Читать книгу A Regular Joe: A Regular Joe / Mr. Right Under Her Nose - Carol Finch, Carol Finch - Страница 11

DANIEL JOSEPH GRAYSON, co-founder and CEO of Hobby Hut Enterprises, was running away from home. He wished he’d done it a year ago, because this hiatus was long overdue.

Daniel was desperate to regain his enthusiasm for the family-owned business. He needed to get back in touch with himself, because sitting in his plush executive office, surrounded by yes-men and -women, constantly staring at profit-loss spreadsheets, was distorting his perception of life. Hobby Hut’s version of Stepford wives—those nauseatingly agreeable robots whose sole purpose was to protect their high-dollar salaries and prestigious positions—were driving him absolutely nuts!

No longer could Daniel bounce ideas off his junior executives or expect constructive and innovative input, because he couldn’t trust their hidden motives. A year ago, when his grandfather officially retired, things rapidly deteriorated. J. D. Grayson was the only person Daniel could depend on to tell him the truth, and now the old man was spending his golden years in leisurely pursuits.

Therefore, Daniel decided to leave his executives holding the bag, forcing them to earn their exorbitant wages. He was hotfooting it out of Oklahoma City—without leaving a forwarding address. For one month Daniel was going to become a regular Joe and hope like hell that the working stiffs in this world were nothing like corporate society with its patronized schmoozing—along with a little treacherous backstabbing thrown in for good measure. Daniel craved a breath of fresh country air, longed to shed the cloak of executive privilege, and dodge the entourage of glossy females who saw him as a blue-chip bachelor.

Hell’s jingling bells! He wasn’t sure if he was liked for himself these days, or if his power, wealth and influence formed the world’s perception of him. There was only one way to find out, Daniel mused. When he became your everyday average regular Joe Schmo he would discover how many true friends he could acquire.

Daniel steered the clunker truck that he’d borrowed from his grandfather off the interstate and cruised down the two-lane road toward Fox Hollow. The town was situated in a valley, surrounded by timbered hills and clear blue streams. The community was only a hop, skip and jump away from a scenic lake.

The quaint, off-the-beaten-path hamlet was just what the doctor ordered, he thought to himself. This area of the state catered to hunters, fishermen, lake-goers and retirees. This was the perfect getaway for a cynical, jaded executive—namely him—who needed to get back in touch with the simple pleasures in life.

Feeling his tension and frustration ebb, Daniel cruised his bucket-of-rust truck from one end of Main Street to the other. It took three minutes—less if he hadn’t stopped for the white-haired old woman who jaywalked in front of him. There was one stoplight, dozens of parking spaces without meters, and several wooden barrels—belching riotous collections of flowers—sitting in front of each business establishment. A hardware store, with a sign that read If We Don’t Have What You Need We Can Special Order It, sat on one corner. A floral shop, antique store, tractor-mechanic shop, mom-and-pop grocery, hole-in-the-wall café, tag agency and furniture store lined the street. There were no traffic jams in which road-raging motorists shouted at one another and saluted with their middle fingers. Daniel didn’t hear the screech of brakes or blast of horns. What he heard was the sound of peace and quiet, the warble of birds and local citizens greeting one another as they passed friends and acquaintances on the sidewalk.

Ah, so this was what life was like in the real world. He’d almost forgotten. Daniel glanced down to check the time, then remembered he had stuffed his Rolex into the corporate safe. It was his intention to blend into the scenery and keep a low profile. He’d just as soon no one knew he could afford more than these casual clothes and clunker truck.

Looking west, Daniel spotted the local Hobby Hut. The doors should be opening soon, and he wanted to be first in line to apply for a job. He had selected this specific town for his hiatus for two reasons. Number one—it was only forty-five minutes from his office in the city. And two—this store manager’s sales reports were impressive. Mattie Roland was doing more business in this little town than other Hobby Huts were doing in major cities in a five-state area.

Determined to acquire a job at his own store, Daniel hiked down the street, amazed that strangers nodded and greeted him as if he were a long-lost friend. He felt welcome immediately, and he hadn’t been here more than ten minutes.

