Читать книгу How To Sleep With The Boss - Джанис Мейнард, Janice Maynard - Страница 10

Three

Not since the wretched aftermath of her father’s arrest had Libby felt so small and so humiliated. She’d thought Patrick liked her...that he was pleased with her work to date. But in truth, Libby had been foisted on him, and he resented her intrusion.

Her chest hurt, almost as if someone had actually sucker punched her. When she made it back to her room on the third floor of Maeve’s luxurious hotel, Libby threw herself on the bed and cried. Then she cussed awhile and cried some more. Part of her never wanted to see Patrick Kavanagh again. The other part wanted to make him ashamed for having doubted her. She wanted to be the best damn outdoorswoman he had ever seen.

But since that was highly unlikely to be the actual scenario come Monday, perhaps the best course was to explain to Maeve that the job hadn’t worked out.

There would be questions, of course, lots of them. And although there might be other jobs in Silver Glen, perhaps as a shop assistant making minimum wage, it would be difficult to find a place to live on that kind of paycheck. She owed Maeve a huge debt of gratitude. Not for anything in the world did she want to seem ungrateful.

Which left Libby neatly boxed into an untenable situation.

* * *

Saturday morning she awoke with puffy eyes and a headache. It was only after her third cup of coffee that she even began to feel normal. Breakfast was out of the question. She felt too raw, too bruised. There was no reason to think Patrick would be anywhere near the Silver Beeches Lodge, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

After showering and dressing in jeans and a baggy sweater, Libby sent a text to Maeve, asking her to drop by when she had a minute. In the meantime, Libby studied her paycheck. She had planned to buy the first pieces of her professional wardrobe this weekend. But if she was going to be fired Tuesday night, it made no sense to pay for clothes she might not need.

One step at a time.

When Maeve knocked on the door around eleven, Libby took a deep breath and let her in.

Maeve hugged her immediately. “I want to hear all about the job,” she said, beaming. “I saw Charlise in town Wednesday, and she said you were amazing.”

Libby managed a weak chuckle. “Charlise is being kind.”

The two of them sat down in armchairs beside the gas log fireplace. Although now Libby could barely afford the soap in the bathroom, the upscale accommodations were familiar in their amenities. Growing up, she had traveled widely with her parents.

Maeve smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her neatly pressed black slacks. Wearing a matching blazer and a fuchsia silk blouse, she looked far younger than her age, certainly too young to have seven adult sons. “So tell me,” she said. “How do you like working for Patrick?”

“Well...” Libby hesitated. She’d never been a good liar, so she had to tiptoe through this minefield. “I’ve spent most of my time with Charlise. But everyone on the staff speaks very highly of your son.”

“But what do you think? He’s a good-looking boy, isn’t he?”

At last Libby’s smile felt genuine. “Yes, ma’am. Patrick is a hottie.”

“I know I’m prejudiced, but I think all my sons turned out extremely well.”

“I know you’re proud, and rightfully so.”

“Five of them already married off to wonderful women. I think I’m doing pretty well.”

Uh-oh. “Maeve, surely you’re not thinking about playing matchmaker. That would be extremely uncomfortable for me.”

Maeve’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“I’m starting my life from scratch,” Libby said. “I have to know I can be an independent person. Although I was too naive to realize it at the time, my parents sheltered me and coddled me. I want to learn how to negotiate the world on my own. Romance is way down the list. And besides, even I know it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”

If a mature, extremely sophisticated woman could sulk, that’s what Maeve did. “I thought you’d appreciate my help.”

“I do,” Libby said, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. “You looked out for me at the lowest point in my life. You helped me through Mama’s death and took me in. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But at some point, you have to let me make my own choices, my own mistakes. Otherwise, I’ll never be sure I can survive on my own.”

“I suppose you’re right. Is that why you wanted to see me this morning? To tell me to butt out?”

Libby grinned, relieved that Maeve had not taken offense. “No. Actually, I need your help in rounding up some hiking gear. Patrick wants to take advantage of the warm weather coming up to teach me what I’ll need to know for the team-building, outdoor-adventure expeditions.”

