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‘I mean,’ he said, the shards of ice in his voice clinking threateningly, ‘about being my secretary.’
‘Ha! Did you think your antics would scare me off?’ I snorted. ‘Your scare tactics won’t work!’
‘I noticed.’
‘You’ll have to think of something better than that to get rid of me!’
‘Will I, now?’
He regarded me for a moment. I resisted the urge to blink. Blast him! His stare could make a dead marmot uncomfortable!
I held out my hand. ‘The money!’
He hesitated.
‘You owe it to me! I’ve worked for it, and I want my money!’
His facial expression didn’t change. Still, somehow he managed to look as if a tooth were being pulled from his brain while he forced himself to turn and walk over to his desk. Withdrawing a chequebook from one of the drawers, he sat down. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I thought I could hear the sound of teeth grinding.
‘The pen is there, right in front of you, Sir. Go on.’
Throwing me an icy glare, he picked up the pen. The movement of his arm towards the cheque looked as if he had to pull against a ten-ton weight of reluctance.
‘From Rikkard Ambrose…’ he growled. ‘To… Mr Victor Linton…’
‘Why not Lillian Linton?’
The next glare he threw me was dangerous.
‘Be content I’m doing this, Mister Linton. Don’t argue with me.’
On the whole, I decided it was better to keep quiet. At least I was getting my money. Mr Ambrose dragged the pen across the paper. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally he was finished and ripped the offending cheque out of his chequebook. Sliding his hand across the table, he shoved it towards me.
‘Here!’
Snatching the cheque from his hand, I held it up to my face and studied it closely. It was well I did. My eyes fell on the amount, and widened in outrage.
‘This cheque says one pound and two shillings!’
‘Yes. And?’
‘That’s half of what you gave Mr Stone!’
‘Certainly. After all, you are only half of what he is. He is real. You are only a pretender - or should I say prentendress?’
My mouth dropped open. He couldn’t possibly be trying to…! Yes, of course he could. This was Rikkard Ambrose we were talking about.
‘You’re paying me less because I haven’t got balls?’
‘Language, Mr Linton.’
‘I’ll use any language I bloody well want, thank you very much! And I’ve got just as much balls as any man in this office!’
His left little finger twitched again. ‘You are mixing anatomy and metaphor, Mr Linton.’
‘I don’t bloody care!’ Marching forward, I placed both my hands, clenched into fists, on top of his desk and leaned forward until I was nose to nose with him. Being suddenly so close, I couldn’t help notice the perfection of his chiselled features. And his eyes… they were so dark, so deep… deep enough to drown myself in…
Stop this! Get a grip! You’re here to bang his head against the wall, not swoon over him, you blasted foolish female!
