by Joan Hohl
“I just don’t understand why it was so hard to find a replacement.” Annette’s long eyelashes swooped down and she swept the faces around her with eyes that glittered from behind narrowed lids. “I’d jump at the chance to work closely with Jonas—really closely, I mean.”
“Mmm,” Judy agreed, taking a quick gulp of her drink. “Don’t say any more. Just thinking about it is enough to give me shivers.”
“Personally,” Loretta murmured huskily, “I enjoy imagining what those late nights in the office might be like.”
Valerie felt her skin grow warm. Impossible though it was for her to believe, these women were actually drooling over Jonas Thorne! They’re putting me on, she decided. Expecting a burst of laughter at any moment, Valerie glanced around the table, a hollow feeling growing inside as she noted the gleam in several pairs of eyes. They’re not putting me on! Even Janet wore an expression of flirtatious interest!
The arrival of a waitress at the table broke the spell, and to Valerie’s relief, the subject was dropped. Valerie and Janet ordered drinks and another round was requested for the others.
“On me,” Janet declared. “Val and I are celebrating the successful conclusion of her week on the hot seat,” she went on to explain. “No pun intended.”
The tension slowly eased out of Valerie as easy laughter, followed by teasing banter, flowed around her. The conversation revolved around the doings at J.T.’s. Some of the talk concerned serious matters, but most of it was harmless gossip. Valerie, content to simply sit back and listen, was halfway through her second drink when Doris interrupted a rather juicy anecdote that Sharon was relating. Doris was sitting facing the door, and as she glanced in that direction, her eyes widened in shock.
“I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed softly.
“Well, Jean insists it’s true,” Sharon said defensively, casting Doris a look of annoyance.
“Not that,” Doris snapped, not even bothering to look at Sharon. She nodded her head toward the bar’s entrance. “That.”
Valerie’s eyes moved along with five other pairs, and then she froze in her seat.
“Is he real or did we conjure him up?” Loretta asked dryly.
“I agree with Doris,” Janet murmured. “I don’t believe it.”
Valerie, however, was uncomfortably aware of how real Jonas Thorne was as he made his way through the room. His progress was slow, as he was stopped every few steps by someone either at the bar or at a table. Before he was even a quarter of the way into the room a drink was handed to him by a young man from the accounting department whom Valerie had met the previous afternoon. Thorne accepted the glass with a sardonically raised eyebrow and a brief shrug.
When it became apparent that his destination was their table, Valerie very deliberately withdrew into a state of mental detachment. Secure inside the shelter of self-induced indifference, she awaited his arrival.
“Ladies.”
For the second time in less than two hours, Valerie was witness to Jonas Thorne’s smile. Only this time, safe in her fortress of indifference, she coolly observed its effect on her companions. Right before her eyes they seemed to melt before the dazzling warmth of that smile.
“Washing away the bad taste of J.T.’s?” The slight dip of his head indicated the glasses on the table.
Valerie remained silent as the others laughingly denied his words. She wanted very badly to label his tone condescending or patronizing. She wanted to, but she could not. He displayed nothing but warmth and friendliness. His eyes circled the table, resting briefly on each face. Was it her imagination or had his eyes sharpened momentarily when they took in her closed expression?
How had they answered him? What had they said? Although Valerie had heard the breathless, fluttery sound of their voices, she had not absorbed their actual words. Her attention focused intently on Thorne and the manner in which he received his near adulation. Expecting arrogance, Valerie grudgingly admitted that though he obviously enjoyed their overtly sexual reaction to him, he did not bask in it.
“I stopped here in the hope of catching you before you went home, Loretta.” The abrupt change in his tone announced business as usual. Though his cool, blue-gray eyes were focused now on Loretta’s, no one but a fool would think he had singled her out for any personal reason. Loretta was anything but a fool. Straightening in her chair as if snapping to attention, she became once again the efficient personnel manager.
“There’s a problem?” The somewhat stern expression was back in place—her tone matched it exactly.
