Daddy Warlock

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Chance had laid the groundwork. He’d announced to his staff that he needed help outside normal business hours, which was true. Besides, working weekends and evenings together would require Tara to spend time at his home office, and he planned to invite her to bring her son along.

  Then he’d placed a blind ad. She hadn’t responded, but he doubted she would realize that. He’d had to finesse the part about losing her résumé, but she’d bought it.

  It was sheer good luck that she hadn’t found another position during the past two weeks, but the sluggish economy had worked in Chance’s favor. Now he just had to persuade her to take the position.

  “Mr. Powers?” came his secretary’s voice on the intercom. “Miss Blayne is here.”

  Rushing out to greet her might look suspicious. It would also make his secretary suspect he’d taken leave of his senses. With forced calmness, Chance said, “Send her in.”

  Then he assumed an air of detachment and stood to greet the newcomer.

  POWERS Financial Corporation occupied a low-key, palm-shaded building along a side street in Beverly Hills. From the moment she stepped into its flower-filled entryway, Tara felt at home.

  Pausing in front of a mirrored wall, she straightened the skirt of her rose-colored suit. The high collar of the tan blouse flattered her long neck, and, with more than a little help from Denise, her hair was behaving itself for a change.

  She felt ready to go back to work, and this would be an ideal environment. Now if only Mr. Chance Powers didn’t turn out to be an ogre.

  After an elevator ride to the second story, Tara pushed aside the double glass doors bearing the name of the firm. A receptionist directed her to an office suite, where the secretary buzzed her boss.

  Tara wondered where a personal assistant would fit in, and what her duties might be. Was the man seeking a potential executive or did he want a coffeemaker and gofer?

  She braced herself for whatever might come. There would be other job possibilities, she told herself. But whether it was because Mr. Powers himself had called her or due to the pleasantness of the surroundings, this one felt right.

  “Go on in,” said the secretary.

  “Thanks.” Fighting the instinct to check her hand mirror one last time, Tara stepped through the inner door.

  Her first impression was of vast space, soothing light and gleaming wooden surfaces, but this was merely the setting. Behind a large desk stood a figure who dominated the room.

  What was it about the man that gave him such an aura of authority? He was tall and muscular, his dark hair slightly overgrown. A suppleness in his gray suit hinted of silk, but there was nothing soft about the planes of his face.

  “I’m Tara Blayne.” Crossing the room, she thrust out her hand, and found it seized in a firm grip. As they touched, a sense of dislocation came over her, and for one disconcerting moment she imagined she could see herself from his perspective: skin flushed, tan blouse drawn snugly across her breasts, lips slightly parted.

  Then, as if a door had slammed shut, the connection broke. At his gesture to be seated, Tara chose a hardbacked chair, barely remembering to place the copy of her résumé on his desk before she sat.

  What was wrong with her? She didn’t usually respond to men this way, especially not in an employment situation. In fact, she had found men uninteresting these past years since she’d become a mother. Further, she knew that allowing any hint of sexuality in an office relationship was flirting with danger.

  Chance Powers settled back, regarding her dubiously. At least, she guessed that doubts might be what caused the coldness in his expression. She wondered if he had guessed her response and was offended.

  She decided to seize the initiative. “As you can see, I have six years of office experience, including managerial background. I’ve studied accounting, and my computer skills are up-to-date.”

  “Know anything about the stock market?” he asked.

  There hadn’t been time to brush up since his phone call a few hours earlier. “Not much,” Tara admitted. “Good.” The Wall Street Wizard leaned forward, elbows on the desk. His eyes had a faint slant that struck her as familiar, until she realized that he looked a little like her son. The similarity was disturbing, and she thrust it from her mind. “I have my own way of analyzing and forecasting trends. I prefer not to be hampered by preconceived ideas.”

  “Could you provide me with a specific job description?” Tara wanted to be as forthright as possible. It helped keep her from getting intimidated, and, judging by his brisk way of speaking, the man was accustomed to directness. “A personal assistant could be almost anything.”

  His speculative look caught her by surprise. She had the impression he was trying to figure out what to say to win her over, but why would he do that?

  “Frankly, it’s the first time I’ve employed anyone in this capacity, so I’m still defining the job duties,” he said at last. “Running a company like this requires putting in long hours. I have to keep tabs on developments all over the world, and the world never sleeps.”

  A knot formed in Tara’s stomach. She hoped this wasn’t going to be another job that required working evenings and weekends, but it sure sounded like it.

  “My regular employees aren’t always available when I need them,” Powers went on, watching her closely. “Also, sometimes I’ll start a project in the off-hours, which spills over into the regular work week. It wastes time if I have to start someone from scratch. I need an assistant who can be available on a flexible basis. With a full-time salary, of course.”

  The knot in her stomach tightened. “Mr. Powers, I’d love to work for you and I’d love to learn more about the financial field. But I’m a single mother. There’s no one to watch my son at odd hours.”

  Picking up her résumé, he glanced over it. Was he looking for some mention of a child? Tara hadn’t cited her parental status, suspecting that some employers might be deterred.

