Читать книгу We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - Brenda Novak - Страница 11

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING,not on my first day! Jaclyn glanced at her watch, cringed when she saw she had only ten minutes until she was supposed to report at Perrini Homes, and frantically pumped the gas pedal of her Mercury Sable.

Come on, baby, start. Start!

The engine whined and chugged more slowly than before, then fell completely silent. Another turn of the ignition key caused nothing but a clicking sound. Her battery was dead. She’d have to go to the neighbor’s and ask for a jump.

“Of all the blasted times,” she muttered, getting out and trudging to Mr. Alder’s next door. Careful to protect her best suit from the automatic sprinklers watering his lawn, she kept to the far side of the concrete walkway until she reached the porch, then gave his front door a hearty knock.

No one answered. She pounded two more times and had nearly given up in favor of Mrs. Lavender’s across the street, when Mr. Alder finally opened up, wearing a tattered terry-cloth robe. He gazed at her in surprise, his white hair sticking up on all sides, the pattern of crumpled bedding imprinted on one whiskery cheek.

“Is it garbage day?” he asked.

Jaclyn cleared her throat, feeling a twinge of guilt for having dragged him from his bed to ask a favor. Retired for nearly eight years and a widower besides, he spent his time tinkering around his property. His days were probably long enough already. And it wasn’t as though he particularly liked Jaclyn or her children. When they were home, Mackenzie, Alex and Alyssa disrupted the silence of the neighborhood, left their trikes and scooters in the road, sometimes picked his flowers as presents for her and generally pestered him at every opportunity. They considered any man over sixty a potential grandpa and were determined to win him over. But so far their efforts had done more to alienate than endear. Jaclyn had only chosen him as her savior today because she thought he’d be more mechanical than the little old lady across the street.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she said, “but I’m in a tight spot. I’m supposed to be at work in—” she checked her watch again and stifled a groan “—five minutes, and my car won’t start. Is there any chance you could give me a jump?”

He angled his head to see her car sitting in her driveway with the hood up, and harrumphed. Then he muttered that he’d be right back and disappeared into the house. When he returned, he was dressed in his customary polyester slacks, short-sleeved, button-up shirt and wing-tipped shoes. A pair of jumper cables was clutched in one gnarled hand.

Jaclyn kept a vigilant but despairing eye on the time, while Mr. Alder moved his car alongside hers and hooked the jumper cables to both batteries. It was eight o’clock. She was late already. What was she going to tell Cole? Her tardiness might make him believe Joanna’s was justified in firing her. She thought of going inside to call him, but didn’t want to start her first day offering excuses. With Mr. Alder’s help, she should be there soon.

Trying to keep calm, she climbed into her car, waited for Mr. Alder’s signal and turned on the ignition. To her relief, the engine roared to life.

“Thanks,” she called, as he removed the cables. “I’ll bake you an apple pie this weekend, if you’d like one. Or maybe you’d prefer some strawberry jam. I make great strawberry jam.”

“Just tell your children to leave the rocks along the side of my yard alone,” he said, his voice as gruff and cross as ever.

The rocks? What could her children possibly do to hurt some ugly old lava rocks? “I’ll tell them,” Jaclyn said, sighing as she shifted into reverse and backed down the drive. Mr. Alder’s patent disapproval was starting to get the best of her, but she’d have to deal with that later. She had more important things to worry about right now—like turning a seven-or eight-minute drive into no more than two or three.

Unfortunately, rush-hour traffic worked against her. By the time she arrived at Cole’s office, it was nearly eight-twenty, and Cole wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Neither was his brother, Chad. But the man she’d passed as she was leaving last time sat in the front office, talking on the phone. He lifted a finger to indicate he’d be with her in a minute, then bowed his head and jumped back into the conversation he’d been having when she entered.