“No, no problem,” Thorne replied easily. “I had a phone call from Maria Cinelli a short time ago.”
This seemingly innocuous statement had an electrifying effect on every woman at the table, bar one—Valerie frowned her confusion.
“And?” Loretta prompted respectfully.
“She wants her job back.” His answer came without inflection of any kind.
Valerie had the sensation of being pinned to her chair by the sympathetic glances turned to her by her tablemates. Seeking an answer, she lifted her eyes to Thorne. His face revealed none of the concern written clearly across the faces of his employees. The silence seemed to stretch interminably, yet in truth it lasted no longer than a few rapid heartbeats. “Find her something to do.”
A soft sigh, issued collectively from six throats, followed the terse order. Shifting her eyes to Loretta, Valerie watched as the woman mentally reviewed available job openings.
“Jonas.” Loretta’s eyes narrowed in defeat, her tone held an odd pleading note. “I have nothing open for someone of her capabilities.”
“I didn’t ask you to crown her queen, Loretta.” A taunting smile curved his lips. “Only to allow her back at court.”
A devilish grin was Loretta’s immediate response. “Will do, sir.”
“Glad to hear it.” His soft drawl banished the taut atmosphere. Doris giggled, and as if it were a signal, Thorne turned to leave, then paused.
“The tab’s on me.” A wave of his hand indicated their drinks.
“Oh!” Annette fluttered her long lashes at him. “We were planning to have dinner here.” She waited prettily.
“Then you’ve lucked out, haven’t you?” Once more they were favored with that dazzling smile. “Enjoy your dinner, and the weekend, ladies.” His pause was very, very brief. “You too, Miss Jordan.”
Chapter 4
Arrogant swine!
Valerie silently repeated the epithet for at least the fiftieth time since Thorne had delivered his parting shot.
Damned arrogant swine. Valerie threw her leather shoulder bag onto her bed with the force of suppressed anger.
“Pig, pig, pig.” Seeking an outlet for the fury that seethed in her mind, she muttered the words aloud, slowly, vehemently. She had no idea exactly what he’d meant by his taunting, “You too, Miss Jordan.” She didn’t even know exactly why the taunt had enraged her so. All she knew was that he’d pierced her armor of detachment with one carelessly tossed barb. And having to hide her dislike of him from Janet and the others hadn’t helped much.
What a gaggle of simpering idiots! Jerking around, Valerie kicked her shoes in the direction of her closet. What motivates these career women? she asked herself despairingly. All of the women at that table were around Valerie’s age or older. Yet none were married. Why? Why hadn’t they married, or—in the case of Annette and Judy, who were divorced—remarried? What were their goals? The questions had hammered away at Valerie for hours while she sat, shocked, listening to their comments about Thorne.
Dropping tiredly onto the edge of her bed, she replayed the scene in her mind in an effort to glean something, any small understanding, from it. Loretta had been the first to break the tiny silence that had followed in the wake of Thorne’s departure.
“That is one big, sexy man.”
“I’ll say,” Sharon breathed softly. “God, when he smiles like that I have to fight the urge to tear my clothes off.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, but everyone knows that you’re oversexed.” Doris laughed. “I know what you mean though. With me the urge is to tear his clothes off.”
“I get shivery all over just thinking about what he’d look like without his clothes,” Judy sighed.
“I live in hope.” Annette smiled smugly, her long lashes seeming to tremble as her eyes caressed Thorne’s retreating back.
“And you’ll very probably die in disappointment,” Janet inserted dryly. “I have worked for him for almost fifteen years and in all that time he has singled out only one female employee for personal attention.”
“And now the witch is back.” Doris moaned.
“Unfortunately,” Sharon added.
“We haven’t heard from Miss Cinelli’s replacement.” Annette’s lovely face was turned in question to Valerie. “What do you say, Valerie?”
She had plenty she dearly longed to say, but the fleeting expression of alarm that passed over Janet’s face cautioned her to mind her tongue.
“Nothing.” Valerie gazed calmly into Annette’s disbelieving eyes. “I’m not interested. Not in him—or any other man.”
