Christmas with her Boss Read Online Free PDF Page B

swivelled and looked straight at him. ‘Will?’
    â€˜William. Um…’
    â€˜No lies,’ she said. ‘Is my Meg just humouring me?’
    Meg swivelled too. She was covered in dog but somehow he managed to see her expression.
    Mess with my grandma and I’ll mess with you, her look said, and it was such a look that he had to revise all over again what he thought of his competent, biddable PA.
    His hostess for Christmas.
    â€˜Adorable,’ he said faintly.
    â€˜You’re lying,’ Letty said, and he found himself smiling.
    â€˜I am,’ he agreed, and he met Meg’s glare square on. ‘There’s nothing adorable about a pair of crimson trousers stuck in a chimney. However, it’s fantastical and truly in the spirit of Christmas. As soon as we came over the crest I just knew this was going to be a Christmas to remember.’
    â€˜Better than being stuck in the office?’ Meg said, starting to smile.
    â€˜Better than the office.’ Maybe.
    â€˜Then that’s okay,’ Letty said, accelerating again. ‘If you like my decorations then you can stay. The pair of you.’
    â€˜You’re very generous,’ William said.
    â€˜We are, aren’t we?’ Meg agreed, and hugged her dog.
    And then the car pulled to a halt beside the house—and straight away there was more dog. Killer’s relatives? William opened the door and four noses surged in, each desperate to reach him. They were all smaller than Killer, he thought with some relief. Black and white. Collies?
    â€˜Fred, Milo, Turps, Roger, leave the man alone,’ Meg called and the dog pack headed frantically for the other side of the car to envelope someone they obviously knew and loved. Meg was on the ground hugging handfuls of ecstatic dog, being welcomed home in truly splendid style.
    William extricated himself from the car and stared down at her. Any hint of his cool, composed PA had disappeared. Meg was being licked from every angle, she was coated with dog and she was showing every sign of loving it.
    â€˜Killer’s Meg’s dog,’ Letty said, surveying the scene in satisfaction. ‘Fred and Roger are mine. Turps and Milo belong to Scotty but they all love Meg. She’s so good with dogs.’
    Meg was well and truly buried—and the sight gave him pause.
    In twenty-four hours he should be entering his apartment overlooking Central Park. His housekeeper would have come in before him, made sure the heating was on, filled the place with provisions, even set up a tasteful tree. The place would be warm and elegant and welcoming.
    Maybe not as welcoming as this.
    He would have been welcomed almost as much as this on Christmas Day, he thought, and that was a bleak thought. A really bleak thought. The disappointment he’d felt when he’d learned of the air strike hit home with a vengeance.
    He didn’t show emotion. He was schooled not to show it. But now…
    It wasn’t any use thinking of it, he thought, struggling to get a grip on his feelings. Elinor would make alternative arrangements. The kids were accustomed to disappointment.
    That made it worse, not better.
    Don’t think about it. Why rail against something he could do nothing about?
    Why was the sight of this woman rolling with dog intensifying the emotion? Making him feel as if he was on the outside looking in?
    Back off, he told himself. He was stuck here for three days. Make the most of it and move on.
    Meg was struggling to her feet and, despite a ridiculous urge to go fend off a few dogs, he let her do it herself, regainher feet and her composure, or as much composure as a woman who’d just been buried with dogs could have.
    â€˜No, down. Oh, I’ve missed you guys. But where’s Scotty?’
    Scotty was watching them.
    The kid in the doorway was tall and gangly and way too skinny, even allowing for an adolescent growth spurt. He had Meg’s chestnut curls, Meg’s