Читать книгу Jacob's Proposal - Eileen Wilks - Страница 9

Rain washed the window where Jacob stood staring out at a wet, dreary world. He didn’t know why some people claimed to like rainy days. Rain sucked the color out of everything and sniffled in self-pity while it did, sounding like one great, endless sob. And a December rain was the worst, cold and endlessly gray.

Storms, now—storms were all right. When the air cracked open and flashed threats across the sky in million-volt arcs of light, it woke a man up. But three endless rainy days made Jacob want to put his fist through something.

Not that he would do such a thing, of course. He took a sip from the mug in his hand, then frowned. Cold coffee was as bad as rainy days.

Of course, if he wanted to be honest, he’d admit that his mood this morning had a great deal to do with what had happened last weekend. It wasn’t every day a man asked a woman to marry him. And got turned down.

He’d rushed things. He knew that, but what choice had he had? He had to marry soon, and Maggie had been his choice. She was perfect for him, a warm, outgoing woman with dozens of friends both male and female, and a ruthlessly competitive streak when she was on the back of a horse. But sexually she was shy, inexperienced. He’d rather liked that about her. Jacob hadn’t objected to taking his time, letting her get used to him.

Hadn’t he spent two months proving she could trust him, that he wouldn’t pounce on her? It hadn’t been easy, either. And the reason she’d given for refusing him had come as a shock. Like hell he didn’t want her! Maybe he didn’t feel some blind, all-consuming passion, but she was a cute little thing and he’d been looking forward to taking her to bed. Passion was like fool’s gold, anyway—lots of sparkle, no substance. He’d expected her to agree with him about that.

Of course, Maggie had been shocked, too. But she liked him, dammit. They could have been good for each other, comfortable together. If he’d just had a little more time…

When the door behind him opened, he spoke without turning. “The office line rang a minute ago.”

“Then you should have answered it,” a tart voice said. “Since you’ve apparently got nothing better to do.”

He turned around. “I’m taking a break. You’re always telling me I work too hard.”

A tiny, wrinkled woman in baggy slacks came into the room bearing an insulated carafe of coffee—no doubt her excuse for barging in on him. “There’s a difference between taking a break and brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

It had been three weeks since Ada had returned from Switzerland and learned that he’d told his brothers about her condition. She had yet to forgive Jacob for spilling her secret. She was looking better, though. That was what mattered. Oh, she was still too skinny, but she had always been a bony little thing. Her movements were reassuringly brisk.

“I like the hair.”

One child-size hand came up to pat the orange frizz that made such an interesting contrast with her tanned-to-leather skin. “Do you? I was afraid Marilyn used too much Tropical Sunrise this time.”

“Very cheerful.”

She snorted and set the carafe down on his desk. “As if you cared about cheerful. You want me to call a temp agency? Cosmo’s down with a stomach bug, and I’ve got better things to do than answer your office line.”

Damn. “My new assistant should be capable of answering the phone. If she ever gets here.”

“She called. She’s on her way.”

He glanced out the window. This damned rain! “I suppose the roads are difficult.” Although Jacob’s house was built on high land, several of the roads nearby flooded when they had a heavy rain. That was one reason he preferred to have his staff live in.

“They’ve got travelers’ advisories out. Here.” She held out a fresh cup of coffee. “Maybe a little caffeine will stop your snarling.”

Jacob took the mug. He wasn’t looking forward to breaking in a new assistant. He’d always hated having strangers around him. Sonia, his regular assistant, thought highly of Ms. McGuire, but Jacob remained skeptical. “I know her name from somewhere.”

Ada gave him a pitying look. “They do say the brain is the first to go. She compiled a report for Sonia a month ago. You read the report. No doubt her name was on it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sipped the coffee and sat down behind his desk. “It sounds like I’ve got time to put a call through to Marcos in Rome. When my new assistant finally shows up, bring her to me right away. You can fill her in on my faults later.”

“Aren’t enough hours in the day to do that,” she said, going to the door, where she paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Jacob…”

“Yes?”

“Did Maggie turn you down?”