Daniel pulled up short and stared in amazement at the window displays at Hobby Hut. They were divided into four sections—nautical, folk art, colonial and Americana. Original and print reproductions of landscape and still-life paintings, accentuated by Hobby Hut frames, were bookended by hand-painted curio and knickknack shelves that boasted figurines and collectibles. Small console tables, deacon’s benches and storage chests had been painted to match the theme of each display. Daniel stood there for several minutes, absorbing the ambiance, admiring the artwork and cleverly arranged displays. No wonder Mattie Roland was one of the top managers in the company. Her displays practically reached out and grabbed you off the street and lured you into her store.

The words inspiring and imaginative came quickly to mind. These examples of decor made you want to give your home a makeover, to fill each cubbyhole, niche and wall with these intriguing combinations of art, woodcrafting and antiques that created a homey, welcoming appearance.

Finding the door unlocked, Daniel entered, hearing the tinkling sound of delicate chimes that announced his arrival.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” came a sultry female voice from somewhere in the near distance. “Browse to your heart’s content.”

Daniel blinked, startled. Who was minding the store? A dozen expensive items could be shoplifted before the manager emerged from the back room. Maybe Mattie Roland wasn’t Employee of the Year after all.

While Daniel surveyed the items on the aisles the white-haired woman who’d jaywalked in front of his rattletrap truck waddled inside. She nodded cordially to him, then stared toward the workroom in the back of the store.

“Mattie? How’s my project coming along? You about finished, hon? My son and grandchildren are coming tomorrow, ya know. I want to have my shelves and family pictures hung before they arrive.”

“Not to worry, Alice,” said the disembodied voice. “I’m putting the finishing touches on your shelves right now. Come on back and have a look-see.”

Daniel was surprised the hunch-shouldered senior citizen could move so fast. She scurried off in her orthopedic shoes, her cotton dress swishing around her as she went.

While Alice and Mattie did their thing in the workroom, Daniel circumnavigated the store, marveling at several other eye-catching displays of woodcrafts, ceramics and unusual antiques. Mattie Roland was obviously a whiz when it came to interior decorating. Daniel never would have thought to assemble these particular items and arrange them as she had, but the effect was extraordinary. The woman definitely had a gift!

Daniel’s brain short-circuited when he glanced over his shoulder to see a petite but voluptuous female, dressed in paint-splattered jeans and T-shirt, walking toward him. There was a smudge of Lucky Shamrock Green on the tip of her nose and a streak of Longjohn Red on her elbow. Her raven-colored ponytail was slightly off center, but amethyst-colored eyes, rimmed with incredibly long lashes, dominated her pixielike face. Mattie Roland was five feet four inches, one hundred fifteen pounds—give or take—of arresting female who reminded him of an enchanting leprechaun.

Mesmerized, Daniel stood there like a tongue-tied doofus. This vivacious young woman was Mattie Roland? Employee of the Year?

“Hi,” Mattie greeted cheerily. “Is there something I can help you find in Hobby Hut?”

The sizzling jolt of awareness caused his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. He, who spent the past several years with prima donnas latched to his arms like English ivy, had suddenly encountered the girl-next-door variety of female. Mattie wasn’t what Daniel was accustomed to, but he definitely approved of the look of her.

Daniel was excessively pleased that he’d selected Fox Hollow for his hiatus. And speaking of fox, Mattie Roland was definitely that, in his opinion. She appealed to everything male in him. She had that wholesome, vital appearance that he much preferred over the bottled variety and surgically implanted artificial beauty women relied on to enhance their facial features and figures. The indifference he’d been experiencing with his shallow, glamorous companions of late took a flying leap when Mattie, with an energetic spring in her walk, strode up to him and blessed him with a two-hundred-watt smile.

“Sir?” she prompted when he continued to stand there, absorbing the refreshing sight of her. “Are you looking for a gift for your wife or girlfriend? Need supplies for a woodcrafting project?”

“No wife, no girlfriend,” he said when his vocal apparatus began to function. “I’m looking for a job.”

