"Anyway," he said, his voice a little louder than he'd planned, "two weeks will be great. I'm sure the temp agency will come through for me."
"There're plenty of temp agencies out there. Why not try a different one?"
He shook his head. "I've tried lots of them. This one always sends good people. Most of them don't. I'd rather wait."
"Why didn't you get someone lined up before Margo left?"
"Good question," he said wryly. "Should have. But I was so busy trying to get things done and finished before she was gone, that time sort of got away from me. And then in the last month or so, Margo wasn't her usual organized self."
"She probably had more important things on her mind."
"I suppose." His trusty secretary-assistant had left him high and dry even before her last day of work. Margo's normally brilliant brain had dissolved into a sea of pregnancy hormones and daydreams of pitter-pattering feet. He couldn't wait for her to give birth so things could get back to normal. "I'm just glad she's going to come back to work after she has the kid."
"That's a shame," Eileen said.
"Huh?" He looked at her. "Why?"
"Well, because if I had a baby, I'd want to be able to stay home and take care of it myself." Eileen set her purse down again, walked around the edge of the desk and nudged him out of the way so she could sit down in the blue leather desk chair. "I mean, I know lots of women have to work, but if you don't have to…"
"Margo would go nuts without something to do with her day," he argued, recalling his secretary's gung-ho attitude. "She likes being busy."
"I hear babies can keep you plenty busy."
He shuddered at the thought of Margo turning into a stay-at-home mom. "Don't say that. She has to come back to work. She runs this place."
"She probably will then," Eileen said and opened the top drawer, inspecting, looking around, familiarizing herself with the setup. "I'm just saying…"
"Don't say it again. You'll jinx it."
"Very mature." She shut the drawer and opened another one, poking through the pads and boxes of pencils and even a bag of candy Margo had left behind. Pulling one piece free, she peeled off the silver foil and popped the chocolate into her mouth. "Do we have a coffee pot?"
"Right over there." He pointed, looking away to keep from noticing how her tongue swept across her bottom lip as she chased every last crumb of chocolate.
"Thank God," she muttered, and hopped up again. Striding across the room to the low oak sideboard, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Since it's my first day, I'll even get you a cup. After that though, you're on your own. I'm not a waitress. I'm a secretary. Temporarily."
Temporarily, he reminded himself as his gaze locked onto the curve of her behind as she moved with an easy sway that was enough to knock any man's temperature up a notch or two. Hell, every relationship became temporary eventually. At least this one was labeled correctly right from the start.
This could only be trouble, he told himself and wondered how in the hell he'd survive the next two weeks with Eileen back in his life.
* * *
By day three, Eileen remembered exactly why she'd left the business world for that of flowers. Flowers never gave you a headache. Flowers didn't expect you to have all the answers. Flowers didn't look great in three-piece suits.
Okay, that last one wasn't one of her original reasons for relinquishing her keyboard. But it was right up there on the list now.
The work wasn't hard. It was actually fairly interesting, though she'd never admit that out loud to Rick. And, after spending the past two years in a work wardrobe that consisted of jeans and a wide selection of T-shirts, it was sort of nice getting dressed up again. Good thing she hadn't gotten rid of her work wardrobe. Slacks, shirts, discreet pumps or her comfy boots. She was wearing makeup and doing her hair every morning, too. A big change from her usual ponytail and a quick slash of lipstick. But none of that made up for the fact that she was spending way too much time watching Rick.
She'd had a crush on him when she was a kid, of course. Well, at least until the unfortunate Barbie incident. He and Bridie had ignored her most of the time and, when forced to spend time with her, Rick had teased Eileen until she'd wanted to kick him. But now … she turned her head just far enough to be able to look into his office through the partially opened door.
With his tie loosened at his open collar and his dark brown hair mussed from stabbing his fingers through it in frustration, he looked … what was the word? Oh, yeah. Tasty.
Oh ye gods.
This was a complication she didn't want or need.
