by Diana Palmer
She tuned out his unnerving changes in volume and tone and stayed with her task, typing the words as he spoke them, throwing in punctuation wherever his pace and phrasing seemed to indicate it, stopping when she heard her name, and then waiting—calm, ready, silent—until he said her name again.
There was something about typing that just worked for her, that was as effortless as drawing her next breath.
Not that she’d ever want to type for a living. Uh-uh. Too much sitting. For the long haul, she needed a job with variety, a job where she didn’t have to spend all day on her butt.
But Nellie had mentioned a looming deadline, hadn’t she? How long did he have? A few months at the most? Elise could be a typist for three months. If the money was good enough.
About twenty minutes after he started dictating, Jed said her name yet again—and after that, he was silent.
She cast him a quick, questioning glance.
With one big arm across his chest and the other elbow braced on it, he stroked the scruff of beard on his square jaw, a calculating gleam in his eyes. Finally, he spoke. “The typing test is over. Swivel that chair around.” She turned her chair to face him. “Can you go on like that for hours?”
She took a minute to consider the question.
It was a minute too long, apparently, because he muttered impatiently, “You may speak now.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a sarcasm he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. “I would need a five-minute break every two hours, long enough to stand up and walk around a little.”
“I can accept that.”
“An hour for lunch.”
He scowled as he continued to stroke his rocklike jaw. Apparently, in his world, typists shouldn’t be allowed to waste precious time on food. But then he conceded, “All right. An hour. But you’ll need to be flexible as to which hour. If the story’s flowing, you might have to wait a while to eat.”
“Even with regular five-minute breaks, there have to be limits. No more than five hours at a stretch without an hour-long break.”
A grunt of disapproval escaped him. But then he agreed, “Five hours. All right. The work will be intense and you’ll need to roll with that. I have to get a book out fast and I’ll need you when I need you—which will be ten to twelve hours a day. You will have to live here and you will work six days a week, with Sundays off.”
Live here in his house? God, it sounded awful. But in the end, it was all about the money. If the money was good enough, she could bear a whole boatload of awful.
And wait. What about Mr. Wiggles? He would have to come with her. “I have a cat. My cat will be moving in with me.”
Dead silence from Walsh. He stopped stroking his jaw and moved to the windows. For several seconds, he stared out at the mountains.
It appeared that Mr. Wiggles was going to be a deal-killer. Well, so be it. She’d barely gotten the big sweetie out alive during the fire. If she had to live with this strange, grumpy man, Wigs was coming with her. Or she wouldn’t come at all.
Jed turned those intense eyes on her again. “Fine. Bring the damn cat.” She felt equal parts triumphant that she’d won her demand and let down that she was one step closer to being Jed Walsh’s typing slave for she still didn’t know how long. She was about to ask him how long the job would last when he said flatly, “Unfortunately, I find you sexually attractive. That could be a problem.” Did he actually just say that? Another of those odd shivers swept through her as he added thoughtfully, “But then there’s the cat. I hate cats. That should help.” Frowning, he kept those cold eyes steadily on her. “You’re thinking I shouldn’t have told you that I’m attracted to you. But I think it’s better if we’re on the same page.”
She probably shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t resist. “What page is that, Jed?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “The one where you know that I’m aware of you as a woman, but we both know that work is the focus here and we will be keeping it strictly professional.”
Elise said nothing. Really, what was there to say? The less the better, clearly. She shouldn’t be flattered. But she was, a little. Apparently the extra pounds she’d put on since the fire didn’t look so bad on her, after all.
“My deadline is November first and it will not be extended.”
“Four and a half months.” She mentally calculated the money that might be hers.
“It’s likely you’ll be finished by mid-October, but I need you to commit till November first, just in case I run into trouble. I do most of my rewriting while composing the first draft of the manuscript. So essentially, the book is finished when I get to the last page. Then I clean it up, but that I usually can do on my own in a couple of weeks, max."
"All right. Four to four and a half months, then."
"Yes. If you last, the position will become permanent. It’s a grind when I’m on a project. But as I said, I type my own rewrites, so as soon as I’ve made it to the end of the first draft, I probably won’t need you until I start the next book. You’ll have weeks and sometimes months off at a time between books.”
Elise thought of all those thousands he supposedly would pay. She could almost let him think she might be willing to type his novels long-term to get a chance at that money.
But she wasn’t willing, no way. And it was only right to let him know up front. “I’m sorry, Jed. If we can come to terms, I’ll do this one project. But as of November first, I’ll be moving on.”
His scowl deepened. “I pay well.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“If you work out, I’ll need you to stay on.”
“Sorry, not happening. I’m done the first of November. If you can’t accept that, then—”
He cut her off with a grunting sound. “All right. Have it your way. Even if you make it through the trial period, you’re done when I finish this book. If it turns out we work well together, I’m not gonna like it, but I need someone ASAP. Let’s move on to the money. You’ll be an independent contractor. You pay your own insurance and deal with your own taxes.”
“Not a problem if the money’s right.”