“Really?” She seemed startled. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I just arrived in town, and I’m looking for work,” he lied convincingly. Then he inwardly winced when he realized he was no better than his yes-executives who would lie through their smiles if it would get them onto a higher rung on the corporate ladder.

“I’m surprised you came in here,” she said, as she absently reached over to rearrange a porcelain figurine that wasn’t perfectly aligned on the shelf.

“Why?” He wanted to know.

“Most men in town consider this a sissified store where their wives and girlfriends shop. Most of my customers are women.”

“Other men think woodcrafting is sissy stuff?” he asked, affronted. “That is beyond ridiculous. Table saws, miter saws, and nail guns are not for the faint of heart. You could lose a finger if you accidentally cut skin and bone rather than wood. I spent my teenage years in a workshop, creating shelving, tables and cabinets. Sissy stuff?” He snorted in objection. “No, I don’t think so!”

Her bubbling laughter filled the space between them. Her violet eyes danced with amusement, and Daniel blushed, realizing this was the first time in a year that he’d expressed much sentiment on any subject. Mattie probably thought he was wacko because he had such strong feelings about woodcraft—the same kind of passion that he and his grandfather experienced while they labored on their craft projects in the old days.

“Obviously you have experience and a love for woodcrafting,” she said, chuckling. “I share and appreciate your enthusiasm. And you probably won’t believe this, but I just received a fax from the corporate office an hour ago, indicating that I should hire an assistant.”

Of course he believed it. Daniel had sent that fax from his office immediately before he headed south to Fox Hollow. He was here to fill the position he had created.

“As it happens,” she was saying when he tuned back in, “I’ve been swamped, and my only other employee is a high school art student who helps out after class and on Saturdays. I have so many special projects going that I can’t keep up, even though I’ve been working double days.”

She pivoted on her heels, allowing Daniel an alluring view of her inverted heart-shaped derriere wrapped in faded denim. “Come back to my office and fill out the application.”

He followed the enticing sway of her hips like a kitten on the trail of fresh cream. The past few years Daniel had begun to think his sex drive had withered away. However, one look at Mattie Roland’s hourglass figure and infectious smile and his male body woke up and was ready to party on. It had been a long time since Daniel felt such a spontaneous attraction.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised Mattie affected him instantaneously, he told himself as he followed his fantasy version of the Pied Piper. Mattie was real people. She was warm, outgoing, friendly and seemingly content with life. She was obviously doing what she loved and loved what she was doing. Daniel envied that about her.

Enthusiasm personified, he realized. That’s what she was. Mattie was exactly what he needed—someone who cared as deeply for his business as he once had. He could use an injection of her spirit and zest. He needed to bottle her up so he could take daily doses to counteract the mounting frustration he had been experiencing in his corporate office.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him the application. “Park yourself at my desk and fill this out. This is just red tape sent down by Double H at Double H.”

“Double H?” he questioned curiously.

“The head honcho at Hobby Hut,” Mattie informed him. “Ask me, the man requires entirely too much paperwork, which prohibits a manager from going one-on-one with customers. But you know how those highbrow executives are. They don’t trust us little guys and gals to manage business properly, especially way down here in the boondocks. Probably think that we small-town folks only operate with half a brain.” She shrugged, and her dark ponytail rippled over her shoulder. “But the big boss in corporateland didn’t ask my opinion, even if I’m the one out here in the trenches selling his products.”

Daniel inwardly cringed when she confided her complaints about the head honcho. If Mattie knew she was talking to the CEO of Hobby Hut, she’d be thoroughly embarrassed.

“So, do you dislike all company executives on general principle or just this big boss in particular?” he asked as he plunked down in her chair at the desk.

“I had a personal run-in with a hotshot executive before I landed this job,” she explained. “He seemed to think it was my company duty to offer him fringe benefits and that he was doing me a tremendous favor by suggesting that I join his corporate harem. He also thought who he was should impress me enormously, which it didn’t. I quit and applied for this position.