He knew very well his expression hadn’t given him away, but apparently something had. He nodded.

“She wasn’t right for you, anyway,” she said gruffly. “You might as well get some work done. Better than brooding.” She pulled the door shut behind her,

In spite of everything, he smiled. Ada was definitely feeling better.

And that, he reminded himself, was what mattered, not who he married. Marriage was an unholy risk, no matter who he asked. Maybe, he thought, sipping his coffee, he would ask his new assistant to marry him as soon as she stepped in the door. Good morning, Ms. McGuire. I’m pleased to see you didn’t drown on the way here. You’ll need to answer the phone today, since my secretary is sick. Also, I would like to get married as soon as possible. Is Friday good for you?

Jacob chuckled and put down his mug. He was still smiling as he powered up his computer, accessed the latest market quotes—and promptly forgot his coffee, the rain and the woman who had rejected him.

It was still raining when Claire pulled up in front of the West mansion. Or castle, she thought, eyeing the massive house where she would be living for the next month or more.

Someone had already decorated for Christmas, though Thanksgiving was only a few days behind them. Lights were strung in a zigzag along the pediments topping the first floor windows, making a bright, incongruous splash of scarlet against the gray stone. Off to the left, she glimpsed a turret through the blur of rain. And could the roof really be crenelated?

Good grief. Tucking her laptop beneath her raincoat and shielding herself as much as possible with her umbrella, she climbed out of her cousin’s Bronco and dashed up the steps.

The doorbell was tucked inside a gargoyle’s snarling mouth. She grinned and pressed it, wondering who would open the door. A house like this deserved an ancient family retainer. A terrifyingly dignified butler, maybe? Or a hunchback with a scar that knit half his face into a hideous scowl? Igor, in fact.

The door didn’t creak when it opened, unfortunately. And that was definitely not Igor.

“Good God,” exclaimed the wrinkled elf in the doorway. “This is worse than I’d expected. Or maybe better.”

The woman was no bigger than a twelve-year-old child. A scrawny twelve-year-old. Frizzy hair the color of marigolds and the texture of a dandelion puff framed a face that had been browned by the sun of at least fifty Texas summers. She wore a sweatshirt, baggy olive-green slacks, an apron and a pair of diamond earrings with stones so big they should have come out of a Cracker Jack box.

But Claire was pretty sure they hadn’t. “Ah—I’m Claire McGuire.”

“Of course you are. Who else would show up in this weather, looking the way you do?” She shook her head. “You may as well come in. Sonia did warn me. She also assured me you wouldn’t try to seduce the boy, but you wouldn’t have to try very hard, would you?”

Claire stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind.” The tiny woman chuckled. “Damned if I know what Sonia was thinking, but it’s going to be interesting around here. Come with me.”

Claire followed her into the foyer, dripping onto the creamy marble floor. She supposed a brilliant, eccentric recluse ought to have an unusual housekeeper, especially if he didn’t have an Igor. “You’re Ada, I take it?”

“I should have introduced myself, shouldn’t I? I figured Sonia had told you about me.”

“She said I would like you.”

“Some people do. You don’t have any luggage? Here, give me your raincoat so I can hang it up in the kitchen to dry.”

Obediently Claire slipped out of the dripping coat. “I left my suitcases in the car. If it ever stops raining, I can get them then.”

Ada accepted the coat. “There’s a powder room under the stairs if you want to mess with your hair or face.” She gave Claire another once-over, then grinned. “Not that you need it. Oh, my,” she said, turning away. “It will be interesting around here.”

Claire shook her head in amusement as the tiny woman trotted under an arched doorway, and off down the hall beyond.

The foyer was classical in style—square, marble and oversize, with a twelve-foot ceiling rimmed in ornate moldings. To her left was a closed door flanked by an enormous Christmas tree. A grand sweep of a staircase lay to her right, and directly in front of her were two arched door-ways—the one Ada had gone through, that led to a hallway, and another that opened onto a shadowy, unlit living room.

