Читать книгу Beguiling the Boss - Joan Hohl - Страница 7

Jennifer Dunning had always been indulged and she knew it. How could she not? From the day of her birth she had been pampered and cooed over, not only by her parents but by anyone and everyone who saw her. And yet, as far as she could recall, she had never acted out or thrown temper tantrums when she didn’t get her way. She accepted a “no” as final and quietly moved on.

But now she sat on her bed in her room, where she had been hiding for the better part of the past two weeks, searching desperately on her electric-blue laptop for her new life. It was time to leave her parents’ home in the exclusive gated community on the outskirts of Dallas. It was time to leave her parents, period.

Jennifer was stunningly beautiful—she had been as a baby, and was even more so at the age of twenty-eight. Tall and willowy with curves in all the right places, she was blessed with long honey-blond hair, dark brown eyes and classic features.

Jennifer was also restless, frustrated and edgy. She had quit her high-paying job as a personal assistant to the CEO of a large company two weeks ago. She was simply sick and tired of listening to the endless daily pep rallies given by her boss—the son of the company owner—who Jennifer considered unfit for the position he held. She was also tired of him eyeing her up and down every time they happened to be in the same room. He was a creep. So, deciding she had had enough, she had resigned.

Jennifer didn’t actually need to work. Her parents were wealthy and she was their only child. She also had a large trust fund from her departed fraternal grandmother, and a smaller one from her maternal grandfather, who was still alive. But she liked working. She was intelligent, had a bachelor’s degree in science and an MBA, and she enjoyed keeping busy, doing something useful. As a personal assistant, she’d been on her way up the career ladder.

Besides, working was much more interesting than the Dallas social scene. She found the scene boring, as well as pointless. As a youngster she had enjoyed the dancing lessons her mother insisted upon, and she also loved riding, after getting over the initial fear of her horse, which was huge compared to her six-year-old frame. No small ponies for her daughter, her mother had declared. Jennifer would attain her seat while on the back of a full-size Thoroughbred. And she had. Her seat was as elegant by the time she was eleven as that of any expert equestrian.

It was later, as she grew into her late teens, that Jennifer had become tired of the social scene. Lunch with the girls every Wednesday, listening to gossip she couldn’t care less about—it had all started to feel so frivolous, and Jennifer had big plans for herself. She’d been preparing to go east, to the University of Pennsylvania and the Wharton School of Business. Her friends all had plans to attend the same college right there in Texas. In short, they were parting ways. But Jennifer decided she’d bear the lunches and the silly talk, as she thought of it, until the end of summer. Then she’d be on her own.

In contrast, her parents had been immersed in the social whirl all her life, unfortunately. It wasn’t that they were uncaring—Jennifer knew her parents loved her. It was simply that they weren’t there all that much. As a kid, she spent most of her free time with the housekeeper, Ida, who taught her how to clean, or with the cook, Tony, who practically made her a professional chef. As it turned out, Jennifer loved doing hard, honest work with her hands. It filled her with a purpose she hadn’t known she’d needed.

After Jennifer finished school, she came back to Dallas and lived in her own apartment with a private entrance in her parents’ house. She could have invited anyone she wanted to her place, but she had never had a man stay over. Not that her parents would have minded or objected. She was an adult, after all. It was just that none of the men she knew affected her that way.

Maybe because of what had happened during her junior year of high school.

She had never told her parents—or anyone else—about being caught alone on campus by a boy. She’d been leaving school later than most of the students following a meeting with her math teacher. It was January and almost dark, and she was distracted by thoughts of her conversation with the teacher. She wasn’t fully alert while weaving through the rows of vehicles in the parking lot as she headed for her car.

The boy was a senior—a clean-cut, all-American star football player. Most of Jennifer’s friends had crushes on him. Jennifer didn’t, thinking him too cocky and into himself. Perhaps that was the reason he had accosted her that afternoon.

