by Meier, Susan
She glanced up into his bright green eyes and her stomach fluttered. The assignment was pretty much what she’d expected to be doing in the accounting department. So part of the flutter was relief. But the other half came from those striking emerald eyes. He really was one gorgeous guy.
One gorgeous, difficult guy, she quickly reminded herself. The difficult canceled out the handsome. And even if it didn’t, she’d gone this route before. Cord Dawson had been rich and smart. And in the end, he’d attacked her, nearly raped her. No matter how gorgeous, she wanted nothing to do with another rich guy. She wasn’t in their league. Didn’t know how to play in their world. It was a lesson she’d never forget.
Taking the file, she rose. “Okay.”
He returned his attention to the papers on his desk. “Shut the door on your way out.”
She gladly left his office. Closing the door behind her, she squeezed her eyes shut in misery. Even if she learned to hold her tongue, it would be a long eight weeks.
* * *
Tucker Engle picked up the employment application, college transcripts, private investigator’s report and reference letters HR had sent on Olivia Prentiss. He’d reviewed it all before he’d chosen her, of course, but after meeting her, he needed to be reminded why she’d been his choice to stand in for Betsy.
Excellent grades.
Reference letters that sang her praises as if she were the next Queen of England.
A Facebook profile without pictures of cats—always a plus.
A Twitter account that barely got used. So she wasn’t a talker, someone who might inadvertently spill secrets.
Private investigator’s report that showed only one incident that had happened her second year at university. A kid from Starlight had sued her for slander. But he’d later dropped the suit. Tucker suspected it was one of those young-love, he-said–she-said things.
Otherwise, she came from a normal blue-collar family in Middle America. Which, he grudgingly admitted, explained why she didn’t understand that working directly with him was a coup, not a punishment. God knows, he would have loved someone to give him this kind of opportunity when he’d been through school and starting out in the work world. But after years of moving from home to home as a foster child, he knew it wasn’t wise to get close to people he could lose. So, there had been no one to so much as offer him a word of advice when he’d finally started his career. Still, he’d been okay. He’d worked his way to the top—the same way the professors who’d written Olivia’s reference letters said she wanted to. Actually, she was a lot like him. Bright. Ambitious.
Unfortunately, she was a little prettier than he’d expected with her long strawberry blonde hair and her big blue eyes. But he would never get involved with a coworker. Plus, he didn’t get involved with women just because they were pretty. He liked his dates to have some class, some charisma and a lot of knowledge. Etiquette and protocol could be taught. And there might be charisma lurking behind Olivia Prentiss’s quirkiness. But knowledge? The ability to chat with his peers at a cocktail party or gallery opening? She wouldn’t come by that for years. Thus, she did not appeal to him.
Luckily, he hadn’t chosen her to be a date. He’d chosen her to write reports, change reports, analyze reports. Her high marks in her accounting classes indicated she could probably do anything he needed to have done.
Satisfied, he made two conference calls. Just as he disconnected the second, his door opened.
“I’m sorry—”
Temper rumbled through him. It was one thing to be clueless about the etiquette of an executive office, to need some experience. It was another to be rude and open a door without knocking. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know how to operate the space shuttle’s worth of computer equipment you refer to as a phone, and a call—”
He sighed. “You’re supposed to screen calls. I don’t talk to just anybody who phones. Go find out who it is. Take their number. I’ll decide if I’m calling back.”
Her mouth thinned. Her pretty blue eyes filled with storm clouds.
Fine. He didn’t like wimps. But he also didn’t like interruptions. And there was no better way for an assistant to learn that than by having to go back to her desk and apologize to a caller.
“It isn’t a caller. At least not a call for you. The security guard in the lobby is on the line. You have a guest.”
“Same instructions. I don’t see people who just drop in. Call the lobby, tell them to get the person’s name and if I want to I will call him back and schedule an appointment.”
“Okay. I guess that means you don’t want to see Maria Bartulocci.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Maria Bartulocci is here. She wants to know if you have time for her. I guess the über-rich don’t just know how to keep themselves out of the limelight. They also drop in unexpectedly.”
He replaced the receiver of his phone. “Tell them to send her up. Then get a notebook. I want you to sit in and take notes.”
She nodded and raced back to her desk.
Missing experienced, polite, sophisticated Betsy, Tucker ran his fingers through his hair. Two minutes later the elevator bell rang. He listened as Olivia greeted Maria and sighed with relief when she was nothing but polite and efficient.
Thick cloying perfume reached him long before dark-haired, dark-eyed Maria did. Tall and regal, educated at Harvard, and well-versed in art and music, Maria was exactly the kind of woman Tucker liked to be seen with. Arm candy with a brain.
“Tucker, how sweet of you to make time for me.”
* * *
Vivi almost gagged. Holy cow on the cologne, but calling Tucker Engle sweet? This woman obviously wanted something.
“I’m sorry for the wait.” He glanced at Olivia, then smiled at Maria. “A little miscommunication with my assistant.”
