Kitabı oku: «Manhattan Boss, Diamond Proposal»

When Quinn looked at her with intense, consuming heat in his vivid eyes, she let the words slip free on a husky whisper.

‘I love you.’

It was as if a dam had burst. Hiccupping sobs sounded and tears streamed while she said it more firmly. ‘You really have no idea how much I love you.’

For a moment Quinn froze, and then his gruff voice demanded, ‘Say it again.’

‘I love you.’ Somehow she managed to smile. It was weak and tremulous, but it was the best she could do. ‘I can’t breathe properly when you’re not there.’

Trish Wylie tried various careers before eventually fulfilling her dream of writing. Years spent working in the music industry, in promotions, and teaching little kids about ponies gave her plenty of opportunity to study life and the people around her. Which, in Trish’s opinion, is a pretty good study course for writing! Living in Ireland, Trish balances her time between writing and horses. If you get to spend your days doing things you love, then she thinks that’s not doing too badly. You can contact Trish at www.trishwylie.com

Praise for Trish Wylie

‘Trish Wylie’s HER ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE

has excellent characters—particularly the larger-than-life

hero. It also has charm and wit to spare.’

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Trish also writes for Modern Heat ™

‘Charming, romantic and fabulous,

HIS MISTRESS, HIS TERMS is another novel

by Ms Wylie with keeper stamped all over it.’

—Cataromance.com

Dear Reader

In the summer of 2007 I fell in love. Not with a tall, dark and handsome, but with a city. In the dying light of a summer day I looked out through the windows of an airport shuttle and there it was—New York. It took my breath away. And the further I got into the heart of the city the harder I fell.

Suddenly I understood why there are as many Irish in NYC as there are on the entire island of Ireland! If I was to choose a place to live over there then it would definitely be Brooklyn Heights. Not that I could afford it. But that’s the beauty of fiction—you can live anywhere in the world and price is no object! Another beauty is you can then add a completely gorgeous hero to the mix. And I do think this is Quinn’s story. He takes a bigger journey in this book than I did to get to New York from Ireland. The bigger they are the harder they fall, they say. But this one fought and fought and fought. Bless him.

Personally, I plan on keeping my eyes peeled on my next New York trip. Well…you never know, do you? A girl can dream…

Hs & Ks

Trish

MANHATTAN BOSS, DIAMOND PROPOSAL

BY

TRISH WYLIE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Marilyn, the kind of reader

who makes me remember why I write,

even on the days words are hard to find…

And for John—the best tour guide in New York City.

PROLOGUE

‘HE’S NOT COMING.’

‘What do you mean he’s not coming?’

Clare O’Connor turned away from the floor-length mirror, her chin lifting so she could search his eyes. Not that she knew him well enough to be able to read anything there. Tall, dark and brooding she’d named him after their first meeting. And despite the fact she’d since had glimpses of a wicked sense of humour, when he chose to use it, she still thought her initial impression was on the money.

She shook her head. ‘What do you mean he’s not coming? Did something happen to him?’

A muscle jumped in his jaw. And it was the first indication she had that he was telling the truth. She shook her head again, nervous laughter escaping her parted lips. No way. There was no way Jamie had done this to her. Not now.

‘I’m sorry, Clare.’

When one long arm lifted towards her she stepped back, the world tilting a little beneath her feet. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

Gone where? Why? What had happened? This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life! She tried to form a coherent thought rather than parroting everything she was told. Why now? Why not yesterday or the day before that or the day before that? When there’d been time to cancel everything and let everyone know. Why let her follow him all the way across the Atlantic if—?

‘He didn’t have the guts to face you.’

Clare laughed a little more manically. ‘So he sent you to tell me?’ Of all the people Jamie knew he had felt this guy was the one to send? It was almost funny. ‘No phone call? No note? Is this a joke?’

‘No joke. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.’

