A Bride For The Boss. Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ waited on by hot-and-cold-running cabana boys, maybe he could find out.

      He smiled to himself. And maybe, he could convince her that quitting this job was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

       Three

      It had been a long day, but a good one.

      Andi was feeling pretty smug about her decision to quit and was deliberately ignoring the occasional twinges of regret. She’d done the right thing, leaving her job and—though it pained her—Mac behind. In fact, she should have done it three years ago. As soon as she realized that she was in love with a man who would never see her as more than a piece of office equipment.

      Her heart ached a little, but she took another sip of wine and deliberately drowned that pain. Once she was free of her idle daydreams of Mac, she’d be able to look around, find a man to be with. To help her build the life she wanted so badly. A house. Children. A job that didn’t eat up every moment of her time until it was all she could do to squeeze out a few minutes for a shower every day.

      Shaking her head clear of any thoughts at all, she sipped her wine and focused on the TV. The old movie playing was one of her favorites. And The Money Pit seemed particularly apt at this moment. The house needed a lot of work, but now she had the time and the money to put into it. It occurred to her that she was actually nesting and she liked it. The smell of fresh paint wafted through the room, even with the windows open to catch whatever the early-summer breeze might stir up. It was a warm night, but Andi was too tired to care. Her arms ached from wielding a roller all day, but it felt good. So good, in fact, she didn’t even grumble when someone knocked on the front door, disturbing her relaxation period.

      Wineglass in hand, she answered the door and jolted when she saw Mac smiling at her from across the threshold. He was absolutely the last person she would have expected to find on her porch.

      “Mac? What’re you doing here?”

      “Hello to you, too,” he said and stepped past her, unasked, into the house.

      All she could do was close the door and follow him into the living room.

      He turned a slow circle, taking in the room, and she looked at her house through his eyes. The living room had scarred wooden floors, a couch and coffee table and a small end table with a lamp, turned on now against the twilight gloom. The attached dining room was empty but for the old built-in china cabinet, and the open doorway into the kitchen showed off that room’s flaws to perfection.

      The whole house looked like a badly furnished rental, not like someone’s home. But then, in her defense, she hadn’t had the opportunity before now to really make a difference in the old house. Still, her newly painted soft green walls looked great.

      He sniffed. “Been painting.”

      “Good guess.”

      He turned around, gave her a quick smile that had her stomach jittering before she could quash her automatic response. “I can smell it. The color’s good.”

      “Thanks. Mac, why are you here?”

      “First off,” he said, “where the hell did you file the Franklin contracts?”

      She hadn’t been expecting that. “Alphabetically in the cabinet marked T for takeovers. There’s also a B for buyouts and M for mergers.”

      He whipped his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course there is.”

      “Laura could have told you this.”

      “Laura’s not speaking to me.”

      “You scared her, didn’t you,” Andi said, shaking her head.

      “I’m not scary.”

      “You don’t scare me.”

      “Maybe I should,” he muttered, then shrugged. “I’m also here because I wanted to get a look at what you left me for.”

      “You make it sound like I’m your cheating wife.” She sighed. “I didn’t leave you. I left my job.”

      But she had left him, Mac thought. It didn’t feel like an employee walking out, but a betrayal. Damn it, she’d taught him over the years to count on her. To depend on her for too many things—and then she was gone. How the hell else was he supposed to feel?

      “Same thing.” His gaze fixed on her and for the first time he noticed that she wore a tiny tank top and a silky pair of drawstring pants. Her feet were bare and her toenails were painted a soft, blush pink. Her hair was long and loose over her shoulders, just skimming the tops of her breasts.

      Mac took a breath and wondered where that flash of heat swamping him had come from. He’d been with Andi nearly every day for the past six years and he’d never reacted to her like this before. Sure, she was pretty, but she was his assistant. The one stable, organized, efficient woman in his life and he’d never taken the time to notice that she was so much more than that.

      Now it was all he could notice.

      Dragging his gaze from her, he took a deep breath and looked down the short hall toward the back of the house. “Do I get a tour?”

      “No.” She really wanted him out of there. He had to wonder why. “I painted all day. I’m tired. So—”

      He looked back at her and thought she didn’t look tired to him. She looked downright edible. “You don’t have to do it all yourself, Andi. I could have a crew out here tomorrow and they’d be done with the whole place by the end of the week.”

      “I enjoy painting.”

      He shot her a speculative look. “You enjoy hacking your way through jungles, too? A team of gardeners could tear out those briars growing wild by the front porch.”

      “I don’t want to hire someone—”

      “I said I would hire them.”

      “No.”

      “Why the hell not?” He could understand stubbornness. Hell, he sort of admired it. But this was pure mule-headedness. There was no reason for her to work herself into the ground trying to prove a point. “People who own houses hire people to work on them all the time.”

      “You don’t get it, Mac,” she said. “I want to do the work.”

      “You obviously need the help.” He gave another quick look around. He could see what his sister had meant. The house did seem to be practically void of any kind of personal decoration or warmth. “You’ve been here—what? A year? As organized as you are, it shouldn’t have taken you nearly that long to whip this place into shape. But it looks like you’ve hardly touched it.”

      Insult shot through her tone. “Seriously? When was I supposed to do any of that? I spend—spent—all of my time at the office. And on those extremely rare—I’m talking bigfoot-sighting rare—occasions when I did get an entire weekend off, I tried to squeeze in a little family time. See people. Go outside.”

      Mac rubbed one hand across the back of his neck and wished СКАЧАТЬ