Vivi shook off the insult of that. He hadn’t told her any of his preferences, especially not about calls. But he probably assumed she knew those kinds of things, which meant she’d have another assignment that night. Not only did she have to figure out how to stifle her tongue, but she’d have to call her mom, a lifelong administrative assistant, to learn a bit about working for the top banana of a company.
“I’m thrilled you decided to drop in on us.” Tucker seated Maria with him on the sofa and motioned for Vivi to sit on the chair beside it.
She opened her notebook.
Maria smiled at her. “No need to record our conversation, darling.”
“Miss Prentiss isn’t going to record our conversation, just the salient points.”
Laughing, she patted Tucker’s knee. “Is your memory that bad, Tucker?”
He slid his arm across the sofa, and nearly around Maria. “There are three of you. I’m going to talk with all of you and compare stories.”
Her lips turned down into a pretty pout. “Really? You don’t trust me?”
He chuckled. “A man doesn’t get to where I am without having fail-safe mechanisms in place. Miss Prentiss is one of them.”
Maria’s gaze crawled over to her.
She took in Vivi’s khaki trousers and simple white blouse. Then the long strawberry blonde hair Vivi had put into a ponytail that hung over her shoulder.
“I see.”
A flush crept up Vivi’s neck to her cheeks. As if the condescending appraisal wasn’t bad enough, Maria Bartulocci’s tone dripped with disapproval.
Memories of walking down the street, being pointed at, whispered about and called names rushed through her. It had been a long time since she’d remembered that, but it had also been a while since she’d been with someone who so clearly disliked her.
Still, those bullies had nothing to do with her job, so she ignored the feelings, the memories. She’d learned lots of coping skills i
n the three years that had passed, and it would take more than a crappy look from a snotty socialite to drag her down.
Tucker said, “Rumor has it your uncle is considering retiring.”
“That’s not a rumor. It’s true.”
“Has he set a date?”
“More like a time frame. Next spring.” Maria rose. “Take me to lunch and I’ll tell you about your competition.”
Tucker followed suit, rising to stand beside her. “I know my competition.”
“Such a smart man,” Maria purred, stepping up to him and running her hand down his tie. “Let’s leave the little one behind and get ourselves a drink.” She flicked her gaze at Vivi with a laugh. “Really, Tucker, where did you find this one? And why don’t you pay her enough to buy decent clothes?”
Vivi’s mouth fell open. Seriously? A stinky debutante who was throwing herself at a man had the audacity to criticize her clothes?
Tucker caught Maria’s hand and led her to the elevator, leaving Vivi behind without a backward glance or even a nod toward telling her how long he’d be gone or how he could be reached in an emergency.
“I don’t care what my employees look like. They only have to be able to do their jobs.”
The elevator door opened. “I know, but seriously. Did you get a look at her?”
She heard Tucker’s voice, but couldn’t make out what he said or Maria’s reply. The door closed on his laugh.
Vivi glanced down at herself. These were her best trousers, her best blouse. And even she knew she looked like a street waif.
She might have coping mechanisms, but she couldn’t argue the truth. She didn’t belong here.
CHAPTER TWO
HUMILIATION AND DISAPPOINTMENT followed Vivi out of the city and up the stairs to the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her university friends Laura Beth Matthews and Eloise Vaughn. Because she and the Grim Reaper had worked late, she knew her roommates would have already eaten supper. The scent of spaghetti permeated the darkly paneled walls of the hall to their third-floor walkup. But she didn’t care. She was too tired to eat.
Short, sweet, brunette Laura Beth gasped as Vivi entered the apartment. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks.” She walked to the refrigerator, which was only ten feet away from the sofa in their tiny, open-floor-plan living space, and pulled out a bottle of water.
Eloise, a tall blonde beauty whose wealthy parents had spoiled her rotten, laughed. “First day of accounting not fun?”
“I’m not in Accounting.”
Laura Beth patted the couch cushion beside her and motioned for Vivi to sit. “What happened?”
“Tucker Engle’s assistant was in an accident and no one else will work with him. So I have to be his assistant for about eight weeks. But that’s all I can tell you because “the” Tucker Engle might share secrets with me, so I’m not allowed to talk to anyone about anything that goes on in his office. Otherwise, I think it’s an ethics violation.”
Eloise and Laura Beth just stared at her.
Vivi squeezed her eyes shut in misery. “I’m sorry for babbling. I’m tired.”
“You’re freaking out,” Eloise corrected.
“You would be, too, if you spent twelve hours working with a guy you didn’t like, who has visitors who are obnoxious.”
“You didn’t punch anybody did you?”
Vivi took a long drink of water. “No, but I was tempted.”
“Are you going to tell us details or are you going to make us guess?”
“I already told you I can’t reveal anything that goes on in that office. Confidentiality and all that. But I will say this—I haven’t been treated so rudely in three years.”
Eloise and Laura Beth exchanged a look. “Bad things happened to you three years ago.”
“Exactly.”
Laura Beth caught her hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken the assignment.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“So you have to work with a guy who reminds you of the worst time in your life?” Eloise sucked in a breath. “At least tell me he doesn’t look like Cord.”
