Kitabı oku: «Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger: Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger»
In these two fan-favorite stories from New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis, there’s more happening in the office than just work!
Who’s the Boss?
Having inherited nothing but a stack of bills, Caitlin Taylor is a poor little rich girl. Thank goodness she’s got a new job. Right away though, it’s obvious she and her gorgeous boss, Joe Brownley, have very different ideas about her role! One thing they do agree on is that the attraction between them is best explored after hours….
Her Perfect Stranger
For only one night, Commander Corrine Atkinson lets go of her iron control and seduces a sexy stranger. Come morning, she sneaks out of his bed and gets back to her own life. Too bad her perfect stranger turns out to be Mike Wright—the newest member of the team she’s commanding. And spending all day together reminds Corrine how good they are at night!
JILL SHALVIS
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Jill Shalvis is an award-winning author of over four dozen romance novels. Among her awards are the National Reader’s Choice and the prestigious RITA® Award. Visit www.jillshalvis.com for a complete book list and a daily blog chronicling her I-Love-Lucy attempts at having it all: the writing, the kids, a life….
Who’s the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger
Jill Shalvis
www.millsandboon.co.uk
CONTENTS
WHO’S THE BOSS?
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
HER PERFECT STRANGER
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Who’s the Boss?
Jill Shalvis
To good bosses everywhere, especially mine—D. S. Builders.
You’re the best.
1
“A JOB,” CAITLIN TAYLOR muttered for the hundredth time. She paused from straightening her silk stockings to roll her eyes upward with a wry grimace. “I hope you and God are having a good laugh, Dad. You certainly got the last one on me.”
Her heart ached as it had all month, ever since her father had unexpectedly passed away from kidney failure.
It might have hurt a little less, she admitted, if he hadn’t given away his fortune to everyone but his own daughter. Instead, he’d left her…a job.
At least he’d done that. In her ice-blue satin lingerie, she faced the full-length mirror. Her reflection wavered as fear gripped her, but she had no illusions. Her naturally wavy blond bob, no matter how she combed it, made her look as if she’d just climbed out of bed. Her overly curvaceous body refused to be tamed by exercise. This morning, her deep brown eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, and already carefully accented with liner and mascara. She looked like a young, beautiful woman with the world at her fingertips.
If only it were true.
Caitlin gave a half laugh and shoved back the unaccustomed fear and panic.
She’d never held a job in her life. Her father had spoiled his only child. In all her twenty-four years, she had only a handful of memories of him, mostly due to his heavy traveling and prominent social schedule. Still, as her only family, he’d made sure her every material need had been met. Fashion had been her first love, and he’d given in to it. Milan, Paris, New York, Los Angeles…she knew these places intimately; they were her playgrounds. She’d gone to designing school in Paris and New York, both on her father’s bank account, but the truth was, she wasn’t talented enough to make it in that cutthroat world. Since then she hadn’t been idle—far from it, for organizing society events was a particular talent of hers, even if it didn’t count as a job, or earn her money.
Her father had kept her in style, making sure she had a healthy monthly allowance deposited directly into her account.
That had stopped abruptly with his death, and grief had been forced to take a backseat to survival.
With every credit card her father had ever given her maxed out, less than one month’s rent in her bank account and no more allowance, Caitlin faced serious trouble. Enough trouble, she’d finally admitted to herself, that she’d have to swallow her pride and take the poor-paying job she’d been left in her father’s will.
“A clerical position,” Caitlin said with another humorless laugh that didn’t quite cover up her confusion and pain. “And me not knowing the difference between a fax machine and a scanner.”
She walked to her brimming wall-length closet and sighed, knowing that by this time next month she would be living in some dismal little apartment. Bye-bye southern-California beachfront condo. Again, her heart leaped at the betrayal of her father’s abrupt desertion. Why? she wondered frantically. Why would her father indulge and spoil her all her life, then desert her this way? She didn’t understand, but wallowing was getting her nowhere.
With effort, she shrugged into the devil-may-care persona she showed the world. What did one wear for a job that required an eight-o’clock showing? But while she dressed, her thoughts continually drifted back to the burning questions—why had her father pawned her off on some little subsidiary of what had once been a huge engineering conglomerate? A conglomerate split up by his will, all the pieces going to different investors who’d been his close friends.
Friends had rated higher than his own daughter.
Now Caitlin was slated to work for some pencil-laden, calculator-carrying engineer nerd named Joseph Brownley. Because he’d worked with her father for years, she imagined him as old, crusty, tough. Mean.