Her hair felt flat and damp to the touch, so she pulled a brush out of her purse. She didn’t bother to hunt up the powder room, though. She had her share of vanity, but she already knew what she looked like. She didn’t know nearly enough about her new employer. She hadn’t even met him yet.

Oh, she’d heard about him. Who in the Dallas financial community hadn’t heard of the Iceman? Jacob West was said to be brilliant, reclusive and eccentric. Some disliked him, many envied him. A few feared him. All agreed on two things: he was uncannily good at making money, and he never lied. He might be secretive, he might be ruthless, but his word was more dependable than a signed contract from most men.

One of West’s eccentricities was that he didn’t have an office. He lived and worked here, in the huge old house his grandfather had built, and he insisted that his immediate staff live here, too. So here Claire was, for now. She was replacing her friend Sonia, who’d flown to Georgia to pamper her daughter and spoil her brand-new grandbaby for a month or two.

Normally, Claire wouldn’t have accepted a job that took her away from home and the business she’d been building, not even for a chance to work with a wizard like West. After putting in her time in the investment department of a large bank, last year Claire had moved out on her own as an investment analyst, specializing in reports to and about midsize companies. She loved it. Dissecting and interpreting a dry financial report appealed to the tidy part of her nature—not surprising in a woman who organized her closet by color, style and season.

But the part of her work that excited her, the part she truly loved, was digging for the hidden gold or buried secrets that made or ruined an investment. Claire might be as tidy as a cat about some things but, like a cat, she enjoyed the hunt. And she liked to win.

So far, she’d won often enough to keep her head above water, but building a clientele took time. The salary she would earn from Jacob West wouldn’t hurt her personal financial picture, she admitted.

But that wasn’t why she’d taken the job. Not the biggest reason, anyway. More important was that she would be living here. According to Sonia, the West mansion had an excellent security system.

Things weren’t normal now. Not since she’d gotten Ken’s letter.

Claire shivered and stuffed her brush back in her purse. To distract herself, she wandered over to the huge Christmas tree. It was impressive, a decorator’s delight, covered in old-fashioned ornaments. Impressive and lovely…and rather cold, she thought.

“Sorry I took so long.” Ada’s voice came from the arched entry to another hallway, startling Claire. “I made the mistake of checking on Cosmo. Never was a man yet who didn’t think he was dying whenever he catches some little bug.”

“Cosmo—?” Claire started to ask who that was, but the little woman had already spun around.

“Come on.” Ada hurried briskly down the hall without looking to see if Claire was following. “He’s probably finished talking to Rome by now. And if not, he should be.”

Bemused, Claire followed. The housekeeper stopped in front of the first door on the left, knocked once, then shoved it open. “She’s here,” Ada announced. “You owe me twenty.”

Claire reminded herself that she’d been Sonia’s choice for the position, and Sonia knew her background. Probably she’d told Jacob West about it…and if not, no doubt he would recognize her. A lot of people did. Even after six years, people often took one look at her and remembered the gossip, the scandal and the trial.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Claire stepped into Jacob West’s office. She had a quick, vague impression of wood—an enormous wooden desk, carved wooden wainscoting, cabinets of some kind.

Mostly, though, she noticed the man.

Power. That was her first, overwhelming impression. The physical details filtered through that aura of power. Jacob West was a hard man, dark-haired and harsh-featured, with a lean, strong body clothed in custom-tailored trousers and a crisp dress shirt. He was also tall, she realized when he stood up behind his desk. She was five foot nine, and he stood at least six inches taller.

He nodded at Claire, but spoke to his housekeeper. “The bet was for ten o’clock. It’s twelve minutes after.”

“She got here before ten. Pulled up in the driveway at five minutes till, but you were on the phone.” She held out her hand, wiggling the fingers. “Pay up.”

“Why don’t we let it ride? Double or nothing that you won’t follow the doctor’s orders this afternoon and nap.”

Ada snorted. “You won’t get me that easy. Pay up.”

The glimmer in those icy eyes might have been anger, or amusement, or even fondness. Impossible to tell. He pulled out a money clip and peeled off a bill. Ada took it, tucked it into her apron pocket and trotted for the door.

