LITMIR.BIZ

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Inky, brilliant and unforgettable.

      But the eyes were obscured by a frown. ‘I said, are you doing anything on Saturday?’

      Well, he wasn’t asking her for a date, that was for sure. But Ursula allowed herself the brief and guilty fantasy that he was before she said, ‘Well, no, I’m not, as it happens. Why?’

      ‘We’re having a party.’

      ‘You’re having a party?’ she repeated carefully.

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Where do people usually hold parties? At home, of course.’

      ‘Oh. I see.’ But she didn’t. Ross and his wife had held parties before and never bothered sending her an invitation. So why the sudden change in behaviour?

      ‘And I wondered whether you’d like to come along?’

      Ursula continued to gaze at Ross, as if seeking clues for the invitation in a face which was much too interesting to be described as merely handsome. But it came pretty close...

      ‘Me?’ she squeaked, realising as she said it that she sounded like some latter-day Cinderella!

      ‘Yes, you,’ he agreed, frowning even more. ‘For pity’s sake, Ursula—I’ve never seen you so lost for words before! What do you think’s going to happen? I’m not planning to cosh you over the head and sell you off to the highest bidder!’

      Interesting fantasy, decided Ursula.

      He leaned back in his chair. ‘Have I shocked you so much by asking you?’

      ‘Not shocked,’ she corrected primly. ‘I think it would take a little more than that to shock me, Ross! Bemused might be a better description. I mean, in all the years I’ve worked with you—’

      ‘Please don’t remind me how many!’

      ‘I won’t.’ Years which had just blurred and flown. The reality of just how many should have disturbed Ursula far more than it seemed to disturb Ross—but then she never let herself stop to think about it. Because then she might start thinking she was in a rut and that it was time for a change.

      And she didn’t want to change. For who in their right mind would ever change the perfect job and the perfect boss?

      ‘Ever since I first entered the mad, mixed-up world of advertising...’ she smiled ‘...and you plucked me from the obscurity of the general office to become your personal assistant—’

      ‘And?’ he cut in impatiently, as he was in the habit of doing if he thought something was irrelevant. ‘What’s that got to do with me asking you to a party?’

      ‘Well, you’ve never invited me to anything at your house before.’

      ‘That’s because you once told me quite emphatically that you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure!’

      Ursula thought about this for a moment. ‘That’s true,’ she admitted. Well, true that she had said it, not that she had meant it, of course. Not deep down. It had been a survival technique to protect herself from the buckets of charm her boss possessed. She could have quite happily spent every evening in Ross’s company if the truth were known. Every lunchtime. Every breakfast. Every waking hour if she was being embarrassingly and brutally honest, and only one thing stopped her.

      He was married.

      And even if he wasn’t married—even if he wasn’t—there was no way he would look twice at her. Men like Ross Sheridan were never attracted to women with unfashionably curved bodies of softly cushioned hips, and breasts which looked like overripe melons. They liked their women slim. No. Skinny. With plenty of bones showing, like sleek racehorses. Classy women.

      Like Jane. Ross’s wife.

      Jane, who was tall and creative and possessed the kind of qualities which readers of teenage magazines were always aspiring to. Jane who could throw on a tatty old dress bought from the thrift shop and look like a million dollars in it.

      Swallowing down whatever stupid emotion it was which had caused her throat to constrict, Ursula stared at her boss. ‘So what’s it in aid of—this party?’

      For the first time in all the time she had known him Ursula saw Ross’s face grow slightly uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind how to answer. So. First hesitation. Now tension. And all in the space of a single conversation. How very odd.

      ‘We promised Katy that she could have a birthday party,’ he drawled. ‘And Jane thought it might be a good idea to swell the numbers. Invite a few adults. And I immediately thought of you.’

      ‘Ah!’ Ursula smiled with pleasure. ‘Now I see!’

      Katy was Ross’s daughter and Ursula loved her to bits. Sometimes he brought her into the office with him during the school holidays, when Jane was extra busy. Katy liked to trot round after Ursula like a little dog, and Ursula genuinely enjoyed her company.

      She had taught Katy how to use the computer, and to play gin rummy, and in return Katy kept her up to date on the current fashions and music scene! It only seemed five minutes since the last birthday, when—come to think of it—Ursula had accompanied Katy and Ross on a trip to London Zoo. She screwed her nose up as she tried to remember. Now where had Jane been that day?

      ‘I can’t believe her birthday has come around again!’ she told him. ‘She’ll be eleven, won’t she?’

      He shook his dark head. ‘Ten.’ He twirled the pencil like a drum majorette’s baton, in the way he always did when something was on his mind. ‘She just looks older.’

      ‘Acts older too,’ observed Ursula thoughtfully as she thought about Katy’s remarkable self-possession. ‘She’s a very grown-up young lady, and she knows more about fractions and base numbers than I ever will!’

      ‘Well, that doesn’t say very much,’ mused Ross, a glint of mischief lightening his dark eyes, ‘since you are the most mathematically challenged person I know!’

      ‘If that means I hate anything to do with figures, then you’re right!’ Ursula observed the twirling movement he was continuing to make with his fingers. ‘Is something wrong, Ross?’

      His fingers stilled and his eyes narrowed warily. ‘Wrong?’ he repeated suspiciously. ‘What makes you ask that?’

      If she admitted to studying his body language, and detecting an edginess simply by looking at his hands—then wouldn’t that make her look a bit sad? ‘You just seem a little preoccupied this morning,’ she told him truthfully. ‘You have done all week, to be honest.’ Indeed, all month if she was being brutally honest.

      ‘You know me too well, Ursula,’ he said quietly, only it sounded more like an accusation than a compliment.

      ‘Well?’ She ignored the warning look in his eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘My deadlines are mounting—’

      ‘Then delegate!’ she told him sternly. ‘You’re the Chairman of the agency, for heaven’s sake!’

      ‘But the client wants me.’

      That was the trouble—the client always did want him. ‘Well, the client may not be able to have you!’ she glowered. ‘They may have to use Oliver instead, or one of the many creative whizkids you pay huge salaries to!’

      ‘We’ll see.’ He gave a dismissive shrug, then turned on his lazy smile. ‘So will you come, Ursula? Katy would love you to be there.’

      Ursula only pretended to think about it. She had always refused to attend social events when they were connected with work, but this was the first time he had ever invited her to his house. She told herself that it was simply a genuine desire to help Katy celebrate her birthday which had her itching to attend. And it was. But deep down she

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