“…I’m telling you we need those Sheetrockers there tomorrow. This house doesn’t close by the fifteenth, it ain’t gonna close, you know what I’m saying? Right, and in order to do that, we gotta get rid of these last few stragglers…No, that’s not good enough. The bank’s watchin’ us closely, wondering whether or not to plunk down another few mil. We need to convince them that their money’s perfectly safe with us, and sales are the only way to do that. We have to close some escrows…That’s right…Cole wanted it to happen yesterday…okay, see that it does…you got it…take it easy, man.”

He hung up and offered her a hesitant yet curious smile as he rose to his full height of nearly six feet and rounded the desk. “You must be Jaclyn Wentworth,” he said. “Cole told me you’d be coming.”

He didn’t add that Cole had said she’d arrive at eight, but Jaclyn feared he was thinking it. “Yes. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I’m normally very punctual, but my car battery was dead this morning and I had to get a jump.”

Fleetingly Jaclyn realized she should have left her car running, given it time to recharge the battery. Instead, she’d pulled into the closest parking space, cut the engine and dashed for the office, which meant she’d probably need to get another jump come five o’clock. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.

“I’m Rick, Cole’s kid brother,” the man said, offering to shake hands. “I’m the company controller, which in our case basically means I run the front office here, manage the cash flow and do the accounting.”

“I think I remember seeing you a time or two in Feld.” Jaclyn smiled as she accepted the big hand that momentarily engulfed hers. Unlike Chad, Rick wasn’t the spitting image of Cole. He had the same lean, muscular build, the same angles to his face, but he had dark blond hair and blue eyes that held a certain wariness Cole had lost since high school. Jaclyn could sense other differences, as well, but couldn’t yet place what they were.

“You probably did. I was a freshman when Cole was a senior. He said you were in his class.”

“I was, but I certainly never expected to run into him again.”

“It’s a small world.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned one hip on his desk. “Um, just so I understand your capabilities, Ms. Wentworth, do you know how to use Windows?”

Jaclyn had seen that program mentioned a lot in the want ads. Everyone wanted a secretary who knew how to run Windows. “I’m afraid I don’t. I haven’t had much experience with a computer. But, please, call me Jaclyn.”

“Jaclyn it is, then.” He paused. “So you’ve never done any word processing?”

“No, but I can type. I—I took typing in high school.”

“Okay. Do you have any accounting skills? Any bookkeeping in your background?”

“Unfortunately not.” Until she’d left Terry, Jaclyn hadn’t even balanced her own checkbook. Terry’s father had given them a monthly allowance, handled the credit-card statements and paid all the bills, but she wasn’t about to volunteer that information. Rick’s questions were already making her feel painfully inadequate.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never worked in an office before,” she admitted. “I think Cole hired me more on faith than anything else, because of the Feld connection. But I’m a quick learner and determined to be an asset here. I know it might be frustrating for you at first, but I hope you’ll bear with me long enough to let me prove myself.”

Jaclyn knew her sincerity had had an effect when Rick grinned and the hesitation in his manner eased. “I started with less. I think we can work with that.”

“Great. Where do you want me to sit?”

He indicated a smaller mahogany desk next to a large map of the development. “That’s your spot there, until we hire a real-estate agent and rearrange the place to accommodate three. For the time being, you can collect résumés for the position. Why don’t you do the initial interview, too, then recommend the top three candidates to me? That would free some of my time so I can get caught up around here.”

Jaclyn started to say that she didn’t know what type of person they were looking for, but he raised a hand to let her know he anticipated such a response. “Cole told me you’re not familiar with real-estate sales, but you can get some sort of feel for whether a person is reliable and well-motivated, and whether they seem experienced, right?”

She nodded.

“We’d prefer someone who’s been in the business a few years, but we’d stretch for a new licensee, if they’re exceptionally sharp.”

“Okay.” Jaclyn settled behind her new desk, which sat perpendicular to Rick’s so that she saw him every time she looked up. An old-fashioned lamp, a black business phone, and a pad and penholder awaited her use on the polished surface; the drawers were empty, except for the recent addition of her purse and a Reno telephone book that looked as if it had been there since the beginning of time. “Will I be getting a computer?”

