“Uncle Drake, I’m starting to think you have spies at TAKA-Hanson.” She said the words jokingly, even though she had a feeling he did have spies at the company. He would have to, wouldn’t he, to have known about her job before anyone else did, to have found out that she was doing well when she’d been there a week and was still, technically at least, a trainee?
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Assistant to the CFO, hospitality division. I like the sound of that.”
“Me, too.” She reminded herself that she ought to be grateful to him. She was grateful to him. “And seriously. I love this job. It’s exactly what I was hoping to find. And thanks to you, I did find it. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your mentioning that it might become available.”
“Glad to help. Now, I want you to get good and settled in. Prove yourself trustworthy. That’s important. Next time I’m in Chicago, we’ll have dinner again. We’ll talk. I might have a favor or two to ask by then.”
Alarm jangled through her. Was her long-lost uncle setting her up somehow? For what?
Cautiously, she asked, “What kind of favor are we talking about here?”
“No need to get ahead of ourselves.”
“But I really would like to know. You keep hinting that there’s something I can do for you, but you never—”
“Well, I was thinking along the lines of a little…information gathering. As Holloway’s assistant, you’ll have access to certain sensitive material I can’t get any other way.”
“Access to what, exactly?”
“Later. Right now, you only need to do your new job and do it well.”
“Uncle Drake, are you telling me you want to spy for you?”
She heard him sigh. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. I need to know specifically what you’re going to expect me to—”
Again he interrupted her. “Don’t worry, Shelly. I just wanted to congratulate you and tell you to keep up the good work. I’ll call you. Soon.”
Before she could say another word, she heard the click on the other end. He’d hung up. She set the phone down carefully and tried to decide what she ought to do next.
Call him back and demand specifics? She knew already what she’d get for that. He’d tell her again not to worry.
Should she call her mom, ask for advice? No. It wasn’t her mom’s problem and she didn’t want to worry her.
But the situation made her nervous. Her uncle, who’d spent most of his life behaving as if her branch of the family didn’t exist, showed up out of nowhere, wined and dined her and then told her where to go and what to do to get the kind of job she’d been seeking for months with zero success.
It was too perfect. Add his warning that she shouldn’t mention him at TAKA-Hanson? Definitely suspicious. And now he’d told her right out that in time he would want her to spy for him.
But so what? She’d done nothing wrong. She would do nothing wrong.
And until her uncle actually asked her to do something unethical, she would mind her own business and not borrow trouble.
Chapter Two
The next day, Shelly claimed Verna’s desk for her own. She got to work at seven-thirty and set up the computer the way she liked it. She went through the desk drawers and rearranged them to her personal satisfaction.
Tom arrived at eight-fifteen. “First day flying solo, huh?” He wore a designer suit and a tie that matched his eyes and she thought he looked amazing.
“I’ve got Verna’s cell on auto-dial if I need her. Which I won’t.”
“Confidence. I like that.” He looked at her with admiration. She resisted the urge to smooth her hair. “Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll go over the calendar.”
“Will do.”
He disappeared into his office and she stared at the place he’d been, grinning like a fool.
Note to self: mind on the job, not on the boss….
The day progressed without a single crisis—not on Shelly’s end, anyway. She put the final touches on the arrangements for Verna’s retirement party, which she’d managed to move up to tomorrow night after Verna had confided that her husband wanted to head for some RV park in Ohio on Sunday.
Tom spent most of his day putting out fires.
He had to call an emergency meeting about the San Francisco flagship site. The hotel was supposed to be opening in September and the interiors, according to the site manager there, were a disaster. The designer was not only over budget, but also behind schedule. Way behind schedule.
There was also some problem at the Kyoto site. The facility there was still under construction, and things had been moving right along until the past few weeks. And there were accounting issues, as well. Tom took another long meeting with his managers to discuss the situation.
Friday he told Shelly he would be going to San Francisco on Monday and then to Japan on Thursday. “You’ll probably have to move a few meetings around for me. Go over my appointments and make the calls. Push everything to the following week, if you can. We should have the day here in Chicago on Wednesday, so you can pack it with whatever can’t be put off till the week of the thirtieth. Let me know if there are issues.”
“Yes. Of course.”
He said, “And I’d like you with me for both trips.”
With him…
Somehow, Shelly managed not to jump up and down in her chair. This was the life. Jetting to the west coast. Zipping off to Japan…
She’d get packed over the weekend. It was going to be fabulous. She needed a decent suitcase. One of those new ones with four wheels. She’d pick one up Saturday morning. They couldn’t be that expensive, could they?
He asked, “Can you manage it?”
“It?” She blinked.
“Two trips in one week?”
“Uh. Yeah. I can. I’m with you. No biggie.” Max would still be in Mount Vernon next week. Childcare wouldn’t be a problem. Not this time.
“Got a passport?”
“Yes, I do. I took care of that on the day I got the job.”
“Good. What else? Everything under control for Verna’s party tonight?”
“Everything’s a go. I just got off the phone with the caterer. And I checked around the office to make certain they all knew we’d changed the date. From the responses I got, we should have a great turnout.”
