In Love With The Boss. Doreen Roberts

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ month’s contract, involving general office work, most of it on computer, and running errands for someone called Jordan Trent. That was all. Do not work overtime, do not volunteer to do extra work. Keep careful check of her hours, and send in her reports every Wednesday.

      Sadie was told nothing about Mr. Trent, other than he had broken his ankle and needed assistance with his office work. She was not a nurse, Mrs. Simpson had unnecessarily reminded her, neither was she a housekeeper. She was to accept only those assignments that fell into the category of general office work or essential errands.

      Sadie found the woman a little intimidating. She hoped Jordan Trent turned out to be a little more agreeable. Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she turned her jacket collar up over her ears and tramped down the path toward the murky river.

      She found the houseboat somewhat of a disappointment. Not at all what she’d fondly had in mind. Badly in need of a coat of paint, it looked little more than a rundown shack on a raft. A rickety veranda ran around the corner in each direction, and a faded checkered curtain covered the one window she could see.

      The whole place creaked and groaned like an exhausted old man on his deathbed. Shivering at the macabre thought, Sadie stepped along the wide ramp that led to the doorway. Look on the bright side, she told herself. The job promised to be interesting, and a welcome change from the last assignment in a crowded, stuffy office in the heart of downtown Portland.

      Behind her, the wind rustled the pine needles and slapped little rivulets of water among the swirling grasses at the river’s edge. The mist was so thick she could barely make out the sullen hills beyond the opposite shore. Strange how different the river could look in the rain, she thought. It had seemed so tranquil and pretty in the sunlight.

      The door of the houseboat appeared to have no bell. She pounded on the worn woodwork, listening to the wind whistling around the dilapidated walls. There was another, more modern-looking houseboat moored farther down. The bend in the river and the overhanging shrubbery hid anything else from view.

      In the opposite direction lay the city, but it was too dark and hazy to see more than vague shapes in the mist. For a second or two Sadie felt a little apprehensive. She banished her qualms by pounding on the door again.

      In the eerie silence that followed, she heard ducks quacking somewhere in the distance. The damp wind found its way down her neck and she shivered. Once more she hammered on the door, wondering if she had the right house. This time she heard a faint bellow from within.

      “It’s open, dammit. Come on in.”

      With a guilty start, Sadie turned the handle. She’d forgotten about the broken ankle. The poor man was probably bedridden.

      The door opened onto a small kitchen, with a door leading off to the right It wasn’t much warmer inside the houseboat. A damp, musty odor, blending with the smell of burned food, wrinkled her nose.

      Dishes and glasses filled the sink, and packages of all shapes and sizes covered every available space on the narrow counter. A saucepan half filled with muddy-looking soup sat on the stove, and a slice of burned toast rested on a chipped plate against the remains of scorched scrambled eggs.

      Shuddering, Sadie felt her spirits sag. Wondering what she was walking into, she stepped over a pile of old newspapers and carefully pushed open the door.

      A man, propped up by sagging pillows, sat bolt upright on an ancient, beaten-up couch. One foot, heavily encased in plaster, was propped up on a torn leather ottoman. He wore a shabby tartan robe with a blanket tucked over his lap, and he stared expectantly at her as she ventured into the cluttered room.

      “Who’re you?” he demanded, slurring his words in a deep, grating voice. “The temp, I hope? About damn time, that’s all I can say.”

      Sadie cast an uneasy glance at the half-empty brandy bottle waving about in his hand. She hoped he hadn’t consumed the other half at that hour in the morning. Mrs. Simpson would be shocked if she knew her latest client was a drunk.

      “It’s only a little after nine,” she said briskly. “I had a little trouble finding the place. You are Mr. Trent, I presume?”

      “Damn right I am.” He narrowed silver-blue eyes at her. “Can you type?”

      “A hundred words a minute with ninety-nine percent accuracy.”

      “Know your way around a computer?”

      “Both Windows and DOS.”

      “Hummph.”

      He studied her a moment longer, making her feel extremely self-conscious. Judging from the amount of bare chest she could see behind the gaping folds of his robe, it appeared that Mr. Trent had not yet dressed for the day.

      He certainly hadn’t shaved, since a dark stubble covered his chin, and his thick, black hair tumbled in an unruly mess over his forehead. She wondered if he could shower with a cast on his foot. Probably not. He would have to use the tub.

      “How are you at rubbing backs?” he demanded, startling her out of her thoughts. Before she could answer, however, his expression suddenly changed, becoming mournful. “I can’t find my damn painkillers.” He waved the bottle at her, sloshing the contents violently around in it. “Been drinking brandy to kill the pain.”

      “So I can see.” Deciding to take the initiative, Sadie stepped forward and took the bottle out of his unresisting hand. It wouldn’t hurt to lay down some ground rules, she thought. “It’s very bad for you to be drinking on an empty stomach,” she announced, remembering the scorched eggs.

      Jordan Trent nodded his agreement. “Very bad to be in pain, too. Damn bad, as a matter of fact. I just wish I could find my pills.”

      “I’ll find them for you. Where’s the bathroom?”

      “Over there.” Her client waved an arm vaguely in the direction of a door on the other side of the room. “Through the bedroom.”

      Deciding to get rid of the brandy first, Sadie took the bottle out into the kitchen and found a spot on the counter for it.

      “You’re going the wrong way!” Jordan Trent bellowed.

      Sadie winced. Returning to the living room, she fixed the invalid with a baleful glare. “I’m not deaf, Mr. Trent. I was simply putting the brandy away. When you address me in future, I’d appreciate it if you’d do so in a reasonable tone of voice.”

      He blinked, then leaned unsteadily forward, squinting his eyes at her. “You know, you’re a damn good-looking woman.”

      That settled it, Sadie thought. The man was definitely drunk. She had no illusions whatsoever about her looks. Her nose was too big, and her eyes, a nondescript brown, did nothing for her pale complexion.

      As for her dark brown hair, no matter what miracle products she was tempted to use she could manage nothing better than a limp, lifeless chin-length bob. The one time she’d attempted a perm she’d spent six miserable months waiting for the frizz to grow out.

      Even if she’d been able to ignore her brothers’ teasing about being the ugly duckling in a family of beauties, her mirror revealed the inescapable truth. Sadie Milligan was plain, a little overweight and would always walk in her glamorous sisters’ shadows.

      Nevertheless, СКАЧАТЬ