Shuddering, she slipped into what she hoped looked businesslike enough—a short red crepe de chine suit. The pumps she added gave her an extra three and a half inches, and some badly needed self-confidence. She wanted to look sophisticated. Polished. But while she seemed to be able to fool everyone else, she couldn’t pull the wool over her own eyes. She looked flighty, ditzy and wild, which sent her back to the bathroom in another attempt to tame her hair with ruthless brush strokes and styling spritz.
She could do this. But for one weak moment, she sank to the bed. Could she? Could she do anything but organize parties for the rich and famous? And how hard would it really be to charge for those services?
Hard, she admitted.
So hard she’d rather do this…work in an office.
But could she really survive on her own?
Swallowing back a sudden sob, Caitlin lifted her chin and forced a bright smile. Her knees trembled as she stood, but she stiffened them and lifted her chin. She had no place in her life for pathetic self-pity or fear, only determination.
The outfit didn’t work.
Too showy, she decided with a hasty glance at her slim gold watch. She ripped off the suit to try again, tossing it carelessly aside. No telling what Mr. Brownley thought of tardiness, but if he fired her before she’d even started, she’d really be in trouble. And with her only true working talent being that she could navigate the mazed streets of any garment district blindfolded, who else in his right mind would hire her?
Coming to yet another abrupt halt in front of her mirror, she took a tough, no-holds-barred look at herself. Snug, cropped frost-blue sweater over a long, flowing flowery skirt. Heels, of course—she never went anywhere without heels. But too casual, darn it! She added a muted linen jacket and hoped for the best. As she ran to her car, huffing and puffing from the exertion of the morning, she grumbled about the unearthly hour.
God, she hated mornings.
She thrust her little BMW into gear, leaving her exclusive Newport Beach neighborhood hours before she normally even stirred from her bed. As she hit the packed 405 freeway, she realized her first mistake in allowing only thirty minutes to get from the beach to downtown Irvine. It seemed the entire population of southern California started work at the same time, and given that she was cut off three times before she even hit the first on-ramp, apparently everyone was just as irritable and late as she.
At the interchange, no one would let her over. Frustrated, she tried one of her flirtatious winks and got…a very rude hand gesture.
Did normal people do this every day?
The thought made her shudder. Yes, she was sheltered, but she had friends who worked. No, she didn’t, she reminded herself. Hadn’t she learned that in the past few weeks, as one by one, her so-called friends had ditched her when the terms of her father’s will became public?
She was alone, truly alone, for the first time in her entire existence.
And she was going to be very late. No big surprise, of course. Her father had always claimed she’d be late for her own funeral. She’d certainly been late for his, but that had been because the limo she’d counted on all her life had vanished. Repossessed. By the time she’d driven herself, she’d missed the entire service. She knew her father wouldn’t have been surprised, but she had a feeling being late today was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
This little bubble of stress sitting uncomfortably in her belly was new and entirely unwelcome. So was the apprehension about her future, and the lingering, gnawing wound of her father turning his back on her.
She came to a grinding halt in the fast lane, surrounded by thousands of other idling cars. Never one to obsess about anything, she couldn’t believe she’d been doing just that all morning.
Shaking her head, she cranked up the music, sat back to wait out the traffic and cleared her mind.
* * *
JOE’S FINGERS FLEW over the keyboard. Deep in concentration, he’d been working for hours, but he couldn’t stop now. He was so close, so very close, to getting it right.
“Joe.”
Vaguely, he heard a female voice calling him, and just as vaguely, he knew it was Darla.
He ignored her.
All those years, he’d had to work on hardware, designing computers for his bread and butter…but no more. Now, with Edmund Taylor’s generosity in death—Joe’s heart squeezed at the reminder—he could work on his first love. Software. And he was inches away from perfecting the system he envisioned revolutionizing every office in the country.
“Joe.”
Just another few minutes, he thought, stretching cramped legs that were far too long to be shoved beneath a desk for so many hours. A few more minutes and things might click into place. He could almost hear the big software companies knocking at his door. Bill Gates, eat your heart out.
“Joe? Yoo-hoo…”
Without taking his eyes off the keyboard, he growled, waving one hand wildly over his shoulder, his usual sign for Leave me the hell alone! With the ease only the hyperfocused can achieve, he sank back into his thoughts. Just put that command here instead of over there—
“I’m sorry, Joe.”
“No problem,” he murmured automatically, not looking up. Why had he chosen to work in the front office, instead of his own down the hall, which would have given him more privacy?
