies with the fees, order problems. I’m afraid you’re being thrown in at the deep end but you’ll have to find your way around the best you can, because the position requires a fair amount of initiative and responsibility. Tell me about your job with James?’
    He strolled over to the coffee machine, and while he waited for it to kick into action he turned to face her with his arms folded.
    Vicky groped her way for an adequate and truthful account of what she had done as far as work went without implying socialising of any nature. In fact, she had socialised a fair amount with James and his wife Carol, and had even babysat for them on a few occasions. ‘I started off as his secretary, but I’m a pretty quick learner and, quite soon, I was being given a fair amount of responsibility. Looking after some of the smaller, more problematic customers, liaising with the service people as well as doing the usual administrative and typing stuff.’
    â€˜So you should have no problem coming to grips with all this…’ He nodded vaguely at the files. ‘I knew it. Itook one look at you and knew that you’d be able to do the job with your eyes closed.’
    â€˜I haven’t even started, as yet,’ Vicky informed him warily. Heaping praise on her before she even got going was not so good, considering her long-range plan to quit the job as soon as was possible, without arousing needless suspicion.
    â€˜I think the first thing we need to sort out is my diary for the next month…’ He went into his office and returned several seconds later with an electronic diary and a conventional leatherbound one, which he handed to her. ‘Right. Now, let’s start with tomorrow…’ He pulled across one of the spare chairs from in front of the desk and strategically positioned it next to her so that, while he was no longer towering over her, he was now so close to her that with the flick of his pen on the keypad, his forearm casually but insistently brushed hers. She kept flicking side-long, uncomfortable glances at the fine dark hairs sprinkling his powerful arms. He seemed so much more real than his twin, so much more substantial .
    He began listing, very rapidly, his plans for the day, which she checked against the entries in the black diary. Some of the handwriting was poor enough to require several long seconds of tortuous interpretation and, after one particularly puzzling entry, she glanced up to find him looking at her.
    â€˜I’m beginning to understand what you meant by problems with temps,’ she said with the ghost of a smile. ‘If the filing system bears any resemblance to the handwriting in here, then I shall have several hours sorting out some basic stuff before I can even start to do my job.’
    â€˜Didn’t I tell you?’ Up close, as he was, he noticed that her skin was as flawlessly smooth as it appeared to be from a distance, and her hair, severely tied back, still managedto break free around her ears so that the tiny tendrils gave her the look of a saint whose halo had slipped to one side. Feeling his arm brush against hers, a passing touch that he could have avoided but chose not to, filled him with an almost sinful sense of excitement. He’d never known how powerful female modesty could be. Here she was, dressed in three times as much clothing as the woman he had last dated—Lord, three months ago—and yet the effect of all those clothes on him was positively suffocating. She had removed her jacket, but her blouse was buttoned up prudishly to the neck with small pearl buttons of the type worn by grannies. He could indistinctly make out the outline of her bra