“I strongly dislike the type of executive who uses his power and position to get what he wants. Although I don’t know Double H personally, I suspect he possesses the same character flaws.” Mattie relocated a stack of papers to give him the needed space on the desktop so he could fill out the application. “I bet I can peg Double H,” she declared. “High-dollar Rolex on his wrist to match the expensive rings on his fingers. BMW sitting in his personal parking space that no one else is allowed to use under penalty of death. Glitzy cover-model types of females on his arm. A different glamour goddess for each day of the week, no doubt. Carries a state-of-the art cell phone, dresses in the best clothes his money can buy, and surrounds himself with every power and prestige symbol known to mankind to impress the rest of us peons.”

Daniel inwardly grimaced. So far, Mattie had been right on target. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of her speculations.

“Double H’s interest, I suspect, is the enterprise’s bottom line of dollars and cents. He probably doesn’t give a rip if customers are getting their money’s worth, only that the profit margin pads his pocket. And his sales policy,” she added with a snort. “His so-called big sales are his way of getting rid of stuff no one wants. I’d like to see a sale on expensive items that customers on fixed incomes can purchase, instead of stare at whimsically.”

Head downcast, Daniel filled in the blanks on the application, while listening to Mattie comment on company policy.

From behind him, Mattie glanced over his shoulder. “Joe Gray, is it? Nice to meet you. I’m Mattie Roland, your new employer.”

He lifted his head. “You’re pretty trusting. I haven’t even filled in the blank about whether or not I have a criminal record.”

“You don’t,” she said with great confidence. “You aren’t the type.”

“You know several criminals personally, do you?”

She laughed, and the sound whispered through him like a breath of spring air. God, she was good for him—all that vibrant spirit and enthusiasm. Not to mention the arousing effect she had on him when she was close enough for him to pick up her enticing scent.

“The small-time criminals I deal with in Hobby Hut are easy to spot. In your case, the way you dress, the way you speak, and your passion for working with your hands comes through loud and clear. I think you’re just what this store needs. It’s time some of the Neanderthal males in Fox Hollow realized that art, woodcraft and interior decor are not sissy stuff. Having you mind the shop will put them at ease—once they get used to the idea,” she tacked on, then took another peek at his application.

“Thirty-five years old. Last permanent address in Oklahoma City. Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Got tired of the hustle and bustle, did you? I presume you like to hunt, fish, and get in touch with nature. You’ll like it here in Fox Hollow. I also expect the eligible females hereabout will be on your trail once they’ve spotted you.”

Daniel—or rather, Joe Gray—glanced over his shoulder to see Mattie grinning impishly. “You think I’m a babe magnet? Me? In my faded polo shirt that’s been through too many spin cycles in the washing machine, and these old jeans?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Clothes don’t make the man. It’s what’s inside, but yeah, I’d have to place you in the babe magnet category, Joe. You’re tall, handsome, and those amber eyes of yours are gorgeous. They remind me of sunrise and sunset all rolled into one. But not to worry, you won’t get the slightest pressure from me. I’m your employer, and we’ll be friends who share mutual interests.”

He was disappointed to hear that, he really was.

“If you need background information on prospective dates, I’ll be happy to fill you in, since I’ve lived here most of my life.”

They were going to be just pals? Damn, his suddenly rowdy male body didn’t like the sound of that one little bit. After a long dormancy, his masculine engine was revving up, only to be shut down by this spunky, spirited little pixie who had captured his interest without trying. Maybe that was what he deserved for being lukewarm toward those cover-model types who fluttered around him because of his wealth and reasonably good looks.

Having completed his application—falsified though it was, and his conscience was nipping at him for that—Joe handed her the paper. He watched as she perched a shapely hip on the edge of her desk to scan the information.

“You left your current residence blank,” she noted. “Where do you plan to live, Joe?”

He shrugged. “I noticed that Hush-a-Bye Inn on the outskirts of town rents rooms by the week. I can store my stuff there while I’m looking for something else.”

“Or you could move into the furnished garage apartment where I used to live,” she suggested. “Now that my grandfather has moved into Paradise Valley Convalescent Home I’ve taken over his house. At Pops’s insistence, I might add. He wouldn’t be in the nursing home if his arthritis and diabetes hadn’t flared up on him.”

“Judging by the sound of your voice, I presume Pops isn’t enthused about the assisted living center.”