She couldn't be fantasizing about Rick Hawkins. For one thing, when these two weeks were up, she'd be going back to her world, leaving him to his and never their twain would meet again. For another … he was so not her type. She liked the artsy guys with a slightly bohemian air that she ran into down at the beach. The guys who were tanned and relaxed, with the attitude of why do today what can be put off indefinitely? Those guys were safe. She knew no relationship with them was going to go anywhere. The farthest they could see into the future was the next wave. Or their next paycheck. They didn't have portfolios.
Heck, most of them didn't own a pair of shoes that required socks.
So why suddenly was she spending way too much time thinking about, and fantasizing about, Mr. Corporate Millionaire?
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
Rick leaned back in his chair and watched Eileen stop just at the threshold. She'd been doing that for three days now. She did the work. She was efficient, smart, organized. But she kept him at a distance. Always made sure she held herself back from him. And if he was smart, he'd appreciate that.
Instead, it frustrated him.
He hadn't expected to be so attracted to her. When his grandmother had first suggested Eileen as a temporary secretary, Rick hadn't been able to imagine it. The Eileen he'd known years ago was hardly his idea of a good assistant. But he'd been desperate and willing to try anything. Now that she was here, he could hardly think of anything else.
Probably not a good sign.
"Hello? Earth to Rick."
He blinked, coming up out of his thoughts like a man waking from a coma. "What?"
"I don't know. You called me in here, remember?" Eileen was still standing in the doorway, but now she was looking at him as if he had a screw loose. And hell. Maybe he did.
He pushed out of the chair and stood up. He'd always thought better on his feet anyway. "Yeah. I did. I'll need you to stay a little later tonight—" He broke off when the phone in the outer office rang.
"Hold that thought." Eileen turned and walked to her desk.
He deliberately avoided watching the sway of her hips. It wasn't easy.
She grabbed the receiver on the third ring. "Hawkins Financial."
Rick watched her as she reached across the desk for a pen. The hem of her skirt rode tantalizingly high on her thighs with the movement and he told himself not to look. But hell, he was male, right? And breathing? Impossible not to look.
Didn't mean a thing.
"Vanessa Taylor?" Eileen turned to glance at him, a question in her eyes.
Damn.
No, he mouthed, shaking his head and waving both hands. All he needed right now, was having to listen to Vanessa ramble about cocktail parties she wanted him to take her to. Never mind that he hadn't called her in weeks. Vanessa simply assumed that every man who crossed her path would become her helpless love slave. Rick Hawkins, however, didn't believe in love or slavery.
Tell her anything, he mouthed the instructions and hoped to hell Eileen was good at lipreading. He felt like a damn mime. But he couldn't risk a whisper. Vanessa had ears like a bat. She'd know he was there, then she'd insist on talking to him and he just wasn't interested.
Hell, he hadn't been interested when they were going out.
Anything? Eileen mouthed back, a decided gleam in her eyes. When he nodded, she smiled wick
edly and said, "I'm sorry Ms. Taylor, but Rick can't come to the phone right now. The doctors have advised him to not speak until the stitches are gone."
What? Rick took a step closer.
Eileen backed up. "Oh, you didn't hear? A minor accident," she said, laughter in her eyes and feigned sympathy in her voice. "I'm sure the disfigurement won't be permanent." An instant later, Eileen jerked the phone from her ear and winced. "Wow. She slammed the phone down so hard I think I may be deaf."
Rick stared at her. "Disfigurement? I'm disfigured? Why did you do that?"
"Eh?" She cupped one hand around her ear and tilted her head.
"Funny, Ryan." He smirked at her. Pushing the edges of his jacket back, he shoved both hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. "What's the deal?"
"You said I should tell her anything."
"Within reason."
She held up one finger and shook it. "No one said anything about reason."
Rick pulled his hands free of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. She kept surprising him. Which intrigued him. Which worried the hell out of him. "I didn't think I'd have to request reason. I'll be more prepared next time."
She chuckled.
"You enjoyed that."
