Hired by Mr. Right
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He stood quickly and made for the door. ‘Bye, Mum. I have a meeting scheduled.’
Liz smiled knowingly. ‘Run all you like, Son, but you can’t hide from love for ever.’
Dylan refrained from answering. The day he fell in love would be the day he surrendered his sanity and he had no intention of doing that. He had too much to do yet to fulfil his dad’s wishes, the one driving force that kept him going these days.
Him, in love? No way.
CHAPTER TWO
SAM paced the study while waiting for Dylan. She couldn’t believe the way she’d reacted to him—stupid, stupid, stupid! She’d known what she was letting herself in for when she had applied for this job. After all, she’d heard about Dylan’s charms firsthand from Ebony, whose family had known the Harmons for ever. Ebony had extolled high-and-mighty Dylan’s virtues for a full hour before Sam had covered her ears and yelled ‘la-la-la’. If she’d heard one more word about the rich, handsome, responsible, caring man soon to be her boss, she would’ve thrown up.
So, she’d steeled herself for the challenge at hand, knowing that Dylan’s looks would have little effect if she set her mind to doing a good job to prove a point to her snobby family. She’d focused all her energy on taking a crash course on butler etiquette, Ebony-style. Thankfully, her best friend had come through for her in every way, going as far as giving her a fake reference when Liz Harmon had called after the gruelling interview she’d endured.
Now that she was here at the Harmon mansion in the posh Melbourne suburb of Toorak, she should be ecstatic. If she could last the distance in this job it would prove to her family once and for all that she could eke out an existence for herself, without their prehistoric expectations for her to marry and produce heirs to continue the royal line. Not that her title meant anything here in Australia; in fact, most of her Russian ancestors had reneged on their royal heritage a century ago, but not her family. They were hell-bent on resurrecting the past and restoring glory to the Popov name. Strangely, many historians here were interested in the Popovs too, which was why she’d had the sense to change her surname when applying for this job.
‘So much for obeying orders.’
Sam jumped as Dylan’s voice interrupted her musings and she whirled to face him. ‘I’m here on time, I’ve kept out of your bedroom and breakfast is waiting.’ She gestured to the sideboard. ‘What else did you want?’
He strode across the room and helped himself to a piece of toast and a cup of coffee before sitting behind a large mahogany desk. ‘I thought I told you to lose that uniform.’
She frowned, as memories of their intense exchange in his bedroom flooded back. ‘I don’t think we agreed on that.’
‘You’re right. We didn’t get to finish that conversation, did we?’ He stared at her over the rim of his cup and she could have sworn she read desire in his eyes.
Great. Despite her mental pep talk a few minutes earlier she still harboured ridiculous fantasies where her spunky boss was concerned. He could have any woman in the world and she thought she’d captured his interest in half an hour? Yeah, right.
‘I thought all your staff wore uniforms.’ She tried her best to look demure, clasping her hands behind her back. How she’d last more than a week in this subservient act, she’d never know. For some strange reason this man brought out the worst in her. She felt compelled to trade quips with him, to ruffle his oh-so-suave feathers, to get the better of him in any exchange.
He placed his cup on the desk and rested steepled fingers on his chest. ‘Not my personal assistant.’
‘I’m your butler, not your PA.’ Somehow, the title of PA conjured all sorts of vivid images of how personal she could get with the delectable Dylan.
‘You’ve just been promoted. If you’re up to it, that is.’
He’d done it again, known exactly how to push her buttons. As if she would ever back down from any challenge he threw at her.
‘So you’re that impressed with me, huh?’
He shook his head. ‘No need to fish for compliments, Samantha. I’ve read your r'esum'e and I’m intrigued. Why would a woman with a degree in economics want to work as a butler? And, even better, work for a man with a reputation for being a hard taskmaster?’
She squared her shoulders and hoped that the little white lies she had to tell to keep this job wouldn’t show on her face. ‘I enjoy a challenge. Working for someone with your vast experience in the business world will be a bonus, if and when I decide to enter that field.’ She hoped her answer would satisfy his curiosity—when in doubt, flatter.
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You’re not some kind of spy, are you?’
Sam sighed. ‘Your mother checked out my credentials and I’m sure you’ve discussed my appointment with her by now. What do you think?’
‘I think that if you’re half as good as your r'esum'e says you are, you’d be perfect as my PA. So, what do you say?’
Okay, she wasn’t completely stupid. Being Dylan’s personal assistant would be a heck of a lot more interesting than bowing and scraping to him and a lot less damaging. After all, she had a lot less chance of seeing him almost naked as his PA than as his butler. ‘I accept. Thanks for the opportunity.’
He nodded his approval. ‘Good. Now that’s settled, let’s get started. I need to dictate some letters that need to be sent ASAP. While I do that, you can sort through this pile of invoices. In monthly and alphabetical order please, with the most urgent bills to be paid uppermost.’
She took the pile and seated herself opposite him, thankful for the huge desk. No chance of accidental contact across a great divide of mahogany, though there’d been nothing accidental about the way he’d caressed her cheek earlier that morning. Though she tried to concentrate on the task at hand, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek as he spoke into a Dictaphone, his low tones soothing her. He’d dressed in the outfit she’d predicted earlier, though it looked a heck of a lot better on the man than on a hanger.
Visions of their morning interlude drifted into her mind and, before she knew it, she’d mentally undressed him down to the skimpy towel he’d worn as he’d strolled into his bedroom looking a million dollars. How she’d managed to maintain composure, she’d never know. At least those boring drama classes at high school had been good for something. Old Mrs Lincoln would have been proud of her You don’t affect me one bit performance she’d given Dylan that morning.
At that moment, the man in question hit the ‘stop’ button and looked up.