by Cara Colter
“All right. If she’s truly slaving away in your yard, I’m sure she needs a manicure, but if she’s going to keep doing that kind of work, it won’t last. How about a pedicure? Maybe a haircut and some highlights?”
“Don’t mess with her hair. Her hair is perfect,” he said, then caught Ms. Bee’s look of disgust at what he’d said.
Oh, fine.
He didn’t care.
He liked her hair. So what?
He didn’t want anyone messing with Audrey’s sexy curls, except him. He liked the way they looked so natural and free, the way they framed her face and sometimes danced around it.
Surely he was allowed to like a woman’s hair.
“Okay,” Natasha said. “I’ll let her pick—manicure, pedicure or facial. How about that?”
“That sounds great. I’ll send her in a car.” To make sure she actually went and because, well, just because. Pampering was pampering. “And she gets up early, so let’s say seven-thirty? Can you do that?”
Natasha groaned. “Only for you, honey. Only you.”
Simon thanked her and then hung up, with Ms. Bee waiting for him.
“I knew you liked her,” Ms. Bee said.
“I like her hair, okay? The woman has great hair,” Simon remarked.
“Sure you do. Did you ever find out what she did to end up here, living above your garage and playing nanny to a dog?”
“No. Did you?” he asked, because he was sure she’d tried, just because Ms. Bee liked to know everything about everybody.
“Not yet. She acts like she’s afraid of me—”
“I wonder why?” Simon quipped. Most of his employees were terrified of Ms. Bee, and she knew it, enjoyed it, even.
“I haven’t done anything to her,” Ms. Bee said. “Actually, I think she’s afraid to let that dog get anywhere near me in case he annoys me. Which, I have to say, I’m very happy about. But since the dog hardly ever leaves her side, I haven’t seen much of your newest em-ploy-ee.”
She dragged out each syllable.
“I’m fully aware of the fact that Audrey works for me.”
“And that she has perfect hair,” Ms. Bee said, as she walked out of the kitchen, leaving him gazing out the window at Peyton, the dog and Audrey.
“She does have perfect hair,” Simon muttered, too softly for Ms. Bee to hear, because he didn’t want to fight about it anymore tonight, and Ms. Bee never gave up on a good fight.
It was just hair.
Surely he could resist something as simple as perfect hair.
Simon was not so happy when his alarm went off at five forty-five on a Saturday morning, but he got up, got dressed for a run and was in Peyton’s room by a few minutes after six.
Then he ended up standing in the doorway just watching her sleep.
She had what she called a Princess Bed, a fancy white bed of swirling iron and hot-pink sheets. She was lying in the middle of it on her side, her arm around the dog, who was lying beside her, his back to her chest, and they both looked comfortable as could be.
The dog lifted his head and squinted at Simon for a second or two when he walked in, then gave a little groan and put his head back down, as if to say there was no way he was leaving that nice, comfortable spot in the bed at this hour.
Simon swore softly in the darkened room, the first rays of the sun just starting to peek through the window shades.
Now what?
Wait here for the dog to decide to get up?
“It’s a good thing Peyton adores you,” Simon said to the animal, who was starting to stretch at least, as if he might get up soon.
Now they had him talking to the dog.
“No,” Simon told him. “I’m up. Audrey’s up, I’m sure, so you’re definitely going to get up. Come on.”
Tink looked truly annoyed, and he took his time but finally got off the bed and trotted over to Simon, looking up at him as if to say, Fine. I’m up. What now?
“As I said, it’s a good thing my daughter adores you. Come on. We’re going out.”
The dog followed him downstairs and out the kitchen door, promptly relieving himself and then looking up the garage stairs toward Audrey’s apartment and whining.
“Yeah, I know. They both think you’re great, don’t they?”
Simon grabbed a leash from just inside the garage and took off the dog’s link to the electronic fence. Then he followed Tink up the stairs to Audrey’s. She opened the door before he even got there, dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and what he thought was nice, tight biker shorts. Not that he could really see anything. Her T-shirt was too long and loose.
Damn.
Her face was completely bare, her hair a little wilder than usual and cute as could be. She looked soft, sleepy and inviting.
If she was his, they would not be getting up this early to run.
“Any trouble with him last night?” she asked.
“Not a bit. Except when I tried to get him up a minute ago. He looked quite comfortable in my daughter’s bed.”
Audrey bent down and greeted the dog, asking him if he was a good boy and then telling him she’d heard he was. Silly thing ate it up, as if he hadn’t been admired and praised by another female all evening long.
Audrey stood up and looked at Simon in his exercise clothes. “You’re going running?”
“I run,” he said. Did she think he looked like he couldn’t manage a few miles? “Granted, not that often. I’d rather play basketball at the gym at my office, but when I can’t do that, I run.”
“Okay.” Audrey hesitated. “You’re coming with us?”
“No. I’m taking the dog, and you are taking the day off.”
She looked worried at that. What was there about the idea of her having a day off that could worry her? Women could be absolutely bizarre at times.
