Hidden Agenda. Kara Lennox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ he sometimes dragged around with him—long-legged cheerleaders with cleavage and sleek hair and lots of mascara—and seethed with envy.

      She’d lived for the day she would outgrow her awkward adolescence. She favored her Danish mother—everyone said so—and Mona Baxter was beautiful. Jillian just knew that someday, when her teeth were straight and she grew boobs and lost her baby fat, Conner would finally notice her.

      By the time she entered high school, Conner had stopped teasing her and ignored her altogether. It had broken her heart when he walked past her in the hall, looking through her as if she were invisible—he was way too cool to talk to a freshman. But she hadn’t given up hope. She’d planned their wedding, mentally decorated their future home and named their future children.

      Then came that wonderful day. The day he saw her. Looked her up and down, in fact. Smiled that devilish smile of his and said, “Jillybean, I need an assistant for my science fair project. Interested?”

      It embarrassed her even now to recall how pathetically grateful she’d been for his attention, how she’d fallen all over herself accepting his proposition and had decided that his use of her hated nickname was actually a term of endearment. Of course, far worse humiliation was soon to come.

      Little did she know he’d been sizing her up not in terms of her womanly assets, but because of her overall size and shape—which was, to put it bluntly, short and fat. He’d required a female of certain dimensions for his science fair demonstration, and none of his long-legged bimbo girlfriends had fit the bill.

      Jillian shook herself, realizing she’d been staring after empty space for some unknown number of seconds after Conner had disappeared. She absolutely could not afford to lose herself in the past, to dwell on long-ago injustices.

      She had a few present-day injustices to dwell on. Like the fact Conner hadn’t even apologized for making her come in at seven when it was totally unnecessary. And scolding her like a child for doing what any well-trained assistant should do—get things organized.

      Then there was the business of ordering her to bring him coffee. She used to bring Daniel coffee all the time, but it wasn’t something he expected or demanded. He’d taken her on as his assistant to make his life easier, and it was her choice to perform the more personal tasks that a lot of admins would balk at.

      Then again, she’d viewed her role with Daniel as far more personal than she should have. That was one mistake she wouldn’t make again.

      If she brought Conner coffee, she would be setting a precedent and earning the disapproval of secretaries everywhere. But if she drew a line in the sand now, he might fire her. She had to keep her eye on the goal: maintain her job at Mayall Lumber. Find out who killed Greg Tynes. Exonerate Stan Mayall of any wrongdoing.

      So she’d bring Conner his damn coffee, and she’d do it with a smile. The bastard.

      A few minutes later, she tapped on his door, a steaming mug in hand.

      “Come in.”

      She was about to open the door when a tall woman in a tight, stark white dress came striding down the hall. She had an elegant face with a model’s bored expression. Her tumble of jet-black hair reached nearly to her waist, and her breasts were one deep breath away from popping out of the low neckline.

      Platform white suede boots completed the outfit.

      Good Lord. She was beautiful—if you liked silicone, Botox and hair extensions.

      The woman tried to brush right past Jillian and into Conner’s office, but Jillian turned and blocked her path. “Can I help you?”

      “Who are you?” the woman asked, frowning.

      “I’m Jillian, Mr. Blake’s assistant.”

      “Oh. Good luck with that. The first thing you should know is, he’s always in for me. I’m Chandra Mayall.” She waited a beat for Jillian to recognize the name. “The CEO’s granddaughter?” Taking advantage of Jillian’s surprise, Chandra took the cup of coffee from her. “I’ll deliver this to him. Run along, now.”

      * * *

      “CHANDRA. TO WHAT DO I owe the pleasure?” Inside, Conner cringed. His ex-wife showing up in person was never good news.

      She handed him a mug of hot coffee. “Just the way you like it.”

      He took a sip. It was hot, strong and sweet. “You didn’t pour this for me.” Which meant his new admin had done it. Too bad her job required a bit more than an ability to pour coffee.

      Chandra shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Your new girl was about to bring it in. Plucky little thing, and protective. She was guarding your door like a pit bull, almost didn’t let me in.”

      Another point in the woman’s favor. “I’m kind of busy. What do you want?”

      “I need a new roof. It’s going to cost six thousand dollars.”

      “Really. I thought that house had a new roof put on right before you bought it.”

      “Hail damage.”

      “Have you filed an insurance claim?”

      “Oh, you know how they are. They give you this big runaround, and the roof is leaking into the dining room. It has to be fixed now.”

      “So because you don’t want to make a phone call, I’m out six thousand dollars? I don’t think so. I’ll call the insurance company. Then I want you to get at least two estimates.”

      “Couldn’t you just write the check now, and we’ll work out the details later?”

      “No. Nice try.”

      “Our decree says you have to pay for necessary home repairs.”

      “And I’ll write a check directly to the roofer. Now, is there anything else?”

      She debated a few moments before leaning on his desk, giving him an eyeful of cleavage. “Conner, I’m desperate. It’s my butt.”

      “Wh— Excuse me?” That got his attention.

      “It’s fallen. I’m going to Cancun over Christmas, and I tried on my bikini this morning and my butt looks atrocious. It needs a lift.”

      Conner laughed. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not paying for your plastic surgery. Besides, if you keep going under the knife, you’re going to end up looking like a freak.”

      “Conner. It’s not funny.”

      “No, Chandra. Not a chance.”

      She seemed to deflate. “It was worth a shot. Guess I’ll have to do more Pilates.”

      He softened his voice. “How’s Stan?” Whenever Chandra was sad or worried, she turned to “fixing” herself as her own brand of therapy. She was obviously upset about her grandfather’s situation.

      “He’s terrible, Conner. I’m so afraid. I wish there was something more we could do. The lawyer thinks no jury will convict him. But his health…”

СКАЧАТЬ