I was beginning to wish that I had never even applied for it. Did I really want to change my job, or was it just that I wished I had a new life and this seemed like the nearest way of fixing things? Shows how pathetic my life was at that point if I couldn't think of a better solution than jacking in a well paid job that I had done for ten years for a lowly administrative post in some city company where I would be spending half my life and wages commuting, and where the prospects of promotion were probably zero. But the plus point was I wouldn't have to look at Piers Rossiter ever again...and I also would be too damn exhausted to spend any more sleepless nights crying over him.

You'd think I might be able to celebrate my new independence in a rather more stylish way than applying for some dumb job, eh? But you have to face the facts of life. I might have had ten years' experience in practice but in actual fact my qualifications were non-existent. I'd dropped out of sixth form and never even bothered sitting my A-levels, never mind getting a degree. It hadn't seemed to matter when Piers had offered his Saturday girl an executive position all those years ago.

The bastard hadn't even given me a reference when I resigned. I suppose that might have had something to do with me ramming his Porsche into the wall of his luxury home in Surrey and later accosting him in a restaurant of some note where he was wining and dining the new woman. I didn't mean to throw his dinner in his lap. No, let me be honest. Actually I did.

So here I was at twenty-eight, plenty of life experiences, but technically an office virgin. There were always juniors to do that sort of thing when I had worked for Piers; my skills lay more in PR and marketing - or just plain looking good on Piers' arm at the social functions we had had to attend. I can dress to please, know my wines, make small talk, charm the birds off the trees, win contracts with just a toss of my expensively coiffeured hair...but take a letter? Read a spreadsheet? File and organize? It hadn't been on my job description.

It bloody was on this one, however.

Perhaps I should just call and cancel. Take a bank loan and sell my car. Fly to India and 'find' myself in some ashram in Kashmir.  But the truth of the matter was, by nature I was simply too boring and conventional to do that. I was also broke. I had to get a foot on the ladder before it was too late.  So that's how I found myself standing outside the offices of Thorne and O'Leary, London.

Why them? How had I even got an interview, I hear you ask? It was one of those things. I'd been out one Saturday night recently with a few girlfriends on one of those 'We Hate Men Drinking binges' when I'd picked up this rather tasty bloke called Oliver Chambers. Apparently he was some sort of executive in a security company and during the course of the evening I had mentioned that I was looking for a new job. At the time the subject came up, he had been in a rather intimate clinch with me in a quiet booth in this really classy nightclub. Eventually I had told him that I was not that sort of girl and he had apologized for his assumption. He had been such a gentleman about it and then asked me if we could have dinner in the week. And perhaps discuss the vacant admin post coming up at his office...

I might be ignorant - but I'm not stupid. I got him to arrange the interview before he got to rearrange my underwear. I wondered if the price for this little kindness might be earned on my back later but I suppose I wasn't too bothered about that. He was pretty gorgeous - an ex-Para with all the necessary gifts in abundance. There are worse fates than that for a desperate woman. Plus he was a really nice bloke.

The company was housed in one of those new office blocks in Docklands - state of the art glass, steel and technology. I already felt awkward and felt sure I would do something stupid, fall on my face and show my knickers. Such was the state of panic that my first ever interview awoke in me. Not that Oliver would have minded, of course, if he had got a free show of my personals - he had been working hard for that every since we'd met.

 Catching my reflection in the glass doors that led from the lift into the outer reception area, making a last adjustment to my appearance, I approached the woman on the desk. She looked, cool, collected, and extremely chic.

"Excuse me, I have an interview with Mr. Chambers at eleven."

The girl checked her computer screen and frowned slightly. "Ah, you must be Miss Cassidy! Bit of a problem I'm afraid. Mr. Chambers is not here - he was called away on an urgent case late last night. I tried to call you earlier but your hand phone was off. I'm trying to get someone else to take the interview for you - but we're rushed off our feet today. East Asia has gone crazy and we're running around like headless chickens trying to find suitable operatives . If I can get the boss for two minutes he might be able to step in. I'm afraid you're going to have a wait, though; he's on a conference call. Can I get you a cup of tea?"

