of resentful eyes on his back, found himself being bundled by the tiny figure through the door and into the connecting room.
In contrast to his colourful escort the elegant female behind the desk was clad totally in black. She looked at Quinn for a full thirty seconds before smiling—he had the distinct impression her facial muscles didn’t get a whole lot of practice with this procedure.
She rose to her feet. ‘Anna Semple.’ Instead of extending her hand as Quinn had expected, she walked around him, head on one side in a bird-like attitude—he found himself thinking ‘vulture’ at this point. ‘And who might you be?’ Anna asked, somewhat taken aback to discover that, instead of looking eager to please, this candidate was glancing at his wrist-watch.
‘Quinn Tyler.’ He couldn’t decide whether he was amused or irritated by the treatment.
‘I haven’t got a Quinn Tyler down here,’ her colourful companion revealed, consulting her list.
‘No matter.’ His interrogator frowned as though his name was tugging at her memory. ‘These don’t look like props.’ She ran a hand lightly over the sleeve of his well-worn leather jacket and gave another vulpine smile.
‘They’re not.’
‘And have you done much of this sort of work, Quinn Tyler…?’
Time to ditch the subterfuge and move on to his main objective. ‘Actually I think there’s been some sort of…’ He edged surreptitiously towards the door.
‘Who sent you?’
‘Nobody sent me.’
‘Initiative! I like that, don’t I, Sophie? But you have an agent?’ If he didn’t this opened all sorts of interesting possibilities—such as an exclusive contract. Now wouldn’t that be nice? Very nice, she decided, trying and failing to discover any flaws in the hunk. Forget the leather spread—this guy could front their ‘new season—new man’ feature that was to run for three consecutive issues, she thought excitedly.
Quinn was a patient man, but even he had his limitations. He’d seen farmers giving prospective purchases at a livestock market a more subtle survey than this female was giving him! Any minute now he was convinced she’d ask him to show her his teeth! He was almost right…
‘Take off your shirt and jacket, will you?’ Anna requested, casually retaking her seat.
Quinn’s eyes widened as it dawned on him she was deadly serious. And I thought my job called for personal sacrifices! he thought.
‘Is that all?’
The younger woman looked startled by his response, but the irony sailed right over the older female’s head.
‘Yes, that’ll be sufficient.’
Anna flicked her female companion an amused look as the big man remained immobile. ‘Not shy, are you?’ she taunted indulgently.
‘Not shy, no,’ Quinn replied honestly. Just a bit particular about who I take my clothes off for. The thought of removing his clothes focused his mind forcefully on his original objective—Rowena.
Now, if she’d asked him his response would have been quite different. With reluctance he dragged his mind clear of the various stimulating scenarios it had immediately conjured up along this theme.
He was just about to break the news that, whatever they had in mind, he wasn’t available when the door behind him opened a crack, and the sound of voices drifted in—one at least he identified instantly.
‘Have I got the go-ahead on the ‘‘Having It All’’ feature, Rowena?’ Sylvia Morrow urgently hailed her editor who, oblivious to the admiring male eyes lining the wall, was taking a short cut through to her top floor office. She’d worked hard for that office.
Rowena was a tall, beautiful young woman with typical English-rose colouring, classical features, natural ash-blonde hair and a shapely but slender body. She was not unaware of the impact her looks made on people, but she felt on balance that these attributes had been more of a hindrance than a help in her single-minded efforts to gain the right to call that office on the top floor her own.
The job of editor that went with the luxury office was still new enough to seem unreal. It was the goal she’d been working towards ever since she’d left university with a first-class honours degree, no experience, no money and boundless ambition.
Now she was there—she had it all! Funny, she’d expected success to feel quite different. The route to the top hadn’t been easy—people had said she was too young and some still were saying it—but she was proving them wrong.
The vague feeling of anticlimax was, she supposed, to be expected. Perhaps if her personal life wasn’t such a mess she could have enjoyed her moment of glory, but ironically she’d never felt more confused or unhappy in her life. And whose fault was that? Quinn Tyler’s.
She conveniently ignored the inescapable fact that she herself was at least fifty per cent to blame for her present predicament.
‘Are you all right, Rowena?’ Sylvia’s concerned glance slipped from the haunted expression on her boss’s pale face to the slim hand pressed against her enviably flat belly.
They had both been at the glitzy party of yet another new perfume launch the previous evening, the food and drink had flowed freely and Sylvia, who was congenitally incapable of refusing freebies, had woken feeling a trifle delicate that morning. It seemed unlikely Rowena had over-indulged too—self-control was Rowena’s middle name.
Rowena smiled stiffly and, trying not to draw attention to her action, removed her hand from her stomach. If she wasn’t careful, she thought worriedly, people were going to start putting two and two together.
‘I’m fine.’ She was in control now and didn’t show even by so much as a flicker of an eyelash the conflict that was raging in her head.
For someone who’d mouthed off as often as she had about how impossible it was for a woman to give her all to a job when she had a baby, this was some position to find herself in. Actually, it was some position for anyone to find themselves in! Not that she had a baby yet…She sighed, aware that she could fool others but not herself. No matter how hard she attempted to think of the new life inside her as a cluster of cells, she couldn’t. It was a person—in the primitive stages maybe, but still a little individual.
‘The ‘‘Having it All’’ feature…?’ Sylvia prompted.
Rowena pushed aside her personal problems—for the first time in her professional career the process wasn’t easy. ‘You know my opinion on that one, Sylvia.’ Rowena didn’t believe you could ‘have it all’.
Sylvia nodded. She did know; it was no secret that their dynamic new editor considered women who thought they could combine a high-powered career with marriage and a family were fooling themselves.
Something, Rowena was on the record as stating, had to suffer, and she for one was not prepared to accept compromise in any area of her life. As for nannies, why have a kid if you immediately farmed it out to someone else?
You had to hand it to Rowena, she wasn’t too bothered about being politically correct. Privately Sylvia thought Rowena’s horror of maternity and marriage might have something to do with the fact that her boss did everything so perfectly. She doubted if Rowena had ever muddled through or made do with second-best in her life—a life which appeared to be planned down to the last second. At least she wasn’t daft or unrealistic enough to imagine a woman could carry on being so totally in control like that when she had a young family.
‘Well, I have several high-flyers who don’t share your opinion and a feature that’s just begging to be written. It can’t fail,’ Sophie predicted in full sales-pitch mode. ‘A behind-the-scenes peek into the homes and offices of the rich and famous with pictures of their dogs, kids and whatever…you know, the usual humanising influences…’
The notion of voluntarily