Trapping her between two parked cars, he fumbled with his pants zipper, exposing himself to her. At first, she was too shocked to think. But she came to her senses when he shoved his other hand up her skirt, attempting to yank her panties off.

Frantic, Jennifer had let out an earsplitting scream. Although the parking lot had appeared deserted, a male voice responded with a shouted, “Hey, what the hell?”

Mr. All-American let loose a savage curse, snarling, “You better keep your mouth shut about this, bitch.” He sprinted away in the opposite direction.

Without thinking, Jennifer ran to her car, even as she could hear the man who had shouted running toward her. Her parents weren’t home when she arrived there, shaken and teary-eyed. Hearing the boy’s snarled threat echo in her mind, she had never told anyone of the incident.

Though Jennifer had been physically uninjured, the experience had left her wary of the opposite sex. Over time her anxiety had faded as she realized all males were not like Mr. All-American. She had even indulged her curiosity one time while in college. Although she liked the young man, the act was disappointing, leaving her feeling empty. And so, she had never invited a man to spend the night.

Not that her parents would have noticed even if their daughter was having a mad, passionate affair. They were busy socializing in Dallas and in the exclusive gated community where they resided, changing partners with their closest friends.

Yes, changing partners.

Jennifer had only recently found out about her parents’ game. She hadn’t a clue how many friends there had been or how many years they had been experimenting. In truth, she didn’t want to know. She could barely look at her parents’ faces or be in their company for more than a few minutes. Even though she knew her parents’ lifestyle was their business, she felt betrayed, as if they had been lying to her for years about who they really were underneath the façade of “social appropriateness” and their picture-perfect marriage. It made her want to do something to shock them right back.

So she had resigned from her job the day after coming home from work and catching a glimpse of her father and his best friend’s wife, Annette Terrell, in a compromising position in one room, and her mother and the woman’s husband, William, in a similar position in another.

Now, two weeks later, Jennifer knew she had to leave home, to take a break until the hurt subsided. She could barely look at her parents without feeling ill, and wanting to cry. She loved them, but what she had witnessed had deeply shocked her. Perhaps someday, she would be able to be in the company of her parents without that awful image tormenting her. But that day had not yet arrived.

Alone in her bedroom, Jennifer sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop balanced on her knees. She was searching for escape, and employment, to keep her mind occupied. In effect, she was intent on running away from home … and her memories. It was time to stop living in a house of lies.

One week later, Jen left her parents a note. It read: I’m off to see the Wizard—Marsh Grainger, that is, the famously elusive business wizard of Dallas. It’s about a new job. I’ll be in touch.

She also emailed her best friends, whom she had met her first year in college. They had remained close ever since, staying in touch mostly by email, phone and texts. Although they all lived within driving distance, they led busy lives—three of the women were married with children, and the other two were busy chasing careers. Even so, “the gang” managed to get together every couple of months.

Hi, all, she wrote them. I’m taking off for a while, will be in touch soon.

Jennifer knew the next time she checked her email, there would be long messages from her friends, demanding to know exactly where she was and what she was up to, but she just wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. And she wasn’t ready to tell them that she was interviewing with Marshall Grainger, whom they knew had a reputation as a womanizer.

Her mother probably knew, too. She fully expected her mother to start calling her cell phone as soon as she discovered that Jennifer was gone. That was okay—her parents could call all they wanted. It didn’t mean she had to answer. After all, even she couldn’t entirely explain why Marsh Grainger’s ad for an office assistant had appealed to her. But she needed space and distance—and she was pretty sure the wizard, who was rumored to prefer his hill country ranch to the craziness of high society in Dallas, could help her with that.

Marshall Grainger needed help. He needed an office assistant as well as a cook who would also clean the sprawling Texas hill country home that doubled as his workplace.

A cousin in the wealthy Grainger family of Wyoming, South Dakota and Montana, Marsh was, in a word, loaded. He owned a huge cattle ranch in Colorado, run by an excellent manager and former Marine buddy, Matt Hayes. The ranch had been in Marsh’s family for generations. Growing up, he had spent most of his summers there and he knew the ranching business inside and out.

