Читать книгу The Matchmaking Machine - Judith McWilliams - Страница 8

She was going to teach John Worthington a long-overdue lesson in humility if it was the last thing she ever did, Maggie Romer told herself as she nervously tightened her grip on the thick manila envelope she was carrying. Taking a deep breath, she punched in the security code she’d been given to get into Worthington’s apartment building. The oversized glass doors obediently slid open.

Maggie stepped into the spacious lobby and looked around, trying to ignore her feeling of inferiority in the face of such opulent luxury. She was no longer an unwanted foster kid on the outside looking in, she reminded herself. These days, she was a well-paid, highly trained computer professional.

She was also a woman on a mission. Her soft pink lips tightened as an image of Sam Moore’s haggard features popped into her mind. According to his wife, he was so depressed that he just sat around all day, staring at the wall.

Sam might be powerless, but she wasn’t, and she was determined to get revenge for him. No, not revenge. Justice.

Justice was everyone’s right. Worthington might be the company’s new owner, but that didn’t give him the right to summarily fire Sam and then refuse to give him a reference. What Worthington had done was unconscionable. Sam was great at what he did. Not only that, but he was super to work for. She didn’t know a single person in the entire company who had a bad word to say about him—man or woman. Yet Worthington had dismissed him without even so much as a reference. And without a reference and an explanation for the firing, potential employers would assume that Sam was incompetent and had only held his job as president because he was the old owner’s son-in-law. The entire office was in agreement that Worthington deserved to be called to account for his actions.

In fact, Emily, Sam’s former secretary, hated John Worthington so much she hadn’t even been willing to deliver an important report to his empty apartment, despite the fact that he wasn’t due to arrive from California until later tonight.

When Maggie had heard Emily vilifying Worthington in the lunchroom, she immediately volunteered to drop the document off for her. As far as Maggie was concerned, getting access to his apartment was a heaven-sent opportunity to check the place out for clues about his personal likes and dislikes.

Trying to act as if she belonged in this kind of setting, Maggie walked across the lobby toward the sour-faced guard sitting behind a desk near the elevators. He straightened slightly as she approached, and the furtive gleam of sexual desire that lightened his eyes sent a chill of revulsion down her spine. She bit the inside of her lip as she fought her instinctive urge to hunch her shoulders in an attempt to hide her breasts.

“I’m Maggie Romer delivering a package for John Worthington. Emily Adams from Computer Solutions should have already called to tell you I’d be coming,” she told the guard.

“She did. And I told her that I was the only one on and couldn’t leave the desk to go up with you. She said you didn’t need an escort.” He shrugged. “That’s fine by me, but tell her I said if there’s a problem not to come to me about it.”

Maggie nodded and walked into one of the open elevators. Taking out the plastic card Emily had given her that provided access to the penthouse level, Maggie inserted it into the slot in the control panel.

Nothing will go wrong, she told herself, trying to ignore the feeling of impending doom that engulfed her as the elevator doors snapped shut. She’d leave the envelope on his desk in the study as Emily had instructed and then take a quick look around for any information about his personal habits that she could enter into the program she had written about John Worthington.

A sense of satisfaction filled her at the thought of the novel computer application she had come up with in her quest to teach Worthington a lesson. She’d been listening to a couple of her friends talk about their experiences with Internet dating when she suddenly realized that it should be possible to create a program that would tell her exactly what kind of woman John Worthington found attractive. After all, those Internet dating sites found potentially compatible mates all the time. And if she could do that, there was the possibility—even if it was a slim one—that she could turn herself into something close to his idea of perfection and get him to fall for her. Then, once he’d committed himself, she could laugh in his face and walk out, letting him find out what it felt like to be rejected. To be treated as if he were a thing of absolutely no value. Job, be darned.

Even though Maggie had created the program, she knew her plan was a long shot. Still, there were several points in her favor.

For one, Worthington’s electronics empire was headquartered in San Francisco, and, now that his father was semiretired, he spent most of his time there with occasional trips to the company’s offices in the far east. His presence in New York was so rare that there had been speculation in the financial press that his allocation of six whole weeks to oversee the integration of their software company into the parent company meant that Worthington was positioning himself to move into the applications side of computers.

Maggie reasoned that since Worthington was a stranger in town, he wouldn’t know anyone, and since he wasn’t planning on staying, he probably wouldn’t bother with the local social scene. That would drastically limit the number of women competing with her for his attention.

Second, as a key member of his staff, she would see him at the office on a regular basis. The opportunity was definitely there if she could take advantage of it. She’d considered the possibility that he might not be willing to date an employee, but she quickly pushed that aside. Interoffice dating was more common than companies liked to admit, and when he saw that she was the woman of his dreams, how could be resist?

Once her program had spelled out what his ideal woman looked like, Maggie had completely revamped her image to conform to it as closely as possible. Her plain brown hair now sported reddish highlights and fell to her shoulders in a sexy tumble of loose curls, and her pleasing, if unspectacular, features were enhanced by the best makeup money could buy. As for her clothes…

She winced slightly as she caught sight of herself in the mirrors that lined three of the four elevator walls. She’d started wearing her new wardrobe two weeks ago so that all the surprised comments from colleagues about her wearing something other than her usual nondescript suits and comfortable sweaters would be over before Worthington arrived in town.

Unfortunately, she’d discovered that two weeks wasn’t long enough for her to feel comfortable with her new image. She shifted uncomfortably as she studied the way her black slacks clung to her slender hips before faithfully outlining her long, slim legs. A lifetime might not be enough, she conceded.

