A few years after his son’s departure, James Fortune had closed the doors of his company and retired to Arizona with his wife, Sylvia. Although there was no longer a business for Ryder to inherit, at the time he didn’t care.
But time had changed him, and now a mature Ryder found challenge and excitement in the prospect of running his own business. And tonight Aunt Kate had offered him his own design company.
She’d purchased the once-lucrative business for the proverbial song.
“It used to be a solid company but is currently floundering, thanks to the inept and careless decisions of its previous owner,” Kate told Ryder, not bothering to mask her disdain. Inept and careless behavior in business offended her. “I have faith that you can put the firm back on its feet, Ryder. Make it a player in the field again.”
Ryder had listened, too staggered by her generosity, by the thrilling vistas opening up to him, to utter a single word.
“Take the ball and run with it, Ryder,” Kate said. “There is only one condition attached. You have one year to make good….”
After one year Ryder would either own the company outright or it would revert to subsidiary status within the Fortune Corporation, perhaps to be sold to the highest bidder.
One year. “I’ll do it,” Ryder had declared fervently. “Aunt Kate, saying thank you doesn’t seem like enough for such a—”
“Don’t worry about thanking me. Show me results,” Kate interjected. “And, Ryder, don’t spend the entire year buried in the office. To truly thrive, a successful businessman needs balance—a home, a place to unwind. Love.” She gazed warmly at all her progeny who filled the enormous room. “A family.”
An elated Ryder was already envisioning his triumphant entry into the business world he’d formerly rejected. He really wouldn’t have time to fall in love and start a family for quite a while. After all, finding a wife meant socializing, and he was going to be way too busy for that.
Still dazed by his unexpected good fortune, he wandered out of the party room into the long corridor, preoccupied with plans. This was the happiest and most promising night of his life.
One
Whoever said “good help is hard to find” certainly knew the score, Ryder thought grimly as he unlocked the door to his office. He turned on the lights before switching on his computer and the coffeepot. A pile of mail, shoved through the slot late yesterday afternoon, lay on the floor. Ryder picked up the bundle and placed it on his desk.
Most company presidents had a staff who performed such basic tasks as opening the office and retrieving his mail. But not him. With the exception of the cantankerous receptionist who arrived far later in the morning than he did, the last member of the original office staff in place when he’d taken over had quit last week, citing his management style. They complained it was “different from” his predecessor’s.
Of course it was different, Ryder fumed. His predecessor had neglected the company to the point of not even bothering to show up at the office for days on end. Now that there was a hands-on boss who expected his employees to put in a full day’s work under his watchful eye, the slackers were unhappy.
Which meant that now, in the middle of January, the president of Fortune’s Designs had a personal office staff consisting of one—the fiftyish receptionist, Miss Volk—who’d informed him the day they’d met that she would sue him for age discrimination should he try to fire her. Ryder hadn’t. Miss Volk performed her duties competently, although her late-morning arrivals continued to test his patience.
“Are you Ryder Fortune?” A softly husky feminine voice broke into his reverie.
“No, I’m his alien clone.” Ryder was sarcastic. “Of course I’m Ryder Fortune. Who else would I be? I’m here in Ryder Fortune’s office at 8:00 a.m., seated at a desk with a Ryder Fortune nameplate prominently displayed.”
“You could be an industrial spy, stealing corporate secrets from Ryder Fortune’s company,” the voice suggested. “Or a ne’er-do-well Fortune relative impersonating Ryder Fortune while gaining access to—”
“What do you know about ne’er-do-well Fortune relatives?” Ryder cut in.
He looked up from his mail to see a young woman standing a few feet in front of his desk. Her long, dark brown coat hung open, revealing a blue, ribbed sweater dress and matching tights.
“Rumor has it that Chad Fortune is slick as an oil spill. Ecologists worry about birds and small animals in the vicinity whenever he glides by. And then there is Brandon—”
“Are you some kind of reporter?” Ryder demanded suspiciously.