“Why?” Annette probed. “Are you a man hater?”
Now that Thorne had made it through the room and out the door all their attention focused on her. Valerie, already angry, was not about to subject herself to an inquisition. Getting to her feet, she smiled sweetly at Annette.
“No, I don’t hate men. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up a little.”
She had spent ten minutes in the ladies’ room making believe she was touching up her makeup and brushing her hair; but all the while she had chided herself for the disgust their comments about Thorne provoked in her. You are twenty-seven years old, she silently lectured her reflection. You have seen quite a bit of the world. You are not an innocent; you have experienced a man’s body.
She lowered her eyelids, blocking out the pain reflected in the violet eyes in the mirror. When she looked again most of the pain was gone, replaced by a shadowed, haunted look. For all your traveling around, you are an innocent, she silently informed that lost little face in the mirror. And the reason their blatantly sexual talk offends you is that it has nothing to do with the beauty you shared with Etienne.
Thinking his name hurt. Jumping to her feet, she scooped up her purse and hurried out the door. The atmosphere at the table had undergone a complete change. The subject under discussion was food and the varying degrees of starvation each woman was suffering from. Not once during the rest of the evening was Thorne’s name mentioned. Nor did Valerie’s avowed disinterest in men come up again.
Now, hours later, still fighting the last remnants of her anger, Valerie paused in the act of unbuttoning her tailored shirt, a sudden thought belatedly striking home. Rebuttoning her shirt as she went, she left her room and walked into the living room where Janet sat watching the late news on TV.
“You told them about Etienne, didn’t you?” Valerie accused the back of Janet’s head. The head jerked around to reveal eyes soft with understanding.
“Yes,” Janet admitted calmly. “While you were in the ladies’ room.” A small smile touched her lips.
“Janet—why?” Valerie had to bite her lip against crying aloud.
“Because I didn’t want you badgered by a lot of questions,” Janet explained in the same calm tone. “Val, they are nice people, really. At one time or another they’ve all experienced loss or rejection. They won’t pry.”
“Maybe not,” Valerie groaned. “But by noon Monday every employee at J.T.’s will know about Etienne.”
“Very likely.” Janet lifted her shoulders in resignation. “But, if nothing else, it will keep the wolves at bay—at least for a while.” The smile tugged more forcibly at her lips. “With your looks it won’t be for long, but it will give you some breathing space.” Her eyebrows arched. “Have any of the self-proclaimed great lovers made an approach yet?”
Valerie sighed wearily. “Yes, several. And their reasons for coming into my office were suspect, now that you mention it.”
“Well, there you are.” Janet’s shoulders lifted again. “Either you put up with their advances, or they know about Etienne and leave you alone for a respectable period.”
Valerie sighed again, this time in defeat. “I suppose so,” she muttered, turning to go back to her room. She took two steps then swung back to cry, “Dammit, Janet, why did you have to come after me? I was perfectly all right where I was,” she lied.
“You were perfectly miserable and you know it,” Janet returned gently. “Give it time, honey; it will pass.” Her voice gentled even more. “And, meanwhile, Val, I suggest you rub the stardust out of your eyes.”
Janet’s advice kept Valerie awake long after she slid between the sheets of her bed. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that Janet had been well aware of Valerie’s adverse reaction to the sexual remarks made by their table companions. Turning and twisting uncomfortably, Valerie tried to conjure up the purity of Etienne’s face, and for the first time, the image was shadowy and unclear. Blind panic filled her mind, and lying still, barely breathing, she pleaded: Don’t go, please don’t leave me.
During the weekend, Valerie repeatedly asked herself two seemingly unrelated questions: Did she really have stardust in her eyes? And, what difference would it make if she suddenly found herself dispossessed by her predecessor?
It would make a lot of difference, she realized on Monday morning as she dressed for work. All during the drive in, and as she unlocked the office that she now thought of as her own domain, Valerie felt a mixture of anger and despair. Damn this faceless Maria, she thought angrily. Damn this ex-secretary, ex-mistress, ex-whatever, for coming back now.
