Mr. Hall Takes A Bride. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ wanted to do was go home and pour himself a tall drink and forget about this place. “Is that it?” he asked rhetorically. “We’re done?”

      “For the day,” Sarajane replied crisply. About to walk right past him, she abruptly changed her mind and paused at his desk.

      Jordan was in the process of shutting down his computer. Or trying to. The closing message seemed to have frozen on his screen and showed no signs of making good on its promise. He hit several keys that ordinarily sped up the process, but all he heard was clicking noises. The message continued to sit on the screen.

      “What?” he bit off, feeling her eyes on him. All day long, he’d had the sense that he was being dissected and evaluated, part by part. Which was all right, except that he also sensed that in her estimation, he was coming up lacking. Which was not all right.

      “Is there a problem?”

      The cheerful note in her voice seemed out of place and irritated him more than he was willing to admit. Jordan reined himself in. “Can’t seem to shut down the damn computer.”

      “Move aside,” she directed, using her small body to edge him out of the way.

      “It’s all yours.” Annoyed, he took a few steps back.

      Taking his place, Sarajane proceeded to hit the same keys he had. The machine continued to be just as unresponsive. He felt oddly vindicated and then was surprised as she suddenly dropped down on her knees. As he watched, mystified, Sarajane crawled under his desk. She hit the switch on the power strip that his computer and monitor were plugged into, first once, then again. The first time she drained all the power from his computer and monitor, the second hit brought the electricity flowing back to them. Since she hadn’t turned either the computer or monitor back on, they continued to remain dormant, ready to go through their paces another day.

      The view from where he stood was nothing short of intriguing. The trials, literally and otherwise, of the day were mentally shelved as Jordan found himself staring at the woman’s rather tight posterior muscles and the way her skirt strained against them when she reached.

      He wondered if she worked out or if nature had been incredibly kind and generous to her. He had a feeling it was probably a little bit of both.

      Sarajane wiggled back out again. He stepped to the side and offered her his hand to help her up. She stared at it for a second, then chose to use his desk for leverage and rose to her feet.

      He decided her action said more about her than about him. “Independent to a fault?” he guessed.

      She supposed that was one way to put it. Sarajane dusted off her knees, plucking out a staple that had gotten caught in her skirt. “That way, I don’t get disappointed.”

      He shook his head. “Cynical attitude for someone so young.”

      She didn’t particularly like the patronizing way he’d said that. “Practical,” she countered, then blew out an annoyed breath.

      He was astute enough to pick up on the warring vibrations she was giving off. “What?”

      She was tempted to say, “Nothing,” but that wasn’t exactly truthful and the truth was very important to her. So she told him. “I was going to tell you that you did good.”

      Jordan studied her for a moment. Several times during the course of the day, he’d heard her being incredibly sympathetic and considerate with the people who’d crossed their threshold. Yet her tone now indicated that kind words did not come easily to her.

      “But?”

      “No buts,” she told him. “You did good today. Better than I figured you would.”

      “Thanks. I think.”

      She began to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, Mary Allen is holding back.”

      “Excuse me?” After seeing more than twenty people, plus the crowd scene that comprised the Tran family, he was getting the names and faces confused. He tried to remember which one had been Mary Allen.

      “She’s holding back,” Sarajane repeated. “She’s not giving you the full story about the parental abduction charges.”

      Now he remembered. Mary Allen was the young single mother trying to regain custody of her two daughters. She looked like a little girl herself, hardly old enough to have children, especially not children aged seven and six. Talking to her, and watching her flirt with him, he’d gotten a sense that something was missing from her story. But he hadn’t pressed her for it. By the time she had come to his desk, it was after four and all he could think about was getting out and going home to his wide-screen plasma TV and his comfortable sofa that didn’t tip dangerously when he leaned back.

      Walking away from his desk, he saw that Sarajane was moving about the rear of the office, shutting down lights and checking to see that computers were off. “You know her?” he asked.

      One of the phones had the receiver off. Sarajane replaced it. She shook her head in response to his question. “No.”

      “Then how do you know that the woman was holding back?” He wasn’t challenging her, he was genuinely curious.

      She looked up at him, silent for a moment, as if debating whether or not he merited an answer. “You get a sense of things after a while. I can always tell when people are lying.”

      Jordan couldn’t help being amused. His firm paid professional profilers good money to make judgments like that about jurors who were being selected. He doubted if Sarajane Gerrity had had any professional training in that field. “Can you, now?”

      Something in his voice caught her attention. She looked up at him sharply.

      “Yes,” she replied firmly, silently daring him to argue with her. “I can.”

      But if she meant to bait him, he wasn’t taking it. Instead, he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      Jordan watched as she returned to the small desk she presided over. Opening the lowest drawer, Sarajane took out her purse. Still moving, she extracted her wallet and took out a dollar bill and change.

      He drew his own conclusions. Lengthening his stride, he caught up to her before she reached the back door. “Can I give you a lift?”

      The other two people who had been in the office today had both left within five minutes of each other several minutes ago. He and this firecracker of a woman were alone now. It gave him a moment to study her, and think, again, that when her mouth wasn’t barking out orders, she really was a rather beautiful woman.

      “Provided that my car is still in the lot,” he added, remembering his feeling about leaving the vehicle unattended.

      She didn’t care for his presumption. “How do you know I didn’t drive here?”

      He nodded at her hand. “You’ve got money in your hand and as far as I could see this morning, there was no valet parking.”

      There was no way this was going to get personal between them. They were just going to work together for the next three weeks and it was clearly up to her to get the most out of him—professionally. She had no desire to add another layer to that.

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