The Boss and the Plain Jayne Bride (Harlequin Romance)

by Heather MacAllister

  Sylvia’s enthusiasm was infectious and they window-shopped through the mall all the way to the deli. Jayne followed Sylvia inside where she was nearly overwhelmed by the pastrami and pickle smell.

  Sylvia inhaled rapturously, then sighed. “This will be our last pastrami on rye until after the cruise.”

  “It will?” Jayne asked, a little overwhelmed by how fast and hard Sylvia had latched onto the cruise idea.

  “We’ll have to start dieting immediately.” Sylvia flashed a big smile at a group of jacketless men, who scooted down on the benches, making room for the two of them. Or more precisely, for the vibrant Sylvia, who beckoned to Jayne.

  Jayne was accepted only because it was obvious Sylvia wouldn’t sit without her. She sighed, but sat down on the bench just the same.

  By the time the men left a couple of minutes later, Sylvia had collected three business cards.

  Jayne leafed through her brochures and tried not to feel envious.

  “So which ships look good?” Sylvia asked as she tossed two business cards into the ashtray and wrote a note to herself on the back of the third.

  “I want to stick to the one that leaves out of Houston,” Jayne said. “It’s more convenient.” She found the cruise line’s brochure in Sylvia’s stack.

  They paged through it until their sandwiches arrived. Just as Sylvia closed the brochure, Jayne caught a glimpse of compelling blue eyes. Blue eyes she’d sworn she’d seen before.

  This was sick. She was obsessing about Garrett, imagining she saw him everywhere. Nevertheless, her heart picked up speed as she opened her own copy. She’d either find those eyes or she’d better start looking for a therapist.

  Paying no attention at all to Sylvia’s chatter, Jayne searched the brochure, locating him immediately.

  Garrett Charles was one of the people posing as passengers for the cruise line. Several of the group were in one of the deck lounges holding drinks with pineapple spears and tiny umbrellas. Garrett and another man stood at the railing nearby. He wore an open neck knit shirt that exposed his throat and just enough chest hair to send Jayne into a near swoon. And that was before she noticed his muscle definition. Once she saw those pecs, Jayne was a goner. Khaki shorts revealed his legs. Or his legs as they’d appeared before Jayne had bashed one with the book cart.

  And then she found the picture of Garrett by the pool.

  “So what do you say, Jayne?” Sylvia asked.

  “Yes, sure,” Jayne mumbled, intent on getting back to the office as soon as possible so she could spend the rest of the afternoon staring at a shirtless Garrett. Maybe if she stared long enough, she’d get over him. He was only a man, for heaven’s sake.

  But it didn’t work, probably because Garrett was no ordinary man. All staring at his pictures accomplished, other than making her fall behind in her project schedule, was to make her nervous about that evening’s class.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t chance another disaster. She’d find somebody else to teach the rest of Accounting for Small Businesses. Somebody who wouldn’t turn into a bundle of lusting nerves at the sight of Garrett Charles. Somebody like...

  “Bill, think of this as an opportunity to acquire new accounts.” Jayne spoke in her most mentorlike voice. “I’ve been analyzing your performance during the first half of this fiscal year, and I believe you’re ready to handle one of the recruitment classes.”

  “You think so?” The expression of doubt Bill had worn since Jayne first broached the subject of teaching her classes faded.

  Jayne leaned a well-padded hip against his desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “People equate age with experience—”

  “That’s why you dress the way you do,” Bill interrupted, nodding his understanding.

  “What do you mean?” Jayne straightened and looked down at herself. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  “Nothing. It’s very effective. Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Effective for what?”

  “Jayne.” Bill grimaced with impatience. “Clients look at you and see that you’re all business.” He gestured with his hand. “Suit, shirt and tie equals business.”

  “Oh.” Jayne was placated—

  “Nobody would ever guess you’re as young as you are.”

  —until that crack. She gritted her teeth.

  “So you think these classes are a way I can nab some new accounts?” asked the oblivious Bill.