But Marsh was not a cattleman at heart. He was a businessman, considered a force to be reckoned with in more ways than one. He was six foot four inches tall, slim and rangy with rugged features defined by high cheekbones and a strong, square, rock-hard jaw. A thick mane of gleaming hair the exact shade of rich dark chocolate matched the slightly arched brows above slate-gray eyes.

While Marsh owned the building that housed his company, nestled among many other tall buildings in Dallas, he rarely traveled into the city. He avoided the scene in Dallas like the plague, preferring to work at home in the large house set dead center on more than fifty acres.

At present, Marsh was desperately trying not to allow himself to be hopeful. After weeks of using all avenues of advertisements available to him, there was a chance he’d soon be able to hand the ranch books, the household bills and several duties of his main business over to a new assistant.

Someone who was actually qualified had applied for the job. So what if she was a she?

Finished paying his current household and ranch bills, he picked up his coffee mug and glanced at his watch as he walked out of the assistant’s office, hoping he wouldn’t have to spend any time there again in the near future.

It was 1:36 p.m. The appointment with the applicant was at 2. Rinsing his mug, he proceeded to make a fresh pot of coffee. Then again, he mused, after her long drive, the woman might appreciate a cold drink. He checked the fridge; there was cola as well as bottled water. The beer was his. Now all he had to do was wait, which was not Marsh’s strong suit. He got busy scouring the sink and wiping down the long countertop.

His former assistant had up and quit on him three months ago, and he hadn’t been able to sleep since then—until last night. Just the thought of interviewing someone who was actually qualified and could lighten his load had allowed him to enjoy his first full night’s sleep in a long time. Hopefully she would take to the place. At that thought, he grimaced as he sent a quick look around. While tidy, the kitchen needed a thorough cleaning. The same went for the rest of the house. He had done his best to keep up with everything, but the majority of his time was consumed by the myriad details of his businesses. At the end of the day he was only one man.

Marsh had never dreamed finding help would be so hard. After his assistant left, he had received many responses to his ads, but only a few were qualified, and even fewer of those were willing to relocate to “the sticks,” as one respondent called it.

The sticks? Marsh had thought with amazement. Didn’t these city dwellers know how popular the hill country was with tourists? Apparently not. They hadn’t a clue what they were missing.

But now, hopefully, things would return to normal.

If he could just replace his assistant—and the housekeeper that the man had taken with him to Vegas, to marry—life would be good again.

Marsh thought about what his assistant and the housekeeper had said to him when they’d quit. They had said they were in love.

Love. Yeah. Right.

And if that hadn’t been bad enough, the teenage daughter of his nearest neighbor, who had been coming to the house once a week to help the housekeeper, had been ordered to quit. Her parents thought her being alone with him was a bad idea.

Marsh knew precisely what they meant by “bad idea.” So he had a reputation with women. So what? He was a healthy male, and the key word was women. He was not interested in teenagers. He’d have laughed at the thought if he hadn’t been so ticked off.

At the ripe old age of thirty-four, Marsh was bitter and he knew it. He hugged the truth to him like a heating pad, keeping the bitterness alive so he’d never forget.

He had been betrayed—twice. The first time was when he was six years old, by his mother, who had left his father to seek fun in the bright lights, taking a hefty chunk of his father’s money with her. Marsh had doubled down on the pain of betrayal at age twenty-four by marrying in a haze of lust only to be told by his young wife that she wasn’t about to waste her youth and beauty stuck in the hill country of Texas, popping out babies and ruining her figure. In hindsight, Marsh knew he should have discussed his desire for children before they were married. It would have saved him a lot of trouble and money—especially since he had known deep down inside that he wasn’t in love with her. In his estimation, love was an illusion dreamed up by poets and romance writers. But he still would have had children with her, because he truly felt as if he was meant to be a father. He wanted an heir, someone to lavish love on—the only love he truly believed in—who would take over when he was gone.

