It proved hard going, and she knew, with a sinking heart, that she was making a poor fist of it. She did her best, all the same, though she was painstakingly slow, not being able to touch-type, and found the keyboard complicated to operate when it came to tabulating the many figures Luke had thrown at her.
Finally, she was done, though there were gaps and queries in every letter and attachment. She could only hope that Luke would make allowances for the fact that she was not a trained secretary and they had been going over a bumpy road while she was trying to write it all down.
The headache, which had cleared over lunch in the fresh air, was now back with a vengeance. With a final sigh of abject relief, she closed down the word processing software and got up, her back stiff and sore from hours of hunching over the keyboard.
Then her face brightened.
The pool! She would freshen up with a dip—that, surely, would clear her head and loosen her stiff limbs. And she would ask the Fernando if she could have a coffee, and a long juice drink.
A handful of minutes later she was plunging head-first into blissfully warm water, joyfully dipping her head under the water to feel her hair stream wetly down her back. Her spirits soared. Oh, this was joyous! She splashed around, frolicking like a child, delighting in the diamond sprays of water catching the late-afternoon sunshine, then pushed off the side, plunging in a duck-dive to the tiled bottom of the pool, dappled with sunlight. Then:
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE STENTORIAN VOICE halted Talia mid-plunge and she floundered back up. Her eyes went to the edge of the pool as she brushed the strands of wet hair from her face.
Luke was standing there, glowering down at her. Talia blenched, grabbing the edge of the pool to steady herself. ‘I...I wanted a swim,’ she said.
She didn’t try to make her voice sound defiant—let alone entitled—but Luke seemed to take it that way. She could tell by the instant darkening of his eyes.
‘May I remind you,’ he bit out, and the sarcasm was blatant in his clipped words, ‘that you are here to work. This is not a holiday for you!’
She saw him breathe in sharply, lips pressing in a thin line.
Talia opened her mouth to tell him she knew that, and understood it only too clearly, but he forestalled her attempt at self-defence.
‘What’s happened to those letters I left you to type up?’ he demanded.
‘I...I’ve done them. That’s why I thought it would be OK to have a swim,’ she said falteringly.
Clumsily, she hurried to get out of the pool, wading up the steps. As she emerged she was burningly conscious that, even though she was wearing a plain one-piece suit, it was clinging to her body, exposing every curve and a lot of bare leg. She seized a towel and wound it round her body while her wet hair streamed water down her back.
His eyes were on her, she could tell, and she felt colour flare out across her cheeks as she dipped her head, squeezing water out of her long hair. She hoped he would go, so she could escape up to her room, but he was not done with her yet.
‘My PA said she’s received nothing,’ he retorted.
She looked confused. ‘You didn’t say anything about sending them anywhere. And I don’t have any contact details.’
He cut across her. ‘It will have to be done now.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Get changed and meet me in the office.’
He strode off before she could make any reply, and disappeared indoors. Hurriedly, Talia ran up to her room. The bad mood that had encompassed him as they’d left the hotel was clearly still clinging to him, and when she joined him again, as quickly as she could, she saw with a sinking heart that it had only worsened.
He was sitting at the computer, her work on the screen. At her entry he turned. ‘This,’ he said grimly, ‘is a complete mess.’
He lifted a hand to indicate the screen, where one of his long, complicated letters was displayed. There were half-sentences in red, to show where she wasn’t sure she’d taken down what he’d said correctly, and there were queries and question marks freely dispersed throughout.
Talia pressed her hands together. ‘I told you,’ she said, her voice as composed as she could make it—which was not very much, ‘I don’t take dictation and it was hard to write in the car because of the bumpy road. You gave me very little time, and these letters deal with matters I’m not familiar with.’ She swallowed. ‘I did my best,’ she said.
She could feel her throat constricting and sense tears building up behind her eyelashes. She was reminded of how once, when she was a novice designer, her father had given her instructions she hadn’t been able to carry out. His anger had wiped the floor with her. She had cried, and he had been even angrier. But she wouldn’t cry in front of Luke—she wouldn’t!
Gritting her teeth, she blinked rapidly, taking the seat that Luke was now vacating with a bowed head. He positioned himself behind her, so he could read the screen as well, and she felt the closeness of his presence overpowering her.
‘OK,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ll g
ive you the corrections.’
He did so, and her fingers stumbled on the keyboard, but she soldiered on, blinking away the haze in her eyes as she laboured over the intricate figures, the complicated tabulation they required, and then added headings for addresses and pagination as well.