Taken by the Boss: His Very Personal Assistant / In the Banker's Bed / The Takeover Bid. Leigh Michaels

said earlier, that Marcus wouldn’t let her get away that easily. But she’d decided that she would rather their confrontation took place on her home ground rather than in the formality of Marcus’s office.

      At least if he dismissed her here he couldn’t actually have her thrown out of the building!

      ‘I know what you told me, Marcus.’ Blow ‘Mr Maitland’, she decided heavily. ‘But I could see little point in my remaining there.’

      Waiting for him to fire her!

      ‘What’s in the box?’ she prompted as she noted the flat cardboard box he had beneath one arm.

      ‘The rest of your things,’ he stated flatly. ‘Nothing of any importance. Aren’t you going to invite me inside, Kit?’

      She sighed, her hand clinging tightly to the door. ‘Is there any point in my doing that?’

      ‘Every point.’ He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘Unless you want to have this conversation overheard by some of your neighbours?’

      She would rather not be having this conversation at all, but, as she had known when she had left the office so precipitously that Marcus wouldn’t just leave things as they were, it was a conversation she had been expecting to happen.

      Even though she was no more prepared for it now than she had been earlier!

      ‘Yes, do come in.’ She stepped back to let him pass, almost able to feel the chill he emanated as he swept past her into the sitting-room beyond.

      Kit followed more slowly. In order to put off the dreaded moment? There was little point in doing that. Reluctance to hear all the verbal abuse she was sure Marcus was going to rain down on her head? Possibly, she allowed. But mostly it was because she couldn’t bear that look of contempt in his eyes now when he looked at her.

      The cardboard box he had carried in now sat recriminatingly in the middle of the coffee table that stood in front of the sofa. Marcus looked tall and imposing as he stood in front of the unlit fireplace.

      Unable to look at the accusation in his face any longer, Kit moved to pick up the box, opening its lid, the tears welling up as she looked at its contents: the fluffy yellow toy chick that had resided on top of her computer screen, her collection of pens—including the pot she kept them in!—that had stood on top of her desk, and lastly the card that had accompanied some flowers Marcus had sent to her a couple of months ago after he had concluded a very successful business deal, claiming her hard work had contributed immensely to that success. ‘With many thanks, Marcus Maitland’, the card read—as if she knew anyone else called Marcus, anyway!

      ‘Nothing of any importance,’ he had commented about the contents of the box. And perhaps to him that card wasn’t important, just a thank you to an employee for a job well done, but Kit had kept it for secret sentimental reasons: it was something that Marcus had sent to her.

      As she looked at it now that card brought her only pain.

      The hand holding that card trembled slightly as she looked up at him. ‘Didn’t this mean anything to you?’

      ‘Catherine Grainger wasn’t involved in that particular deal. As you well know.’

      Grainger International had never been interested in the acquisition of hotels, and this particular deal had involved Marcus buying a small chain of them, very exclusive, very up-market.