"Oh yeah," she admitted, and leaned back, perching her behind on the edge of her desk. "And by the way, Vanessa?" She shook her head sadly. "Not the deepest puddle on the block. Just the word 'disfigurement' was enough to get rid of her." She studied him through amused eyes. "Swimming in pretty shallow pools, aren't you?"
Shallow? Good description of Vanessa and all of her pals. But hey, he wasn't interested in meaningful. At the time, all he'd been interested in was a dinner companion and a bed warmer. Vanessa hadn't been much good at either one. But that was hardly the point.
"Are you this mouthy with all of your employers?"
She came away from the desk. "I don't have an employer. Not anymore. I'm my own boss."
"Probably a wise move."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't play well with others, do you?"
"I've been doing a good job, haven't I?"
"Sure," Rick said, moving a little closer. Her scent reached out to him and he sucked it in. Stupid. "If you don't take into account the grumbling and the refusal to take orders and—"
"I don't need to follow orders, I know how to run an office—"
Hell, she was as easy to bait as she'd been as a kid. That Irish temper of hers was always bubbling and simmering just below the surface. And watching the temper flash in her eyes was damn near hypnotic. The emerald-green depths churned and darkened and bordered on dangerous, and still Rick was fascinated.
"But this is my office," he countered, egging her on. Her skin flushed, her breathing quickened and she looked like a coiled spring ready to explode. And his mouth nearly watered. Man, he was in some serious trouble here. He hadn't wanted a woman so badly in … ever.
"Oh, I know it's your office," she said, taking a step closer and leaning in for effect. "It's got your boring, unoriginal stamp all over it. Anyone else would have a little color around here. But not the great Rick Hawkins. Oh no. Let's play the corporate game. Battleship-gray all the way for you, isn't it? You're just one of the fleet. No originality at all."
"Originality?" She could say whatever the hell she wanted about the decor. Because he couldn't give a good damn about what the place looked like, beyond it appearing dignified and successful. Did she really think he was the kind of guy to carry swatches of fabric around, for God's sake?
But he was damned if he'd stand here and be called a lemming. He'd opened up more brokerage accounts in the past year than any of his competitors. He'd become the fastest growing firm on the West Coast over the past three years and that hadn't happened because he blindly followed everyone else.
"Well, look around you," she exclaimed. "This whole building is like a warren of rabbit holes. And every one of you bunnies is tucked away in your little gray worlds." She waved her hands around, encompassing the pale gray walls, the steel-blue carpet and the generic watercolors dotted sparingly throughout the room. "I'm willing to bet the same interior decorator did all of the offices in this place. You've probably all got the same awful paintings hung in the same places on the same gray walls."
"Because I work in an office building I'm unoriginal?"
She nodded sharply. "Hard to be a free spirit when you work on the S.S. Conformity."
"What?" He had to laugh despite her insulting tone. She was way over the top. Like some latter-day hippie. He half expected her to start chanting and calling on Sister Moon to help free his soul.
Damn, he hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
"What you need is—" She slapped one hand to her left eye and shouted, "Freeze."
"What?" Instinctively he took a step.
"Don't move." She gave him a one-eyed glare. "Don't you know what 'freeze' means?"
"What the hell are you talking about now?"
Slowly she lowered herself to the floor. "My contact. I lost a contact."
"You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" She tipped her head back to stare at him.
"You wear contact lenses?"
Her one good eye narrowed. The other was squeezed shut. "Well, to coin a phrase, duh."
Rick glanced at the floor and carefully went down on his knees. "I knew your eyes couldn't be that green naturally."
"Watch where you kneel!" she blurted, then giving him a one eyed glare again, she added, "And they're not tinted lenses, if you must know."
He looked at her. "Prove it."
She opened her left eye. Just as green as the right one. Deep and pure and clear, they looked like the color of spring grass. Or, of a backlit emerald in a jeweler's display case. He stared into her eyes and, for a moment, let himself get lost in their depths. It was almost like drowning, he thought, then brought himself up short when she tore her gaze from his. He wasn't going to drown in any woman's eyes. Not again.