She paused long enough to say, “Lunch is at one. Burritos. Don’t let Jacob push you around. The boy has things too much his way, too much of the time.”

The door closed behind her with a firm click.

“Well.” Claire couldn’t keep from smiling. “Sonia told me I would like Ada. I think she was right.”

The trace of emotion that had lived in his face when he spoke to his housekeeper left when she did. He looked directly at Claire.

Such odd eyes, she thought. The color of a cloudy winter sky, neither blue nor gray, and very pale, fringed by lashes as dark as his hair. Pale, sexy, cold…at first.

It wasn’t recognition she saw in his eyes. It was heat, rich and dark and starkly sexual.

He hid the reaction quickly, so she ignored it, crossing to him and holding out her hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. West.”

His hand was hard and warm and slightly callused—and heat licked up her spine, followed by the quick, sharp bite of panic. Dammit, of all the times for her hormones to kick in—! She’d handle it, she assured herself as she dropped his hand a little too quickly. She wasn’t a wild kid anymore.

“Sonia speaks highly of you.” His voice was as cool and contained as his expression. “I’m glad you were able to accept my offer. I intend to make the fullest use of your talents.”

“Good. I hope to learn a lot from you while I’m here.”

“Perhaps you will,” he murmured, and moved away from the desk. “I’ll put you to work as soon as possible, but you’ll need to familiarize yourself with some of my projects first.”

The file cabinet he went to was one of four lined up neatly against one wall. Instead of the usual gray or beige metal, though, these were made from the same rich cherry wood as his desk.

All in all, West’s office was more manor house than castle or mansion, she decided. Beautiful, expensive, with a restrained elegance.

Rather like the man. Not that he was beautiful, not with those harsh features, but he did have a certain elegance. Funny. She hadn’t thought power and elegance had much in common, but when she looked at him…

Sternly Claire brought her thoughts back to business. “You want me to read up on your current projects before I tackle anything concrete?”

“Yes.” He brushed aside a dangling stem and unlocked the top drawer in one cabinet.

The stem he’d pushed aside belonged to an ivy. Not any ordinary ivy, however. This one sprawled across the tops of all four file cabinets like an invading army. Having claimed its immediate territory, the plant now had designs on the floor, judging by the way tendrils snaked down here and there.

A single red Christmas ball dangled from one of those tendrils. She smiled. “Don’t look now, but I think your ivy has eaten your files.”

“The damned thing won’t stop growing.” He pulled out one file folder, closed that drawer and opened another one. “Two years ago, when Sonia gave it to me for Christmas, it was in a six-inch pot.”

“Have you considered feeding it less?”

“I don’t feed it. Sonia does, though I’ve never caught her at it. She won’t let me get rid of it.”

The Iceman’s assistant wouldn’t let him get rid of a plant? Claire accepted the stack of files he held out. “I think it’s massing for an assault. You’d better be careful. Your desk is only a few feet away.”

He smiled. And her knees went weak. “It’s pretty fast as vegetation goes, but as a member in good standing of the animal kingdom, I’m faster. I think I can evade any sneak attacks.”

“Yes, of course.” And she was an idiot, chattering about the man’s plant and trying to keep from panting. Or grabbing him. What was wrong with her? She smoothed out her expression. “If you’ll show me to my office, I’ll start reading.”

“This way.” He moved to the opposite wall, where a door was nearly hidden in the elaborate wainscoting. “Pay particular attention to everything relating to the Stellar Security deal. I’ll be needing a report on one of the participants as soon as possible.”

She followed him into the adjoining office—and stopped dead.

There was a bed in the room. Well, in one section of a very long room, the half that wasn’t office. There was also a television, easy chairs and other furniture, with a tiny kitchenette tucked in one corner.

The other corner held the bed.

“Unfortunately my secretary is ill,” he was saying. “So— What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, hadn’t realized that my living quarters and my office were going to be one and the same.”

“I had this room converted when Sonia’s arthritis made using the stairs difficult. Is there a problem with it?”

“Oh, no. No problem. I was just surprised. It’s a pleasant room, actually. In a green sort of way.”