She was quite a decent sort, really, but I didn't feel much better.  It was obvious I was in the way and would be treated like so much raw potatoes for my trouble. My only chance had been Oliver's raging desire to get his leg over - if he wasn't around then I was sunk. My lack of secretarial and administrative skills would be immediately obvious. It occurred to me to pull out and make an excuse but I just couldn't think how to explain it at this eleventh hour. There was nothing for it but to attend the interview and try my best. I knew already that I would get the later phone call, 'Thanks but no thanks.' At least it didn't really matter what I did or said, I supposed.

Just then, I heard a deep voice in the corridor that led from the reception office. Whoever it was, he was annoyed about something.  

"Jesus, Kay, give me a break! Gotta be someone here who can interview this office girl. What the fuck am I going to say to her? Can you type? Make a decent cup of tea? She got nice legs?"

I heard the receptionist answer him. "Terry! Don't you dare! You want her slapping a sexual harassment charge on you? If she hears you making comments like that she might sue - you know how it is these days!" I raised my eyes. Darling, my legs were the only thing I had going for me at the moment.

"So she's a dog, is she? At least that gives her a fighting chance. Every other woman in this place is a looker- these fuckers are such male chauvinists. They won't pick a PA who isn't like some Page Three pinup from The Sun...."

The voice sounded Australian. I knew then I was in trouble...Aussie accents do it for me every time.

 I could hear the smirk in the receptionist's voice. "Good thing you are above such things, Terry, then isn't it? She's in reception and she looks scared as a little mouse - so be gentle, eh? Give her your Prince Charming. No, on second thoughts... - don't. She'll probably just trip over her tongue if you do and drool all over the desk top."

"Bloody hell!" he groaned. "Better send her in then."

Great, I thought to myself. So the big boss doesn't want to interview me, is a bit of an arrogant so-and-so and he prefers administrative assistants who are not eye candy.  Then my last remaining chance had just flown out of the window. I squirmed in anticipation of the coming audience with His Master's Voice. I thought he was probably the type of smarmy git who would love nothing better than making me feel about two feet tall.

I know I'm pretty and I know how to use what I was born with. The truth is I had been playing on my attributes all my working life and had approached this interview presuming that flaunting my tits and legs might make up for my rather poor qualifications. Just my luck to get the only employer in the City of London who preferred his office to be a place of work, not a pick up joint. So he was a man of principle? Well, I'm a woman of desperation. Principles are not a luxury that I can afford. 

Smoothing down my fitted black jacket, wishing that I'd worn a blouse underneath it, not just a lacy push up bra, I tugged at my skirt to at least pretend it covered more than just my bum. I stood up and followed the nice receptionist along the corridor to the imposing double doors at the end. There was a metal plaque on the door with the simple engraving:

T.A. Thorne. 

Kay knocked, breezed in and announced my presence. "Miss Cassidy." 

Gulping, I walked in, managing with almost precision-timed clumsiness, to trip over the metal edging of the carpet. I didn't actually fall, but it was enough to blunt my already wilting confidence.

I stumbled forward, caught my balance and looked up at the man sitting behind the desk. He was reading through what must have been my application form, a fine china cup dwarfed in his large right hand. His fingers were so thick that I doubt he could have actually managed to hold it by its handle. I looked at his glossy brown hair, neat and well groomed.  He had broad shoulders, was dressed in an expensive, well-cut suit, and seemed to exude an air of quiet authority. I was feeling more and more intimidated by the second, nervous sweat pooling under my arms.

"Miss Cassidy. Please, take a seat." The man looked up, gave a perfunctory smile and pierced me in his molten gaze. I was immediately mesmerised by his beautiful eyes, moist, green and soulful. I swallowed hard and lowered myself gingerly down onto the leather seat facing his desk. I smelt the light fragrance of some expensive cologne and took in the clean-shaven jaw and his manly cleft chin. My mind was beginning to wander. 'Come, on, Paula, he thinks you're a bimbo already. Try not to prove him right in the first ten seconds!!!'

