‘Sacks you?’ Tess pulled a face. ‘I haven’t read that he’s crazy.’
‘But he may not want a member of the old guard working for him, as my father calls us. Here are some documents I drew up—where we are with each campaign et cetera. Make sure he gets them, will you, Tess?’
‘Of course I will…’ But Tess still looked worried. ‘Do you have to go?’
‘I can’t risk screwing up Dad’s deal.’
‘Well, at least you don’t have to worry about the documents. I’ll see Quinn gets them.’
‘Thank you.’ Magenta turned to go. But she should have known Tess hadn’t finished with her yet.
‘And if you change your mind about the party…’
‘I only wish I could.’ The end-of-year party was important, but nowhere near as important as keeping Magenta’s team in work. The last thing she wanted was to alienate Quinn, or have him think she was trying to split the team’s loyalty. She hoped she had made a persuasive case for keeping all her colleagues on in the documents she’d given Tess. To add a little weight to that hope, she had drafted an outline for the next campaign, centred on products she knew Quinn wanted to push and which she hoped would keep his interest in the company going forward.
‘You can’t leave us,’ Tess stressed discreetly as Magenta prepared to go. ‘You’re the heart of the team.’
‘You’ll do just fine without me—and, anyway, I haven’t gone yet. Let’s see how it goes. Quinn isn’t a fool. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and he won’t be able to let any of you go.’
But Magenta started fretting before she left the room. The promise to her father counted highly with her, but it went against the grain to walk out on her friends. Her father had his money now and wanted nothing more to do with the company, whereas her colleagues were all desperate to keep their jobs. Maybe Tess was right; maybe she wouldn’t be able to stay away.
When Magenta got down to the car park it was full of recovery vehicles with red lights flashing and men in high-vis jackets.
Why was nothing ever straightforward? Magenta wondered, urging herself to remain calm as the mechanics explained to her that, as hers was a vintage car, they couldn’t repair it now but would have to order a tyre. They were going to recover the vehicle and keep it in the garage over Christmas and she could collect it some time in the New Year. No, they couldn’t be more specific than that, the mechanic in charge told her, scratching his head.
Pulling up her collar against a sudden squall of icy wind, Magenta thanked the men for turning out in such diabolical weather and insisted on giving each of them a crisp new note. Why shouldn’t someone enjoy their day?
Wrapping her arms around her body to keep warm, she watched as her car was loaded onto the transporter. She was just bending down to retrieve her bag and briefcase when a familiar roar made her jump, and a familiar boot stamping down by her feet made her scowl.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she managed as the biker lifted off his helmet. ‘You didn’t get me the first time around, so you’ve come back to finish me off with a heart attack? ‘
‘Your heart’s safe from me.’
Oh…
Was she supposed to feel quite so disappointed? Magenta’s brain raced as the biker lifted one ebony eyebrow, sending a tidal wave of hot, feral lust rushing through her veins. Removing one protective leather glove, the man stretched out his hand for her to shake.
‘You surely don’t expect me to shake your hand after you’ve frightened me half to death, not once but twice?’
He grinned. ‘You’re not that feeble, I’m sure. But my apologies, if I frightened you.’
The mock bow made her heart thunder into action. But what exactly did he find so funny?
‘Something tells me we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other,’ the biker said, closing one warm, strong hand around Magenta’s frozen fingers.
Yeah, right. In your dreams, she thought.
AS THE biker dismounted his machine and straightened up, Magenta felt her cheeks fire red. He was a lot taller than she had expected and had the type of shoulders that blotted out the light. She had to fight the desire to give him a comprehensive twice-over. She already knew he was an amazing-looking man and that tight black leathers were no respecters of female sensibilities. She dropped her gaze as a dangerous stare levelled on her face.
‘Lost your voice?’ The voice was low and amused, husky and compelling.
And leather didn’t conceal or contain, it stretched and moulded shapes lovingly…
‘Well? Have you?’ he prompted.
No, but she had been struck by one too many thunderbolts in a single day, Magenta concluded, whipping her head up to stare the man in the eyes. He curved a smile in response that threw her totally, a smile that made his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners.
‘I’m glad you think this is funny,’ she said, covering her growing feeling of awkwardness with a scowl. ‘I don’t care who you are, what you just did was dangerous.’ Now she sounded like his headmistress and felt old enough to hold the post.
That grin spread from his mouth to his eyes, making her wonder if he’d read that thought.
‘You look to me like you badly need a ride.’
Where had that thought come from?
She wished she had the guts to throw him the same grin he had given her earlier. But no, this was how she was, clumsy with men, which made her grumpy and defensive. She might be heavily into studying the sixties for the ad campaign, but it would never occur to her to embrace the concept of free love. And from what she’d seen to date nothing about love was free, Magenta reflected as the biker continued to study her with amused interest.
‘I thought I might come back and see if you still needed rescuing.’
‘Not then and not now.’
‘A man is programmed to play the white knight—it’s built into the genes.’
The only thing that was built into his jeans was a warning that she was out of her depth. ‘I can look after myself, thank you.’
‘And so you prove this by standing out here, freezing your butt off?’
Just the mention of her butt caused her body to heat. ‘I haven’t been standing outside all this time. And, anyway, I’m going home now.’
‘And how do you intend to do that?’
‘On the underground, or in a cab.’
‘You’ll be lucky.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Delays on the line; buses bulging at the seams. And there’s not a taxi to found. Not a free one, at least.’
She tried not to notice how beautiful the biker’s eyes were. They were aquamarine with steely grey rims around the iris, the whites very white and his lashes completely wasted on a man. While his tongue was firmly lodged in his cheek, Magenta suspected. ‘What are you? ‘ she demanded. ‘Some sort of information clerk for the city of London?
‘Just observant. Have