And it was, on both sides of the divider. The ten-by-twelve-foot office area held an L-shaped desk with the usual computer paraphernalia, a bright green swivel chair, a visitor’s chair, file cabinets, a bookcase and floor-to-ceiling shelves. And what looked like a couple hundred plants.

African violets basked under a special light in the shelves; several varieties of ferns snuggled into one corner, nearly hiding the bookcase. A ficus competed with a small palm and some other tropical plant for space in front of the window, while more plants that she couldn’t identify occupied every bare spot on the desk, shelves and bookcase. A relative of the ivy in West’s office was trying valiantly to cover the latticed screen that separated the office section from the bed/sitting room.

Claire shook her head wonderingly. “Sonia asked me to look after her plants while I was here. She didn’t mention that she lives in a jungle.”

“Sonia likes plants.”

“So I see. I suppose you have to count yourself lucky she’s only given you one.”

“I threatened to spray her room with weed killer if she did it again.”

“That’s a joke, right?” But there was no glimmer of amusement in those eyes…quite fascinating eyes, really, the sort that made a woman wonder what they looked like when—

“Would you mind if I called you Claire? I prefer to be on a first-name basis with my staff.”

A cowardly part of her wanted to say “the more formality, the better.” She suppressed it. “Of course—Jacob.”

He nodded. “Ada will give you a key to the front door and explain the security system. I prefer to leave the door connecting our offices open during the workday.”

She smiled. “So you can yell for me when you need me?”

“I don’t yell. When you’ve acquainted yourself with the basics in those files, I have some letters I need to get out.”

“Ah—letters?”

“You are familiar with the term?”

Her lips tightened. “I’ve heard of it. However, I’m an investment advisor. I prepare reports, in-depth summaries, financial evaluations. I don’t do letters. Or windows. And now, I suppose, I’d better start reading.”

A phone rang. There were two of them on her desk, one yellow, one green.

“The yellow phone is the office line. Answer it.”

She raised her eyebrows at his tone, but went ahead and picked up the banana-shaped receiver. “Jacob West’s office. Mr. West is…” She looked a question at him.

“Unavailable. Unless it’s Michael or Luke.”

“…unavailable right now. If you’d like me to take a message—yes, just a moment.” She took the message, hung up and swiveled. “Did you ever go to kindergarten?”

She had the pleasure of seeing him startled. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The ‘please and thank you’ magic seems to have missed you.” She held out the message. “That was Bill Prescott. He’d like you to call back as soon as possible.”

“Later. I don’t want to talk to anyone today, unless one of my brothers calls.”

Claire had met Bill Prescott—William Prescott the Third, actually. He was the chairman of the board of a large electronics firm, among other things. He wasn’t a man accustomed to being kept waiting. “Am I supposed to screen your calls, then? And handle your correspondence?”

“Until my secretary is well, yes.”

“No doubt I can fit in any reports you’d like prepared in my spare time. Perhaps you want me to take dictation? Or get you a cup of coffee?”

“Do you take dictation?” he asked politely.

“It wasn’t a requirement for my degree in Economics.”

“Pity.” He studied her a moment. “I pay my staff well. In return I expect a great deal, even from temporary employees such as yourself. If your dignity won’t allow you to depart from the strict letter of your duties, tell me now so I can make other arrangements.”

Tell him she wouldn’t type his letters and she could go home, where she wouldn’t have to compete for space with a jungle, or put up with a highhanded, irritatingly sexy man.

And wait there for Ken to show up. “I will try to be flexible.”

“Good.” He stopped in the doorway. “By the way, Ada supplies us with coffee, the windows are cleaned by a window-washing company and my secretary’s name is Cosmo Penopolous.”

“Cosmo what?”

“Penopolous. When he isn’t suffering from a stomach virus, he’s also my personal trainer and occasional sparring partner. I do expect a lot from my employees, but my expectations are based on their individual talents, not on stereotypes.” He smiled that slow, killer smile. “I look forward to discovering where your particular skills lie, Ms. McGuire. And putting them to use.”