The Millionaire's Misbehaving Mistress. Kimberly Lang

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СКАЧАТЬ and the broad shoulders and strong arms indicated it was something far more active than executive golfing. Maybe he was one of those weekend cowboys? The office lacked any Western-themed decor, so that didn’t help. She tried to casually scan his office for clues to his hobbies, telling herself it was strictly for business purposes…

      A deep, rumbling chuckle jerked her attention back to the man behind the desk. This time, he caught her eye and smiled. It was the smile that nearly did her in. The man had a dimple, for God’s sake, and the total effect would give any live woman a pulse spike.

      And, if her pulse was any indication, she was very much alive at the moment. Mercy. Most Eligible, indeed. She stifled the urge to fan herself as the room grew a little too warm.

      He was around the desk and extending his hand to her before she even realized he’d hung up the phone. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Sawyer. Will Harrison.”

      Up close, the man was even more devastating to the senses. At this distance, Gwen could see that Will’s eyes were hazel—not the murky hazel of her own, but a clear, perfect hazel. The hand he offered was strong and warm and sent a little tingle of electricity up her arm as she touched him. That swoon seemed more and more likely with each passing minute.

      Focus, Gwen. She gave herself a mental shake. You’re not a groupie here to drool over the man. Pull it together because it’s showtime. “Not a problem.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out several of her HarCorp folders. “Everyday Etiquette has a reputation—”

      Will returned to his chair on the other side of the desk. “Nancy assures me you are the best at what you do, so I have no doubts you will be successful with Evie. However, we’re on a deadline here, and I need to know you can work quickly. And, of course, your discretion is essential.”

      Irritation at being interrupted midsentence was tempered by the compliment that she was the best. She was, darn it; it was about time somebody took note. But how did Nancy know? And who was Evie? Discretion? What kind of training did HarCorp need?

      “The Hospital Benefit is less than three weeks away. It’s Evie’s ‘launch,’ so to speak.”

      Confusion reigned. She knew exactly when the Med Ball was—it had been a major topic in one of her classes last week. But what did HarCorp have to do other than write a check? She cleared her throat, berating herself for not getting more details from Nancy that morning on the phone. “Mr. Harrison, Ms. Tucker didn’t provide any specific information about what kind of services HarCorp needed, so I’m afraid I’m a bit at a loss as to what you are talking about.”

      Those black eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his computer pinged, and his attention moved to the screen. “Damn.” His fingers flew across the keyboard before responding. “Evie is my sister—my half sister, actually.”

      Ah, the elusive Evangeline she’d read about. The society columns were buzzing with speculation… Oh, no. A bad feeling crept up her spine.

      “She’s living with me now, and her manners are atrocious. I need you to teach her how to be a lady. That is what you do, correct?”

      Please let me be wrong. Please. “You need social training for your sister?”

      “Table manners. Polite conversation. How to behave at a party.” Another ping from the computer, and his eyes went immediately to the screen. “And she’ll need help with her wardrobe as well.”

      Damn. Her heart sank as what was left of her hopes evaporated. HarCorp didn’t need her—another spoiled debutante did. Just to be sure, she asked, “And how old is Evie?”

      “Fifteen.”

      Gwen tried to keep her disappointment out of her voice. “Fifteen’s a bit young for debutante training, don’t you think? Surely you have a few more years before…”

      That got his full attention. She trailed off as he pinned her with those hazel eyes, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “She’s not a debutante. She’s an heiress and a Harrison.” He said “Harrison” like it was a synonym for “royalty.” “Sadly, my father and stepmother didn’t see to it that Evie learn how to behave properly in public before they died. Evie needs someone to teach her, and she needs to know enough not to embarrass herself or the family at the Hospital Benefit. It’s pretty straightforward.”

      This time, it was the phone on his desk that beeped, drawing his attention away again with only an offhanded “excuse me” as he answered it. Irritation bloomed again before she could help it. She dug her nails into her palm and bit her tongue. Good manners meant she couldn’t call him on his rudeness—and busy man or not, he was starting to really fray her Miss Behavior nerves.

      Good manners also meant she shouldn’t eavesdrop on his conversation, and she needed a moment to think and regroup anyway.

      She shouldn’t be upset that he wanted her to do social training—it was, after all, her primary source of income at the moment, and she was very good at it. Her pride was just a bit bruised because she’d come in with such high hopes for something else. She should agree to work with his sister…maybe some of the lessons would rub off on him.

      That thought kindled her hopes again. Maybe, just maybe, this was the way into HarCorp. The back way in, granted, but she’d take what she could get. She’d work with the sister and hope that the brother would be so impressed he’d listen to her proposals for business training…

      “Well, Miss Sawyer, what do you think?” Will’s attention was back on her, and she straightened her spine. Even with her irritation, she had to be impressed with how he could jump from one task to another and not lose track of either. Will steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in question.

      “I’d be glad to work with your sister, Mr. Harrison, but three weeks is not a lot of time…”

      “Exactly. You’ll need every spare minute with Evie.” He reached for a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper before rounding the desk once again. This time, though, he leaned his hips back against it as he handed her the paper.

      Dragging her thoughts from the long legs stretched out so close to her, she blinked and tried to focus on the bold scrawl.

      An address in the elite Turtle Creek neighborhood.

      “I’ve told the housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, to prepare the guest room. You can move your things in tonight and start with Evie tomorrow.”

      Heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought, and she struggled to find words. “M-m-move in? Are you—I mean, that’s not—” She took a deep breath to calm the unprofessional stuttering caused by his presumptuous statement. “I have a business to run—other clients and responsibilities.” And the papers would have a field day.

      “Evie spends several hours a day with her tutors catching up on schoolwork. That would give you some time to take care of your other responsibilities. I’m quite willing to pay you for the inconvenience.”

      She had to call on years of training not to react at the outrageous figure he mentioned. He was serious about this.

      “And, as I said earlier, your discretion is essential.”

      Discretion? For that amount of money he could silence Dallas Lifestyles’s gossip columnist.

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