Because he’d been in a rush, that’s why. Always in a rush. “Go away.”
“Joe,” said a now laughing Darla. “Could you please look at me?”
With a sigh, he straightened, biting back his impatience. He shoved his fingers through already unruly hair and took his gaze off the screen long enough to glare at the only person who would dare interrupt him. “What? What do you want?”
Darla smiled sweetly. “Lovely to see you, too.”
“Great. Nice. Now go away.” He’d already turned back to the computer when she spoke again.
“Joe, could you focus those baby blues this way for just another minute? Pretty please?”
“I’m really busy,” he said evenly, through his teeth. His fingers itched to get back to the keyboard.
“But—”
“This,” he announced, “is why I need an assistant. To keep people out.”
“You couldn’t keep an assistant,” Darla told him, gesturing to the cluttered office, which admittedly looked as though World War III had gone off in it. Papers were everywhere. So were books, files and an entire city of computer parts. “No one but those other crazy computer programmers you’ve got back there wants to work for a perfectionist, a workaholic, a technical—”
“Why are you here? Just tell me that much,” he begged, resting his fingers on the keyboard and eyeing the screen longingly.
“Oh, wipe that frown off your pretty face—I’m not here to bug you for your tax info. Yet.”
Darla’s insulted scowl worked, and Joe laughed. As the only accountant in their small building, the tall, waiflike Italian beauty had taken on all of the other four businesses in the place, his included. Besides handling most of their bookkeeping, she dished out unwanted advice, unsolicited sisterly affection and more than a few good dirty jokes. “And what could be more important than tax stuff?” he teased, and resigned himself to a break.
“Not much.” She grinned, too, making her look much younger than her thirty years. “But remember that assistant you were just mentioning? I think she’s arrived. I saw her roaming around downstairs, scrutinizing the different suites and the business names on the front board as if she had no idea where she’s going.”
“I didn’t hire an assistant.”
“You told me Edmund wrote off his investment in this company, making it effectively yours—as long as you guaranteed his pathetically spoiled daughter a job.”
“Yeah.” Joe rubbed his hand over his chest at the twist of pain. Edmund, gone. Forever.
At the thought of Edmund’s daughter, whom he’d never met, his usually receptive heart hardened. “She never even bothered to show up for her own father’s funeral.” He tried to remember what Edmund had told him about her. A flightly clotheshorse. A party girl. A world traveler—on her daddy’s budget, of course.
Nothing particularly flattering.
“Whoever you saw couldn’t be her,” he stated. “A software company that has yet to prove itself has nothing to offer a socialite.”
Darla shrugged. “Maybe not. But Marilyn Monroe’s here.” She sniffed and gave him a haughty glance that he had no trouble deciphering.
Joe wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d had more than his fair share of women flit in and out of his life, and his good friend Darla had hated most of them. But nothing got her goat more than a blond bombshell. “She looks like Marilyn Monroe?” he asked, unable to contain his wide grin when Darla rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“Barbie meets Baywatch, actually,” she snapped, making him laugh. Darla snorted in disgust. “What is it about that blond, wide-eyed, come-hither look that renders a man so stupid?”
“Ahh…a come-hither look?”
She glowered and straightened, her considerable height accentuating her thinness. “And she’s got huge—”
“Darla,” he said, still grinning as he cut her off. “She’s not looking for me—she couldn’t be. No way would Edmund’s daughter show up.” He hadn’t read all of Edmund’s book-length will, hadn’t been able to bring himself to even open the five-inch-thick file that had been sent to him by Edmund’s attorney, but he imagined Caitlin Taylor had gotten a very nice chunk of change. She’d have no need for a job.
He glanced at his watch. “And anyway, it’s ten o’clock. What kind of an assistant would start work this late?” He happily gave his computer his full attention. “Now go away and let me be.”
“Okay…but you asked for it.”
Breathing a sigh of relief when she was gone, Joe looked at his screen with anticipation. Now he’d get some work done.
He’d simply kill the next person who interrupted him, he decided, and promptly forgot about everything except what he was doing.
In the back of his mind whirled the vision of his program up and running. And for once, thanks to Edmund, that dream was obtainable.
“Ahem.”
Not again! He needed a weapon. Yeah, that was it. A squirt gun, maybe, or a—“Excuse me.”
“If the place isn’t burning down,” he growled, “then I don’t—” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her; words vanished from his brain. She was petite, luscious and one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She smiled and his tongue actually went dry.
“Hi,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him.