  “Yes,” Jayne assured him with less enthusiasm than before. “Since you’re young and inexperienced,” she enjoyed pointing out, “this is a way to demonstrate your competence to potential clients.”

  “Could be cool.” Bill nodded to himself then announced, “Okay, I’ll do it, but I can’t tonight—”

  Jayne panicked. “You have to! I mean, I have plans.”

  “Oh?” He drew out the syllable and eyed her speculatively. “What sort of plans?”

  “Private plans,” she said with an edge of desperation.

  Bill raised an eyebrow and Jayne felt herself flush. “So it wasn’t strictly my stellar performance that prompted this burst of generosity?”

  “I...” Jayne gave up. “Not entirely, no, but I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t thought you were ready,” she said in a version of the truth she hoped he’d accept.

  But Bill had already figured out that he had the upper hand in the negotiations. Jayne had trained him too well. “Sorry, but no can do tonight, Jayne. And next Tuesday is iffy. The Magruder report, you know.”

  Jayne knew. All fledgling accountants filled out the tedious and much-loathed monthly Magruder report, biding their time until they could palm it off onto someone with less seniority.

  “You’re welcome to find somebody else to finish your session if that’ll be a problem.”

  There was a gleam in Bill’s eyes that Jayne didn’t like. She drew a deep breath. “No, I’ll teach tonight and research the raw data for the Magruder. This was short notice for you anyway.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Anything to get out of this class. “Definitely. I’ll have the course materials on your desk by noon tomorrow.” The little weasel.

  Just knowing that tonight was the last time she’d have to struggle to compose herself in front of Garrett Charles was enough for Jayne to settle down and do some actual work. Her confidence restored, she planned to lecture on bookkeeping, her favorite subject. She’d give the most detailed, information-laden lecture in the history of Pace Waterman seminars. She’d leave Garrett Charles overwhelmed by her brilliance.

  But when Jayne strode confidently into the conference room, Garrett was conspicuously absent.

  Deflated, she waited as long as she could before reluctantly beginning her lecture. Her best subject and he was going to miss it. He’d forever remember her as the bumbling, frizzy-headed—though that was entirely Sylvia’s fault—Pace Waterman accountant.

  At seven-fifteen, Garrett slipped into the room Or tried to. Dressed in a severe charcoal suit, with white shirt and dark tie, he looked utterly stunning. As one, the female students sighed audibly.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he murmured. “I had a prior engagement.”

  Jayne’s hormones leaped at the word “engagement.” No! You can’t have him! they shouted. We want him! We want him! and she had to calm them down by telling them that engagement didn’t mean approaching marriage in this sense.

  Of course while she conversed with her hormones, she was staring at him again. And realizing this triggered the hyperventilation and sweaty palms with which she was becoming so regrettably familiar.

  Nevertheless, she sucked in her stomach, wiped her palms, held her breath and launched into the fabulous bookkeeping lecture she’d prepared. “I recommend the double entry method of keeping track of your income and expenses. Here’s why...”

  “Sylvia, I was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Jayne hugged herself the next morning, then snatched the chocolate doughnut out of Sylvia’s hand and whirled
around her office.

  “You’re always brilliant.” Sylvia sat on Jayne’s couch and peeled the plastic cover off her coffee cup. “That’s why I hang around you. I keep hoping some of your smarts will rub off on me.”

  “But you don’t understand.” Jayne bit into and hurriedly swallowed some of the doughnut. “This time I was brilliant brilliant. You should have seen their faces. The class hung on every word. There wasn’t a sound out of them, not even when I forgot the eight o’clock break.”

  “You talked for two solid hours?”

  “Yes! I was fantastic.” Jayne returned to her desk, opened her coffee and emptied it into her favorite thermal mug. “When they left, everybody was real quiet and thoughtful.”

  “Are you sure they were awake?”

  Jayne frowned. “Of course. They were digesting everything I’d told them.”

  Sylvia picked the walnuts out of her whole wheat apple muffin and dropped them into the ashtray. “You think maybe you gave them too much to eat?”