In some ways, he got lucky. Though his ex took an even larger chunk of his money than his mother had taken of his father’s, Marsh gladly wrote the check, happy to get the selfish woman who had clearly married him just for his wealth out of his life and his home.

Then, to top it all off, a couple years later his father had retired, retreating to the ranch where he completed his slow decline toward death, thus also deserting Marsh.

It had been a tough time.

The coffeemaker drew Marsh from his unpleasant reverie with one last gurgle as it finished brewing. Marsh filled his mug and took a careful test sip. The brew was scalding hot but good just the same, even though the carafe, too, needed a thorough washing.

Marsh sighed. As much as he cringed at the very thought of having another female in the house, he hoped this young woman took the job. Jennifer Dunning was her name, and on paper she seemed like a mature, intelligent adult. Her credentials were excellent, almost unbelievably so. Every reference she had listed had come up aces and the investigator’s report gave her a clean slate. She was from a wealthy family but apparently enjoyed working. He had even met her prominent parents on one or two occasions but he had never met her. One report he had received said she was not a part of the Dallas social scene, which seemed strange, given her family circumstances.

Basically, he had no idea what to expect.

He had requested an interview at his home. As she was located in Dallas, he was certain she would refuse to travel the considerable distance to his house merely for an interview and that would be the end of it. But she had agreed. Against his better judgment, Marsh set a date and time. Well, today was the day, and it was almost the time … if she showed up.

As a rule, Marsh usually worked in his office until late into the evening hours after dinner. For the past three months, he’d had no choice but to do the work of his assistant and housekeeper as well, which included keeping current on the cattle breeding information and managing the finances for the ranch and the payroll for the men. He barely had time to clean, although he did manage to keep his own bedroom spotless. And forget about cooking—his cooking skills were limited to slapping a sandwich together and heating a can of soup. He did brew a damn good cup of coffee, though.

He shot another look at his watch. Three minutes until two. Carrying his cup, he strolled along the wide slate-covered walkway to the front of the smooth white adobe house. Narrowing his eyes he stared at the black-topped road that turned off the highway to wind its way to the main house. After a long, dry summer, the driveway was coated by a layer of dust.

The beginnings of a frown nudged his eyebrows together as he looked again at his watch. Never late himself, he expected punctuality from others—especially someone applying for employment.

A low beep sounded from a small device attached to his belt. Security was alerting him that someone had driven onto the property. At that moment, he noticed a plume of dust rising from the back of a vehicle moving at a speed that would have made Richard Petty grin. No way was it Jennifer Dunning—he’d never met a woman who drove like that in all his life. It was Matt, or a special delivery, which was probably for the best anyway.

Marsh slashed another glance at his watch. It was exactly two when the old white Cadillac came to a screeching stop directly in front of the flagstone entranceway. The driver’s-side door was thrown open and a woman stepped out, slamming the door behind her.

Oh, hell.

She was absolutely gorgeous. A bit above average height, maybe five-eight or so, she had a long mass of honey-blond hair, dark brown eyes, a lovely face with well-defined features, a lush mouth and a curvaceous body. She was basically a man’s fantasy come to life.

Dammit, Marsh thought as every muscle in his body grew taut. Jennifer Dunning was the last thing he needed within a hundred miles, let alone inside his home. It had been over two weeks since he had forced himself to leave the ranch and go to his office in Dallas … and as long since he’d been with a woman. How was he going to manage this?

“Mr. Grainger?” Her voice was both cool and seductive. She extended a slim-fingered hand and smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. What else? “I’m Jennifer Dunning.”

I was afraid you’d say that. Marsh kept the thought to himself and offered a faint smile in return. He took her hand, surprised by her strong grip.

Something too close to awareness caused an itch in his palm. He released her hand and gestured for her to precede him along the walkway.