“You did too much yesterday. I know it. You’ve got to be sore this morning, and you don’t need to be taking this dog for a run—”
“I can do it,” she insisted.
“I’m sure you can.” He laughed a bit because she sounded insulted, when all he was trying to do was apologize. “I’m saying you don’t have to, that I don’t want you to.”
“But, this is my job—”
“I know.” He was the one who hired her after all. “And as I tried to tell you yesterday, I’m not a slave driver, contrary to anything you might have heard about me. Audrey, I’m trying to apologize. I lost it with you yesterday morning. I screamed at you—”
“I screamed right back,” she reminded him.
“I know. I was there.”
And then she looked worried again.
Damn.
He didn’t want her to be afraid of him.
He didn’t want her to be afraid of anything, he realized.
“I just don’t want you working this hard, and I don’t want you doing anything today. I have a car coming to pick you up in—”
“A car?” She looked completely baffled.
“A driver with a car, coming to pick you up in exactly—” he consulted his watch “—forty-seven minutes to take you downtown to Morton’s—”
“Morton’s?” she asked, looking like a kid headed for the candy store.
Finally, he’d done something right with her.
“You know it?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Good. You’re going to Morton’s for a little pampering.”
“You can’t do that,” she told him.
Simon laughed. “I’m certain I can. In fact, I already have. It’s all arranged.”
“But … No.”
Did the woman not understand? No one argued with him, except Ms. Bee. “Why not?”
“Because,” she insisted. “Simon, you’re my boss.”
“Yes,” he said, deciding to agree with as much of her argument as he could. Maybe that would work and she’d listen.
“So, this is not really … appropriate.”
“Why not?”
“Beca
use you’re my boss,” she repeated.
“And you’ve made remarkable progress with the dog. Amazing progress. I couldn’t be more pleased. I even like the trees and the way they look. Tamed a bit, and the way the trimming opened up the view of the house. And I lost my temper. And the mulch was way too much for you to handle yourself, so … here’s a little thank-you and an apology all in one. Okay?”
“It just doesn’t seem … right. You sending me to a spa?”
“Why?”
“Well, I just … it doesn’t seem like the kind of gift that a man who happens to be someone’s boss gives to a woman who happens to be his employee.”
“Why not?” He thought it was a fine way to say he was sorry.
He let himself take a nice long look at her, all soft and rumpled and still sleepy, telling himself it was about figuring out what was wrong and nothing else. But he got distracted pretty fast and just started thinking of how good she looked like this.
How inviting.
How ridiculously attractive.
He caught an odd glint in her eyes, narrowing in on his.
Uh-oh.
This was probably not going to be good. He’d made her mad somehow.
“Simon, if you’re thinking that … That …”
“Yes?”
“That there’s going to be anything else between us—” She blushed furiously.
He thought about how very much he wanted there to be something else between them and wished it could be as easy between them as the dog disappearing, his pushing her back inside, closing the door behind him, peeling off every stitch she was wearing and taking her back to bed for a good, long time.
And he couldn’t say any of that to her.
At least he really shouldn’t.
He made a habit of not messing with the women who worked for him. He’d been tempted before, but he’d always resisted.
Of course, he’d never wanted to break all the rules as much as he did right then.
The dog whined, saving him maybe or maybe just doing it to spite him.
Simon really hated the dog in that moment.
But Audrey looked well and truly scared and sad and vulnerable as could be, and life seemed hard enough for her already. He didn’t want to make it more difficult.
“Audrey,” he said, not letting himself look at her anymore. He looked at the wall, at the sofa, at the tiny kitchen. “I do this all the time.”
Her mouth hung open, and she just stood there, waiting.
He thought back to what he’d just said.
Oh, hell.
“Morton’s, I mean.” He stepped back, trying to act as if nothing had happened, nothing had been between them in that moment or any one before. “I have an account there. I send my people there all the time. You know, I yell more than I should, and I’m trying to cut down. Really. But until I can manage that, I try to at least apologize nicely afterward. Morton’s has proven to be a favorite form of apology among the women on my staff.”
She looked confused, disbelieving, and then hopeful. “Really?”
He nodded. “It’s all arranged. They’re waiting for you. You have forty-five minutes until the car comes to get you. Enjoy your day.”
He went to leave before he said anything else he shouldn’t, but the dog didn’t want to go. He stood in the open doorway, whining pitifully and looking up at Audrey as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.
“It’s just for a few hours,” Simon told the dog. “She’ll be back.”
If it was possible for dogs to pout, this one did.
“Oh, for God’s sake. If you want to run this morning, come with me. If not, we can both go back to sleep.”
“Go on, Tink,” Audrey told him. “Go with Simon. Run.”
Run seemed to be the magic word. The dog looked disgruntled at his change in running partners but went, down the stairs and off into the neighborhood. Simon wondered how many miles he’d have to do to forget everything he’d like to do with Audrey, but doubted he could run that far if his life depended on it.