The determined tone to his voice made the edges of her vision go dark. When she felt herself swaying, two large hands grasped her elbows to steady her while she blinked furiously.

‘You need to sit down.’

Clare yanked her arms free, her gaze focusing on a smudge of dirt on his jacket before sliding over the dark material and noticing several other smudges along the way. But she wasn’t interested in how they’d got there, she just needed to think. She needed to—

When her chin jerked towards the door and her eyes widened with horror, his husky voice sounded above her head. ‘I’ll go.’

Dear God. All the people beyond that door, waiting for her—how was she supposed to face them? But she couldn’t let him go out there and do her dirty work for her. Not that the offer wasn’t tempting, but they were waiting for her. And some of them had flown thousands of miles—for her. So it was her responsibility to tell them…

Swallowing down a wave of nausea, she reached for his arm. ‘Wait. Just give me a second here.’

Taking several deep breaths of cool air, she tightened her fingers around his forearm, as if the part of her that was drowning naturally sought out something solid to keep her from going under.

From somewhere she found the strength to keep her voice calm. ‘Did he leave with her?’

‘Clare—’

She flexed her fingers as she looked up. ‘Did he? I want to know.’

‘How long have you known?’

Up until he’d asked that question she’d never really known for sure. But she had her answer now, didn’t she? So much for telling herself it was paranoia…

Letting go of his arm, she nodded firmly while biting down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. If the price of naïveté was the death of the starry-eyed dreamer then the job was done. And she was about to receive her punishment on a grand scale, wasn’t she?

‘I’ll tell them. It’s because of me they’re out there in the first place.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Yes, I do.’ An inward breath caught on a hint of a sob so she closed her eyes and willed it away, promising it: later. Later when no one could see. ‘Jamie might not care about them but I do. They’ll hear it from me.’

When she opened her eyes and glanced up, she saw what looked like respect in his eyes. And for some unfathomable reason she felt laughter bubbling up in her chest again—hysteria, probably. Possibly a hint of irony that it took something so completely degrading to earn respect from the man who had never approved of her in the first place.

When she lifted the front of her long skirt in both hands, he stepped back and opened the door for her, towering over her as she took a deep breath and hovered in the gap.

‘I’m here if you need me.’

She smiled at him through shimmering eyes and then stepped forwards, her gaze focused on the flower-decked arch at the top of the room instead of the sea of faces turning her way.

It was the most humiliating day of her life.

‘I’m afraid there won’t be a wedding today…’

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’LL CALL YOU.’

‘Do.’

Quinn opened his office door and looked up from the file he’d been reading, not entirely sure if it was the tail-end of the conversation or the sight of his personal assistant being hugged so tightly by some guy he’d never set eyes on before that brought a frown to his face. He should be aware of everything that happened in his own offices after all, shouldn’t he? And he had the distinct niggling feeling he was being left out of the loop somehow—something he never, ever let happen.

Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, he watched with narrowed eyes until the stranger cut her loose.

‘New boyfriend?’

The familiar lustrous sparkle of emerald eyes locked with his as the main door closed behind her mystery man. ‘And when exactly do I have time for a boyfriend?’

‘You know what they say about all work and no play.’

With a shake of her head, Clare bent to retrieve a sheet of paper off her desk. So Quinn allowed his gaze to make a cursory slide over her tailored cream blouse and simple linen trousers, watching the subtle grace of her movement. If he’d been a romantic of any kind he’d have said Clare moved like a ballerina. She certainly had a ballerina’s body: fine-boned and slender—a few more curves maybe, not that she ever dressed to flaunt them or that Quinn had ever looked closely enough to confirm their presence.

But since Quinn Cassidy had graduated with honours from the school of hard knocks he was somewhat lacking in anything remotely resembling romance. So if forced to use a word to describe the way she moved it would quite simply be feminine.