"Good morning, I'm Terrence Thorne. How do you do, Miss Cassidy? May I call you Paula? Or would you prefer I keep it formal?" He leant over and shook my hand warmly. It was a more courteous start than I had hoped for.

Now, I have a thing about over-formality and rather dislike strangers assuming that rather patronizing right to call me by my first name, especially when I am not in the position to do the same. Some desire to at least show a little mettle must have sparked in me as I mumbled. "I prefer Miss Cassidy, Mr. Thorne, if you don't mind..."

"...Good...I'm with you on that - too much of that about these days. Right, let's get on with this then, shall we?" He picked up a sheet of typed paper and waved it in my direction "It says here that you've been a junior partner in an expatriate relocation company based in Richmond for the past ten years. What made you leave?"

He didn't waste much time, did he? 

"I - um - you see - I - er - I... fancied a change."

 Mr. Thorne put down the sheet of paper. "A change? From an executive position in a successful company to a lowly office job? This job pays £17,000 tops - if you've got the experience. Which you apparently haven't. How much you made last year?"

 I coughed nervously. "More than seventeen thousand..."

"Right. So let's be honest. Why are you here?"

This guy was sharp as a button. I felt like a naughty kid who hadn't done her homework and had told the teacher the dog ate it. I stared him out for a moment, aware that a blush of embarrassment was stealing all over my features. But there was something about his expression, slightly amused but also curious, kindly if a little exasperated, that made me decide to simply tell the truth.

"Look, not that it's any of your business...when I left school, I joined this company as a junior executive because...I was sleeping with the boss. We built the company up and then I found out two months ago that he was screwing my secretary. I walked out on him and the whole damn mess. Thing is, I found myself out of a job, put of my home and with debts - he stopped paying my credit card bills and I've got thousands to pay off. I lived with the bastard for ten years... you'd think it had meant something, eh?"

Mr. Thorne sat looking at me with a hard-to-read expression. "Go on." But his voice was soft and he appeared sympathetic.

"That's it, really. I need a job. So I'm here."

"This job hasn't been advertised anywhere. We only just lost the previous girl and we were about to engage a temp. How come you've got an interview to a job that doesn't technically exist yet?" He gave me a knowing look.

"Er..." I stopped and looked at the ceiling. Mr. Thorne was sitting back in his chair playing with a pencil, waiting for a response. I had a shrewd idea that he was already a few steps ahead of me, with some notions of his own. "I know it will sound bad and it didn't happen exactly like that..."

"But?"

There was no escape. "I met someone who works for you and he said that a job was coming up and he'd arrange it."

"Who?" He snapped tat one out abruptly.

"I don't remember his name."

"Good try. Fortunately I think I recognize the MO. Olly Chambers? Sounds like you're a dickhead magnet, love. Are you telling me you would have slept with that wanker just to get this lousy job? Or that you already have? A girl like you? Jesus!" He ran his hand back through his hair as if he was annoyed.

I stopped to try and take in what he was implying. "As matter of fact I haven't. I didn't want to mention his name in case I got him into trouble. He was just being helpful...and what do you mean 'a girl like me'?"

Mr. Thorne sat up straight and joined his hands; he seemed to fidget a lot. "He's not in trouble. Well, I'll give him a piece of my mind when I next see him but... Jesus..." He shook his head.

"What is it?"

"Sometimes I just fucking hate men."

That one stumped me completely. However he hadn't finished.

"A girl like you. Intelligent. Beautiful. Personality..."

My mouth fell open. "I'm like that?"

"Yes... and it's a pity you've been meeting men that make you feel you have to put out just to get a fair chance. Ever thought about trying to make it on your own without attaching yourself to a meal ticket?"

"I beg your pardon?" I replied. That was a bit too much. How dare he make that sort of comment - even if it were true?

He blew out air slowly. "Sorry...I didn't mean that the way it sounded, love. Look, there's no way you've got the job that you applied for. I need a school leaver with good computer skills. But..." he stopped and bit his lip.... "Tell me what you can do..."

I gulped. "Um...not much, really..."

"Tell me about your previous job. What did you do?"