Trailing behind her, gawking with their collective mouths hanging open, were Vince, Andy and Tim, his three techs. At the moment, they resembled Larry, Curly and Moe. He sent them looks loaded with daggers, and they slunk back, closing the door behind him.
“I’m looking for Mr. Brownley,” the exotic creature said in a sweet, musical voice. “I’m Caitlin Taylor.”
Caitlin Taylor. Professional socialite. Ditzy, spoiled princess…his new assistant.
An imaginary noose settled around his neck. He liked gorgeous women as much as the next guy—maybe even more—but no way could he work with one, especially one with the lifestyle and attitude this one was reputed to have. He couldn’t respect someone who didn’t know what tough work meant, or the value of a hard-earned dollar, and Joe never worked with anyone he didn’t one hundred percent respect. Never.
“This is CompuSoft, Inc., isn’t it?” Her voice could arouse the dead, and Joe wasn’t, unfortunately, dead. “I checked the suite number downstairs,” she said. “You must be the receptionist.”
He groaned inwardly and stood up from the front desk. Never again, he promised himself. He’d work from the seclusion of his own office from now on.
She flashed another dazzling smile, leveling him with a pair of warm, dreamy brown eyes so deep he felt like swimming. “My father—”
Shit. Her father. His own mentor, beloved friend, father figure. Edmund Taylor had meant everything to him, and Joe had made him a promise. The noose tightened. “Your father told me about you,” he managed to say around the month-old lump in his throat.
“He did?” She seemed surprised. “So you know I’ll be working here?”
Joe nodded, wondering what to do. He’d never broken a promise and he didn’t want to start now, especially not when it came to Edmund, but he had absolutely no use for this woman in his company. None at all.
“Maybe you can tell me something about this place. About the boss,” she added with another sweet smile as she moved gracefully into the room. Her skirt flowed around her ankles, clung to her thighs. The light blazer she wore parted in the middle, revealing her sweater, snugged tight over her soft, perfect curves.
In any other situation, Joe knew he’d be flashing his most charming smile and already be deeply into flirt mode. This sort of woman was made for seduction, and while he didn’t want to employ one, he loved the interplay.
But playing with her would be pleasure, and this was serious business. His business. His pride and joy. Dread filled him at the thought. With this woman around, none of the guys, all of whom drooled at anything in a skirt, would get an ounce of productive work done.
“Is he nice?” she wondered with a slight frown. “Patient?”
“Who?”
A little laugh escaped her. “The boss, silly. You know, Mr. Brownley.”
“Uh…nice? No,” he said decisively, standing. The top of her head didn’t quite meet his chin. She was petite, feminine, beautiful. And he didn’t want her here. “He’s really…awful. Hard to work for. Ugly,” he added desperately.
Caitlin’s brow puckered as she considered this. “That really doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“You should leave. Now.” The idea sprouted from nowhere. He wouldn’t be breaking his promise if she left, right? It wouldn’t be his fault. “You should go before he sees you.”
Caitlin cocked her head to one side and studied him sympathetically. “He makes you nervous, doesn’t he?” She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention downward. Dangerously downward, causing his hormones to do a quick, instinctive dance.
“Don’t worry,” she told him with a confidence he could see was more bravado than anything else. “Maybe now that he has me to help him, he’ll be nicer.”
Guilt stabbed him. “Uh…yes…well…”
“Things will work out,” she soothed, her face open and clear of anything but genuine emotion, which only deepened his guilt. “You’ll see. I’ll fawn over him a bit. You know, mother him.”
Joe had never been mothered, and maybe because of that he tended to have a low opinion of anyone who relied heavily on those family-type affections. “That probably won’t help much,” he admitted.
“Everyone needs mothering.”
“Not everyone.” Not Joseph Brownley. He didn’t need anyone. Period. Never would. But she seemed so optimistic, while at the same time so touchingly full of nerves, that he lost his desire to continue the farce, even if she were just a gorgeous piece of fluff. “Look—”
“It’s all right,” she said gently, nodding her head. Wild blond hair flew around her face, cupping her rosy cheeks, framing huge eyes that were surprisingly sharp and self-aware. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t understand—”
“Yes, I do. You’re trying to be kind.”
Kind. Joe might have laughed. He’d certainly never been accused of kindness before. “No,” he assured her with a tight smile. “I’m not.”
“You don’t have to tell me how bad of a monster he is.” She swallowed hard, making Joe feel like a first-class jerk. “I really can handle it. Just…point me in the right direction.” Her voice was a whisper now. “And I’ll find out for myself.”
