Happy Mother's Day: Ready for Romance / Ready for Marriage. Debbie Macomber

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      She was warmly greeted by the receptionist, who gave her a wide smile. Jessica smiled back, hoping she looked composed and mature. “I have an appointment with Damian Dryden,” she said.

      The woman, who appeared to be in her early thirties, with large blue eyes and a smooth complexion, glanced at the appointment book. “Ms. Kellerman?”

      “That’s right.”

      “Please have a seat and I’ll let Mr. Dryden know you’re here.”

      “Thank you.” Jessica sat in one of the richly upholstered chairs and reached for a People magazine. She’d dressed carefully for this interview, choosing a soft dove-gray suit with a tailored jacket. The buttons were made from mother-of-pearl with flashes of deep blue and white. She wore high heels, hoping to seem not only professional, but sophisticated. Her glossy brown hair was sophisticated, too, cut in a flattering pageboy. She’d grown up, and it was important Damian know that.

      Jessica hadn’t even scanned the magazine’s contents page when the elder Dryden brother appeared. She’d seen Damian often from a distance, but this was the first time they’d actually spoken in years. She’d forgotten how tall he was, with broad shoulders that tapered to slim hips. She remembered how much he enjoyed football as a teenager, and how expert he was at tackling the opponent. From what she recalled about Damian, he preferred to tackle problems head-on, too. She knew him to be aggressive, hardworking and ambitious. He’d taken over the law firm upon Walter Dryden’s retirement three years earlier, and the firm, which specialized in corporate law, had thrived under his leadership.

      “Hello, Jessica. It’s good to see you again,” Damian said, stepping forward.

      “It’s good to see you, too.” She stood and offered him her hand.

      He clasped it with both of his own. He wasn’t an especially large man, and at five eight she wasn’t especially small, but her hand was dwarfed in his. His grip was solid and strong, like the man himself.

      “I’ve come to talk to you about a position as a legal assistant,” she said. The direct approach would work best with Damian, she felt.

      “Great. Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

      She was struck by the rugged timbre of his voice. It was deep, firm, exuding confidence. Little wonder Damian was one of the most sought-after corporate attorneys in Boston.

      He motioned her to be seated, then walked around the mahogany desk and took the black leather chair. He tilted it back slightly, conveying ease and relaxation.

      Jessica wasn’t fooled. She sincerely doubted that Damian knew how to relax. His mother, Lois, had often voiced her concern about her elder son, complaining that Damian worked too many hours.

      “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Jessica said, crossing her legs.

      “It’s my pleasure.” He rolled a pen between his palms. “I understand you’ve graduated from college.”

      She nodded. “I have a degree in early American history.”

      The motion of the pen between his palms stopped and a frown creased his brow. “Unfortunately we don’t have much call for historians here at the firm.”

      “I understand that,” she said quickly. “About halfway through my senior year, I realized that although I love history, I wasn’t sure what I planned to do with my degree. I toyed with the idea of teaching, then changed my mind.”

      “And you want to be a legal assistant now?”

      “Yes. I was dating a law student and I discovered how much I enjoyed law. You see, we often did our homework together. But rather than register for law school and invest all that time and effort, I decided to work as a legal assistant—sort of get my feet wet and then decide if becoming an attorney is what I want to do. So I went to business college and got a certificate.” She said all this in an eager rush. “Your father suggested I come and talk to you,” she added, winding down. She opened her purse and produced her certificate for his inspection.

      “I see.” The pen was in motion again.

      “I’m a hard worker.”

      Damian smiled fleetingly. “I’m sure you are.”

      “I’ll work any hours you need, even weekends. You can put me on probation.” She hadn’t meant to reveal how much she wanted the position, but despite her resolve, she couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.

      “This job means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”

      Jessica nodded.

      “I think,” Damian said casually, “you’re still infatuated with my brother.”

      He spoke as if it had been only a few days since she’d all but thrown herself at Evan. Heat radiated from her cheeks. “I … I don’t believe that’s a fair statement.”

      Damian smiled shrewdly. “You’ve had a crush on Evan for years.”

      “I’ll admit I used to, but that has nothing to do with my applying for a position here.” She closed her mouth and collected her composure as best she could. She should’ve known Damian wouldn’t conveniently forget their encounter all those years ago.

      “It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Damian seemed to take delight in teasing her, which infuriated Jessica. She clamped her mouth shut, rather than argue with the man she hoped would employ her. “I was there the day you put kisses all over his rearview mirror, remember?”

      Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

      “I watched you look at him with those big worshipful eyes. I’ve seen plenty of other women do the same thing since, all gazing at my younger brother as though he were an Adonis.”

      Jessica’s eyes widened at the use of the term. That was exactly the way she’d viewed Evan. A Greek god.

      “It’s true isn’t it, or are you going to deny it?”

      Jessica’s mouth refused to work. She opened and closed it an embarrassing number of times, not knowing how to respond, or if she should even try.

      Cathy Hudson, her best friend, had claimed it wasn’t a good idea to apply for work with a family who knew her so well. Jessica was about to concede that Cath was right.

      “I did have a schoolgirl crush on your brother at one time,” she said, “but that was years ago. I haven’t seen Evan in … heavens, I don’t remember. Certainly no more often than I’ve seen you. If you believe my past feelings for Evan would hinder my performance as a legal assistant, then there isn’t anything more I can say—other than to thank you for your time.”

      Damian’s smile was slightly off kilter, his eyes bemused as if, despite himself, he’d admired her little speech. Slowly a look of sadness crossed his face. “Evan’s changed,” he said. “He isn’t the man you once knew.”

      “I’d heard from my mother that he’s been unhappy recently.” She didn’t know the details and hoped Damian would fill in the blanks.

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