Accepting the Boss's Proposal - Natasha Oakley Mills & Boon Cherish

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a message:

      Roses are red, Violets are blue,

      This is a Dandelion, but it’s for you.

      Ask them to wrap it in cellophane with a big bow and deliver it to the reception desk at Tillyard’s.’

      ‘A dandelion?’

      ‘Trust me,’ he said with a wink as he headed back towards his office, ‘it works. Every time.’

      Jemima finished writing his message and thumped her pencil down on top of the pad.

      He stopped. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

      Jemima’s green eyes flashed, but she answered smoothly. ‘If the florist does, I’ll let you know.’

      ‘She won’t. She’ll just charge me the earth,’ he said, shutting the door to his office.

      What was Jemima’s problem? Anyone would think he was asking her to pick the blasted dandelion herself, instead of picking up the telephone and calling a florist he had an account with. Becks would think it a giggle. He could guarantee she’d make a first rate job of it. Keira would receive a disproportionately large cellophane-wrapped weed tied together with a classy ribbon. Perfect.

      His telephone buzzed and he picked up the receiver with a casual, ‘Miles.’

      ‘It’s an Emma Lawler. She’s says it’s personal.’ His temporary secretary’s voice was bland.

      ‘Thanks, Jemima. Put her through.’ Miles sat back in his chair and waited for Emma’s breathless voice to speak before he said, ‘Did you get my flowers?’

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘PLEASE come tonight. It’ll be fun. Alistair’s best man is going to be here—and he’s single.’

      Jemima closed her eyes against Rachel’s voice. Why did she do this? Why did everybody do this?

      ‘You’ll like him.’

      ‘I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone else,’ Jemima protested weakly, carrying the phone through to the lounge and curling up in one oversized sofa. Been there, done that and burnt the T-shirt. The man who could get under her defences was going to have to have more ability than Houdini himself.

      ‘Just because Russell is a complete arse it doesn’t mean all men are.’

      She knew that, of course she did. Not that Russell was an ‘arse’, as Rachel put it. If he had been it would have made everything so much easier. He was a nice man—who didn’t love her any more. He was very sorry about it, but…

      He just didn’t. Simple as that, apparently. He’d sat down opposite her in the kitchen one Sunday afternoon and explained that he needed time apart. Time to think about what he wanted from life. Of course, in the end he’d decided he’d rather have a blonde account executive from Chiswick called Stefanie.

      How had that happened? Had he woken up one morning and suddenly realised he felt nothing for her? Or had it been something that had come on gradually, almost without him noticing it? Jemima shook her head as though to rid herself of those thoughts. Dissecting every part of their marriage like that was the surest way of going insane. Sometimes she felt as if she was hanging by a thread anyway.

      ‘I’m not trying to pair you up, really. He’s not your type.’ Rachel’s voice seemed to radiate happiness. ‘We just thought it would be a nice way of you two meeting before the wedding. The boys are with Russell this weekend, aren’t they?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Well, then,’ Rachel said, as though that settled everything. ‘No point sitting in on your own. Alistair is cooking—so you don’t have to worry about food poisoning.’

      Jemima gave in to the inevitable. ‘Do you want me to bring anything?’

      ‘Just you. Come early. I’ve been dying to show you the Jimmy Choo sandals I’ve chosen to go with my dress. I’ve had to take out a second mortgage, but they are to die for and since I’m only going to do this once…’ She broke off. ‘Hell, I’m sorry. That was really insensitive of me.’

      The contrition in her friend’s voice brought a smile to her face. ‘Don’t be daft.’ Her finger followed the shape of the agapanthus leaf design on the sofa fabric. ‘Alistair’s lovely and I’m sure you’re going to be very happy together.’

      ‘I really should try and engage my brain before I speak. It’s just this wedding stuff is all-encompassing. I don’t seem to be able to think about anything else at the moment. It’s all dresses, bouquets, flowers, table settings…I’m really sorry. And I haven’t even asked you anything about your new job yet. What a cow I am!’

      ‘There’s not a lot to tell.’ Jemima idly twisted the navy-blue tassel at the corner of the cushion. ‘I’ve only done a couple of weeks.’

      And I hate it. I hate being away from the boys. Hate missing meeting up with my friends. Hate my life being different from the way I planned it. No point saying any of that. There was no way Rachel would understand how she felt about working at Kingsley and Bressington.

      ‘Are the girls you’re working with nice?’

      ‘Girls’ was just about the only way to describe them. Jemima thought of Saskia with her board-flat stomach, Lucinda with her exquisite and very large solitaire engagement ring, Felicity with her nails…

      ‘Everyone’s very friendly.’

      ‘But?’ Rachel prompted. ‘Go on, tell me. I can hear it in your voice. How’s it going really?’

      There was going to be no escape. ‘Everyone’s incredibly friendly,’ she said slowly. ‘Just a little young, maybe. I feel a bit like Methuselah.’

      ‘You’re only thirty,’ Rachel objected. ‘And so am I, for that matter! Nothing old about being thirty.’

      Jemima smiled. ‘Well, I reckon the average age of the female staff is about twelve. Thirteen at the outside. And I don’t think there’s a woman in the building apart from me who doesn’t have prominent hip-bones and the kind of skin that doesn’t need foundation. It’s all a bit depressing.’

      Rachel gave a cackle of laughter. ‘You should be used to that. Growing up with Verity as your sister must have been really depressing.’

      ‘You’d think so,’ Jemima agreed, ‘but honestly, Saskia makes even my sister look fat. They all sit around at lunchtime telling each other they’re completely full on a plate of lettuce and make me feel guilty for eating a cheese sandwich. At least Verity moans about being hungry.’

      ‘You’re wicked. What about the guy you’re working for?’

      ‘England’s answer to Casanova?’ Jemima said with a sudden smile. ‘He’s nice enough. Very calm in a crisis, obviously brilliant at his job and completely full of himself. Yesterday he got me to send a dandelion to this poor woman he’d met at a party the night before. Says it works every time…’

      Jemima trailed off as she watched her ex-husband’s silver BMW drive up the road.

      ‘Did it work?’

      ‘Rachel, I’m going to have to go. I’ve just seen Russell arriving. I’ll see you tonight.’

      Jemima finished the call and called out, ‘Ben. Sam. Daddy’s here.’

      She glanced across at the mantelpiece clock. He was five minutes early. He’d now sit in the car until it was exactly ten. She hated the way he did that. Why couldn’t he be like other absent fathers and gradually drift out of their lives? It would be so much easier if he simply disappeared.

      Guilt slid in—as it always did. She shouldn’t have thought that. She didn’t mean it. It was great that Russell didn’t

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