Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger. Jill Shalvis

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