  “The truth is, in some ways you’re overqualified for the position,” he said.

  She had heard those words before, with variations. Overqualified, overexperienced, too high a salary. Why couldn’t employers understand that she was willing to take a step backward if she had to?

  “I’m willing to start lower down the ladder if it’s with the right company,” she said. “I could arrange to work some off-hours. It’s just…well, finding baby-sitters isn’t easy. And I hate to leave my son with anyone I don’t know well.”

  His mouth tightened and he glanced away. Tara caught the impression that her words had somehow made him feel guilty. Perhaps he hated to turn down a single mother because she needed the job so badly.

  “As I said, I’m still working out the details of this position.” When the man folded his hands in front of him, the knuckles gleamed white. He was tense, but why? “I need someone absolutely reliable, who will be discreet about my clients’ information and who comes with the highest recommendation. Someone, in short, who’s overqualified to be a personal assistant. You fit that description better than anyone else who answered our ad.”

  Tara pressed her lips together, confused. Her résumé cited references on request, so he hadn’t seen them. How could he know she came with the highest recommendation? But then, she reflected, he could have called her former boss.

  “I wish I knew how to resolve this problem with the hours,” she said. “My girlfriend is willing to baby-sit occasionally, but—”

  “If you’re willing, you could do some of the work at your apartment,” Chance said. “Or bring your son to my house—” He paused as if mulling an idea. “You know, it might work.”

  “What might?”

  “It occurs to me,” he said, “that the best solution might be for you and your son to move into my house.”

  Why would he want them to live with him? Was he expecting her to serve as a maid? “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

  He smiled with a trace of embarrassment. The expression softened his fac
e and hinted at another, more approachable side to him.

  With a jolt, Tara realized what she’d been denying ever since she walked into this room. She was attracted to Mr. Chance Powers. It was more than mere attraction; all her senses had become heightened as if she were receiving signals from him at a subliminal level.

  A few minutes ago, a door had seemed to shut between them, but gradually it had swung open again. She could feel his awareness sweep over and through her, touching the most private places. Without realizing it, she had become so aroused that if he were to sweep her into his arms at this moment, she would be ready for him.

  Heat flooded Tara’s face. How could this be happening again? Nearly seven years ago she’d made the same kind of mistake, and thrown her life in an unexpected direction.

  She didn’t need any more left turns into the unknown. She needed a job, and she wasn’t going to ruin her opportunity by letting Chance know how he affected her.

  “I suppose moving into my home would be unusual,” he said. “But, like a lot of people in my position, I maintain a home office that functions twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t function twenty-four hours a day,” she retorted with more tartness than she’d intended.

  He broke into a laugh. “I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong idea. First of all, Ms. Blayne, the way my house is laid out, you and your son would have a private suite. Your own apartment, as it were. Your free time would be your own.”

  She hated to admit how appealing that sounded The high cost of rent in Los Angeles was eating her budget alive. Furthermore, she would love to transfer Harry to a different school, away from his fork-flinging nemesis.

  Living in the same house with a sexy man could present problems. Yet since that moment when she’d felt a wave of desire, the vibrations between them had ebbed again. Surely she could keep her feelings under control, or perhaps they would disappear entirely with time.

  “In addition,” the man went on, “I have a full-time housekeeper. He handles the routine cooking and cleaning, and he could watch your son when you’re busy.”

  The possibility of finding a live-in position had never occurred to Tara, since her skills lay in office work. But the advantages were obvious. With Harry in the same house, she could work evenings while he slept.

  “What about travel?” she asked.

  “I go to New York and Tokyo occasionally,” Chance said, “but not very often. And I might not need you to come with me. If I ever did, my housekeeper and his sister live on the premises, so between them, Ha—your son would be well looked after.”

  Something was wrong here. Tara couldn’t imagine why this man would make inquiries about her son, but apparently he had. “Did you start to say ‘Harry’?”

  “Harry?” Chance blinked, a touch too quickly. “Who’s—? Oh! Your son.”

  “How did you know his name?” Tara pressed.

  He studied her thoughtfully. She felt a tickle between her ears, as if the man were probing her mind and replaying her thoughts like a videotape. Searching for an explanation, some way to cover his blunder.

  What blunder? Why am I so suspicious of him? What could he possibly be hiding?

  Then he nodded with what she could have sworn was relief. “Sorry, but I realized that I did know his name and I was trying to remember how. I called your former employer for a recommendation, and he must have mentioned the boy. Harry. Is he named after someone in your family?”

  It was a reasonable explanation, and the man seemed on the verge of offering her the job. Tara hoped she wasn’t turning into one of those foolish people who mistrust good fortune so much that they destroy it

  “It’s kind of silly,” she said. “You see, even though it was my first birth, Harry came out with almost no labor pains. If my waters hadn’t broken first, I don’t think I’d have had enough warning to make it to the hospital in time.”

  It seemed like an inappropriate detail to reveal at a job interview, but Chance showed no reaction, so she went on. “My girlfriend, who was my labor coach, suggested I name him after Harry Houdini because he appeared as if by magic. So I did.”