“Hardly.” Mattie bounded to her feet and paced the narrow confines of her office.

He noticed that standing or sitting in one place wasn’t Mattie’s thing. She had so much energy that she needed to be in constant motion.

“Pops is a lot like me, I’m afraid,” she confided. “He has to be doing something constantly, and inactivity has never agreed with him. Lately, he’s been giving me fits because he keeps escaping from the home at odd hours, putting the doctors and nurses into one tizzy after another, because his ability to escape reflects on their reputations. They don’t like to keep losing him, and he delights in sneaking off.”

Joe chuckled in amusement. Pops reminded him of his own grandfather. One year ago, J. D. Grayson announced he was leaving the company to take life easy. Since then, J.D. had taken an Alaskan and Caribbean cruise, offered his supervisory services for two Habitat for Humanity projects, and volunteered as director of activities for the nearby senior citizen center.

“Mattie!”

Mattie gestured for Joe to follow her. “You might as well take a tour of the work area while I wrap it up with Alice Dawson. Part of your job involves handling tools for special projects.”

Curious, Joe followed in Mattie’s wake, his gaze still magnetically drawn to the hypnotic sway of shapely hips wrapped in denim that molded to her fanny like gloves. Damn, there was such an intriguing aura about this woman, he marveled. An hour ago, he’d felt tense and frustrated. Then, poof! It was as if he’d been transported into another dimension in time with this delightful pixie as his tour guide.

Joe skidded to a halt the instant he entered the workroom. His eyes popped as he panned the area that reminded him so much of the workshop where he and J.D. had designed crafts almost two decades earlier. It was where Joe had spent his spare time, working with his hands, dealing with the frustration of his parents’ abandonment, then the loss of his grandmother. Together he and J.D. had poured their grief and disappointment into creative projects that somehow turned into an enormously lucrative business.

“Does all this equipment belong to you?” Joe croaked. It had to, because he knew perfectly well that the work space at Hobby Hut Enterprises did not come equipped with state-of-the-art power tools like these!

Mattie glanced up from her consultation with Alice Dawson, then nodded. “Most of the tools are mine. Some of them were donated by my grandfather. He used to help me until his arthritis hampered him.”

Amazed, Joe surveyed the various and sundry of saws, drills, sanders and clamps that Mattie had at her disposal. A woman who shared his love of working with his hands? A woman who felt as at home in a workshop as he did? This woman was every woodcrafter’s dream come true. Joe couldn’t believe his luck. Working here would be the therapy he needed.

An amused smile pursed Mattie’s lips as she watched him inspect one tool after another. “You look surprised, Joe. But then, it’s not the first time I’ve gotten that reaction from men. Although I have a degree in art, my minor is woodcrafting and carpentry.”

“I really do get to play with your tools?” he asked, delighted.

She nodded, causing her shiny raven ponytail to shimmer in the florescent light. “Although Hobby Hut sells generic wood furniture and crafts, I customize and personalize projects for customers. Like this project, for instance.”

When Mattie motioned him forward, Joe strode over to study the framed original painting and shelves she had designed for Alice Dawson. His jaw dropped to his chest as he studied the artwork that featured what he presumed to be the old Dawson homestead, done in earth-tone colors. The shelves that were to be placed on either side of the painting—made of barn wood that probably came from the Dawson barn—boasted country antiques, small decorative frames, and portraits of Alice’s children and grandchildren.

“Doesn’t Mattie do fabulous work?” Alice said, smiling proudly at the display. “She came out to my place to gather up odds and ends so they could be included on the shelves. When I saw Josie Foreman’s homestead painting and antique display last month at our home extension club meeting, I knew I had to have one of my own.”

“Impressive,” Joe complimented.

“Now that you’re employed here, Joe, I can run over to Alice’s place during my lunch hour to hang the painting and shelves without worrying about being back a minute too late.” Mattie glanced at him hopefully. “You are willing to start work immediately, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “No problem, boss.”

Alice clapped her hands together in delight. “You can decorate my wall this afternoon? Wonderful!”

