The Bedroom Assignment

He looked at her—the crop top, the slim thighs, the clear skin and clearer eyes—and said from the heart, ‘That’s ludicrous.’

‘Yeah? You think so? Well, let me tell you it isn’t. It’s like the old Marx Brothers thing. I don’t want to be a member of any club that would accept me. Any guy who is into deflowering virgins is someone I want to avoid like the plague.’

Jay said impatiently, ‘So don’t tell him.’

‘Oh, great. That’s a real sign of trust.’

He was getting annoyed. ‘So there’s no easy answer. How like life. There’s going to be a tough answer somewhere, though. Go look for it.’

Zoe said with spurious affability, ‘Do you know you do that all the time?’

‘Do what?’

‘Patronise me. We get into an argument and you’re soon losing it. So you patronise me. The next time you do it I’ll take that baseball bat off your wall and brain you with it. I swear I will.’

‘You could always try sounder arguments,’ he said lightly.

But Zoe had gone beyond the possibility of laughter. She jumped to her feet glaring.

‘There you go again. Don’t you dare patronise me ever again, you—you—you spin doctor.’

Jay blinked. ‘Is that mean to be an insult?’

‘Too right.’

He turned on her, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Then let me tell you, I am very good at what I do.’

‘Sure. Probably the best there is,’ said Zoe viciously. ‘Doesn’t mean it’s worth doing.’

He stopped pacing as if she had thrust a fist straight into his heart. ‘At least I’m doing something,’ he said very quietly. ‘Not whingeing that life shouldn’t be as it is.’

Her eyes widened in shock.

‘Yes, you can hand it out, can’t you?’ said Jay, still in that same deadly quiet voice. ‘You’re allowed no holds barred, a pretty young thing like you. Doesn’t matter who you hurt. God, I’m so tired of noisy women who don’t give a stuff about anything except their own petty neuroses.’

Zoe was very pale. ‘I’m sorry you think it’s petty. I suppose in comparison with publicising Lemon Sherbet Three it must lack a certain global significance.’

Jay winced. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

She ignored him, going to the door a little blindly. ‘But, as I keep trying to tell you—it’s not a neurosis. It’s a question of ethics.’

He snorted. ‘Ethics, schmethics. It’s a practical problem, pure and simple. All you need is a bit of courage to sort it out.’

She turned and met his eyes.

‘Okay. Here’s a solution. You know all there is to know about sex and you’re not into trophies. You do it.’

They stared at each other. Equally appalled at what she had said. Equally silent.

Zoe was the first to break eye contact. Her smile was twisted.

‘See? That’s not just a practical problem. Is it?’

And she walked out.

Jay did not want to go to the reception. It would be full of media types, networking. Besides, he did not have time. He was off to Venice tomorrow, and he had not begun to think of what to tell the international public relations consultants who were coming from five continents to hear his great thoughts. He was desperate for some time to himself.

But his host was thinking of commissioning a television programme about youth athletics, and Jay was chair of the committee that was lobbying hard. Maybe tonight would clinch it. So he briefed himself on the latest figures on training facilities, inner-city population and youth crime, climbed into a formal dinner jacket—and went.

He did not manage to catch sight of Zoe Brown on his way out of the building. He supposed she had already left for the weekend. He wondered how she spent her free time. And with whom.

His hands clenched at the thought. Damn, that was not sensible. He could not afford to think things like that, not while she still worked for him.

He stamped into the reception looking like a conquering emperor in a seriously bad temper. And the moment he walked in the first person he saw was Carla.

She was looking very beautiful. He would have to talk to her, Jay knew. He curbed his temper ruthlessly. It was more difficult than he would have believed possible.