She was right about his cousins Chad and Brandon; the term ne’er-do-well aptly described those two. He focused his full attention on her. She did not look like a muckraking member of the tabloid press, but these days who could be sure?
She was not bad to look at, if petite slender brunettes were your type, he conceded. Of course, he had always been attracted to tall leggy women, preferably blond with big breasts. Whether natural or silicon enhanced, he did not care.
This little girl—and he wasn’t being sexist, at approximately five foot two, she really was little—had a heart-shaped face, delicate features, light blue-gray eyes and straight, dark brown hair that swung to her shoulders in a loose bob. Actually, she was a step beyond not bad to look at, she was pretty. Though she wasn’t his type, not at all.
Especially if she were some nosy troublemaker out to make a buck from the Fortune name. “What do you want?” There was an accusatory note in his voice.
“Not to be here,” she replied swiftly. “But like it or not, here I am. Joanna Chandler, and no, I’m not a reporter.” She stepped forward and extended her hand.
Ryder rose to give it a quick shake. Her small hand was lost in his, and she quickly drew away.
He sank back in his chair. “Joanna Chandler,” he repeated, stifling a groan.
Her name brought sharply to mind a post-Christmas lunch with his second cousin Michael Fortune. Michael was a hard-driving, high-ranking executive with the Fortune Corporation. His grandfather Ben had been a brother of Ryder’s grandfather Zeke.
Michael was also married to this little girl’s older sister, Julia. It was Michael himself who had set up their meeting, just as Ryder was taking the reins of his new trial company.
“You might want to consider interviewing my sister-in-law, Joanna Chandler, to work for you,” Michael had said, coming straight to the point before the waiter even handed them menus. “Joanna has recently relocated to Minneapolis to be near Julia and our children, and my wife is thrilled to have her back here.”
A job would be a further inducement for Joanna to remain permanently in the city, something Julia dearly wanted, Michael had told him. Ryder figured that whatever Julia dearly wanted, her devoted husband made sure she got. Thus, there would be a job in Minneapolis for her little sister, who had never worked in an office before. Michael had nonchalantly added that fact.
When Ryder had pressed for more information about the young woman, Michael merely remarked that Joanna’s job history was “somewhat checkered.”
Which probably meant that not only had she never worked in an office, she’d never worked at all. Ryder knew the type: a directionless, easily bored socialite. She undoubtedly partied far into the night and would show up at the office even later than Miss Volk. It was certainly no mystery why Michael had declined to give his wife’s little sister a job at the Fortune Corporation headquarters. If given an alternative of passing indolent kin on to someone else, who wouldn’t take it?
Ryder knew he was the alternative. Gee, thanks for giving me the inside track on such a prize employee, cuz.
But he kept his sarcasm from his older, richer, more powerful cousin. The brashly impulsive Ryder of five—two!—years ago would’ve said it. His new serious, business-minded self simply agreed to hire the little sister.
“Have her send over a résumé.” Ryder had managed to keep a straight face while making the request. It would be in
teresting to see how the Fortune Corporation’s creative marketing department—who undoubtedly would be pressed into service—rose to the challenge of making Joanna Chandler look employable.
But more than three weeks had passed since their luncheon meeting, and neither a résumé nor the applicant herself had arrived at the office. Ryder had forgotten all about her. And now, here she was.
Joanna glanced around the empty office. “Is this it?”
“Is what it?” snapped Ryder. He hated vague, time-wasting questions.
“Nobody is here but you. You’re the president of the company, but you don’t have an office staff?” Joanna appeared genuinely puzzled.
Unless she was being subtly sardonic? Ryder grimaced. “I have an office staff. A receptionist who sashays in between nine-thirty and ten. And you.”
Her light eyes widened. Ryder noticed they were more blue than gray, though he suspected the deep blue of her dress might’ve heightened the color. If she wore gray, would her eyes take on a grayer, less blue hue?