When Alice scuttled away, beaming like a fog light, Mattie chuckled. “I hope you’re getting the impression that working at Hobby Hut isn’t just a job for me. Making customers happy, rather than tallying dollars and cents, is the name of my game.”

Yes, he could see that. Mattie Roland was the epitome of Joe’s, and his grandfather’s, vision for their company. She kept what had become commercialized on a personal level by making specialized projects for her customers.

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Joe’s body. Oh yes, this hiatus in Fox Hollow was exactly what the doctor ordered. This was the cure for the affliction of frustration and indifference that had been tormenting Joe—or rather, Daniel Joseph Grayson, CEO. For that, and a few less than honorable masculine-oriented reasons, Joe wanted to hug the stuffing out of this little carpenter’s elf. A month in Mattie’s company and Joe was reasonably certain that he’d recapture his lost enthusiasm.

The chime above the front door heralded the arrival of another customer. Mattie smiled up at him, displaying the cute dimple in her left cheek. “You wanna handle that? I need to measure and mark another project this morning. If you want, you can make the cuts, since you look as if you’re eager to get your mitts on my power tools.”

“My pleasure,” he said, then wheeled around and strode toward the front of the store, a renewed spring in his steps.

Mattie watched her new employee depart, her gaze magnetically drawn to his six-foot-one-inch, powerfully built physique. Her artist’s eye approved of the looks of her employee. Joe Gray was definitely the answer to a prayer, and she couldn’t believe her good fortune. She had received the directive from corporate headquarters, indicating that she could hire a full-time staff member. And wham! Joe Gray showed up out of the blue.

It was almost as if fate had dealt her a winning hand. She needed someone responsible to mind the store so she could devote time to special projects requested by customers. She also needed someone to rent the efficiency apartment so she’d have extra money to pay her grandfather’s expenses at the convalescent home.

Man, oh man, what a perfect day this was turning out to be! Mattie had happened onto an employee who shared her love of art and woodcraft, someone eager to tackle the hands-on projects, someone who saw this business as more than a job that paid rent and put food on the table, someone whose appealing, dynamic presence put a quick charge on her own feminine battery…

Mattie’s thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt. Good heavens, what was she thinking? Joe Gray, as attractive and appealing to the eye as he was, was off-limits. She was his employer and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, jeopardize their working relationship. Although Joe was the first man to come along since her college years to inspire arousing feelings, she couldn’t possibly allow herself to form an interest in him. That would be unethical. Probably even went against company policy, if she sat herself down to read the fine print in her managerial contract.

No, the head honcho, who sat on his duff on his velvet throne at corporate headquarters, would undoubtedly frown on a personal relationship developing between his store manager and an employee. Mr. Higher than the Almighty head honcho would not approve of her feminine admiration for Joe Gray.

“Strictly business, and you better not forget that,” Mattie told herself as she grabbed the tape measure to mark the lumber. It didn’t matter that she was mesmerized by Joe’s whiskey-colored eyes and dark hair, that his good looks and masculine scent inspired basal reactions. She was his boss, and he was her hired assistant and never the twain shall meet, as the saying went. Who ever made up that saying, anyway? Well, she had to strive for a pleasant but ethical working situation, a mutual love for hobbies and crafts. Anything else was out of the question.

Too bad, really, she mused as she designed the new curio shelf. She was thirty years old, and her biological clock was ticking. She wanted a family, wanted children who would not be raised and abandoned the way she had been. If not for her beloved grandfather, there was no telling what would have become of Mattie. Bernard Roland had taken her in, shared what little worldly possessions he had with her, put a roof over her head, placed food on the table, and instilled his love for creating with his hands. True, he had inadvertently turned her into a hopeless tomboy who would rather wield saws, drills and create unique woodcrafts than power shop. Yet, she was content with her life. Well, except for the fact that managing the store, teaching a class in art during the winter at the local vo-tech, and working on special projects prevented her from having time to enjoy any kind of social life whatsoever.

“Stop whining, Roland,” Mattie muttered as she laid out the one-by-six board for Joe to cut. “And don’t get any ridiculous ideas where Joe is concerned. You can’t be anything but friends.”