Читать книгу Dying for Love - Angel Nicholas - Страница 8

“Grace, isn’t that report due to Mr. Duncan. As of, like, five minutes ago.”

“Yes. I’m on my way. I promise.”

“He’s in a real mood today, ya know.” Sally shook her head and walked away.

Like her day didn’t already suck. Getting fired on top of everything else would seriously suck. She’d snagged a position that a lot of people would kill for, in a firm recently listed in the top ten list of a local business publication. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest executive in the large construction firm.

Not to mention, the job enabled her to pay for her beautiful new car.

The low-grade headache thrumming at the base of her skull kicked up a notch. She wanted to drop her aching head into her hands and sob for a few minutes. Or hours. Something…anything to release the build-up of fear, stress and delayed shock. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.

Grace hit PRINT, swiveled around in her chair and snagged a binder from the storage cabinet. Mr. Duncan insisted reports be presented neatly and properly. Printed, bound, no factual errors and no typos.

In the six months she’d worked there, only two people had made the mistake of handing imperfect work to Mr. Duncan. They were no longer employed at the prestigious firm of Duncan Construction, Inc. Personally, she thought that was a bit over the top. Matthew Duncan might be hot sin walking, but he didn’t have to act like the Devil incarnate.

Not that Mr. Duncan was interested in her opinion. Nor would she ever dare voice it. She liked her job and would very much like to keep it. Especially in this economy. A fabulous job she enjoyed was a bonus she didn’t intend to waste by bandying about her opinions about.

She’d worked too hard, for too long to get where she was.

Neatly bound report in hand, she rushed out of her office. Sally, the first friend Grace had made at work, looked up from her desk and sent her a sympathetic smile as she held up two fingers crossed for luck. Grace blew out a breath and grinned.

The click-clack of her modest black pumps followed her down the tiled hallway. The rich cinnamon scent permeating the hall was supposed to be calming. She inhaled deeply.

Mr. Duncan wouldn’t fly off the handle just because he requested this report be in his hands at 9:30 and it was now—she glanced at her watch and swallowed—9:44. Her stomach tightened and she started relaxation breathing.

“Better hurry, Grace,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear.

Without thinking, she spun around and lightly whacked Luke in the gut. “Not funny.”

Hitting her co-worker. Nice. Very professional. She winced. Too much time spent around too many boys growing up and too much…everything this morning.

Luke doubled over, groaning like she’d punched him. Lips twitching, Grace kept walking.

“Oh, man.” He caught up and clapped a hand over his mouth. His cheeks bulged. “Ooh…” One hand pressed to his stomach, he staggered across her path and collapsed against the wall.

“Good grief, Luke.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself already.”

He straightened, grinning. “Hey, just trying to keep your spirits up. Facing old man Duncan would terrify anyone. Especially with mediocre, late work in hand.”

“Hey!”

Luke trotted off down the hall with a jaunty wave. The nerve. She did good work, no, excellent work, for this company. Mr. Duncan wouldn’t can her because of one late report. He was a reasonable man. Well, sort of reasonable. In an anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive kind of way.

She smiled at Nancy, Mr. Duncan’s secretary. Outside Mr. Duncan’s door, she took another deep breath. The stupid cinnamon was so not doing its job.

Grace stared at the dark mahogany door, straightened the hem of her short, fitted blazer, smoothed the back of her knee-length matching tweed skirt and, in general, procrastinated as only a terrified employee could. She’d just about, kind of, almost, worked up the nerve to knock.

“Fortifying yourself to beard the lion?” said a deep voice behind her.

She jumped and almost dropped the precious report. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. Great. Caught dawdling like a student called into the principal’s office. By her boss, nonetheless. Reminding herself to breathe, she turned.

“Why, yes.” She forced a smile.

Mr. Duncan’s bland expression betrayed none of the soft mockery she could have sworn his voice contained. Did his lips quirk, or was it a trick of the light? He was infamous for his non-existent sense of humor.

“Well, let’s not delay a second longer.” Reaching past her, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. “After you.”

His nearness and masculine scent curled around her with wanton invitation. Imagined invitation, she sternly reminded herself, splashing cold water on her overactive hormones. Dredging up confidence she didn’t feel, she smiled and strode past him into the cool interior of the immaculate office. The door closed quietly behind her.

“Mr—”

“Would you care for a drink, Miss Debry? A shot of Scotch, perhaps?”

She jerked her head up. Again with the dark humor. No, she had to be mistaken. Overwrought with stress and attraction to the point she was imagining things. Sad, really.

His back to her, he rummaged through the bar. From experience, she knew how well stocked it was.

“Um, no. I don’t think a shot of anything would be a good idea at…” She glanced at her watch and winced. Well, no point putting off the inevitable. She cleared her throat. “Nine forty-eight in the morning.”

“How terribly precise, Miss Debry. No, I don’t suppose it would be appropriate to indulge so early.”

