Woman Hater. Diana Palmer

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      When Gerald Christopher first suggested going to his family ranch in Montana to rest his recently diagnosed ulcer for a few weeks, Nicole had instant reservations. He was the boss, of course, and if he wanted to go to Montana, there was no reason he shouldn’t. But Nicole liked the pleasant routine of life in Chicago, where she’d spent the last two years working for the Christopher Corporation. At twenty-two, Nicole White had found a nice, pleasant rut for herself and she didn’t particularly like change.

      The problem was that if Mr. Christopher went to Montana for a month, as he was threatening, and closed down his personal office while he was gone, Nicole would be out of a job until his return. Despite her adequate wages, trying to live for a month without any salary was a frightening thought. That was almost laughable considering her background, because Nicole’s family had been one of the old moneyed ones of Kentucky. Her father, in fact, was still one of the jet set, a noted sportsman as well as a horse-racing magnate, and lived the part. Nicole had long since renounced her share of the family fortune and gone to work for a living.

      Her mother’s death had been the last straw. Her father had been with his latest mistress at the time, not that he’d ever been home a lot. That hadn’t mattered at the time, because Nicole had been sure that her new fiancé, Chase James, would set up their marriage and that his job as a real estate agent would make it possible for him to support the two of them. She’d figured wrong. Once Chase found out that Nicole had been foolish enough to give up her family fortune—and when he realized that she couldn’t possibly be talked out of it—he asked for his ring back. His immediate defection to one of Nicole’s moneyed and eligible girlfriends had shattered her young life.

      At the age of twenty, she’d left the elegant brick mansion of her childhood in Lexington, Kentucky, and a racehorse farm worth millions, to live the frugal life as a secretary in Chicago, where she had a friend with whom she could room. She smiled, remembering her lack of skills at the time, and how patient Mr. Christopher had been until she’d crammed in some courses at the local secretarial school. Lucky for her that he’d liked her personality and had decided to take a chance on her secretarial skills improving. They had. She’d graduated from the course at the top of her class.

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