One of the things he’d liked right from the start was the fact she never felt the need to do anything to bring that femininity to a man’s attention. It was also one of the many reasons she’d survived so long working as his PA. The one before her had barely had time to take off her jacket before she’d started leaning her cleavage towards him. It had been like sharing an office with a barracuda.

He shuddered inwardly at the memory.

‘Speaking of work—’ she calmly handed him a sheet of paper when he nudged off the doorjamb and took a step forwards ‘—here’s a list of all the places you have to be today and when. Try and make a few of the appointments on time if you can—for a wee change.’

When she accompanied the words with a sideways tilt of her head and a small smirk that crinkled the bridge of her nose, Quinn couldn’t help smiling, even though technically he was being told off. In fairness he didn’t think his timekeeping had ever been bad, but in the year since Clare had come to work for him she’d been determined he should be at everything at least ten minutes early. He reckoned, however, that if he was early for every single meeting, and had to twiddle his thumbs while he waited for people to turn up, it would add up to a whole heap of wasted time in the long term.

So he rebelled regularly on principle.

He glanced over the neatly typed list before lifting his chin in time to watch Clare perch on the edge of her desk, a thoughtful expression on her face while she swung her feet back and forth. So he waited…

Eventually she spoke in the softly lilting Irish accent she hadn’t lost since she’d come to New York. ‘On the subject of play—it’s been a while since I had to make a trip to Tiffany’s…’

Quinn cocked a brow. ‘And?’

She shrugged one shoulder. ‘I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t falling behind. Up till recently I’d been considering keeping a stock of those wee blue boxes here to save me some time.’

He watched as out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of an errant pen lying on the edge of the desk, giving it a brief frown before she dropped it into a nearby container with a satisfied smile. It never ceased to amaze him, the amount of pleasure she derived from the simplest of things.

‘You’re just missing your trips to Tiffany’s.’ He shook his head and looked her straight in the eye. ‘I can’t run all over Manhattan breaking hearts just so you can while away a few more hours down at your favourite store, now, can I?’

‘Never stopped you before.’ She thrust out her bottom lip and batted long lashes at him comically.

True. But he wasn’t about to get drawn into another debate about his love life when he was suddenly much more interested in hers. ‘So who was the Wall Street type?’

‘Why?’

‘Maybe I need to ask him what his intentions are towards my favourite employee…’

‘So you get to vet all my boyfriends now, do you?’

Quinn folded his arms across his chest, allowing the corner of the sheet of paper to swing casually between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You said he wasn’t your boyfriend.’

Another shrug. ‘He’s not.’

She lifted her delicate chin and rose off the desk to walk round to her swivel chair, swinging forwards before informing him ‘He’s a client.’

Quinn knew what she was getting at, even if it apparently meant her part-time hobby had morphed into something bigger when he wasn’t looking. ‘This matchmaking game of yours is a business now, is it?’

‘Maybe.’ She drummed her neat fingernails on the sheaf of papers in front of her. ‘Problem?’

Two could play at that game—she should know that by now—and her poker face wasn’t worth squat, so Quinn continued looking her straight in the eye. ‘Maybe.’

‘Because it’s during working hours or because you still think the whole thing is a great big joke? I’m not falling behind with my work, am I?’

The thought had never crossed his mind. Thanks to Clare, his working life ran like a well-oiled machine. Not that he hadn’t managed to get things done before, but with her around everything was definitely less stressful than it had been before. There’d once been a time when he’d thrived on the adrenaline of being under pressure, but he’d outgrown those days. And, frankly, the matchmaking thing was starting to grate on him.

‘I’d have thought you of all people would understand the danger of matching starry-eyed people with someone who might break their heart.’

It was a sucker punch, considering her history. But he knew Clare pretty well. If dozens of people came back to cry on her shoulder in a few months’ time she’d feel responsible, and she’d silently tear herself up about it. She was digging her own grave. Quinn simply felt it was his responsibility to take the shovel out of her hand.