“So soon? Those usually don’t begin until early April.”

“I think he wants to be sure I can handle the physical part of the job.” Libby spoke calmly, but inwardly she cringed, Patrick’s words still ringing in her ears. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.

Maeve stared at her intently. Almost as if she could tell something else was going on. “Write down all your sizes,” she said. “I’ll gather everything you need and meet you here tomorrow around one.”

“I really appreciate it.”

Maeve stood. “I have a lunch appointment, so I need to run. You’ll get through this, Libby. I know how strong you are.”

“Mentally or physically?”

“They go hand in hand. You may surprise yourself this week, my dear. And you may surprise Patrick, as well.”

* * *

Patrick’s mood hovered somewhere between injured grizzly and teething toddler. He was ashamed of himself for letting his aggravation make him say something stupid. But damn it, he’d been talking to his brother...letting off steam. He didn’t go around kicking puppies and plucking the heads off flowers.

He was a nice guy.

Unfortunately for him, he could think of at least one person who didn’t think so.

During the weekend, he gathered the equipment he would need to put Libby through her paces. Normally, he and Charlise shared the load: supervising the employees who organized the meals, interacting with the executives, teaching skills, coaching the group through difficult activities.

But Charlise was not only accustomed to being outdoors, she also had a great deal of experience in living off the land.

Libby didn’t. It was as simple as that.

Patrick tried to juggle things in his mind, ways for him to take over some of Charlise’s duties so that Libby could handle a lighter load. But that would only postpone the inevitable. This first experience had to play out as closely as possible to the real thing, so Libby would understand fully what was involved and what she could expect.

By Monday morning, his mood hadn’t improved. He’d gone through his checklist on autopilot, but of course, he’d had to cover Charlise’s prep, as well. He arrived at Silver Reflections several minutes before eight so he would have some time to mentally gear up for the day’s events.

Libby’s car was already parked in the small wooded lot adjacent to the building. It was an old-model Mercedes with a badly dented fender. Suddenly Patrick remembered where he had seen the car before. Liam’s wife had driven it a couple of years ago until a teenage kid backed into her at the gas station.

Liam had decided it wasn’t worth fixing and bought Zoe a brand-new mommy van. The damaged car had been in Liam’s garage the last time Patrick saw it. Apparently, Maeve wasn’t opposed to getting the whole family in the act when it came to her “rescue Libby” plan.

Patrick headed inside, greeted the receptionist with an absent wave and holed up in his office. Taking a deep breath, he leaned a hip against his desk, pulled his phone out and sent a text.

We’ll leave at nine if that works for you...

Libby’s response was immediate: I’ll be ready.

Meet me out front.

He wondered if Libby was nervous. Surely so. But he knew her well enough already to be damned sure she wouldn’t let the nerves show.

At 8:55 he hefted all their gear and headed outside, only to get his first shock of the day. Libby leaned against a tree, head back, eyes closed. On the ground at her feet lay a waterproof jacket. From head to toe, she was outfitted appropriately. Sturdy boots, lightweight quick-dry pants, a white shirt made of the same fabric and an aluminum hiking pole. He came do a dead stop and swallowed hard.

Every bit of what she was wearing was borrowed. Yet inexplicably she managed to look like a model for some weird amalgam of Vogue and L.L.Bean. The clothing fit her better than anything she had worn so far in his employ. Suddenly, he realized that Dylan was correct. Libby Parkhurst had a kick-ass body.

When he shifted from one foot to the other, he dislodged a piece of gravel. Libby’s eyes snapped open, her expression guarded. “Good morning,” she said.

He hated the guilt that choked him. “Libby, I—”

She held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They stared at each other for several long seconds. He couldn’t get a read on her emotions. So he shoved aside the memory of her face in Dylan’s bar and forced himself to zero in on basics.