Standing in front of her desk, Valerie was shocked into immobility by the intensity of her feelings. Staring at her neat desk top, she slowly curled her fingers into tight fists. True, Thorne had ordered Loretta to find another job for his ex-secretary, but, if what they said was true, and Maria was also his ex-bed partner—how long would it be before Maria was back at this desk and she found herself out hunting for a job?
“Are you posing for my benefit, Miss Jordan? Or are you simply hung-over?”
Valerie’s body jerked violently—as if his taunting tongue had been placed against an exposed nerve. Swinging around, she faced him squarely, lost her cool and blurted, “Do you want me to clean out my desk?”
Nails digging into her palms, she watched the transformation in his face. Amused mockery disappeared to be replaced by a stern, hard look.
“You’ve decided to leave us?” The very softness of his tone, so at odds with his expression, sent a chill of fear down her spine. “You’re going to dash back to Paris—and the past?”
Back to Paris? The past? Valerie shook her head dumbly. What did Paris or the past have to do with Maria Cinelli? Misinterpreting her vague head movement as a negative response, Thorne snapped. “You’ve found another, better position perhaps?”
“No!” Valerie denied softly. “I didn’t mean—”
“If you haven’t got another job, and you’re not going to leave the country,” Thorne interrupted harshly, “would you care to explain just what the hell you do mean?”
The very hardness of his tone added to Valerie’s confusion. Why was he so angry? She’d have thought he’d be delighted at having the way so smoothly paved for his girlfriend’s return. Why was he attacking her? That thought stiffened her spine with anger. Who did he think he was talking to?
“I mean just what I said.” Valerie fairly spat the words at him. “Do you want me to clear out?”
“Miss Jordan,” he barked exasperatedly, “as I’m never very good at reading minds on Monday morning, would you kindly explain exactly what the hell you are talking about?”
“About Miss Cinelli,” Valerie barked back.
“Miss Cinelli,” Thorne repeated slowly as he crossed the room to her. “What about Miss Cinelli?” He stopped less than a foo
t in front of her and Valerie had to tilt her head back to look up at him.
She didn’t particularly like what she saw. Up close he gave the appearance of a man very near the end of his patience. Valerie held her ground, hanging on to her composure by sheer willpower. In truth, he scared the breath out of her.
“I thought you’d want her back,” she gulped. The narrowing of his eyelids made her add hastily, “As your secretary.”
“You heard what I told Loretta, didn’t you?” His tone, though very soft, was threatening. Valerie suddenly found it very difficult to swallow.
“Y-Yes.”
“Then why are we wasting time on this discussion?”
“I-I,” Valerie paused to wet hot, dry lips. “I just thought—”
“Wrong,” he interrupted. “You thought wrong. Now, do you think we could get on with the electronics business?”
Valerie wanted very badly to back away from him, but even had her pride allowed her to do so, the solid form of her desk mere inches behind her prevented retreat. To make matters still worse, her legs had begun to tremble with nervous weakness and she wanted very badly to sit down. Feeling trapped, she stared up at him mutely. He was the most fierce-looking male she’d ever encountered. After only one week of listening to the chatter in the cafeteria Valerie was well aware of what the female employees on his staff thought of him. There was evidence of respect in abundance, but, first and foremost, the general consensus was that he was handsome, terrifically put together, exciting, and sexy as the very devil—not necessarily in that order.
Gazing up into his face now, Valerie made her own evaluation. Handsome? Hardly. Etienne had been handsome. Thorne’s face was too thin, the bones underneath the tautly drawn skin too prominent. There was not a hint of softness or tenderness in his cold eyes or in the long, slightly arched nose that jutted below. The lines that formed grooves from either side of his nose to the corners of his thin-lipped mouth spoke of harshness, and his sharply defined, not quite square jaw thrust forward in determination. That he was built well, she’d concede. And she had to admit he was exciting—at least as an aggressive businessman. Sexy as the devil?