Hell. “You already have.” Apology softened his voice, and he sighed with regret.
“What do you mean?”
Oh, he was going to have to face this, whether he wanted to or not, but on the other hand, so was she. This was no place for her, and the sooner she realized it, the better for the both of them. “I mean you probably should have left while you had the chance.”
Her eyes reflected her confusion, and he didn’t blame her. “I’m the monster,” he said. “Joe Brownley.”
2
“YOU’RE JOE BROWNLEY?” Caitlin tripped over her tongue, but she couldn’t help it.
She was shocked, to say the least.
“I’m afraid so.”
“But…” Good Lord. Well over six feet of rangy, powerful male stared back at her. His ice-blue eyes narrowed, cloudy with thoughts he hid with ease. Although with that square, unforgiving jawline, she could guess he wasn’t especially thrilled. His sun-tipped light brown hair curled carelessly over his collar, as if he couldn’t be bothered with it. Wide, huge hands rested on his hips, his feet placed firmly apart. He looked utterly poised and self-assured. He wore a plain white T-shirt that bulged over impressive biceps, and faded, snug jeans that fit the man all too well.
He looked like a ruffian. A hood. A gorgeous, temperamental hood.
What happened to her old, pencil-laden, calculator-carrying geek? This man was young—early thirties at the most—sharp and, judging by his scowl, tough as nails.
At first he’d seemed sweet and friendly, but no longer. Now he was the complete opposite. And to think she’d been worried about him, and his fear of the wrath of the “boss”!
“Oh, dear,” she whispered. “This isn’t going to work out at all.”
Relief flooded his features, softening them. “Really?”
An audible groan came from the other side of the wall. In a flash, Joseph’s scowl was back. He reached around her with one long arm and yanked open the door. Three guys—at least two of whom fit her computer-geek image to the last microinch—nearly fell into the room.
They recovered quickly, especially with the glare they received from Joe, and mumbling assorted apologies, slunk back down the hallway.
“Sorry,” Joe told Caitlin. “We’re short on excitement around here. You were saying this wasn’t going to work out?”
She nodded, wondering how a computer nerd could possibly have such a low, husky voice, like fine-aged whiskey. “Yes. I’m sorry. But…well, in my experience, I don’t work well with men like you.”
He blinked. “Men like me?”
A sound came from behind the once again shut door. It sounded like a…snicker. Three snickers.
Joe inhaled deeply and ignored them.
Caitlin pictured the three men once again pressed against the closed door, listening with their ears glued to the wood. She might have smiled, were it not for the frown on Joseph’s face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he wanted to know, straightening his wide shoulders. “That you don’t work well with men like me?”
It meant that she was tired of pushing away roaming hands and groping fingers from the kind of man who took her at face value. Tired of being patted on the head as if she were a toy, a pretty, empty shell of a human being.
It had been happening to her ever since puberty, which had come unfortunately early. In her experience, the kind of man most likely to treat her that way stood right in front of her. Cool, collected, knowing, cocky.
“It simply means I’m sorry, Mr. Brownley,” she said. “But this won’t work out at all. It’s clear that you’re a man who needs no one. Certainly not me.” Caitlin turned, got to the door before she remembered something horrifying.
She needed this job desperately.
Without it, she was headed for the poorhouse. It’d been so easy for her to forget that little detail, being a woman completely unused to stress.
Could she find another job?
The idea almost made her laugh. With her qualifications, she’d be lucky to land the front-counter job at Del Taco. Her hand stilled on the doorknob, and she grappled with pride and fear and something even newer…annoyance.
Why hadn’t he wanted her?
“Did you forget where you parked your car?” Joe inquired politely from behind her.
Great. The sexy thug was a smart-ass to boot. “No.” Plastering her friendliest smile in place, Caitlin turned back to face the sternest-looking cute guy she’d ever seen. “I just thought that maybe…” Oh, how she hated to eat crow. “Maybe I judged you too quickly.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his cool eyes giving nothing of himself away. They both ignored the multiple sharp intakes of breath from the other side of the door. “Does this mean you’re not leaving?” he asked finally.
She winced at the unmistakable regret in his tone. “That’s what it means,” she admitted. “Unless I’m fired.”
“From what I know of you, you have absolutely no experience in much of anything, except maybe social studies.”
She stiffened in automatic defense at the disapproval and disgust. “I can do this job.”
He sighed heavily. “Dammit. I can’t fire you anyway. It’s complicated.”