“This will lead to the kitchen,” he said, trying to ignore the enticing movement of her rounded hips as she walked ahead of him. “I thought you might like something to drink after your long drive. We can talk there.”

“That’s fine with me. I’d love a cup of coffee.” She turned to offer him another one of those heart-stopping smiles that set off every alarm bell in Marsh’s head.

The interview didn’t last long. Her intelligent answers exceeded his expectations. Marsh hired her before she had finished her coffee. He was immediately sorry he’d done so, but dammit, he needed the help. He was a grown man—he could keep things under control.

Couldn’t he?

Jennifer Dunning was walking, talking temptation. And Marsh certainly wasn’t immune to women. Every man needed R & R now and then. But he was confident he could handle the situation—and her. Hell, they’d be in two separate offices located in two separate rooms.

He sighed. He’d be fine … if she turned out to be a nice, quiet assistant who did her job and stayed out of his way.

A woman who drives like that? Not a chance. “So, when can you start?” he asked, holding out hope she would say as soon as next week.

As if she hadn’t heard, Jennifer glanced around the room. “Have you found someone for the housekeeping position?”

Marsh frowned. “No, why do you ask? Does the place look that messy?”

She smiled. “Not at all. The ad online mentioned living quarters for the housekeeper attached to the house.”

He nodded, curious. What was she getting at? “Yes … why?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I can start tomorrow, if I can move into those quarters until you hire a housekeeper. I have my stuff in my car.”

Dead silence, for a moment. “You brought all your things with you on the basis of an interview?” Marsh asked. “What if I hadn’t hired you?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I’d have found something else, somewhere else. I’m not in a hurry. But no, I didn’t bring all my things.” She flashed a brilliant smile at him, and this one Marsh felt from his hairline to his … never mind. “I would have needed an 18-wheeler for that.”

Uh-huh, he thought, aching in all the wrong places and wondering if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. “Miss Dunning, are you certain you want this job?”

“Jen,” she said.

“What?”

“I prefer Jen,” she answered. “And yes, I am certain. I wouldn’t have bothered interviewing if I didn’t want it.” She gave him a strange look. “Why, have you changed your mind?”

“No.” Marsh gave a quick shake of his head, ignoring the voice inside himself that was telling him to take the out she’d just offered. “I haven’t changed my mind … Jen.”

“Okay, then can I use the housekeeper’s living quarters temporarily?”

“Yeah, sure, why not,” he said. “Considering the kind of responses I’ve had, it might be a while.”

She frowned. “Exactly what kind of responses have you received?”

He shrugged. “Oh, things like, ‘it’s too isolated,’ ‘too far from Dallas or any other decent-size city,’ and on and on.”

“Too isolated?” Jen repeated in a tone of disbelief. “There are a lot of towns in this area. From what I gather, the entire hill country is overrun with tourists.” She paused, and seemed to size him up for a moment, as if suddenly questioning the wisdom of what she’d just done. “That was one of the reasons I asked if I could have the housekeeper’s quarters. I wasn’t certain I could find accommodations anywhere close by.”

Marsh ignored the way she was looking at him. “Well, glad to be of help,” he said, as neutrally as possible.

She relaxed and flashed that smile. “I think the location is perfect.”

Marsh felt as if a cool finger had just trailed his spine. Ignoring it, he said the first thing that jumped into his rattled mind.

“Would you like to look at the apartment now?”

“Yes, please.” Finishing off her coffee, she stood and started for the door. “I’ll go get my stuff.”

“I’ll help you,” Marsh said. “Drive your car around to the garages at the side. There’s a private entrance to the apartment there.”

To Marsh’s surprise, Jen didn’t have all that much. He had expected to find her car packed solid with all the “necessities” most of the women he knew needed for a week away. But Jen had two suitcases, a canvas carry-on bag, a computer case and a midsize carton, which drew a mild grunt from him when he hoisted it from the trunk.

“Books,” she said, smiling at him.

