Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Boss?. Nina Harrington

clenched his fingers tight around the elaborate key set that Freya had passed him and braced his jaw as he turned the three keys, one after the other.

      His feet hesitated for just a fraction of a second before he brushed the fear away.

      Time to find out just how bad things had become. Because, for better or worse, he was in charge of Elstrom Mapping now and things were going to have to change. And fast.

      * * *

      Two hours later, Toni stepped down from the red London bus and darted under the shelter of the nearest shop doorway. The February rain had swept in and was pounding on the fabric awning above her head and bouncing off the pavement of the narrow street in this smart part of the city.

      Her gaze skipped between the pedestrians scurrying for cover until it settled on the elegant three-storey stone building across the street.

      What was she doing here? She was a commercial photographer and wannabe studio business owner.

      Toni closed her eyes and wallowed in ten seconds of self-pity and shame before shaking herself out of it. This had been her decision. Nobody had forced her to take Freya Elstrom’s offer when she’d called. But Freya had kept going on about how important it was to her father that a Baldoni had to paint the last of the Elstroms. It meant a lot to him and he was willing to pay her a special bonus if she could drop everything and work on the portrait in the next few months.

      Now she knew the reason for the sudden urge to have his portrait painted was nothing to do with artistic appreciation and a lot more to do with the fact that the poor man was ill.

      The last of the Elstrom family. A shiver ran across Toni’s shoulders. She didn’t like the sound of that.

      Like it or not, she and Amy were the last of the Baldoni dynasty. Her father had been an only child and the only male cousins were far more interested in IT than fine arts.

      Perhaps she had more in common with Scott Elstrom than she was prepared to admit?

      Now all she had to do was convince him that the best thing for the business was to have his portrait painted. She couldn’t return the fee. The money had already been spent on Amy’s round-the-world plane ticket. And she needed the rest of the fee to help her through university.

      So Scott had better get used to the idea.

      Being immortalised in oil and acrylics was quite painless really.

      Oh, yes. A man who chose to work in Alaska in the middle of winter was really going to go for that idea.

      Now that did give her the shivers. That and the rivulet of rain water spilling out from the awning.

      She was doomed!

      Toni dropped her shoulders and shoved her free hand into the pocket of the practical but not very elegant all-weather coat she used for outdoor photo shoots.

      The things she did for her sister!

      Two weeks. She had two weeks’ holiday to sketch the portrait and work in at least two full sittings before heading back to work. She could finish the portrait at home over the next few weekends and collect the rest of her fee. With a bit of luck, there might be a little left over from paying Amy’s university fees to squeeze in a quick holiday somewhere warm and sunny.

      Now that—she shivered in the icy wind—would be nice.

      Exhaling slowly, Toni glanced from side to side to find a gap in the stream of people who had their heads down, their umbrellas braced forward against the driving sleet and rain and oblivious to anyone who might walk in their way.

      Seizing on a momentary lull, Toni dashed out onto the road in the stationary rush hour traffic. She had almost made it when she had to dive sideways to dodge a bicycle courier and planted her right foot into a deep puddle. Dirty cold water splashed up into her smart high heeled ankle boots and trickled down inside, making her gasp with shock.

      Hissing under her breath, Toni stepped up onto the kerb and inside the porch.

      A brass plaque set into the old stone read: ‘Elstrom and Sons. Map-makers’ in the most stunning cursive script.

      Blowing out hard, Toni rolled back her shoulders and tried to think positive thoughts. A flutter of nervous apprehension winged across her stomach.

      This was so ridiculous.

      She was here to paint Scott’s portrait. That was all. The small fact that he did not actually want his portrait painting was not important.

      Much. She peered through the tiny squares of thick old glass set into the door but couldn’t see a thing—no lights or movement.

      She ran her hands down the front of her raincoat and lifted her chin, stretched her hand out and rang the doorbell.

      Instantly a low buzzing sound came from the door and a green light flashed.

      Oh. Right. Security door. Well, that made sense.

      She turned the handle, pushed the door a little and stepped inside.

      Water dripping from every part of her, Toni shook the rain from her hair and instantly inhaled the glorious deep, rich aroma of antique wood, polished leather and that certain delicious muskiness that came from old manuscripts and bound books.

      Laughing and half choking in the slightly dusty air, a sudden smile caught her unexpectedly.

      Strange, Toni thought. That smell. It was so distinctive. She inhaled deeply and instantly recognized it. Of course. Her mother used to have a tin of beeswax and linseed oil mixed with lavender under the sink and brought it out whenever she dusted her father’s studio, which wasn’t often, considering how rarely any flat surface remained uncluttered with paperwork and art exhibition catalogues and letters and, occasionally, bills.