“Three thousand a week.”
Amazing! When this ordeal was over, she could have enough to get Bravo Catering up and running again. Her heart raced in excitement and her palms started sweating at the prospect. But really, why stop there?
She wiped all signs of greedy glee from her face and manufactured a serene smile. “Four thousand a week.”
His cold stare went subzero. She was dead certain they were done here and she knew a moment of stark regret. No, she didn’t want to sit in a chair all day typing her fingers to the bone, but she did want that money.
And then at last, wonder of wonders, he nodded. “All right. Four.” She was just breaking into her mental happy dance when he added, “If you last. We’ll start with a three-day trial at five hundred a day.”
She opened her mouth to shout out a yes. But some contrary creature within her spoke up first. “I’ll have my own room, correct?”
He looked down his blade of a nose at her. “Of course.”
“Just to be clear, I will need my own bathroom, en suite.”
“There are six bedrooms in this house.” He was wearing his bored face again. “Each has its own bath.”
“I want to see the one where I’ll be staying, please.”
He asked wearily, “Would you prefer the ground floor or upstairs?”
Choices. She loved those. Lately, there had been so few. “Where is your room?”
Green eyes narrowed. “And that matters, why?”
“I need my space.”
He made a humphing sound. “I have half of the upper floor.”
“Ground floor, then.” She really did need a place to go where he wasn’t. “Show me, please.”
&n
bsp; Jed’s expression asked why she insisted on wasting his precious time. But all he said was, “Follow me.”
She rose and went after him, back through the great room and down another hallway. He stopped at a door and pushed it inward.
The room on the other side was larger than her apartment over the donut shop. It had a king-size bed and its own sitting area, with a big-screen TV above the modern gas fireplace. The wide windows revealed another beautiful mountain view. There was even a set of French doors leading out to a small private patio. She could hardly wait to settle in.
“Walk-in closet there.” He pointed at one of the two interior doors. “I hope this will do,” he said, heavy on the irony.
She had one more question. The most important one. “May I see the bathroom?”
“Be my guest.” He gestured at that other door.
Elise marched over and pushed it open.
Pure luxury waited on the other side. She’d never been much for the rustic look. But in this case, she could definitely make an exception.
The woodwork was dark and oversize, breathtaking. Travertine tiles in cream and bronze covered the floor and climbed halfway up the walls. The long vanity had two sinks and copper fixtures. There were separate stalls for the toilet and the open shower, which had side jets and a rain showerhead.
Very faintly, she smelled cinnamon. Jed had come to stand behind her in the doorway. “The towel racks have warmers, of course,” he said. “And the floor is heated.”
“Of course,” she said softly, transfixed by the glorious sight of the giant jetted tub tucked into its own windowed alcove. The tub windows had center-mounted cellular shades that could be raised to the top to block glare, or lowered to the bottom for privacy. She could stretch out in bubbly splendor and stare at the sky.
“Well?” Jed demanded.
She turned and met his eyes. “When do you want me to start?”
CHAPTER TWO
Elise Bravo was a find.
Jed knew she was going to last.
He’d known it the minute he’d let her in his house. She wasn’t like the never-ending string of hopeless cases he’d hired and fired in the past year. She could type like nobody’s business while keeping her mouth shut and not getting frazzled or riled. There was something downright soothing about her, something receptive. She was exactly what he’d been afraid he would never find again. At last.
And he liked looking at her. He could go for her, definitely. She was so soft and pretty, round-faced and bright-eyed, with just enough junk in the trunk. She smelled good, as well. Fresh. Like clean sheets.
She also had attitude. Jed liked a woman with attitude. He liked a woman who could hold her own.
Not that he’d ever make a move on her. Any woman could provide sex. But a skilled assistant was a pearl beyond price. He’d learned that the hard way during the past god-awful year after Anna deserted him.
So yeah, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to be seeing Elise naked. It was going to be all about the work. He’d taken his last extension on this book. With Elise at the keyboard, he would knock the damn thing out.
“I need to get to work immediately,” he said.
“I understand. But first I have to get my cat, move my things and settle in a little.”
The cat. For a moment, he’d almost succeeded in forgetting the cat. “We’ll start tomorrow morning, then,” he said grudgingly.
“Yes. All right, tomorrow.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the bathroom behind her, as if to reassure herself that it was actually there. She really seemed to like the bathroom. Whatever floats your boat, Elise. She could spend every free moment in there for all he cared. Just as long as she performed during the long working hours. “What about meals?” she asked. “I’ll need to have the use of the kitchen while I’m staying here.”
“No problem. I have a cook-housekeeper, Deirdre, who comes in five days a week. She’ll make plenty for both of us. But if you want to cook, knock yourself out. You can consider the kitchen and any food and drinks you find in it yours.”
“Works for me.” She looked up at him expectantly. Probably because he was blocking her path. “I should get going…”
He felt a definite reluctance to let her out of his sight. Anything could happen. What if she changed her mind about working for him? Got hit by lightning? Got in an accident bringing over her stuff and her damn cat? He warned, “We start work at zero-eight-three-zero hours sharp.”