  “Hardly. I could have gone on for another two hours.” Jayne sipped her coffee to keep from running over and whisking the ashtray out of Sylvia’s reach.

  “Then why aren’t you?” Sylvia asked and bit into her muffin.

  “Why aren’t I what?” Jayne asked crossly. If Sylvia didn’t like nuts, why did she always get the same muffin? Why not blueberry? Why leave nuts in Jayne’s ashtray all the time?

  “Teaching two more hours. Why’d you get Bill to finish your classes?”

  “He’s got to learn sometime.”

  Sylvia popped the last of her muffin into her mouth and brushed her hands together. Jayne could see little brown crumbs dotting the forest-green leather of the sofa.

  “But why this time?” Sylvia stood. “Honestly, Jayne. Here, according to you, was a gorgeous man sitting right in your class and you didn’t even invite him for coffee afterward.”

  “Oh, please. He wouldn’t go for coffee with me.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “No,” Jayne mumbled and took a huge bite of her doughnut so she wouldn’t have to discuss the matter with Sylvia anymore.

  “And now, in a move guaranteed to squelch any possibility that you two could get together—” Jayne nearly choked “—you’ve quit the class.” Sylvia left, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re reconsidering my cousin Vincent I understand he’s filled out some.”

  Sylvia was wrong, wrong, wrong—and not just about reconsidering Vincent Jayne had done the right thing. It was pointless to wish for what one couldn’t have, wasn’t it? Especially if the wishing was interfering with the pursuit of what one could obtain, which was, in Jayne’s case, a measure of corporate and financial security. If she achieved success in the business world now, then when the young men of her generation decided it was time to settle down and look around for suitable life mates, there would be nice, solid Jayne and her little nest egg, ready to hatch.

  At least that had been the plan until now. Jayne wasn’t going to be passively waiting around anymore. She may not be Garrett Charles material, but he’d shaken up her life in a good way, she told herself. After all, wasn’t she planning a cruise with Sylvia?

  So, on Tuesday night, just about the time Garrett Charles was entering the conference room at Pace Waterman, Jayne, attired in her velour robe with the threadbare elbows, was parked in front of her television set while dining on her favorite feel-good meal—canned ravioli, M&M’s and diet cola. She’d swathed her head in a towel while her hair soaked in a deep conditioner, which promised to counteract the effects of Sylvia’s recent home perm. The movie playing on her video recorder was How to Marry a Millioieaire, from which Jayne hoped to pick up tips, both financial and matrimonial.

  She picked up neither, but after consuming the ravioli and the M&M’s—and adding rum to her diet cola—didn’t really care.

  She cared the next morning, though. A lot. However, there was a bonus to falling asleep on the couch with her head soaking in conditioner. Her hair, which had resembled a pale brown dandelion, now lay in greasy kinks reminiscent of corkscrew pasta. Jayne felt this was an improvement.

  But her face was too pale. Color. She needed color. Eventually she folded one of her scarves into a headband and tied her hair back. In the bathroom mirror, a bare face stared back at her. Jayne wasn’t used to seeing that much of her face at one time. She pulled out a few wisps of bangs, though they didn’t want to wisp anymore and began a desperate search for the pearl earrings that her grandparents had given her for graduation and she hadn’t worn since. Why bother with earrings when her hair usually covered her ears?

  Friday was not shaping up into the best of days. She had doubts about her appearance when she caught regulars on her Park & Ride bus giving her second looks. Or, it could be the sunglasses she wore, but didn’t everyone notice how blindingly bright the lights were? Had all the lightbulbs been changed for ones with a higher wattage? What a waste of taxpayer dollars.

  Hoping to clear her head, she forced herself to walk at a brisker pace from the Galleria stop to the Transco Tower. Entering the air-conditioned foyer, she realized she’d left her business pumps at her apartment and would either have to wear the battered rain pair she kept in her office, or her tennis shoes all day.

  “Hey, Jaynie!” hooted the delivery courier when Jayne tried to sneak past the reception area. She detested the name Jaynie. “Ooh, look who tied one on last night!” He grinned.

