Page 11 of Covert

Liz waved her back to the chair she’d just vacated. “Of course. I’m sure you had a very good reason for lying to obtain this job and I want to hear it. I also want to hear every last detail of your story, without a single omission.”

“I’m not fired?” Sam held her breath, praying for a miracle yet knowing they rarely happened, at least to her.

“Fired? My dear, you’ve made my day.”

“How so?”

Liz grinned, the expression on her face rivalling that of a child on Christmas morning. “If my son thought finding an attractive woman as his butler was a surprise, wait until he finds out I hired a princess.”

Sam’s heart plummeted. If Dylan found out her background, she’d be out of the Harmon mansion so fast her head would spin.

She needed to stay, for at least three months. Anything less and her family wouldn’t be convinced she could make it on her own and she’d be back to square one, enduring their rigid conditions and stipulations regarding her life.

Right now, she needed to convince Liz Harmon that keeping her identity a secret was the best thing for all concerned, even if it meant hiding it from her precious son.

Taking a steadying breath, Sam eyeballed the older lady. By the twinkle in Liz’s eye, she hoped Liz would agree to keep her secret, otherwise she’d be back in Brisbane and pledged to some ancient groom before she could blink.

Tied to some fossil in matrimony because it suited her royal parents and their antiquated ideas? No freaking way.

Liz leaned forward and rubbed her hands together. “Start at the beginning, dear, and tell me everything.”

Resisting the urge to grimace, Sam started talking.

7

Sam hated confusion.

She preferred order, precision, and being in control. However, as she joined Dylan for a late night supper in his den so they could continue working, she knew her preferences had taken a serious hit following the meeting with his mother a week ago.

Rather than berating her for lying and firing her as expected, Liz Harmon had almost clapped her hands in glee as Sam regaled her with a truthful account of her life to date. The older woman had been only too pleased to keep Sam’s secret so she could continue in her farcical role as Dylan’s P.A.

But why? Sam had to know people’s motivations; it was the only way to stay one step ahead. However, she had no intention of giving Liz Harmon the third degree when the woman had done her a huge favour. In fact, for someone who barely knew her, Liz had accepted her version of events with few qualms. In her place, Sam knew she wouldn’t have been as trusting.

“Daydreaming again?”

Sam jumped as Dylan strode into the room and hoped she’d gain control over the fluttery feeling in her gut whenever her boss came within ten feet of her. Her absurd physical reactionto the man hadn’t dimmed one iota over the last seven days. If anything, being near him made her want to do all sorts of wild and wicked things, such as strip off and lay across his desk.

Maybe then she’d have a hope of grabbing his attention, because that’s all he seemed interested in, the endless stream of paperwork crossing his desk taking up every minute of his day.

She must’ve imagined the slight glimmer of interest in his enigmatic gaze on her first day, because he’d lived up to his reputed image of the cold, calculating, business tycoon ever since.

His love for the family business bordered on obsession, and she wondered if he ever loosened his tie, took off his shoes, and strolled barefoot in the lush gardens surrounding the mansion.

By his permanent serious expression as he glared at her, she doubted it.

“Daydreaming is healthy. You should try it some time.” She noted the tense neck muscles, the lines around his mouth, the smidgen of dark rings under his eyes, and hoped her banter might lighten his mood.

He piled a plate with club sandwiches and grabbed a caffeine-laden energy drink from the sideboard before responding. “Who says I don’t?”

“You don’t look like the type to indulge in fanciful dreams.”

He couldn’t look anymore uptight if he tried. He wore a different suit, shirt, and tie for every day of the week, each outfit expertly tailored but boringly conservative, and she’d yet to see him with a hair out of place. Except that first morning in his bedroom—though she’d managed to effectively block out that provocative memory.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Daydreams are wasted. Maybe I prefer toindulge in fanciful dreamsat night?”

Sam looked up quickly, wondering if she’d imagined his lowered tone, the slight husky edge? Probably, as his dark stareremained unreadable as he took a precise bite out of a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich. She ignored the irrational wish to replace the sandwich as his supper. She wouldn’t mind him nibbling on her, not one bit.

Spurred on by a crazy urge to match wits with him, she took a sip of coffee and feigned innocence. “What you do at night is no concern of mine.”

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