"So." She swallowed hard, inhaled quickly and said, "Just run your fingers gently over the carpet."
"This happen often?" he asked as he knelt beside her.
"Usually just when I'm upset."
"So, often."
She gave him an elbow to the ribs. "Cute."
"So I've been told."
"By Vanessa?" she asked.
"Vanessa was a client," he explained, his gaze searching the carpet as his fingers traced softly across the fabric. "We had dinner a couple of times, that's all."
"Apparently she's still hungry."
"Too bad," he muttered, briefly remembering just how boring Vanessa really was, "because I've had enough."
"Ooh." Eileen turned her head to look at him. "Sounds like there's a story there."
He glanced at her. She flipped her hair to one side. She smiled and something inside him tightened. Her fingers brushed his as they searched and he felt a short stab of heat that sliced right down to his insides. He'd never felt that with Vanessa. Or his ex-wife. Or anyone else for that matter.
Damn it, she was getting to him. And he couldn't allow that to happen. He had to remind himself that Eileen was just an old—not friend—not enemy, either. And certainly not old. So what did that make her? Besides, of course, a top-grade, A number-one temptation?
"Hello?" she muttered, and waved one hand in front of his face.
"Right. Story. No story. Vanessa was just…" He thought about it for a long moment. He didn't owe her or anyone else an explanation. But since she was staring at him from one good eye, he knew she wouldn't just drop it, either. Finally he said simply, "Temporary."
Her eyebrows arched. "Lot of that going around."
"Nothing lasts forever." His voice sounded tight, harsh, even to his own ears.
"Well, that's looking on the bright side." She crawled forward an inch or two.
"Just realistic." He knew that better than anyone. Love, friendship, relationships, they al
l ended. Usually when you were least expecting it. A long time ago Rick had decided to take charge of his world. Now he ended things before they got complicated. He was the one to walk away. He'd never be the one standing alone with a broken heart again.
Crawling carefully along the carpet, he stayed close to her. "How far can these things roll, anyway?"
"Pretty far," she said. "So, why is realistic cynical, why?"
He glanced at her. Damn, she was too close. Close enough that he could count the handful of freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. There were six. Not that he cared. "Why are you so interested?"
She shrugged. "Humor a half-blind woman."
Rick chuckled. She made him laugh. Had been since the first day she was here. And that was something he didn't do nearly often enough. He'd been too busy building his world to take the time to enjoy what he'd created. Too busy proving to everyone—including himself—that he could go to the top, to enjoy the trip. But somehow, Eileen lightened things up, even when she was arguing with him.
Impossible to ignore, too dangerous to pay attention to. Great combination.
He shrugged and stopped, thinking for a second he'd spotted a glint of light, like sunlight bouncing off a lens, but then it was gone. "No deep dark explanation," he said, refusing to be drawn into the long, sad history of his past relationships. Not only wasn't it any of Eileen's business, but he'd learned to let it go. No point in revisiting it. "Vanessa and I were just two ships colliding briefly in the night, then going our own way. That's realistic, not cynical. Pretending it was anything else would be a waste of time."
Colliding ships, huh? Eileen mused on his choice of words for a minute or two. If their ships had collided, then they'd probably slept together. Which meant this Vanessa had seen Rick naked. Instantly an image flashed into Eileen's mind. The same image that had been taunting her for the past few days.
She kept imagining Rick wet.
Stepping out of the shower, a skimpy towel wrapped around his waist, beads of water clinging to the hairs on his chest. Then she imagined him shaking his head and tiny droplets of water flying from the ends of his hair like diamonds. Then she imagined the towel dropping and him stepping forward to take her into his arms. The vision was so clear, so tantalizing, she could feel his wet skin next to hers. He bent his head, his mouth just a breath away from hers and then—"Found it!"
SLEEPING WITH THE BOSS Page 2