“I’ll pick one up for you as soon as I can, but here’s the bad news. There won’t be anyone available to train you today until after lunch. I have to go to the county planning department and try to get the tree inspector to sign off on a couple of dying trees so we can have them removed and lay a foundation tomorrow. And Cole is out all day on appointments.” He glanced helplessly around the office, and Jaclyn got the distinct impression that he didn’t quite know what to do with her. “Any chance you could answer phones and do some filing until then?”

“Sure.” Jaclyn gave him a reassuring smile that lasted until he headed out. But as soon as the door closed behind him, her confidence fizzled. She was sitting behind her new desk, wearing her best suit, gazing out at the perfectly manicured lawn and expansive Perrini Homes sign, feeling like a complete fraud. How much time would Cole—and Rick—give her to become comfortable with her position? Judging by the vast amount she needed to learn, she feared it would never be enough.

Dropping her head in her hands, Jaclyn massaged her temples to alleviate the headache that was already starting to pound there, then turned a doleful eye on the box Rick had set on the floor next to her before he left. It was overflowing with important-looking papers and business documents—profit and loss statements, escrow papers, house plans, bills, letters, litigation for God knows what, and receipts. Obviously, if Rick was the one in charge of the filing before she came, he was way behind.

Or he didn’t know what to do with the stuff any more than she did. A daunting thought.

Jaclyn hauled the box into the next room and found a large photocopying machine and an entire bank of filing cabinets, just as Rick had promised. Hope momentarily raised its head as she gazed at the gleaming oak cabinets—they looked fairly innocuous—but then she opened the drawers. They were filled to bursting with hanging folders that weren’t even in alphabetical order. And the papers inside them might as well have been written in Russian for all Jaclyn understood about what they were and why they belonged where they did.

What made her think she could do this job? she wondered, her insecurities returning full force. Rick had asked her to file, to file, for Pete’s sake—which was supposed to be the easiest job in the world—and she couldn’t even do that.

Feeling a little like the poor girl in “Rumpelstiltskin,” who was locked in a chamber and expected to spin straw into gold, Jaclyn eyed the clock on the wall. She had three hours until Rick was expected back. She had to have something to show for them.

Tears of frustration brimmed as Jaclyn turned to the cabinet on her left and opened the top drawer, but she blinked them back. She’d wanted an opportunity, and Cole had given her one. She’d figure the filing system out somehow, even if it meant she had to read every piece of paper in the whole darn office.

IT WAS WELL AFTER SEVEN in the evening when Cole finally rolled into the driveway of Oak Ranch. He’d had a legitimately busy day meeting with engineers and architects and commercial real-estate agents, but he’d thrown himself even more wholeheartedly into his business than usual, hoping to forget that Jackie Wentworth started work today. After he’d left her place last night, he’d decided, for his own piece of mind, to ignore her as much as possible and let Rick deal with her. But it didn’t look as though he was going to make it through the day without some sort of interaction. Her car was still in front of the office—and Rick’s was gone.

What was she doing here so late?

Heaving a tired sigh, Cole toted his satchel-style briefcase and day-planner to the door and let himself in to find the desks empty, the place quiet. Where was Jackie? Had Rick taken her out to dinner or something?

It was certainly plausible. They were both single and attractive. But Rick and Jackie had nothing in common. And his kid brother was too young for her, anyway. There had to be—what?—three years between them?

Cole swallowed hard. Three years was nothing, certainly not the stretch it had been in high school.

Slinging his suit coat over the water cooler and loosening his tie, he sat behind his brother’s desk, propped up his feet and dialed Rick’s mobile. Cole hadn’t checked in with the office today as he normally did, but Rick had given him an update on his voice-mail, so there hadn’t been any real need to.

“’Lo,” Rick answered.

“Hey, what’s up?” Cole asked.

“Not a whole lot.”

“Where you at?”

A pause. “Nowhere special, why?”