They held Verna’s retirement party in a friendly little bar on a side street, a few blocks west of the office. Most of the women from HR were there, along with the lower-level executives from the finance department and several of the secretaries and assistants Verna had worked with in her twenty-two years at Hanson Media, then TAKA-Hanson.
Verna’s husband, Hank, came, too. And Tom, of course.
The beer flowed freely and the food was cafeteria-style, set out in chafing dishes on a long table. Customers grabbed a plate and helped themselves.
Verna got a Rolex to mark the occasion and Tom gave a little speech in her honor. And he offered a toast. “To Verna. We’ll miss you. Think about us now and then while you and Hank are out there seeing America….” He raised his beer glass to his former assistant as Hank put his arm around her and kissed the top of her graying head. Everybody clapped and cheered.
From the stool she’d claimed down the bar, Shelly raised her glass high and joined in the toast, happy for Verna, even happier for herself.
Someone tapped her shoulder. She swiveled her chair around. “Hey, Lil.” Lillian Todd worked for one of the finance managers. She had sleek red hair and a killer body. She seemed to spend most of her time in the break room and making the rounds, chatting up all the secretaries, flirting with every guy in sight. Verna had confided in Shelly that it was lucky for Lil she was as smart as she was sexy. She spent so much time gossiping and making eyes at the men, she needed to be fast to get her work done, too.
“Doing all right on your own?” Lil had to shout to be heard over the rowdy crowd.
Shelly
nodded, and shouted back, “So far, so good.” Lillian opened her mouth to say something else—but then she blinked and aimed her sexiest smile at a point past Shelly’s shoulder.
“Terrific party.” The male voice, deep and warm and threaded with humor, spoke in Shelly’s ear.
Tom. She turned to him—and tried not to get lost in those baby blues of his, tried not to sigh over the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, over the five-o’clock shadow on his manly jaw. His suit jacket, as usual, was nowhere in evidence. His tie was gone, too. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves the way he liked to do.
The strangest feeling washed through her. A mix of excitement—and tenderness.
Tenderness? For a man she’d known less than two weeks? That hardly seemed possible. Yet somehow, it was so.
The party seemed to get louder by the minute. She had to lean close or shout. She leaned. “Having fun?”
“You bet.”
Someone in the corner let out a whoop and everyone started laughing and clapping again. It simply wasn’t the kind of party where you could have an actual conversation.
So she nodded and sipped her beer and stared into those eyes of his. They actually twinkled. Funny. Until Tom, she’d thought that twinkling eyes were more a figure of speech than anything that occurred in nature.
He leaned toward her again. She met him halfway. He smelled of some subtle aftershave and soap. And man. All man.
“Hungry?” He set his empty glass on the bar.
She set hers beside it. He gestured toward the table with the food on it and she slid off her stool and started walking, aware with every step that he followed. They filled a couple of plates and went back to the bar.
Since it was such a chore to try to talk, they ate to the rowdy laughter of their coworkers and the occasional shouted good wishes directed at Verna and Hank.
Shelly had hired a DJ and the place had a postage stamp of a dance floor at one end. Hank gave the DJ a big tip and a list of favorite tunes. Then he pulled Verna onto the floor. They swayed to the music. A few other couples joined them. Not too many. There wasn’t that much room.
Shelly watched, feeling sentimental. Hank and Verna reminded her a little of her parents: married forever, still going strong.
Tom leaned close again. “Dance?”
She slanted him a look—wanting the dance, wondering if they were carrying this a little too far. For the umpteenth time, she reminded herself that the last thing she needed was an office romance.
Especially one with her boss.
Even if he did have the bluest eyes in Chicagoland.
But then again, it was just a dance. No big deal….
He held out his hand. She settled the light chain strap of her bag more securely on her shoulder and put her hand in his. His lean fingers closed around hers. Warm. Strong. Good.
Too good.
It was another slow one. Hank seemed to have picked all slow ones. A real romantic, that Hank.
Tom pulled her into his arms. Shelly tucked herself into him—not too close, just enough that she could feel his body’s signals as he led her.
Neither of them said a word. That suited Shelly just fine. It was…lovely. A few brief moments out of time. One hand enclosed hers, the other fitted itself possessively on the curve of her lower back. Shelly closed her eyes and cleared her mind of thought, enjoying the sweet strains of the old, romantic song. And even better than the music was the heat of Tom’s body, so close to hers, the light caress of his big hand at her back, the occasional rough brush of his cheek against her temple.
It was over much too soon. A fast number came on next.
Hank groaned, “What about my list? That one’s not on my list.”
Everybody laughed, more of them crowding forward onto the floor, fast-dancing to the heavy rock beat of the new song.
Tom dropped his hand from her back. But he didn’t let her go. The fingers of his other hand stayed firmly wrapped around hers. He led her off the floor.
She was far too content with going wherever he felt like taking her. Not smart, and she knew it. Professionally speaking, she really ought to break up this twosome they somehow seemed to have formed. It was one thing to spend a little social time with her boss.