He stood up and gave his head a shake to clear it of this nonsense. He couldn’t believe he’d actually had such an irrelevent thought.
“Does this mean I get the job?” asked Joanna.
Was she rubbing it in? Ryder glared at her. “I guess it does, Joanne.”
“That’s Joanne with an a,” she corrected patiently. “Joanna.”
He heaved a sigh.
“Is something wrong?”
“What could possibly be wrong? I should be grateful that at least you know how to spell your own name.”
Joanna rolled her eyes and removed her coat, turning to the tall wooden coatrack, shaped and brightly painted to look like a palm tree. Its brilliant green fronds were made to hold coats, but the papier-mâché coconuts were strictly decorative. So was the whimsical blue monkey perched atop of the tree, holding a half-peeled purple banana.
“This is—” she searched for a word to describe the coatrack tree, the monkey, the atomic-purple banana. “Amazing.”
“You mean ridiculous,” amended Ryder. “Garish. Tacky. At least be honest, Joanna.”
“I mean amazing. Since you think it’s ridiculous, tacky and garish, I guess you didn’t buy it yourself?”
“Quick on the uptake, aren’t you? No, I didn’t buy it. This was an office-warming gift from my sister. Partying and shopping are her main occupations, too.”
“Too?” Joanna echoed. “Does that mean you think my main occupations are partying and shopping, like your sister?”
“You really do have a keen grasp of the obvious. Do I dare to hope you can type ten words a minute?”
“I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.” Joanna folded her arms in front of her chest, directing a level stare at him. “Michael bullied you into hiring me, didn’t he?”
“Nobody bullies me into anything,” Ryder countered quickly. “But I will admit I’m, uh, amenable to doing favors for my relatives.”
“Especially if they can buy and sell you ten times over.” Joanna grinned. “At least be honest, Ryder,” she added with just the hint of a taunt.
It occurred to him that she was already calling him Ryder while Miss Volk, nearly twenty years his senior, still addressed him as Mr. Fortune. But then, Joanna Chandler was so very well connected, a point she seemed delighted to make.
“You want me to be honest? Okay, I will be. You’re here, so you’re hired, but you wouldn’t be if your brother-in-law hadn’t strongly suggested that I give you a job.”
“Michael’s strong suggestions have been interpreted as threats from time to time,” Joanna observed. “It’s not what he says but the way he says it. On paper, his words would look innocuous, but when he’s speaking them…”
“Coupled with that nuclear stare of his that is intense enough to incinerate whole city blocks…”
“Not that you felt bullied or anything.”
“Of course not.” Ryder smiled in spite of himself. “It just seems like a very good idea to hire you.”
Joanna stared at him. His smile affected her queerly, making her pulse hammer in her ears and her skin tingle. It was sort of like being hit with a dose of particularly potent medicine. She was well versed with the effects of medication; she’d spent years in hospitals after being gravely injured in the catastrophic car accident that had killed their mother, orphaning her and Julia.
Standing here looking at Ryder Fortune, whose six-foot height, shock of jet-black hair and rugged features embodied the “tall, dark and handsome” cliché, Joanna suddenly felt as nervous and uncertain as her preaccident, teen-aged self.
She steeled herself against the sudden attack of nerves. This just won’t do. She had to summon her postaccident strength, the Joanna who fought for control, gained it and never let go.
“Well, you’ve offered me a job, but I don’t want to be anybody’s ball and chain. Feel free to rescind your offer right now. It’s okay, I promise. I’ll tell Michael I didn’t take the job because we’re—” her eyes met his, and she quickly looked away “—we’re not a good fit. Something like that.”
“How do you know we’re not a good fit unless we give it a try?”
Their gazes held for a long moment, and something intangible yet forceful vibrated between them. This time Ryder was the one to lower his eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would think it was sexual tension causing this strange edginess churning inside him.