Cole could hear a dominant male voice and other conversation going on in the background. Was it a mall? More likely a restaurant. “You eating?”

“No.”

“Jackie with you?”

“Who?”

“Jackie Ras—Wentworth, our new employee.”

“You mean Jaclyn? Why would she be with me?”

“Because her car is here, but she’s gone.”

“Did you check the copier room?” Just as Rick spoke, someone near him said something about Lady Chatterley’s Lover. At least, that was what Cole thought he heard. Where the heck was Rick?

“The what?”

“She was still in the copier room when I left,” Rick shouted as the noise around him escalated. “I gotta go.”

“Wait—” Cole said, but Rick had already hung up.

Puzzled, Cole stared at the phone. His brother used to stay at the office until ten or eleven almost every night. Lately he’d been coming in early but leaving promptly at five. He claimed he wasn’t seeing anyone regularly but never mentioned how he spent his nights….

Something was up, Cole was certain. But what?

He shook his head. His brother was an adult now. Whatever it was, Rick could handle it—

“Who’s here? Cole, is that you?” Jaclyn’s voice resonated from somewhere down the hall, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Shoving to his feet, Cole went to see why his new employee was still at work. Didn’t she understand that having a salary meant she wasn’t being paid by the hour?

He found her in the copier room, just as Rick had suggested, sitting in the middle of a sea of file folders. Her shoes and jacket had been discarded by the door. Her hair was falling from a clip in back and, as he watched, she stretched her neck as though she had a kink in it. All in all, she looked like an overwrought librarian.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, glancing nervously at the empty file drawer standing open above her head.

A proud smile curved her generous mouth. “I’m getting us organized.”

Us? Cole felt his muscles tense. He’d never be able to find anything again! What had Rick been thinking, turning her loose on the files on her first day? “Did Rick tell you to overhaul the whole filing system?” he asked, grappling for patience.

She indicated an empty cardboard box not far from her jacket and shoes. “No, he told me to file what was in that box until he had the time to train me. But when he was in the office, he was on the phone, so I kept myself busy in here. Once I got started, I realized this place needed some serious housecleaning.”

Housecleaning? Housecleaning? This was his business, for God’s sake, his sweat and hard work, and now…He gazed helplessly at the paper mess. “But you said you’ve never worked in an office before.”

“I haven’t.” Her smile brightened even more. “It took me a long time to figure out how it should go, but once I started recognizing common elements, the sorting went much faster.”

“I see.” He hated the condescending tone that entered his voice, but he’d been up most of the night before, working on a proposal designed to interest private investors in his first out-of-town housing tract; he was too tired and irritable to deal with such an unexpected calamity. Obviously Jackie meant well and was trying hard to prove herself, but if she didn’t go home soon, she’d learn just how unhappy he was with her little project.

He cleared his throat. “Do you know it’s nearly eight o’clock?”

“Yeah. My kids are with Terry, so there’s no real reason to go home. I’d like to finish here, as long as you don’t mind.”

He did mind. That was the problem. “But finishing could take all night, and then some,” he said.

She followed his gaze over the cluttered room. “Actually, I’m almost done. I’ve already made the new file tabs, and everything is sorted into stacks, except this pile here—” She indicated the papers closest to her, the ones she’d been poring over when he entered the room. “This is the stuff that doesn’t seem to go with anything. Should I make a Miscellaneous file, or would you rather look through it and tell me where you want everything to go?”

He wanted everything to go back where it had been before the tornado that was Jackie Wentworth had hit his office, but he wasn’t going to say so, not after seeing the pride she was taking in her work. Better to leave while he could still hold his tongue. “Actually, I haven’t had any dinner. I think I’ll go eat. Why don’t you put them in a miscellaneous file for now, and Rick can have a look in the morning.” Right after he gets finished answering to me for letting you tear the place apart.

“Okay. I’ll finish up, then, and lock the office behind me when I go.”