“No kidding,” Marsh said, sliding the heavy carton under one arm. “And I was just about to tell you how light you were traveling.”

“A girl’s got to have her books,” Jen said as she headed off in the direction he indicated, giving him a luscious view that made him sure he was going to regret the day Jennifer Dunning came into his life.

As they walked through the garage to the apartment, Jen took note of the four very expensive cars parked in each bay and the workhorse truck in the fifth one. The cars—and the garage itself—were cleaner than the interior of the house. Jen smiled to herself as Marsh crossed the spotless cement floor to a side door.

“Will you get the door, please? It’s unlocked.”

“Of course,” she said, skirting around him to open it and stepping back for him to precede her. Nodding in thanks, he started up a flight of stairs. To her surprise, the stairway led into a long hallway inside the house, not above the garage, as she had assumed. So, the quarters weren’t attached to the house, they were inside the house.

Mmm, she mused, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. That thought was immediately followed by, Oh, grow up, Jennifer, surely Mr. Grainger wouldn’t try anything with his assistant, would he? At the thought, Jen felt a strange twinge in the pit of her stomach that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

She ignored the sensation and decided she was being ridiculous. The door would have a lock … or so she hoped.

Dropping the suitcase, Marsh dug a ring of keys from his pocket and removed one, unlocking and opening the door. “After you,” he said, standing back to let her pass.

“Thank you.” Jen entered, pleasantly surprised by the cozy living room. She heard him sigh behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, following her into the room. “The place needs a good cleaning. If I’d have known …”

“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Possibly I could get the young woman who used to help out once a week before the housekeeper …”

“It’s all right. Really.” She smiled. “I learned how to clean from the best.” Jen was on the move as she spoke, checking out the bedroom, the bathroom, the small dining area and lastly the kitchen. He trailed behind her.

Making a quick turn, she almost crashed into him.

“Sorry.” They spoke in unison.

Jen laughed.

Marsh smiled. “So, what do you think?”

“I like it,” she said. “This kitchen is fabulous.”

“You can cook?”

She swung a wicked grin at him. “I’m a damn good cook. I practically grew up with the chef in my mother’s kitchen.”

“Uh-huh.” He hesitated before saying, “I’m a disaster in the kitchen. The last decent meal I had was in a restaurant two weeks ago.”

“Too bad,” she commiserated with him. “I love to cook.”

“Wanna get paid for it?”

Jen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll up your salary by half if you’ll take over the cooking in the main kitchen downstairs.”

Jen extended her hand to him. “You’ve got yourself a cook.” Her palm tingled at the touch of his rough, callused skin against hers. It wasn’t the first time—she had felt the same sensation when they had shaken hands before, only then she had put it down to nervousness over the interview. Then there was that funny twist in her midsection a short time ago.

She didn’t know what it all was exactly, but she didn’t like it.

Fortunately, the contact lasted only a moment. He released her hand and moved to the door, pausing again to glance back at her.

“You don’t have to start your administrative duties tomorrow, as you offered. Take the next three days to get set up in here. I’ll be in my office. If you need anything—” he nodded at the slim phone on the countertop “—just hit number one. Any questions?”

“Yes,” Jen said. “Since I assume there is no food here, where is the nearest grocery store?”

He frowned.

Jen had the distinct impression he frowned a lot.

“I thought you were going to cook in the kitchen downstairs.”

Men. Squashing an urge to roll her eyes, Jen made do with a silent sigh. “I will need a few things in here, as well. You know, coffee, milk, other staples.” Straight-faced, she admitted, “I’m a night snacker.”

A shade of a smile crossed his lips. Jen had another distinct impression: that he didn’t smile all that often. Shame. It was quite an attractive smile.

“Look, leave the grocery shopping until tomorrow. There is stuff in the downstairs kitchen—in the pantry, fridge and freezer. If you’ll come along now, you can take things for tonight and make a shopping list for tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jen followed him from the room. Getting to the kitchen was simple. They walked to the end of the hallway to a large landing, where a broad open staircase curved down to an equally broad foyer at the front of the house.