From the other side of the door came a joint sigh of relief that made her feel marginally better. At least his employees wanted her to stay. She relaxed marginally with relief. She hadn’t failed yet!
I’ll show you, Dad. I can do this. But then his words sank in. “You can’t fire me? How come?”
His already impossibly hard jaw hardened even more. “Never mind. What do you know about being a secretary?”
“Uh…” What she knew would fit in her back pocket—if she had one. “I can make coffee,” she improvised, drawing on the one skill she thought she probably shared with every good secretary.
Joe Brownley closed his eyes and groaned.
“And,” she added brilliantly, completely undeterred by his response, “I have a really nice telephone voice!”
Joe was first and foremost a thinker. There was nothing he liked less than to not understand something—and he didn’t come close to understanding Edmund’s daughter. “Tell me this,” he begged. “Why do you want this job?”
“Well…that’s a long story.” A shrug lifted her petite shoulders and her not so petite breasts, which were already straining against her sweater. “I doubt you’d understand.”
“I’m of average intelligence,” he said dryly. “Try me.”
Curious now, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame. “You’re rich as sin, princess. And I know for a fact your father had you in a beachfront condo, and a fancy car.”
She laughed shortly, her doe eyes looking a little wild.
“So why do you want a job like this?”
“I just do.” She licked her lips. “And the will says you’ll give it to me.”
She was right, and the reminder of it was a slap in the face. Edmund had given Joe everything, everything, and in return he’d asked for only one little favor.
It was time to stop griping about it and accept the facts. For better or worse, he was stuck with his new assistant.
At least until she quit.
“Okay, Ms. Taylor,” he said wearily, rubbing his temples. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m in the middle of something pretty important and hate to be bothered. I guess I could use someone to handle the phones.”
A cheer went up on the other side of the door; Joe hauled it open. Again, the three young men stumbled awkwardly into the room. Immediately, they all straightened, tried to look casual.
Disgusted, Joe said, “These yo-yos are my techs,” he told Caitlin. “Huey, Dewey and Louie.”
Two of them were identical twins. One of the tall, skinny, dark-haired twenty-odd-year-olds stuck out his hand, a wide grin on his face. “Hi. I’m Andy.” He pumped Caitlin’s hand so enthusiastically, she feared he might pull her arm right out of the socket, but his expression was so kind, so sincere, she just smiled back, relieved beyond speech by the friendly face.
“I provide tech support to our customers,” he said. “As well as keeping Joe here human by dragging him out of here every night.”
Human? Could have fooled her.
“I’m Tim,” said the other twin. He, too, grinned from ear to ear. “I also help with tech support, but basically Joe couldn’t function without me because I have all the charm and personality.”
Joe rolled his eyes.
Tim nodded. “It’s true.” He looked at Caitlin, his eyes shining with good humor. “And you’re really great.”
“Thank you,” said Caitlin smiling, thinking they were pretty great, too.
The third, a medium-built redhead who looked to be in his early thirties, smiled shyly and kept his hands firmly in his pockets when he introduced himself. “I’m Vince. I work in product development with Joe.”
“We’ve been wanting a new secretary,” Tim said into the awkward silence. “Really bad. Ever since the last one…uh…left.”
Andy nodded emphatically. “Joe scared her off, and—” He broke off at the look on Joseph’s face.
Another awkward silence. Tim bit his lip. Andy stared at his feet. Vince watched Caitlin send a curious, cautious glance to Joe. “She, uh…didn’t work out,” Vince said diplomatically. “It wasn’t really anyone’s fault exactly.”
Joe scoffed. “No need to mince words, Vince. You can tell her the truth.”
Whether it was loyalty or simple resistance to Joseph’s tone, Vince remained silent, stubbornly buttoning his lip.
“I’ll tell her,” Tim piped up in a stage whisper that everyone within three miles could have heard. He looked at Caitlin and confided, “Joe scared the last three women off. You don’t scare easily, do you?”
“I…” She thought of her bills. Of the creditors. “No.”
“Joe’s not all that great with women,” Tim said.
Vince laughed softly when Joe shook his head, disgusted.
“We begged him to get someone in here to do the filing and answer the phones. And to lighten things up a bit. You know—someone to have fun with. That’s all. No offense, you understand,” Andy said quickly.
“None taken,” Caitlin assured him, delighted with her sweet new workmates.
“But the longest any of them lasted is about three hours,” admitted Tim.
Looking into the frowning, incredibly handsome face of Joe Brownley, Caitlin had no problem imagining why. “You don’t say.”