Cole felt a muscle tic in his cheek with the effort it took him to smile. “That’s fine. There’s an extra set of keys in Rick’s top drawer. You can keep them. Good night,” he said, and left, cursing Rick for giving Jackie a free hand.

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t blame Rick. Rick hadn’t asked for Jackie’s help; Rick hadn’t wanted a secretary. Cole had hired her knowing she’d probably be more trouble than she was worth.

So he had no one to blame but himself.

FINISHING THE FILES took much longer than Jaclyn had expected. By the time she closed the last drawer, it was nearly midnight, but she felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment. She now knew more about Perrini Homes and how it was run than six months of training could have taught her. She’d read the closing papers on the first house Cole developed, the documents for his first loan and the appraisals of each project. She’d studied the maps of his developments, knew their location and size and sell-out information. Going through the files had shown her the history of Perrini Homes—and the past eight years of Cole’s life.

Cole had to possess extraordinary business acumen to have built what he had out of nothing, Jaclyn thought, blowing a stray wisp of hair out of her face as she stood. According to Rochelle, he was a philanderer, like Terry, but at least he was a hard worker. At least he had dreams and knew how to make them come true.

She was going to make something of her life, too, Jaclyn decided, surveying the now tidy room. Taking Cole’s entire filing system from chaos to order might have been a small step forward, but it made her more optimistic about her future. Heck, she already knew a lot more about real estate than she had fifteen hours ago.

“God, I feel great,” she muttered happily, gathering her coat and shoes. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, she was tired and her back ached from hunching over for so long, but the warm feeling she had inside made her smile. She wanted to traipse through the house and find Cole so she could show him what she’d done, but the house had been quiet for some time. Cole was probably asleep. She’d go home and celebrate her victory with a brownie from her own freezer—

Suddenly she had a terrible thought. What about her car? Would it start? She’d been so engrossed in her work that she’d completely forgotten about the depleted battery.

Fishing her keys out of her purse, she hurried outside and unlocked the driver’s door. Please start, she prayed, slipping behind the wheel.

She pumped the gas pedal and turned the key, but nothing happened. The battery was dead, just as she’d feared. She was stranded at work on her first day, half starved and exhausted.

Imagining the sad picture she was going to make in the morning when Cole or Rick found her still at the office, wearing the same crumpled suit, she groaned. She had to get home. But how? It was too far to walk. She couldn’t afford a taxi, not if she was going to have to buy a new car battery, too. And she didn’t know how or where to catch a city bus. At this time of night, she wasn’t sure she felt safe traveling on one, anyway. The places she’d lived had been too small for public transit. She’d never taken a city bus in her life.

Eyeing the back part of the office, the part that was Cole’s living quarters, Jaclyn wondered if, by chance, he was still awake. His Lincoln Navigator was parked next to her car. If only she had his keys and a pair of jumper cables. She could be on her way in five minutes.

Can’t hurt to check, she thought, getting out. She walked around to the back of the house, where she hoped to see a light or some indication that Cole might still be working, but everything was shuttered and dark.

Would he mind terribly if she woke him?

Motivated by hunger and an intense desire for her bed, she let herself into the office and tiptoed down the hall toward where Cole had gone. Outside a full moon hung bright and low, lighting those rooms that didn’t have the blinds drawn. Jaclyn wandered through a state-of-the-art kitchen, complete with an island, a breakfast nook and white cabinetry, a formal dining room with hardwood floor and a den—judging by the expansive desk, leather furniture and fax machine—to confront a closed door that probably opened into Cole’s bedroom.

Raising her fist, she took a deep breath…and knocked.

“Cole? Are you in there?”

No response. Maybe the door led to a pantry or laundry area, and not Cole’s bedroom. She couldn’t be sure.

“Cole?” she called again, rattling the knob. The door was unlocked, and she was halfway through it, thinking he must be somewhere else in the house, when she heard his sleep-filled voice from just a few feet away.

“It’s okay, Laura. Come in. I’m glad you’re here.”