But it couldn’t be, of course. He did know better; he knew he could not be attracted to Joanna Chandler. She wasn’t his type—and not only physically. He wasn’t interested in flighty little party girls who just wanted to have fun—a perfect description of Joanna with her “checkered” work history and influential in-laws.
He also wasn’t interested in provoking “Neutron Mike” Fortune, Ryder reminded himself. Snubbing Joanna might detonate that particular fuse.
“Michael asked me for a favor, and I’m happy to oblige him,” Ryder said loftily, all humor gone. “That is the sole reason why I’m turning down your offer to leave. The only reason.” It seemed imperative that he stress that point to her. “If it wasn’t for my cousin, I would jump at the chance to send you on your merry little way. Understand?”
Joanna sucked in her cheeks. “Perfectly.” The self-righteous jerk! No doubt he would hold this great favor of hiring her over poor Michael’s head, expecting endless recompense.
“You can take that desk.” Ryder pointed to the smaller and only other desk in the office.
It was a few feet away from his own desk and stood very near the bizarre palm tree coatrack. Joanna glanced up at the blue monkey who stared back. Was it her imagination or was the creature’s expression downright menacing? He looked like he wanted to belt her with the banana. Mr. Big Shot Boss was the one who called you garish and tacky, not me, she silently advised the monkey.
Focusing on her hostility made it easier to dismiss that strange, inexplicable flash that had passed between her and Ryder. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been sexual tension, Joanna assured herself. Ryder Fortune wasn’t her type. He was too controlling, too impatient, too good-looking, too…everything!
Furthermore, on the off chance that there should ever be sexual tension between them, it would have to remain unresolved, because she was not stupid enough to fall for her boss.
True, Julia had fallen in love with Michael when he’d been her boss, and things had worked out wonderfully for the two of them. But that was different. What man wouldn’t fall in love with Julia, who was perfect in every way? Perfect would not be an apt description of Joanna Chandler, she thought wryly. Nobody was more aware of her imperfections than Joanna herself. She wasn’t about to set herself up for certain heartache by yearning for a man out of reach like Ryder Fortune.
“The last executive assistant, Saundra Something, sat there,” Ryder continued, his gaze darting from the desk to Joanna. “She wasn’t happy that I was in here with her, and no wonder. She couldn
’t take her customary two-hour lunch breaks, couldn’t talk on the phone fifteen times a day, not with the mean new boss breathing down her neck.”
“It is kind of unusual to share the president’s office,” Joanna pointed out.
She felt a pang of sympathy for Saundra Something. It couldn’t have been easy with Ryder Fortune watching your every move, like a hawk eyeing a convenient chicken. Which was about to be her own fate! “Don’t most top execs have their own private offices?”
“Your brother-in-law does.” Ryder said it before she could. No doubt about it, she wasn’t going to let him forget her brother-in-law’s status. “Actually, it is strange for the company president to share his office,” he conceded with a scowl. “I thought so myself.”
“Makes you wonder what exactly was going on here. I could make a guess or two.”
“I don’t have time to waste wondering about things like that,” Ryder said grandly.
Had he intended to make her feel like a rabid gossipmonger? Joanna frowned. If so, he’d succeeded quite well.
“And I don’t intend to keep this share-the-office situation indefinitely. I’m going to set up an executive suite with a private office for me, and one for my assistant. But not right now. I can’t waste the time or money on interior decorating just yet. I have to get this company back on its feet.”
They lapsed into silence, a tense one that Joanna felt compelled to break. “So I’m—um—hired to be an executive assistant?”
“Why not? You couldn’t be any worse than the last one.”
Joanna tried to look on the bright side. At least she didn’t have a renowned predecessor to live up to. On the other hand, she was following somebody who seemed to have soured Ryder Fortune on executive assistants. She was going to have to prove her worth to her new boss, and he didn’t strike her as somebody who was easily won over.
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