Vince laughed again, and some of the tension dispersed. “He’s all bark, no bite,” he assured her, but some of his amusement faded when Joe glared at him.
“Why is everyone talking about me as if I’m not standing right here?”
Vince ignored him. “Sort of like a terrier,” he elaborated. “Loud and gruff. Then passive as a kitten.”
“Really?” She eyed the very annoyed Joe. The long, lean lines of his body were stiff. His eyes like ice. Passive was the last word she would have used.
“Back to work, guys,” he said stiffly, his wide shoulders tense.
Tim hesitated at the door. “Nice to meet you, Caitlin. I hope you stay.”
“Do you really know how to make coffee?” Andy asked plaintively. “Because—”
“Andy,” Joe said, his voice careful and quiet. “Don’t you have something, anything, to do?”
“Yeah, I guess.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s just that you make really crappy coffee, Joe. And—”
“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to discuss the damn coffee,” Joe grated out, clearly beyond patience. “I’d really, really like to get to work some time today. Would that be all right with everyone here?”
Vince leaned close to Caitlin, confiding, “He’s only a bear because he’s so close to finishing this project and all this other stuff keeps interrupting him. Phones, paperwork, stuff like that.” He flashed a sweet smile. “Don’t let him scare you off now, okay?”
He was so kind. So were the twins.
She couldn’t remember if or when she’d been shown such simple, untethered friendship. Any friends she’d thought she had were gone. Vanished into thin air because she was no longer a somebody.
But these guys… They’d all looked her in the eyes instead of her chest—another plus in their favor—when they’d talked to her, and while it was obvious they thought she was pretty, they’d treated her with respect.
Caitlin smiled, embarrassed to feel her throat tighten up at reliving their warm, eager greeting. She’d never in her life felt so welcome—the still scowling Joseph Brownley excluded—and a realization hit hard. Everywhere she’d gone, everything she’d done, she’d either been accepted for her looks or for her father’s money.
Never for herself alone.
Everyone left and she was standing here with her boss. She knew darn well he didn’t want her, that he didn’t think she could handle this job. But for some reason, he wasn’t going to refuse her.
He caught her gaze with his, and his jaw went all hard again. Most of her resolve wavered and what little there was left took a bad beating at his next words.
“Okay, princess, here’s how this situation is going to work.”
Where had that nice man gone? The one she’d first spoken with, the one she’d thought was going to be her friend? She looked carefully, but couldn’t see a trace of him. It was almost as if once he had realized he was stuck with her, he’d purposely turned himself into someone she wouldn’t like.
Well, he’d been partially successful, she thought. She didn’t like him, but she wouldn’t run off because of it.
“Last door on the left is my office,” Joe said gruffly, stepping into the hallway to point it out. “I hate to be interrupted, so stay out.” He looked at her expectantly then, a little hopefully. Maybe she’d still run off if he were boorish enough?
As if she’d read his mind, she laughed at him. Laughed. The unexpected sweet sound had Joseph’s stomach muscles tensing.
“Are you waiting for me to cower from such a fierce command?” She shook her head, her short blond bob flying. Her flowery fragrance wafted up, assaulting his nostrils, annoying him because she smelled so damn good he found himself straining for another sniff. “Or maybe, better yet, you think I’ll run off with my tail between my legs.”
Her words put a vivid picture in his mind of what was between her legs.
“Should I remind you whose daughter I am?” she asked, breaking into his startling sensual thoughts.
Her father had backed down to no one. “I know whose daughter you are.”
“Good. And I don’t frighten easily.”
Mad at her, at his techs and at himself, he stalked back into the front office.
“Clearly,” she muttered, “I’m to follow you.”
Why today? he wondered helplessly. Why, when he was so damn close to finishing his program, did he have to deal with this? With a quick glance upward, he grimaced. Thanks, Edmund. Hope you’re getting a kick out of this.
Caitlin passed him in the hallway. “Maybe I would be better off at Del Taco.”
He watched as she sashayed prettily into the main office, her hips swinging in tune to his undisciplined hormones. “I’ll give you a lift to the nearest one.” Then, to soften the words he realized were unkind, he offered the sweetest smile he could.
She shook her head. “Well, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
Her mouth was pouty, lusciously red, and the most inane thought popped into his head.
She must taste like heaven.
The woman was a blond bombshell, with a complete lack of work ethic, designed to torture him. And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d look like spread across his desk wearing one of those come-hither looks.
“So…how many employees do you have here?” she wondered aloud, interrupting his erotically charged thoughts.
“Besides the three idiots you’ve already met, just me.”