“That’s eight thirty, right?”
“Correct.”
“No problem. I’ll be here and I’ll be ready.”
He reconciled himself to letting her go. Turning for the outer door, he doled out necessary info as he led her along the hall to the front of the house. “It’s a four-car garage. You can have the bay on the far left. Before you go, I’ll get you a garage-door remote, a house key and the code for the alarm system…”
* * *
At her apartment, Elise parked in her space by the Dumpster and entered the building through the back door. The hallway and the stairwell smelled of donuts from the donut shop in front. She’d grown to hate that smell, mostly because it tempted her constantly. There was something so perfect about a donut, after all. Flour and fat and sugar, deep-fried and glazed or frosted. The purest sort of comfort to a desperate woman’s soul.
Well, bye bye, temptation and hello, jetted tub. So what if she had to type Jed Marsh’s book for a living? She’d have a bath every night and make buckets of money. Life was looking up.
Mr. Wiggles was waiting when she opened the door. “Mrow?” he asked.
“Wigs!” She scooped him up, all twenty-plus superfluffy pounds of him. He was orange, with a huge, thick tail and a deep, loud purr. She buried her face against his lionlike ruff. “We are moving today,” she told him. “We’ll keep this dump for now, I think. And reevaluate our crappy living situation once the job is over.”
“Mrow, mrow,” Wigs replied, as though he understood every word she said. He butted his big head against her cheek to let her know how much he loved her. She gave him one more kiss for good measure and then set him down to start packing.
Her cell rang as she was piling clothes into three suitcases spread open on the lumpy bed.
It was Nellie. “Well?”
“Nailed it.”
“You got the job! I knew you would.”
“I have to live there, in his house.”
“I built that house and Chloe designed the interiors.” Chloe was their brother Quinn’s wife. “You’re gonna love it.”
She thought of the bathtub, of the king-size bed. “Oh, yes, I will. And the money is good. Really good.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. What about Jed? Seriously, you think you can put up with him?”
“He’s not so bad. A little weird. A lot intense.”
“Sexy, though, right? In a club-you-senseless-and-drag-you-to-his-cave sort of way.”
For some unknown reason, Elise felt a hot flush rush upward over her cheeks. “Don’t even go there. He’s my boss now and we’re keeping it strictly professional.”
Nell’s naughty laugh echoed in her ear. “You have way more scruples than can possibly be necessary—and we have to celebrate. I’m buying the drinks.”
“Rain check. I need to get moved in over there tonight. The job starts early tomorrow morning.”
“He gives you crap you can’t handle, you call me.”
Elise’s cheeks were still burning. She could almost smell cinnamon. And what about that crazy thing he’d said? Unfortunately, I find you sexually attractive. “Oh, I think I can handle him.”
Nell laughed. “There. That’s what I’ve been missing. You’ve got your attitude back.”
She felt all misty-ey
ed suddenly. “Thank you, Nellie.”
“Hey. What’s a sister for?”
“We, um…we’re all right now, you and me. Aren’t we? I mean, I know I was a total bitch to you back in the day…”
“Back in the day? You and Tracy treated me like crap right up until Clara’s almost-wedding to Ryan.” That was nearly two years ago now. Clara hadn’t married her best friend, Ryan McKellan, but she had somehow succeeded in healing the lifelong breach between Elise and Nell—and Nell and Tracy.
Elise defended her absent bestie. “Don’t be too hard on Tracy. She always just followed my lead.” But not anymore. Tracy was forging her own way now.
Nell laughed again. “You’re right. It was all your fault. But I did get my licks in, too. Remember that time I put bubblegum on your breakfast-nook chair?”
Elise started laughing, too. “I loved those yellow shorts. They were never the same.”
“It’s what you get for messing with me.”
“I know. You’re so scary.”
“Oh, yes, I am. And don’t you forget it.”
“Never. And I guess what I’m asking is, do you forgive me for all the mean things I did?”
Nell gave a soft sigh. “You know I do.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Leesie? You’re not getting sappy on me, are you?”
Elise swiped at her damp eyes. “No way. Gotta go.”
They said goodbye and Elise made quick calls to Clara and Jody, to tell them she had a job typing Jed Walsh’s newest book and wouldn’t be in at the café or Bloom the next day.
Then she finished packing and dragged her suitcases down to her car, followed by all the cat gear and, last but not least, Mr. Wiggles. He rode in the front seat, sitting up tall beside her, watching the world go by and making those cute little chirping sounds, his own personal brand of kitty conversation. He loved the car and he never got in the way of her driving, so she’d given up on making him ride in his carrier.
She took the space in the garage that Jed had assigned to her and carried Mr. Wiggles in first, pausing in the utility room to check the alarm. As it turned out, Jed hadn’t armed it when she left, so she didn’t have to mess with it right then. She went on down a hallway and then through the kitchen and great room and down that other hall to her bedroom suite, finding no sign of her employer along the way.