‘C’mon, if they’re so desperate they can’t find a date without your help, then—’

Disbelief formed in her eyes. ‘Is it so very difficult for you to believe that some people might simply be sick to death of trawling the usual singles scene? Not everyone has the—’ she made speech marks with crooked fingers ‘—success you have with women…’

Quinn ignored the jibe. ‘I s’pose that means I should expect to find long lines of Ugly Bettys and guys who still live with their mothers arriving in here every five minutes from here on in?’

If she thought for a single second he was going to be happy about that she could think again. He hadn’t batted an eyelid when she’d matched up friends of mutual friends outside of work, but the line had to be drawn somewhere. And he was about to tell her as much when she pushed the chair back from her desk and walked to the filing cabinets.

‘Don’t worry, Quinn. If word keeps spreading as fast as it has these last few months, then pretty soon I’ll be making enough money to be able to afford my own office. And then it won’t be your problem any more, will it?’

‘You’re quitting on me now?’

The thought of the endurance test involved with breaking in another PA made him frown harder. Prior to Clare he’d gone through six in almost as many months.

‘If you needed a raise all you had to do was say so…’

Clare continued searching the drawer. ‘It’s got nothing to do with getting a raise. It’s a chance to build something on my own. And if I can help make a few people happy along the way, then all the better.’

Okay, so he could understand her feeling the need to stand on her own two feet. That part he got. But he’d been pretty sure the arrangement they had had been working for both of them. Why rock the boat?

Stepping over to the desk, he turned on his heel and sat down on the exact same spot Clare had, schooling his features and deliberately keeping his voice nonchalant.

‘You’ve obviously been thinking about this for a while. So how come I’m only hearing about it now?’

‘Maybe because you’ve never asked…’

‘I’m asking now.’

It couldn’t possibly be taking so long to find whatever it was she was looking for. Not with her hyperefficient filing system. Half the time he only had to think about information he needed and the next thing he knew, it was in front of him. She was avoiding looking at him, wasn’t she?

‘O’Connor—’

‘You know, if you’d bothered reading the schedule I just gave you you’d see you have a meeting in less than twenty minutes…’

Nice try. Setting the schedule down, Quinn pushed upright and took the two strides necessary to bring him close enough to place his hands on her slight shoulders, firmly turning her to face him. When her long lashes lifted, her eyes searching each of his in turn, he did the same back before smiling lazily.

‘Working for me proved too tough in the end, did it? If you recall, I warned you at the start I was no walk in the park.’

Clare’s full mouth quirked at the edges—they both knew she dealt with him just fine, even on the days every other person on the planet would have avoided him.

‘Well, I won’t say there aren’t days I have to bite my tongue pretty hard. But it’s got nothing to do with the work—it’s something I need to do for me. If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.’ Her smile grew. ‘That’s how the song goes, right?’

Quinn fought off another frown. ‘So how much notice are you giving me?’

‘Oh, I’m not handing in my notice just yet.’

But it was coming, wasn’t it? She was serious. And her job had long since exceeded the usual remit of personal assistant. She was his girl Friday—co-ordinating the Clubs, making sure staffing levels were sufficient, putting together promotions, booking live acts, filling in when someone was sick even if it meant working for fifteen hours straight…

Everyone who worked for him had even taken to calling her ‘Friday’, and she always smiled when they did, so Quinn had assumed she was happy in the role she’d taken on. The thought that she wasn’t happy irritated him no end. He should have known if she wasn’t.

And how exactly was he supposed to list all she did for him in a Help Wanted ad if she did quit?

Realising his hands had slid downwards, his thumbs smoothing up and down on her upper arms while he thought, Quinn released her and stepped back. ‘You’d miss all the craziness here, you know.’

Her voice softened. ‘I will. I’ve loved it here.’

Despite the fact she’d just allayed one fear, it was the fact she hadn’t used ‘I would’ or ‘I might’ but ‘I will’, that got to him most.