  Jayne didn’t grin back, her attention caught by the expression on Beth, the receptionist’s face. Gad, I must look awful. The scarf apparently wasn’t providing the pick-me-up to her appearance that she’d hoped.

  “Weeeell,” said Bill when she slunk by his cubicle. “Still waters run deep.”

  Jayne ignored his crack. “How was class last night?”

  “You mean the class I’m teaching so your evenings would be free?” Bill grinned wolfishly and leaned back in his chair.

  Jayne stared him down, hoping he’d tip over.

  “Not talking, are you?”

  “Not unless it’s about class.”

  “Okay. I wanted to talk to you about that, too.” Bill straightened in an abrupt shift from obnoxious to businesslike. “Mr. Waterman says he’s had six calls from people in the class wanting to sign accounting agreements with us. That’s twenty-five percent of the enrollment. There’ve only been three classes—what did you do to them? And more important, can you teach me how to do it?”

  The only explanation Jayne could think of was that the people in her class missed her and didn’t want to continue the course without her. Personally gratifying, but that wasn’t going to encourage Bill, was it? And she wanted him to continue teaching, didn’t she? So she shrugged. “No secret. I just followed the curriculum.”

  Bill raised an eyebrow. “There were comments about bookkeeping being too complicated.”

  Jayne wished she hadn’t been quite so considerate of his feelings. “Then they weren’t paying attention,” she mumbled and edged away from Bill’s cubicle.

  “When I tried to review bookkeeping to see where you’d left off, it appeared that you didn’t leave off anywhere.” He leaned back in his chair so his head stuck out of the cubicle. “Did you really cover the whole section in one night?”

  “I was on a roll.” Jayne escaped, feeling defensive. Treat people like they’ve got brains and see what happens. On the other hand, the company had six new accounts, so Mr. Waterman should be happy.

  But...didn’t any of those six people request Jayne as their accountant?

  Feeling sorry for herself, she shut her office door and sank onto the small sofa she’d inherited from the office’s previous occupant. Opening the cruise brochure, she stared at Garrett Charles and sighed. So handsome. So out of reach.

  So get over him. Closing the book on that part of her life, Jayne put on her reading glasses, and got to work on the stupid Magruder report for Bill.

  After half an hour, she threw the pen she’
d been chewing at the computer monitor in disgust Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. No wonder Bill wanted to palm off the Magruder. Standards had really fallen since Jayne had paid her dues by filing the report. She’d hoped to finish it within an hour and get to her own work, but that wasn’t going to be.

  Examining back copies of the weekly report, Jayne discovered an error that had been repeated for at least three months. She didn’t have time to go back further, but some poor intern would.

  She was composing a memo to Mr. Waterman about the problem, when the silver-haired gentleman knocked on her open door.

  “Jayne, are you busy?” It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it.

  “No,” Jayne answered, just as rhetorically. At least she hoped Mr. Waterman knew she was speaking rhetorically.

  “Good. I’d like you to meet a new client.” He stood to one side and a tall, dark-haired man carrying a briefcase entered Jayne’s office. “This is Garrett Charles. He’s requested you to be his account executive.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  AT FIRST, Garrett wasn’t certain that the frozen woman who stared at him from behind a massive wooden desk was the same Jayne Nelson who’d taught the first two accounting sessions he’d attended. The glasses and the slicked-back hair momentarily threw him.

  But the dazed look was one with which he was disagreeably familiar. Being a retired model and coming from a family of models, Garrett was well aware of his appearance and its effect on people.

  Most women stared when they first encountered Garrett Charles. Since the time he’d become aware of girls and women—sometime after they’d become aware of him—Garrett had been the recipient of women’s stares. Depending on the woman, eye contact might be anything from a quick assessing survey to stolen glances accompanied by giggles to frankly admiring gazes, which he preferred to the impersonally professional studies that were a part of his business. Rarely, however, was a woman in danger of going into shock the way Jayne Nelson was.