He sighed. The unusual sign of humanity took her aback. He sounded tired. More than tired. Bone-deep weary.

“How about some coffee, then? Water? Juice?”

“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” Swallowing might prove an issue, but he was clearly determined she drink something.

“Cream and sugar, as I recall.”

“Yes.”

Were you courteous to someone you were about to fire? A final liquid meal before kicking them out in the cold? She failed to find any comfort in his hospitality. She eyed his broad shoulders, refusing to allow her gaze to dip lower, no matter how much it wanted to. Since when did he remember personal details about his employees, like how they drank coffee? The fact he’d taken note of her preferences was bewildering.

“I—”

“Please, have a seat. No need to stand when there are relatively comfortable chairs just waiting to be of use.”

He turned from the bar, coffee cup in hand and she headed for one of the chairs facing the massive desk dominating the space. An excellent place for intimidating employees.

“No, no. Not there.”

Her eyebrows shot up at the impatience lacing his words. She always sat in one of those chairs during a meeting with him. Just like he always sat in his elegant black chair behind the large expanse of gleaming wood, maintaining the proper distance between a denizen of the construction world and his employees. Always.

“Yes, I know. I’m excessively full of what’s proper, establishing my authority and all that crap. Come sit over here.”

The conversation area he indicated faced the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. She glanced again at the low-backed chairs in front of his polished desk. Uncertainty sat low and uncomfortable in her belly. Her stomach rolled. Shoulders back, head erect, Grace walked over and sat in a comfortable chair.

She’d always assumed the hard chairs were intentional. A subtle hint that relaxing in his presence was unacceptable.

He placed the full coffee cup and saucer on the table between them, then settled in a neighboring chair. “Is that the report?”

“Yes.” She handed the paperwork to him. “I’m sorry it’s late, Mr. Duncan.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Eyes widening, she clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open.

He tossed the report on a little table. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

“No, sir.”

He nodded, staring out the windows. It was a beautiful view. Neo-classic buildings sat with cheerful disregard amongst high-rise glass structures like theirs. The oldest had been there since the city’s birth well over one hundred years ago.

The trees were still stark and barren despite the warmer weather. The river twisted like a dark ribbon through the midst of the city that had grown up around it. Hence the city’s nickname, The City of Trees.

Mr. Duncan’s dark gaze returned to her with uncomfortable intensity. She resisted the urge to squirm.

“Are you okay, sir? You don’t quite seem yourself.”

Like she knew him. She gnawed on the side of her lip, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. His reserve kept everyone at a distance, even higher-up executives who’d worked with him for years. She was a newbie, inexperienced in the ways of office politics and Mr. Duncan.

“Let’s just say today hasn’t turned out as expected.” A grim smile twisted his lips.

“I apologize. I had no business prying.”

Sighing, he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it ruffled. She’d never seen him anything but perfect. The glossy strands looked silky-soft all mussed and somehow made him more human and approachable. More masculine. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch.

Grace threw the emergency brake on her thoughts and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Time for a strategic retreat.

“If there’s nothing else …” She started to rise.

“You haven’t touched your coffee.”

“Right.”

Sinking back into the chair, she picked up the delicate china. The rich coffee aroma liquefied her resistance and she relaxed a little, sipping quietly. A dab of cream and a touch of sweetness. Why she was surprised to find the coffee just right, she didn’t know. Mr. Duncan did everything to perfection. It was one of the reasons his company was so successful.

She glanced up. He was watching her. Something in his eyes made her cheeks heat, but his strained expression kept her butt planted firmly in the chair. He looked grievous. Lonely?

“So.” Desperate, she searched for a safe topic of conversation. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipped and absently licked a stray drop of coffee from the rim. “Did you grow up in Boise?”

His gaze, which had been on her lips, returned to her eyes. She had a sudden urge for lip liner and glossy lipstick. Mr. Duncan settled back. He seemed relieved, as if he’d been afraid she would abandon him.

Wow. She totally needed to get a grip.

“Yes. What about you? I know you graduated from Purdue then worked in the Chicago area for several years before moving here. Did you grow up in Lafayette?”

She blinked. Did he pay such close attention to everyone he hired? Duh. Of course he did. No reason he’d pay special attention to her.

“I grew up in Northern Indiana by Lake Michigan. I lived in Michigan City for a while, then spent all of high school with a family that lived near the border of Michigan City and LaPorte.”

“That’s right. You grew up in foster care. Not an easy childhood.”

Her eyes had to be as big as saucers. She shifted uncomfortably. “How did you know that?”

Amusement brightened his eyes. “You did consent to a full background check, Miss Debry.”

“Well, yes. But I…that is …” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know the extent of what such a check would reveal. Or that you would remember it.”

He inclined his head. “You interest me.”

Grace blinked. Interested him like an insect squashed between two slides and pressed into the plate beneath a microscope lens? “No.”

His eyebrows rose. “No?”

Her face heated. “No, it wasn’t difficult growing up in foster care.”

“Ah. Good.”

