‘Wouldn’t I have been better buying a tweed jacket, or something?’ she said, feeling increasingly anxious as the moment of truth approached. Craning her neck, she stared at her bottom, which was very tightly clad indeed. ‘A tweed jacket?’ Quentin demanded as if she had suggested wearing a homespun jerkin. ‘Certainly not. Heath is not just the cutting edge, he is the leading edge—the spear, the arrow, the—’ ‘Okay, okay, I’m happy,’ Bronte insisted, holding up her hands. They returned to Heath’s building where Quentin told her to wait in the anteroom to Heath’s corner office. She could do this, Bronte persuaded herself nervously, her knees jiggling up and down as she perched on the very edge of one of the smart black leather couches. Though why she was dressed as if to seduce the boss, when that was the last thing she wanted. She was here to persuade Heath she could be a top drawer estate manager. She was not losing her nerve. She would not be fixated on how aroused she was at the thought of seeing him again.