“Three things,” he said tersely. “The moment you feel anything on your foot begin to rub, we stop and deal with it. A major key to hiking in the mountains is taking care of your feet. Blisters can be incapacitating. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Her smart-ass tone was designed to annoy him, but he didn’t take the bait. “Secondly, if I’m walking too fast for you, you have to say so. There’s no need to play the martyr.”

“Understood.”

“Lastly, you have to drink water. All day. All the time. Women don’t like the idea of peeing in the woods, so they tend to get dehydrated. That’s also dangerous.”

The look on Libby’s face was priceless. “Got it,” she mumbled.

“Am I being too blunt?” he asked.

She gnawed her lip. “No. I suppose I hadn’t thought through all the ramifications.”

“That’s what this trip is about.”

He slid one of two backpacks off his shoulder. “I need to make sure the straps are adjusted correctly for you.” Without asking, he stepped behind her and helped settled the pack into position. With a few quick tugs, he was satisfied. Finally, he moved in front of her and fiddled with the strap at her chest.

Libby made some kind of squawk or gasp. It was only then that he realized his fingers were practically caressing her breasts. He stepped back quickly. “I’m sure you can manage the waistband,” he muttered.

“Uh-huh.” She kept her head down while she dealt with the plastic locking mechanism. After a moment, she stared off into the woods. “I’m good.”

“Then follow me.”

* * *

Libby had taken yoga classes from the time she was fourteen, although during the past year, she’d had to keep up the discipline on her own. She was limber and more than moderately fit. But Patrick’s punishing pace had her gasping for breath by the third mile.

His legs were longer than hers. He knew the rhythm of walking over rough terrain. And she was pretty sure he had loaded her pack with concrete blocks. But if Charlise could do this, so could she.

Fortunately, the boots Maeve had found for Libby were extremely comfortable and already broken in. Given Patrick’s warning, Libby paid close attention to her feet. So far, no sign of problems.

It helped that the view from behind was entertaining. Patrick’s tight butt and long legs ate up the miles. She had long since given up estimating how far they had come or what time it was. Since her phone was turned off to save the battery, she was dependent upon Patrick’s knowledge of the forest to get them where they needed to go.

At one point when her legs ached and her lungs burned, she shouted out a request. “Water, please.” That was more acceptable to her pride than admitting she couldn’t keep up.

Patrick had a fancy water-thingy that rested inside his pack and allowed him to suck from a thin hose that protruded. Not the kind of item a person borrows. So he had tucked plastic pouches of water for Libby in the side pockets of her pack. She opened one and took a long, satisfying gulp. It took everything she had not to ask how much farther it was to their destination.

The two of them were completely alone...miles away from the nearest human. The wind soughed through the trees. Birds tweeted. The peace and solitude were beautifully soothing. But a chasm existed between Patrick and her. At the moment, she had no desire to breach it.

As forecasted, the warming trend had arrived with a vengeance. Temperatures must already be in the upper sixties, because Libby’s skin was damp with perspiration.

Patrick hadn’t said a word during their stop. He merely stood in silence, his attention focused on the scenery. The trail had ascended a small ridgeline, and through a break in the trees, they could see the town of Silver Glen in the distance.

“I’m good,” she said, stashing the water container. “Lead on.”

Her body hurt and her lungs hurt, but eventually, she fell into a rhythm that was almost natural. One foot in front of the other. Zen-like state of being. Embrace the now.

It almost worked.

When they stopped for lunch, she could have sworn it was at least seven in the evening. But the sun was still high in the sky. Patrick had a more sophisticated standard for trail food than she had anticipated. Perhaps a certain level of cuisine was de rigueur for his Fortune 500 clients. Instead of the peanut butter and jelly she had expected, they enjoyed baked-ham sandwiches on homemade bread.

When the meal was done and Patrick shoved their minimal trash into his pack, she finally asked a question. “What do you do if you have someone who can’t handle the hiking?”

