The Expectant Secretary. Leanna Wilson

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      “If you play your cards right, Jill,” Alice added, “you could end up the newest Mrs. Fortune.”

      Jillian’s heart pinched tight. Yeah, right. She’d had her chance with the too eligible bachelor once. A long time ago. The odds of that happening then or now were as remote as winning the Texas forty-million-dollar lottery. Besides, she wasn’t interested in the dubious distinction of Mrs. Fortune anymore.

      Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, she folded her brown paper sack, stuffed it inside her purse and pushed away from the table. “The last thing I need,” she said, “is a man.”

      After all, her husband—her scallywag of a husband…her deceased husband—had put her in extreme financial straits. Resulting in this awkward predicament. One more thing to blame on James.

      She squared her shoulders as she left the lounge and headed for the elevator. It didn’t matter who her new boss was. This was business. It was her job. One she desperately needed. She didn’t have the time, the need, or the luxury of an office romance.

      Especially with Brody Fortune.

      He’d broken her heart once. Eons ago. In a faraway land. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

      Oh, Lord. Her heart fluttered, leaving her light-headed. She put a shaky hand to her forehead. What have I agreed to?

      Had she really been given a choice? She’d been offered a promotion. How could she refuse? Especially when she needed the extra money the raise would afford. Straightening the hem of the suit jacket she’d borrowed from her sister, she reminded herself that any luck she had would be focused on getting this job. She had to make the most of it. She couldn’t afford to lose it and waste precious days, weeks or months looking for another. Even if her boss would be Brody.

      The elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor. Sucking in a thin breath, she clutched her purse in her hands and approached the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Mr. Fortune’s new assistant.” Jillian spoke with more confidence than she felt. “Is he ready to see me?”

      A wave of uncertainty nearly knocked her over. Maybe she should have asked if she was ready to see him. Definitely not!

      Pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, the woman gave her a tolerant smile. “Which Mr. Fortune?”

      “B—” Jillian cleared her throat. “Brody.” His name tasted tart on her tongue. How long had it been since she’d spoken it out loud? When she’d returned from Australia ten years ago, she’d never mentioned him—or her humiliation—to anyone, even her sister. “Brody Fortune.”

      “Ah.” The receptionist gave a knowing nod. “He’s in the boardroom. I’ll buzz him.” Before Jillian could protest, the brunette pushed a button on her monitor.

      “Yes,” a rough-hewn voice that brought back too many memories snapped over the speaker.

      Jillian’s heart began to pound. Her fingers clasped her purse.

      “Your assistant’s here. Shall I send her in?”

      “Right. Go ahead.” That rugged Australian accent had once made her temperature skyrocket. But now it plummeted, left her cold.

      She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Not after… Oh, God!

      The receptionist gave her a brief nod. “Down the hall and to the right. It’s the fourth door on the left.”

      Jillian’s knees wobbled as she walked down the hall. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Had Brody requested her? No, he couldn’t have. How would he have known that she worked for his family’s company or that she’d moved to San Antonio from Amarillo? She wouldn’t have taken this job in the first place if she’d known Brody was in any way connected to the Fortunes of Texas. Or if she’d believed there was even the remotest possibility that he would come here.

      As she touched the brass door handle, her fingers became numb, her limbs ice-cold. What could she expect, seeing him again? She wanted to bolt rather than open the door, but she knew she had no choice. She could face Brody again. She could. Without regrets. Without her temper getting the best of her. After all, he was the one who should be ashamed. Not her. Besides, it had been ten years since they’d dated. Ten long years. She’d lived through much worse than a broken heart.

      And she could survive this.

      Before she could turn the knob, the door jerked open, practically pulling her inside the boardroom. She caught glimpses of a plush honey-colored carpet and a table as large and gleaming as a brand-new Cadillac. And Brody.

      Her heart froze in midbeat. The room had been decorated to give the Fortunes home-court advantage in their high-powered meetings. But it wasn’t the posh decor that threw Jillian off center. It was those too familiar chrome-gray eyes. He was the company’s secret weapon, the ace negotiator, a top-notch executive.

      Immediately, she saw changes in him. The difference between boy and man was as stark as black versus white. Where once he’d had fiery eyes with a spark of mischief, they were now as cold and hard as nickel-plated steel.

      His gaze met hers. A whirlwind of emotions churned in the silvery depths. Surprise, confusion, recognition mirrored the turbulence inside her. “What the hell…?”

      Jillian’s heart jackhammered against her breastbone. Her lungs compressed. “Excuse me for intruding—”

      “Come on in, Jillian.” Dawson Prescott, the top financial analyst for Fortune TX, Ltd., the man who’d hired and promoted her, waved her into the boardroom.

      “What are you doing here?” Brody blurted.

      “I’m your new assistant.” Her voice harbored a distinct waver. Vaguely aware of others watching, listening, she flicked her gaze toward the head of finance. Not wanting to advertise the fact that she and Brody shared a past, she filed away any potentially sharp retort. Her thoughts spun crazily. How should she handle this? Professionally. Facing Brody again, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Jillian Tanner.”

      For a flash of a second Brody’s sculpted features revealed the young man she’d once known, exposed his astonishment. Then he shuttered his emotion with the blink of an eye.

      Once again she had a hard time recognizing him. Not because his features had changed. His hair was the same midnight-black, sinfully dark, temptingly wavy. But his face had lost the softness of youth; his voice, the laughter; his eyes, the vulnerability. He was all hard angles and edges. His shoulders, accentuated by the gunmetal-gray of his suit with its knifed creases, were as broad as the Texas borders. He looked like a Stepford corporate exec, straight out of the pages of the Wall Street Journal, except for the slash of a red tie and the rebellious length of hair that curled over his starched white collar.

      She almost breathed a sigh of relief. Almost. If he’d been the same young man she’d known so well in college she might have had a hard time resisting his charm. But now he reminded her too much of James. The cold memories of her marriage wrapped around her like a wet blanket. Looking into Brody’s emotionless eyes, she knew she could never forget how he’d treated her, either.

      “You two know each other?” Dawson stepped forward.

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