“And now me,” Caitlin added.
“I’m doing my best to change that.”
Ah, sarcasm. Well, she could understand that. The way he kept his big body so tense, she imagined he was quite uncomfortable. Most men, in her experience, fought unease with a sort of bearish aggression. Her father had been the king of that act, though he’d never used it on her, and she imagined this Mr. Brownley wasn’t much different. “I’m sticking, Mr. Brownley.”
“So you’ve said.”
Her bravado was quickly taking a beating in the face of his stubbornness. Before she caved in completely, she tried small talk. “I thought CompuSoft was huge. According to my father, this place was the future of progressive software.”
Incredibly, Joseph’s eyes softened. His attitude vanished. “He said that?”
It was obviously an illusion that he suddenly appeared so vulnerable. He was about as vulnerable as a starving black bear waking from hibernation. “He was quite proud of this place.”
His throat worked. His voice sounded hushed, almost reverent. “I take that as a huge compliment.”
Her father never complimented lightly, and just thinking about him hurt when she was tired of hurting. He’d rarely complimented her. To combat the thought, she desperately continued her one-sided conversation. “How could you have only the four of you here?”
“This is no longer the huge corporation it was under your father. We’ve been siphoned off, separated from all his other various businesses. We’re on our own, just a few of us designing and supporting software.” He gave her that impenetrable stare again. “You didn’t get a copy of the will?”
Caitlin noticed that whenever he mentioned her father, he watched her carefully. But she could hear his thick disapproval, and her stomach tightened in response to the unfamiliar stress purling through her.
If he only knew how she’d pored over that darn will, wondering what had happened to her nice, cozy life.
If only he had a clue as to how lost she felt in this new, unsafe world, or how much resentment for her father she harbored deep down in her heart.
“Yes,” she managed to answer with her usual cheekiness, refusing to let him get to her. “I got it.”
“If the terms were too difficult to comprehend,” he said slowly, finally succeeding in stirring her rare temper, “you should have asked someone to explain it to you.”
“Contrary to what you must believe about me, I do understand the written word.”
“All of your father’s companies were divested. CompuSoft was half-mine to start with, so he simply willed me the other half.”
Her father could give this man half a company, just hand it over, and he couldn’t leave her a penny. Couldn’t leave her anything but a measly job with a man who couldn’t abide her. It took every ounce of common courtesy she had not to resent Joe Brownley for this.
Well, okay, that was a big fat lie. She did resent him. A lot. “Nice of him.”
“Nice?” He missed the sarcasm and let out a short laugh that seemed harsh. “It was incredible. The most generous thing anyone’s ever done for me—” He stopped abruptly, stared at her. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
She didn’t, either. It hurt unbelievably to know her father had thought so little of his own flesh and blood that he’d left this man more than he had his only child. “Where do I start?”
“So you’re staying, then?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Fine. This is the reception desk.” He gestured behind him to a wide desk facing the entrance. At least, she assumed it was a desk; all she could see were stacks and stacks of paperwork, files, various computer parts and what looked like an old, forgotten take-out food bag.
“All you have to do is come in on time, which around here is eight o’clock, and answer the occasional phone.” He sent her a long look. “Can you do that?”
“Hmm. I think I can manage.” She was really going to have to teach him a thing or two about manners. As for the ungodly hour, she’d have to work on it. “Surely you have more needs than just answering your phone.”
His light eyes darkened. His mouth curved, making her blink in surprise. Sullen, the man had been beyond handsome. Smiling, he was stunningly gorgeous.
“I don’t think you want to hear about my needs.”
No. No, she didn’t, Caitlin decided as her heart took off running. “Probably not.”
Slowly, he ran his gaze down the length of her, then back up. When he met her eyes with his, an unmistakable heat radiated from them. Caitlin had been on the receiving end of looks like that ever since she’d grown breasts, so she’d long ago learned to tune them out. Yet now, under Joe Brownley’s suddenly hot gaze, as unbelievable as it seemed, she felt herself blush. “Something wrong with my attire?”
“Yeah,” he said in that low, disturbingly sexy voice. “In this office, you’ll need something a little…more.”
She’d known it! Her clothes were all wrong. “More?”
“Shapeless. Like a potato sack.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a potato sack.”
“You’re distracting.”
“Your techs were refreshing and charming. I don’t think I’ll have a problem here with them.”
He turned and started back down the hall, his long legs churning up the distance in just a few strides. “I wasn’t talking about the Three Stooges, princess,” he called back.
Oh.
Oh.
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