But he hid behind humour. ‘I’d better think about making a trip to Tiffany’s on my own to get one of those blue boxes for you, then, hadn’t I?’

The smile lit up her face, making the room immediately brighter than it already was, with the summer sun filtering in between the Manhattan high-rises to stream through the large windows lining one wall.

‘You should probably know I have a wish list…’

‘And I’ll just bet there’s a diamond or two on it.’

She nodded firmly. ‘Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, they say. But don’t go overboard.’ She patted his upper arm. ‘I haven’t had to suffer my way through the usual broken heart required to get a blue box from you.’

Files in hand, she walked back to her desk, silently dismissing him even before she lifted an arm to check her wristwatch. ‘Twelve minutes now—and counting.’

He stepped over to retrieve the schedule, and his gaze fell on the bright daisies she had in a vase on her desk. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, they were everywhere she spent any time—the simple flowers almost a reflection of her bright personality. Anywhere he saw daisies they reminded him of Clare.

When he didn’t move she looked up at him with an amused smile. ‘What now?’

‘I can’t stand in my own reception area for five minutes if I feel like it?’

‘No—you can’t. I have work to do. And my boss will give me hell if it isn’t done.’

Another frown appeared on his face while he went into his office to retrieve the jacket he’d left lying over a chair, remaining in place until he stopped at the glass doors etched with his company’s name.

‘We’re still going to Giovanni’s later, right?’

Clare’s head lifted and there was a brief moment of hesitation while she studied his face, confusion crossing her luminous eyes.

‘Of course we are. Why?’

‘Want me to come back for you?’

‘No-o. I think I can manage to make it back to Brooklyn on my own—always have before.’ She dropped her head towards one shoulder, still examining his face. ‘Did you get out of some poor woman’s bed on the wrong side this morning? You’re being weird.’

‘That’s what I get for trying to be thoughtful? No wonder I don’t do it that often…’

Clare lifted her arms and tapped the face of her watch with her forefinger, silently mouthing the words, Ten minutes…

‘You see, now—that I won’t miss when you’re gone.’

She smiled a smile that lifted the frown off his face. ‘I’m not leaving the country, Quinn. You’ll still see me. And we’ll always have Giovanni’s on a Wednesday night—it’s set in stone now.’

When he stayed in the open doorway for another thirty seconds she laughed softly, the shake of her head dislodging a strand of bright auburn hair from the loose knot tied at the nape of her neck. ‘Would you go away? I have just as much to do as you do. And I’ll have even more to do if I have to answer phone calls all day from people wondering why you’re late—which you already are cos there’s no way you’re making it to that meeting in eight minutes.’

‘Wanna bet?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Five bucks says you don’t.’

‘Aw, c’mon—it’s hardly worth my while stepping through this door for five measly bucks.’

‘If you don’t step through that door it’ll cost you that much in cab fare to the nearest hospital.’

He fought off a chuckle of laughter at the empty threat. ‘Loser picks up the tab for dinner.’

‘You’re on. Now, go away. Shoo.’ She waved the back of her hand at him.

Reaching for his cellphone as he headed for the elevators, Quinn realized he’d miss their daily wagers. He liked things the way they were. Why did he have to have his life knocked off balance again? Hadn’t he spent half of it on an uneven enough keel already? And it wasn’t that he didn’t understand her need to build something, but the dumb matchmaking thing wasn’t the way to go. Not for Clare. Not in his opinion.

‘Mitch—Quinn Cassidy—I’m on a tight schedule today, can you meet me halfway?’

See—sometimes in order to win a bet a guy had to bend the rules a little—play dirty if necessary. Occasionally he even had to get creative. And Quinn liked to think he was a fairly creative kind of guy when the need arose. Plenty of women had benefited from that creativity and none of them had ever complained…

He’d find a way to make Clare see sense about the matchmaking—he just needed the right opening, and it was for her own good after all. She’d thank him in the long run.

What were friends for?