If Audrey had been Cinderella, in her version she’d rather have gone to Morton’s any day of the week instead of a silly ball. It was a real treat, even in her old life. Expensive and sinfully indulgent, like being transported to a private beach on a perfect summer day, without ever having to pack or leave town, and without getting a bit of sand on her.
A car and driver came to get her instead of a coach and white horses, which was fine with her, and the whole thing carried an air of fantasy with it.
She had to be dreaming.
Which meant she hadn’t accused Simon of trying to buy her affections with a trip to the day spa. Surely she hadn’t done that!
Audrey groaned, utterly confused, and sank back into the buttery-soft leather of the car seats. She got to Morton’s, and it didn’t even look as if it was open. Why would it be at this hour? But just as she was worried she was about to wake up, the front door opened and she was practically handed from the driver of the car, who was holding open the car door for her, to the beautiful, smiling woman who held open the front door.
“Ms. Graham. Welcome,” the woman said. “I’m Natasha Warren, the owner. I promised Simon we’d take good care of you.”
She was ushered into a beautifully serene room in all different shades of cream. Lush, soft, quiet, perfect. A virtual oasis.
“He suggested we start with a massage and then … whatever you like? Manicure? Pedicure? Facial?”
Audrey closed her eyes and wished fervently that she got to enjoy the massage and a facial before she woke up from her dream.
“Facial,” she said. “Please. I’ve been spending too much time in the sun.”
Natasha made tsk-tsking sounds about the dangers to a woman’s face lurking in the sunshine, as if that had a chance of even registering on Audrey’s list of worries until this very moment. She’d been too worried about keeping her job and getting her daughter to stop hating her.
But not now.
For now Audrey let herself float along, to the nice, quiet, dimly lit room where she took off her clothes and got under the soft, expensive cotton sheets and stretched out on the heated massage table, closed her eyes and let herself drift, her mind slowly emptying of everything except how good this felt.
Vaguely, she heard Natasha making worried sounds about the state of her hands, which were swathed in a soothing cream and then covered in big, warm mittens. More hands, starting on her head and working their way down her neck to her poor shoulders.
She didn’t do anything but roll over when told to do so and didn’t say anything resembling words, just moaned with happiness every now and then for the next … She didn’t even know how much time.
The idea of someone else taking care of her was completely foreign to her. She was always the one taking care of everyone else, so it was heavenly just to lie there, relax, rest and enjoy.
Her warm mittens came off eventually, and someone rubbed her poor, tired hands, then tucked them under the sheet where they could get warm again.
Warm, gooey things went on her face and stayed there, and she dozed a bit, she thought, too relaxed to even care or know for sure.
She felt like warm putty when they were done and wasn’t even sure she could get off the table or if her legs would hold her up.
“Good?” Natasha asked from nearby.
Audrey opened her eyes, blinked once, then again, slowly coming back to the present. “So good,” she said.
She had to be dreaming.
Reality couldn’t be this good.
Natasha laughed and said, “Don’t tell Simon, but I swear some of his women try to provoke him, just so he’ll send them here to make up for it.”
“Simon’s women?” That woke Audrey up.
She was not one of Simon’s women.
She couldn’t be.
“The women who work for him,” Natasha said. “I tease him and say I’m going to create special packages just for him. Simon Colli
er’s Standard Apology, Simon’s Really Big Apology and Simon’s Ultimate Apology. What do you think of that?”
Audrey thought maybe she wasn’t dreaming after all, that maybe she wasn’t going to wake up.
“He does this a lot?”
Natasha shrugged elegantly. “He should own the place for all the business he sends me.”
“So …” There was nothing special at all about this, just Simon being Simon.
And she’d accused him of coming on to her!
“Oh, no!” Audrey said.
“What? What is it?”
“No,” Audrey cried.
How could she have said that?
Thought that?
Just because she thought he was incredibly attractive didn’t mean he thought anything like that about her, and to just come out and tell him what she thought and that it wasn’t going to work with her …
“Oh, no!”
Natasha took her by the arm and made her sit back down, fussing over her and trying to figure out what was wrong.
“How can I ever look him in the eye again?”
Natasha tried, but Audrey absolutely refused to tell her any more. She fretted silently about it all the way back to Simon’s house, her body heavy and warm on the soft car seat, her mind muddled and troubled and still really hoping she was going to wake up.
The car stopped. The driver came around to her side and opened her door, and she feared she had no choice but to get out and hope Simon wasn’t here.
“Enjoy yourself, Ms. Graham?” the driver asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she whispered, sad as could be.
She stood in the driveway, afraid she heard footsteps behind her. Strong, masculine, self-assured footsteps.
Yes, that’s what she heard.
When she opened her eyes again, he was standing in front of her, an absolute model of healthy, confident, attractive male.
“You didn’t like your day?” he asked.
She groaned. “Simon—”
“What is it?” He held her by both arms, closer than he’d ever been to her, seemingly truly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
She closed her eyes, dipped her head down low, unable to look at him, and just blurted out. “You really do this all the time for people. That’s what Natasha said.”
He took her chin gently in his hand and tilted her face up to him. “So?”