  Tara had intended to name the boy Andrew, after her father. But when she called him from the hospital and he spoke only words of condemnation, she had seized on Denise’s suggestion.

  “I’ve heard of that before,” Chance said. “That painless labor.”

  “Even for a first-time mom?” The nurses at the hospital had been amazed. “Really?”

  “It runs in certain families. Or so I’ve heard,” he said. “Well, when can you start?”

  He was offering her the job! It was almost too good to be true, but Tara refused to yield to her doubts. The rent was due next week, so the sooner she moved out, the better. “How about Monday?”

  “You can settle in over the weekend,” said her new boss, writing down directions to his house. “Will you need any help? I could arrange to put your furniture into storage.”

  “It’s rented with the apartment,” Tara said. “I can manage the rest of the stuff myself. Thanks, Mr. Powers. I promise I’ll do my best.”

  “Do your best to call me Chance, will you?” he said.

  “Certainly, Chance.” They shook hands and then, her head whirling, Tara marched toward the door.

  It was hard to absorb that she was no longer unemployed. Then, realizing that he hadn’t mentioned a salary, she paused. Would it be better to ask now or call later?

  “The salary,” he said as if reading her thoughts, “is fifty dollars more per week than your old job.”

  “That would be fine.” She would get a raise and a free place to live? At this rate, she should finally be able to put aside some savings!

  Whatever doubts she might have about moving in with a stranger were pushed aside. In Los Angeles, lots of important people worked at home and employed staff there. Movie stars, for instance.

  A financial adviser was hardly a movie star. But Tara had no intention of second-guessing her stroke of luck. She intended to spend the rest of spring vacation celebrating with her son.

  THAT HAD BEEN a close call. Chance couldn’t believe his carelessness in revealing that he knew Harry’s name.

  The entire interview had been a test of his self-confrol. The moment Tara walked in, he’d felt himself drawn into her mind the way he had that night at his party. That had been a strange sensation, viewing his own office through someone else’s eyes.

  Not just his office but himself. Chance Powers, financial hotshot, big and imperious, holding the reins of power.

  He didn’t want to control Tara or anyone else. If he were the sort of man who enjoyed manipulating others, he would have gone along with his father’s scheme’s.

  Yet he had maneuvered her into moving in with him, and thank goodness for it. To have Harry living with him would mean plenty of opportunities to observe the child and influence him. And the boy would be much safer at Chance’s house than living alone with an overworked single mom.

  But there were other dangers created by the situation, Chance reflected, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. If he’d had this much difficulty holding himself apart from Tara during the interview, with at least one lapse, what would happen when they found themselves together night after night?

  For him, the most difficult part of the interview had come when she described Harry’s birth. He should have been there. She shouldn’t have had to rely on a girlfriend, no matter how loyal. And Chance would give almost anything to have watched his son emerge into the light, and to hold the newborn infant in his arms.

  Birth with little pain was a much-appreciated characteristic of the Powers family. The greater the magic talents, the easier the child’s delivery into this world. Harry Houdini, indeed.

  This son of his must be one unusual kid, Chance reflected. He couldn’t wait to meet the little guy.

  Chapter Three

  Tara was glad she had her new job to look forward to, because d
uring these past few days it seemed as if everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

  The landlady refused to refund the security deposit and last month’s rent because Tara was moving out on such short notice. Tara would have agreed except that she knew the woman had a grown son who wanted to occupy the unit as soon as possible. Finally, on threat of a suit in small-claims court, the landlady agreed to return the rent but not the deposit.

  Then Harry fell off his bicycle, scraping his arm and chin and muttering that he didn’t think he could chew. Alarmed that he might have broken his jaw, Tara rushed him to the emergency room. He turned out to be. only bruised, but the medical bill nearly fractured her bank account

  Finally, when she came out to load the car on Friday afternoon, she discovered that some trickster had let the air out of her tires. The neighborhood abounded with undisciplined kids, and there was no telling which one had sneaked into the carport and done it.

  As Tara stood staring at her sunken car and trying to figure out how to remedy the situation, an ice blue sports car whipped into a space along the curb. The man behind the wheel, partially obscured by glare on the windshield, didn’t move for a few minutes, and then she saw that he was talking to someone she couldn’t see. Tara assumed he had a hands-free cell phone.

  From the apartment building, Harry struggled out with his arms full of stuffed animals. As he passed the sports car, he stopped and peered inside.

  “Hey, Mom!” he called. “This guy’s talking to his car!”

  “It’s a mobile phone,” she said. “Come on, Harry, give the man a little space.” Hurrying toward her son, she got a better look at the driver and realized it was Chance Powers.

  It was kind of him to help them move, since that was the only explanation she could think of for his presence. But how embarrassing to saddle him with the problem of how to revive her droopy tires!

  “No, no,” said the boy. “He’s really talking to the car!”

  At that moment, Chance’s door popped open without any apparent action on his part. Sunlight played across his thick dark hair, raising russet highlights. From this angle, his sculpted cheekbones and straight nose made him resemble a Greek sculpture.