He zipped his pack and shouldered it. “Companies apply to come to Silver Reflections. We have a long waiting list. Most of the elite businesses institute some kind of wellness programs beforehand. They’ll include weight loss, stress management, regular exercise...that kind of thing. So by the time they come to North Carolina, most of the participants are mentally and physically prepared for the adventure rather than dreading it.”

“I see.” But she didn’t really. Patrick was already walking, so she stumbled after him. “But what about people that aren’t prepared? Do they make them come anyway?”

Patrick didn’t turn around, but his voice carried. “A lot of top corporations are beginning to realize the importance of physical well-being for their employees as a means to increase the bottom line. If an executive has a physical limitation, then of course he or she isn’t forced to come. But if an otherwise physically capable person chooses not to attend to his or her health and fitness, then it might be a sign that a top-shelf promotion isn’t in the cards.”

With that, the conversation ended. Patrick was walking as quickly as ever, making it look easy. Maybe Libby had slipped into the numb stage, or maybe she was actually getting used to this, but her aches and pains had receded. Perhaps this was the “runner’s high” people talked about. Endorphins at work, masking the physical discomfort.

At long last, Patrick stopped and took off his pack to stretch. Libby followed suit, looking around curiously. It was obvious they had reached their destination. Patrick stood on the edge of a large clearing. The area was mostly flat. About thirty feet away, a narrow creek slid and tumbled over rocks, the sound of the water as soothing as the prospect of wetting tired feet in the chilly brook.

Patrick shot her a look, clearly assessing her physical state. “This is base camp.”

“There’s not much to it,” she blurted out.

“Were you expecting a five-star hotel?”

His sarcasm on top of everything else made her angry, but she didn’t want him to get the best of her. So she kept her mouth shut. If he wanted her to talk, he was going to have to initiate the conversation.

Somehow, it seemed almost obscene to be at odds with another human in the midst of such surroundings. Though it would be several more weeks until the new green of spring began to make its way through the sun-kissed glades, even now the forest was beautiful.

She dropped her pack and managed not to whimper. Though it galled her to admit it, maybe Patrick was right. Maybe this job was not for her. It was one thing to come out here alone with him. But in the midst of an “official” expedition, Libby would be expected to pull her weight. Her new boss wouldn’t be free to coach her if she got in over her head.

He knelt and began pulling things from his pack. “The first thing Charlise usually does is put up our tents. I’ll be teaching the group how to do theirs.”

“Okay.” How hard could it be? The one-man tents were small.

“First you’ll want the ground cover. It’s the thing that’s silver on one side and red on the other. Silver side up to preserve body heat.”

Libby was a fast learner. And she was determined to acquit herself well. “Got it.”

Patrick pointed. “Leader tents go over there.” He stood, hands on hips, while she struggled to spread the ground tarps and smooth them out.

Next came the actual tents. Claustrophobically small and vulnerably thin, they were actually not that difficult to set up. Lightweight poles snapped together in pieces and threaded through a nylon sleeve from one corner of the tent to the opposite side. Repeat once, and it was done. The only thing left was to secure the four corners to the ground with plastic stakes.

All in all, not a bad effort for her first time. Even Patrick seemed reluctantly impressed. He handed her a rolled-up bundle that was about eighteen inches wide. “Look for a valve on one corner. It’s not difficult to blow up. And it won’t look like much when you’re done. But having this pad underneath your upper body and hips makes for a much more comfortable night.”

He was right. Even when she inflated the thin mattress, it didn’t seem like much of a cushion. But she wasn’t about to say so.

To give Patrick his due, he didn’t go out of his way to make her feel nervous or clumsy. Still, having someone watch while she learned new skills was stressful.

At last, both tents were up, pads and sleeping bags inside. The full realization that she and Patrick were going to spend the night together hit her hard. No television. No computers. Nothing at all for a distraction. He was gorgeous and unavailable. She was lonely and susceptible.

Nevertheless, the job was what she needed. Not the man. She couldn’t let him see that she was seriously attracted to him. Cool and casual was the plan.

She stood and arched her back. “What next?”