"Well, I sort of looked after important foreign businessmen and their families living in UK. Found them houses, schools, translators, entertained them, did PR work at the embassies and multinationals, liaised with government departments..."

"Any languages?"

"Yeah...French, Italian and Japanese..."

"Japanese?"

"I went to school in Japan. Dad was an expat..."

He laughed and shook his head. "Piers certainly knew a meal ticket when he found her."

That was it. I don't know whether it was nerves or depression or simply the thought of Piers having ruined my life - but I just burst into tears. There and then I started to cry like a baby. Mr. Thorne looked distinctly uncomfortable. I heard him cough. Then he walked around the desk. I looked up from under my swollen eyelids and saw his bottom half. He had looked a massive bloke sitting down but standing up he was not as tall as I thought, though tall enough, and his hips were narrower than I had imagined. However the bulge in his trousers suggested that his bulk was reflected in other parts of his body as well. And then I saw his feet, encased in expensive highly polished Italian leather.

Blimey! He must be size 13. Need I say more?

He crouched down by my chair and sort of hovered nervously, his large hand reaching out towards my knee as if to pat my leg and then drawing back again. I sobbed a bit louder. He placed his hand on my knee softly in response.

"You all right? I didn't mean to be so blunt. I'm not really sure how to do this sort of thing. I don't normally deal with this side of the business." He rubbed at his hair and then his tongue darted out to lick along his bottom lip as he thought. It made me look at his lips. They were really nice lips. Sort of shapely and pretty - even though he had such a tough guy face. I wondered how he kissed.

I sniffed and fumbled in my handbag for a tissue. Blowing my nose loudly, I whimpered and tried to explain. "I'm so sorry. But he did the dirty on me. I hadn't read the small print and he took my share of the business and then he just kicked me out. Moved in with her. She's 21 and he's 45. I mean- he was too old for me, never mind her!"

Mr. Thorne repressed a smile and instead put on a serious expression. "Sounds like a right charmer, this bloke of yours. Got a lot of depth, has he?"

I shrugged.

Terry cleared his throat. "Obviously a man of real intelligence.  Look, I know he's given you a bad break but don't you think you should be fighting back? If you built a business up almost from scratch with him, then legally you have a right to your own share - even in common law relationships, especially after the length of time you've been together. Tell you what. Let me get our legal department on to it. Sort of a favour for your time and effort wasted. How's that sound?"

I looked up at him. "You mean I haven't got the job?" I asked, tears rising again. His right hand stroked my leg almost absentmindedly as his left brushed my long blonde hair from my face.

"No. I think not. I'll get Fiona from the legal team to take down the details and while she has a look into it, why don't you and I go and have a spot of lunch? Nothing like a decent meal and a bottle of fine wine to put things in perspective. And while we are there, I'd like to discuss another position that is vacant and might suit you better..."

I gaped at him and suddenly the penny dropped. He was hitting on me now that he had dropped me as a job candidate. Not so Mr. Nice Guy after all, hey?"

"So you're after my knickers as well, are you," I muttered darkly.

He pulled a face that was rather endearing - sort of an old fashioned expression. "No, I wasn't pulling a fast one. I leave that sort of business to my colleagues like the lovely Oliver. I want a business meeting with you and it would be better over a sociable meal. I've got a legitimate proposition to put to you. I need a PR manager to deal with a lot of the more routine stuff that I haven't got time for - and I am not particularly skilled at. But it might suit you to a T. Interested?"

He smiled. It lit up his eyes. My mouth fell open. "You serious?"

"Do I look like I'm lying?"

I tilted my head and weighed him up. He really is a handsome man, sex-personified, calm and dignified. I don't think I have ever met anyone like him before. But there was a flash of devilment nevertheless in his eyes. "Well...you better be offering a decent salary, mate. Pay peanuts, you get monkeys, isn't that what they say?"

"Steady on, love, I haven't offered you the job yet. Now about that lunch...do you like Japanese? Could give you a chance to show off your linguistic skills." He wasn't falling for my claim without some proof. Smart guy. But I hadn't been spinning a yarn.

"Perfect."

