'Are you sorry?' he asked crisply.
Yesterday-forget it. Today-abjectly. To keep this job, she could be grovellingly sorry. Well, perhaps that was going a bit far-but she was prepared to go as far as pride would allow.
'I don't normally behave like that,' she said prettily.
'You mean you don't normally very nearly cause a disaster, then refuse to accept blame?'
Yancie knew there and then that this man gave no quarter. A hint of a smile would do wonders for that unsmiling, sombre, seenothing-to-laugh-at, though in actual fact quite good-looking face.
'I was in the wrong-on both counts.' She did a swift about-turn from her attitude of yesterday.
'Your driving was appalling!' Thomson Wakefield agreed stonily.
'Not all the time!' she dared to argue, saw that hadn't gone down well, and added swiftly,
'Up until that point, when I suddenly realised I was driving on an empty fuel tank, my driving was first-class.' She'd be modest tomorrow-today her job was on the line-not to say by a gossamer thread.
He nodded as if conceding her point. 'I'd been tracking you for some miles,' he openly let her know.
That jolted her. Oh, why hadn't somebody told her that the boss man had an Aston Martin? It might have clicked when she'd first become aware of the car yesterday, might have given her a chance to think she should take some kind of action. Well, possibly not. `You pegged me as one of yours miles before ourer-introduction?' she enquired.
Thomson Wakefield studied her for some seconds without speaking, his glance taking in her almost white ash-blonde hair, her bluest of blue eyes, her dainty features and perfect skin.