She fiddled with her cup. That was a lie, but she didn’t share her past. Besides, her mind had gone completely and utterly blank. In a gulp, she finished her coffee and gently set the cup and saucer on the low table.

Mr. Duncan met her gaze. “What brought you to Boise? It’s a long way from the Midwest.”

“I got tired of the crowds. Chicago is a beautiful city, but it’s congested and rundown. I wanted a change.”

“Why Boise?” He leaned forward. “You could have gone anywhere. You have excellent references. You’re young. The world is your oyster.”

A slight smile revealed a dimple on his left cheek. Attraction zipped through her veins without permission.

Stomach tightening, Grace licked her lips. “I Googled it. Boise sounded small enough to offer room to roam, yet large enough to offer the amenities and shopping I enjoy. Plus, the athleticism of the area appealed to me. Skiing, cycling, hiking. The Greenbelt.” She gestured toward the river. “I was able to find a great condo overlooking the Greenbelt and the Boise River, just past Katherine Albertson Park.”

A great condo easily broken into … The scene in her kitchen flashed in her mind. Her hands shook and she tucked them beneath her legs, focusing on the here and now. She chewed on the corner of her lip. Reduced to rambling. Time to go. She didn’t care how lonely he seemed. He was handsome and wealthy. No way was he lonely.

“I need to get back to work.” Grabbing the cup and saucer, Grace rose and ducked behind the elaborate bar set-up. She washed her dishes and returned them to the sleek wall-mounted cabinets. Turning to leave, she abruptly backed into the cabinet. Mr. Duncan lounged against the granite counter.

She’d never realized how big he was. Other than his demand for perfection, she hadn’t allowed herself to notice anything beyond his extravagant signature on her paychecks. Not his broad shoulders. Not his incredible eyes. Definitely not the way he moved, that somehow communicated “great in bed” to all her feminine transponders.

“Housekeeping takes care of dirty dishes.” His disconcerting dimple winked into existence again.

“I know.” She stepped closer, but he didn’t budge. “Um, I need to sort through the bids for the Peterman Project and select the contractors for the interior.”

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. There was more than enough space between him and the wall to get past. Still, her nerves stuttered and her breath hitched.

“Well, I’ll just get back to work then.” She edged past him.

He didn’t move, but his brown eyes sparked with some emotion that made her long to further investigate this new side of her enigmatic boss.

Grace wasn’t too proud to admit she all but ran. Confused and alarmed by the arousal humming through her, she hurried back to the safe walls of her office. The comfy custom chair embraced her. The bubbles floating across her monitor mesmerized her.

“So, how’d it go?”

She startled like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Luke hung halfway into her office, staring with obvious lust at her coveted corner office.

“How did what go?”

He frowned. “The meeting with Mr. Duncan. I heard your report was late.”

“Oh, right. Well, uh, he wasn’t happy. He said to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

“You needn’t sound so disappointed.”

Returned to his usual cheeky self in a blink, he grinned. “Hey, I fully intend to have my name on this door at some point.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll have to wait until I either do something really stupid or get promoted.”

“No doubt. You wanna get lunch?”

Pulling out the estimates for the Peterson Project, she started sorting them into categories. Plumbing, electric, flooring. “Not today. I was industrious and brought a healthy lunch from home.”

“Far be it for me to compromise your lovely curves.”

She glanced up and caught his lecherous grin. “Practicing for The Shakespeare Festival already?”

The grin transformed into a pout. “At least you could pretend, Grace. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m a handsome man. Why not?”

“You don’t need me to stroke your ego. It’s perfectly healthy without my help. Besides, I adore you like the obnoxious brother I never had.”

Something flickered in his brown eyes. She laughed at his disgruntled expression.

“That’s revolting.” He stomped away.

As much as Luke enjoyed playing the office Romeo, he wouldn’t know what to do if she tried to play his Juliet. Body language was a hobby of hers and his screamed he wasn’t attracted to her, no matter what he might claim.

Mr. Duncan’s heated gaze filled her head. Now there was a man who didn’t pretend. What had he meant, he was interested in her? Because she was a benefit to his company?

He certainly hadn’t looked like he was thinking about business. The expression on his face, in his eyes. Well, he looked like he was thinking about soft sheets and sex. No, she must have misunderstood. Her foster mom always said she read too much into people.

The pang of loss throbbed. Laura had died a few months before Grace graduated from Purdue at the top of her class. She would have been so proud. If only breast cancer hadn’t cut her life so short.

What would Laura have thought of Mr. Duncan? Probably too stiff and formal, too precise for her taste. Laura had learned to live with chaos, setting aside her need for neatness and order in favor of unquestioning love. The foster children she’d accepted into her home, with open arms, demanded that and more. Laura had surrendered everything she had with a gracious sweetness that, years later, still humbled Grace.

A co-worker’s strong cologne drifted through her door. Gross. She wrinkled her nose. Mr. Duncan, on the other hand, smelled incredible.