And something else altogether when it started feeling like a date, when she found herself imagining what it might be like to kiss him, to walk down a summer street in the heat of the evening, holding hands with him. To…
Uh-uh. Enough. Not going there. No way.
She slowed her steps and gently pulled her hand free of his. He turned back to her with a questioning frown.
“Ladies’ room.” She mouthed the words and stuck a thumb back over her shoulder.
He shrugged and nodded.
She turned and left him, quickly, before she found some excuse to stay.
In the ladies’ room, she freshened her lip gloss and brushed her hair. It didn’t take long. But if she went back out too soon, Tom could be waiting where she’d left him.
She entered a stall, feeling kind of silly, but wanting to give Tom plenty of time to find someone else to hang with. When it finally got too ridiculous just standing in there, she emerged and washed her hands.
As she was reaching for a towel, Lil came out of one of the other stalls.
“Hey, Shel. Havin’ fun?” She put the oddest emphasis on the word fun.
Was it some kind of dig? But the other assistant met her eyes in the mirror, a friendly smile on those plump red lips.
“Yeah,” Shelly said. “I am. A real good time. You?”
“Fabulous.”
Out in the bar, the party was still in full swing. Shelly caught sight of Tom, over at a corner table with some of the other execs from the finance department and a couple of guys she was pretty sure were from down in accounting. She started to turn and go the other way, but Tom spotted her and signaled her over.
She went to him, aware of a rising feeling in her chest, wishing she wasn’t so glad that he’d caught her before she made her escape. The others made room for her, leaving the chair beside him empty.
Shelley sat down next to her boss.
“I was beginning to wonder if someone had kidnapped you.” He leaned close as he spoke to her, though he didn’t really need to.
The noise level seemed to have faded down a few notches in the last half hour or so. The bar wasn’t so crowded. People had left to catch their trains home, and those that remained talked more quietly—over at the bar, and around the tables.
She smiled at him, her widest, warmest smile. “Nope. Not kidnapped. Right here, safe and sound.”
“It’s a relief. I can’t afford to lose another assistant. I might not be so lucky next time finding a replacement.”
They looked at each other, the eye contact drawing out longer than she should have allowed it to.
Then Jessica Valdez, one of Tom’s managers, brought up the interior-design issues they were having at The Taka San Francisco. The rest of them started talking at once—offering complaints, suggestions and even a few solutions. The guys from accounting really got into it. Riki, the internationally acclaimed designer, was on everyone’s bad side.
“Never trust a guy without a last name,” grumbled one of the accountants.
“Maybe Riki is his last name,” joked a junior finance exec.
“Two names,” said one of the finance managers. “A guy should have two names. First and last. It’s fiscally irresponsible to try getting along with one. Not to mention damned pretentious.”
Tom called a halt to the subject after a while. “I know it’s an issue. And you all know I’ll be dealing with Riki face-to-face on Monday. And Thursday, I’ll get with Robby.” Robby Axelrod was in charge of construction on the Kyoto site. “See what we can do about the cost problems there.”
A few minutes later, Verna and Hank came over to say goodbye. Shelly got up and gave Verna a hug. “Send me a postcard.”
Verna grinned. “I promise. I’ll keep in tou
ch. And thanks for the party. It was terrific.”
Tom got up, too, and walked the couple to the door of the bar. When he came back to the table, everyone else started making going-home noises.
Since Shelly had taken charge of the party when she moved up the date, she went ahead and played hostess. She stuck around till the last stragglers called it a night. Finally, she flipped out her shiny new TAKA-Hanson credit card and paid the tab.
Tom took the padded bench in the vestibule and waited for Shelly to head for the door.
She seemed surprised to see him there. “Hey. You didn’t have to wait.”
He rose. “Can’t have my favorite assistant wandering out onto Clark Street alone.”
She gave him a laugh. He really liked her laugh. “I think it’s totally safe, Tom.”
“You never know.”
She lifted her slim wrist and glanced at her watch. “It’s not even nine.”
“Almost dark. Could be dangerous.”
“The biggest danger isn’t the kind you can protect me from.” Her brandy-colored eyes teased him.
He took her arm and turned her for the door. “Tell me all about it.”
“Michigan Avenue. It’s in walking distance and I’ve got plastic. Blocks and blocks of great stores. I could end up spending a whole lot of money I don’t even have.”
“So I swear I won’t take you shopping. Whew. Another bankruptcy averted. Aren’t you glad I’m here?”
She smiled again. He loved her smile. “Okay. I’m glad. Happy now?” She looked worried, suddenly. “Where’s your jacket?”
“You’re a hell of an assistant. Nothing gets by you.”
“If someone’s walked off with your suit coat…”
“I left it—along with my tie—at the office.” He guided her through the door into the warmth of the evening. “Nice out.” He kept her hand wrapped around his arm and headed north on Clark, for no other reason than that staying on the move seemed a good way to keep her with him.
They were going to be working closely together from now on and it never hurt to get a little social time with his assistant. No, he’d never walked arm-in-arm up Clark Street with Verna. But then, Verna was fifty-four and happily married. Different assistant, different approach.
In Bed with the Boss Page 3
