LEMON PEELS

LEMON PEELS 2

He shut the door behind her and followed her into the lounge where she paused to wait for him. He motioned her further in as he passed and led her into the living room.

"Come on in. Don't be shy. We are best friends remember?"

"No, we are not. You are my boss, I'm your employee." She said with severity, and added as turned his bemused gaze her way. "And may I take this moment to point out that this was supposed to be a strictly office desk job."

"You know Livy," there it was again. That purr. "I'm starting to get the impression you don't like my company. I can't figure why though. I mean, I'm such a swell guy." He said with his back to her. He poured two tumblers and held one out to her.

"No thanks Sir, I don't drink on the job."

"Can you relax? You know, your job would be so much easier if you did, don't you?"

She regarded him with her best business face and said "I can't do that. It wouldn't be appr-" He rolled his eyes and sighed exasperated. And the sight of it actually deflated her. She didn't like it. Sure, she was being stuffy and rigid, but it was good reason. She was working for him! Dorian Martelle! Notorious international playboy, the descriptions didn't do him any justice. The moment she met him she was lost.

And no, it doesn't mean she fell in love with him. She was not so simple minded. She was just aware enough of herself, and rather quickly, him, to realize that if she didn't reinforce her defenses (which were in shambles at that moment) she would be looking at a messy pit she could never climb out of. In other words, 'Don't you touch that, Olivia Maher!'

He towered over her at 6ft 4inches. The dark and brooding type with a sardonic personality. He had a face a Greek god would turn green for and eyes so intense she couldn't look back at first. And his voice! She huffed, at the palpitations she got just thinking of the way he said her name. This man was DANGEROUS! And she had worked too hard to get here to allow herself to lose her senses over a man. Even worse, he just had to be her boss.

Even now as she was thinking this, he had his arms crossed as he leaned against the drinks cabinet, playful look gone. It was replaced by an unimpressed expression. He wore a black V neck t-shirt that stretched out cross his wide rippling (yes, she used the word rippling, because she was the type to call a spade a spade) chest and shoulders. So she knew what he looked like under all that because she handled his gym subscriptions. She realized that her face must have been arranged in some sort of foreign long discarded childish pout when she came back into herself and it must have shown on her face because she saw his watchful gaze flicker with interest. The bit back an unintelligible grunt at herself, and set her chin manfully.

No, He would not reduce her to a mindless chit, like all those glamourous socialites he was always with. She got the kind of paycheck she did because she was an expert at dodging bullets. Especially these type of bullets. She would survive Dorian Martelle, and thrive dammit! Olivia sighed mildly and straightened up, assuming the grownup tone an adult would use for a child (which was ridiculous given Dorian was 5 years her senior).

"Why did you ask me here sir?" Back to business. It was his turn to sigh, looking somewhat resigned.

"We are going to Europe tomorrow." He said, then added, at her expression, with that nasty grin, "For two weeks."

She was dumbstruck. She went on leave for the Christmas holidays at the end of the week.