"And while we're there, we can talk about getting you some compensation of this shit ex of yours. He's holding your assets - and I don't mean the ones he has been grabbing for years..." I caught his raised eyebrows and the saucy smile and gave him a little flirtatious glance of my own.

He stood up and walked round to help me up and guided me to the door, which he opened, holding out his hand to see me through. This time I did not trip.

"You're going to help me get my share of my company back? Why? Why would you do that for someone you don't even know?" I said as we strolled along the corridor. He had his hands in his pockets and looked relaxed and easy. His calmness was beginning to calm me down too.

"Now, that is my business. I need to tell you more about what we do..." We were walking out of the reception by then; Terry glanced across at Kay with: "Out to lunch, love. Don't disturb me if possible, please?"

Kay gave him a look. He ignored it and merely put his arm lightly on the base of my spine as he ushered me through the door towards the lift.

"We specialize in Kidnap and Ransom retrievals - amongst other security crises. Your company falls under that category at the moment. Quite fancy negotiating with this chap of yours. Sounds just the kind of tosser I like to put the squeeze on." Terry grinned as he called the lift.  He has a gorgeous smile.

We went to lunch. He told me how I might help him. I realized that he was right...

"I looked after important foreign businessmen and their families."

"Most of our work involves expatriates and their particular needs - we may concentrate on the security side rather than the initial orientation but it isn't essentially different...

"I did PR work at the embassies and with multinationals, liaised with government departments..."

"You could handle liaison with the families at home and the companies involved, not to mention media statements, government departments and other organisations who might need bringing up to speed ..."

"I wined and dined a lot of potential company bosses and won major contracts out from under our rivals' noses..." I was warming up to this.

"You have no idea how little I enjoy the schmoozing nor does my gut need any more corporate hospitality. Plus, I cannot pretend that you are not a much prettier option for clients than I am. And I do occasionally need an escort...I'm afraid I haven't anyone these days whom I can rely on to mix with these high flyers..." I noticed the way he fingered his glass when he said that as if he was thinking of someone or something - he suddenly seemed far away. I wondered who she was and how badly she had hurt him? So he was alone was he?

"...French, Italian and Japanese...I went to school in Japan. Dad was an expat..."

"Fantastic- a linguist, too. Miss Cassidy- you may just have convinced me..."

Then the wine kicked in and after shaking on a 'gentleman's agreement', Terry (yes, we were on first name terms by now) promising to draw up a contract and decent package for me, we moved on to other things.

"So, you're not married?" I asked subtly.

He laughed. "Me? Not me. Tried it once. 'Nuff said."

"No significant others?"

"Well....I'm seeing someone but it's nothing really deep. Ya know how it is? Ships that meet in the night, you might say?"

It was quite an admission from any man - up front and honest, so early on in our relationship.

"So, you never found the one you wanted?"

He shook his head. "Thought I had for a while there but  it didn't work out. She chose the other guy. Story of my life. I'm the King of Starting Over."

I threw him a rueful look. "Guess what? You've just met the Queen!"

At that, he giggled ludicrously, not quite what I'd expected from him. "Make quite a team, don't we, Miss Paula Cassidy?"

He wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes fixed mine and we both just stared. The waitress came with bowls of green tea ice cream and the moment was broken but I had seen it then. The chance to start over.

And the job was quite an opportunity as well.

Just then a voice broke into out little tete-a-tete. "Kay told me I would find you here...and I don't think I've had the pleasure... Dino O'Leary...and you are?"

I smiled shyly and blushed slightly. Terry stood up, looking a little flustered; his friend did not seem to miss that. "Paula Cassidy. Our new PR manager."

Mr. O'Leary picked up my right hand and kissed it extravagantly. "Enchante, Miss Cassidy. A welcome addition to the team. I'm his partner. The one who does all the work..."

Terry growled and he sat down to join us for a drink. "So...how do you think you'll find TOL?" He asked.

"Get off the tube and turn left..." I answered.

O'Leary laughed and pointed at Terry. "Got a good one here, pal. She'll keep you on your toes. Glad to have you aboard, Paula!"

I looked at Terry and he winked at me. I think I'm going to like it here.