At the bottom of the stairs, Marsh turned left and strode along another hallway that led to the kitchen at the back of the house. By Jen’s calculations, her new living quarters were directly above the kitchen and formal dining room. From the dining room’s sliding glass doors, she caught a glimpse of a large patio and a swimming pool.

Gorgeous property, nicer than the too-formal look of her parents’ home, she was thinking. What will it feel like to live in a place like this as the hired help?

“Okay, the kitchen’s all yours,” Marsh said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Wait,” Jen said.

He frowned again but this time, impatience flashed across his features, making them look severe. Slowly, he raised one eyebrow.

If he meant to intimidate, he succeeded.

But Jen was not about to let him know it. “Jot down a few of your food preferences,” she said, fully aware that her request sounded like an order. “Meanwhile, I’ll start a list of the things we’ll need.” She raised an eyebrow right back at him. “Okay?”

He sighed, gave her a terse nod and left the room.

When he was gone, Jen exhaled. Working for Marshall Grainger was going to be a challenge, in a number of ways, not the least of which was remaining professional and not losing her temper right along with him.

Finding a notebook and pencils in a drawer, she began opening cabinets. None of them contained foodstuffs; a few were completely empty. Then she discovered the double pantry next to the fridge. Now she was getting somewhere. There were plenty of dried foods: flour, sugar, cereals and canned goods, except for soup. There were only two cans in an otherwise empty area.

She stared at the shelf for a moment, wondering whether her new employer didn’t like soup, or loved it so much it was a regular for him.

Recalling his words, she shook her head. He had admitted to being a lousy cook. Conclusion? The man had been practically living on soup. After checking out the fridge, she added sandwiches to the list of things he’d been living on. Other than two slices of cheese wrapped in plastic, a nearly empty carton of eggs, a small package of bacon, a half-empty carton of milk and a couple of slices of bread, along with some beer and soda, the fridge was empty.

Jen opened the freezer door on the side-by-side. Now, this looked better. The freezer was packed and everything was dated. Maybe there was hope for Marsh Grainger after all, she thought with a smile.

Her shopping list completed, she sent a slow look around the room. The countertop looked spotless, as if very recently cleaned. Hmm, she mused. Had her boss given it a quick cleaning before she arrived?

Had he done that for her benefit?

Giving herself a mental get-with-it shake, she glanced at the clock.

It was eight minutes after three. Jen figured she had time enough to clean the kitchen. But first, dinner. She rummaged around in the freezer and grabbed a package of ground turkey and a bag of mixed veggies with an herb sauce. Within minutes she had a turkey stew cooking in the slow cooker on the counter.

Turkey stew would have to do. Smiling at her silly rhyme, she pulled out some cleaning supplies, slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and got down to the business at hand.

A couple hours later, her skin moist with perspiration from her efforts, Jen stood in the kitchen doorway admiring the results. The room was spotless. A sense of satisfaction brought a small smile to her lips—Ida would be proud.

After touching the floor tiles to see if they were dry, Jen walked to the phone and hit the 1 button.

“What is it, Ms. Dunning?”

Jen didn’t miss the exasperated note in Marshall’s voice. Keeping her own voice carefree and chipper, she said, “Dinner is ready whenever you are.” She paused, then deliberately added, “sir.”

“Thank you. But don’t call me that.”

His tone had lightened a bit. Jen smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

“Take your time, it will keep. I’m going up to my place now.”

“What about you?”

She couldn’t quite read his meaning. Was he worried she wanted to dine with him? Or did he want her to? “I’ve eaten, thank you. What time would you like breakfast?”

“Is six-thirty okay with you?”

Good grief, was he actually asking her instead of telling her? “Yes,” she briskly answered, “six-thirty will be fine.” She waited a heartbeat before saying, “Good night, sir.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Jen hit the off button, leaving the room with a jaunty step.