“No and he doesn’t act like him either.” Cord had always been the life of everybody’s party. Grouchy Tucker Engle barely smiled. “But his one visitor today was exactly like Cord’s mom...Cordelia Dawson. The woman who thinks her son does no wrong.”
“You mean the woman who defended the kid who got you drunk and then attacked you. He would have raped you if you hadn’t gotten away.”
Vivi froze. They’d talked about this before, but never had Eloise been so blunt, so casual. Laura Beth shot her a warning look.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I think it’s better for her to talk about it than to let it fester.” She patted Vivi’s hand. “Right?”
“Actually, yes.” Before that morning, she hadn’t thought about being attacked in at least a year. All because she had friends who believed her. Talking, finding people who didn’t merely believe her but who’d hurt with her until the hurt was gone, had made her whole.
But she was in the big city now, not in Starlight, Kentucky, at their tiny university. She had to make this job work. “I can tolerate Tucker Engle and his obnoxious guests for eight or so weeks. In fact, I’ll do more than tolerate them. I’ll be the best damned assistant he’s ever had. Then when his real assistant returns I’ll go to Accounting where I belong.”
Eloise said, “That’s the spirit.”
Laura Beth patted her hand. “How about if I reheat the leftover spaghetti?”
“No thanks.” Vivi rose from the sofa. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just go to bed.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. My past is behind me.” She forced a smile. “Plus, if tomorrow’s anything like today, I’ll need all the rest I can get.”
After washing her face and changing into pajamas, she crawled into her twin bed beside Laura Beth’s, pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Vivi? What time is it?”
“It’s around ten. Did I wake you?”
“No, but if I don’t get out of bed, I’ll wake your father.” There was a quiet pause and the click of the closing of her mom’s bedroom door. “So what’s up? How was your first day at Inferno?”
“Awful. I’m not working in Accounting. I’m the assistant to the CEO.”
“Oh! That’s exciting!”
Unexpected relief unknotted the tight muscles of her shoulders. If her mom thought this was exciting, then maybe it was. “Really? I should be happy?”
“You’re working with the guy at the top. You should be taking advantage of the opportunity to make a good impression.”
“He’s kind of a grouch.”
“Most older men are.”
“Actually, he’s not older.”
“He isn’t?”
“He’s kind of young.”
Worry filled her mom’s voice. “How young?”
“Thirty-ish.”
“Thirty-ish? And he’s a CEO?”
“He’s the owner of the company. Which is why he’s so bossy. I read online that some of his employees call him the Grim Reaper.”
There was a silence. Then her mom said, “I don’t like this.”
Drat. She should have realized her overprotective mother would be suspicious of any man under fifty. Since her episode with Cord, her parents distrusted every man who looked at her twice. Which was part of the reason she’d moved to New York. She needed some space.
“I’m fine. I’m working for him, not dating him. Plus, his assistant will be back in a few weeks.”
“A lot can happen in a few weeks.”
“Including that I could prove myself to him lik
e you said I should.”
“I don’t know, Vivi. I suddenly got really bad vibes about this guy.”
“They’re the wrong kind of vibes. Mr. Engle has zero interest in me. And all I want is to be able to do this job.”
Her mom grudgingly mumbled, “You should be fine. Your grades were great.”
“I know I can handle the work. I just need to know some of the etiquette.”
Loraina filled her in on a few tips for answering the phone and not speaking unless asked a direct question, but she finished her remarks with, “You be careful with this guy.”
As that warning came out of her mother’s mouth she winced, realizing what was coming next.
“Your dad and I didn’t want you moving to the city. If you could be attacked in a small town by someone you’d known since high school...how the devil can you trust yourself to eight million strangers?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
“It’s just that we worry.”
“I know. But trust me. This guy isn’t even slightly attracted to me.”
Her mother huffed out a breath. “You think. But you’re a pretty blonde—”
“Who doesn’t have the right clothes or makeup or manners to attract a guy like him.” She laughed, remembering the way he liked stinky Maria purring up to him. “Seriously, Mom. I’m perfectly safe with him.”
They ended the call, and she settled down on her pillow. Exhausted, she immediately fell asleep and didn’t stir until her alarm woke her the next morning.
She showered, headed for her closet and stared at her clothes. She had three pairs of taupe, tan or beige trousers, one pair of dark brown, one pair of gray and one pair of black, as well as seven or eight mix-and-match tops and two summer sundresses that she saved for “good.”
Her gaze rolled to her bedroom door. Across the hall was the queen of clothes. Eloise had everything from business suits to ball gowns. They were the same size. She could borrow a nice dress or a fancy blouse and probably fit better into Tucker Engle’s world—
No, damn it. She refused to let some condescending socialite bully her into trying to be somebody she wasn’t. She was a simple girl. Someone who wanted to prove herself based on her skills and abilities, not her looks. And after her mother’s reminder that she should take advantage of this time to prove herself, she’d decided that’s how she’d endure these eight weeks. She’d prove herself with her work. Not dress like somebody she wasn’t.