The elevator came to a smooth stop on the top floor and the doors opened onto a discreetly lighted foyer carpeted in a soft dove-gray. There was a real floral arrangement sitting on a gilt table beside the door to the penthouse apartment.

Maggie straightened her shoulders, trying to ignore the way her action tightened her black silk shirt over her small, high breasts. She was determined to teach Worthington a lesson, and if dressing sexier was what it took, then that’s what she’d do.

With anticipation, Maggie took out the key to Worthington’s apartment Emily had given her. Unlocking the door, she slipped inside.

A soundless whistle escaped her as she took in the wall of glass in the living room that gave her a panoramic view of Central Park twenty stories below. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure could buy beautiful surroundings, she thought. The room looked like something out of a decorating book for the seriously rich.

John Worthington certainly believed in pampering himself, although…

Maggie frowned slightly as she took in the chintz prints on the sofas and overstuffed chairs. From the extensive research she’d already done on him, she would have guessed that his taste in furniture leaned more toward priceless antiques. This room seemed out of character with the image of him on her program. Maybe the taste reflected here wasn’t Worthington’s.

She knew from what Emily had said that Worthington hated living in hotels and one of the first things his advanceman, Daniel Romanos, had done when he’d arrived in town last week had been to lease his boss this apartment. Maybe Romanos had leased it furnished?

Hmm…What now? Did she enter a liking for chintz and English country into her program or put in that Worthington was adaptable enough to live with decor not to his taste? She didn’t know which was more accurate, but of one thing she was certain: the program was becoming a lot more complicated than she’d originally anticipated. The variables seemed both endless and endlessly fascinating.

Maggie walked farther into the room, wondering if any of Worthington’s personal effects had arrived yet. According to Emily, his flight wasn’t due to arrive until after midnight, but he could have shipped some of his stuff along with Daniel Romanos.

She reached down to open the drawer in the end table beside one of the sofas when she heard a loud clanging sound coming from down the hallway to her left. A shiver ran down her spine and she automatically took a step back toward the front door before common sense told her that it couldn’t be a burglar. For one thing, it was too hard to get into the building. For another, one of the first requirements of burglarizing would be quietness. And whomever it was had made no attempt to be quiet.

Maybe Worthington had sent his housekeeper from San Francisco ahead to get the place ready for him, she thought in a sudden burst of excitement. A housekeeper who might be able to give her personal facts about him firsthand. So far, all her information about Worthington had been gleaned secondhand from magazine and newspaper articles.

Eagerly, Maggie headed toward the sound. At the very least, she could ask whomever it was where the study was so she could drop off the envelope and do some snooping in his desk drawers.

Maggie quickly located where the noise was coming from. Sticking her head around the half-open door, she peered inside. Her eyes widened when she saw the bottom half of a man sticking out from beneath the bathroom vanity. Her mouth dried and she slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip as her eyes measured the impressive breadth of his chest before wandering down over his flat stomach to linger on the long, lean length of his denim-clad thighs.

I wonder what the rest of him looks like? she thought, suppressing an urge to look under the cabinet and find out. Why had she never found a plumber built like that? Her apartment building was serviced by a surly, middle-aged man with a beer belly who wouldn’t raise a lustful thought in a nymphomaniac, while this guy…

She took a deep, steadying breath as her gaze returned of its own volition to his tight jeans.

“Excuse me,” she began then instinctively jerked back when the man’s body suddenly jackknifed. There was a hollow ringing sound as what she assumed was his head hit something hard under the cabinet.

Maggie barely registered the curse that rolled out from beneath the cabinet. She was far more interested in the deep, dark, velvety tone of his voice. It lapped enticingly against her skin, nudging each and every nerve ending she owned to eager, expectant life. Her breath caught in her lungs in anticipation as the man wiggled out from under the cabinet. A powerful surge of awareness engulfed her as she got her first clear look at him.

The top half of him was even better than the bottom half, she realized in astonishment. His ink-black hair was cut slightly shorter than the present style and disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. She would have expected an olive complexion with hair that dark, but his skin was a pale honey-gold that gave his gray eyes an almost crystalline look. Her gaze slipped down over the thin blade of his nose to land on his wide mouth and all rational thought was suspended as she was instantly consumed by a desire to press her lips to his.

“Are you deaf, as well?” the man bit out.

Maggie opened her mouth to ask as well as what and then thought better of the idea. She didn’t want to start the conversation by trading insults, and she was pretty sure there was one buried in his question.

Ignoring his comment would probably be the quickest way to lower the sudden tension which had sprung up between them, she decided.

“Did you hurt your head?” she tried.

“Yes,” he snapped. “I probably fractured my skull.”

“Nonsense,” Maggie said bracingly. “All you did was smack it on something.”

“That something was a porcelain sink!” He gave her an aggrieved look that made her want to take him in her arms and kiss his ill humor away, something she didn’t recall ever wanting to do with anyone before.

“Sit down.” Maggie gestured toward the vanity seat. “I’ll see how bad it is.”

To her surprise, he obediently sat down and bent his head slightly so she could look.

Maggie set the manila envelope and her purse down on the vanity and tentatively touched his head. Her fingers sank into his silky, dark hair, searching for a lump. His hair was cool on the outside and very warm next to his scalp. It was an intriguing combination. From this close, she could smell the citrusy scent of his cologne.

Maggie swallowed uneasily as a curl of heat tightened in the pit of her stomach, making her feel edgy. Her fingertips began to tingle, and she had to fight the urge to caress the very slight bump she found.

“I think you’ll live.” Her voice came out sounding husky and not at all like her normal, even, no-nonsense tone. How could she be reacting so strongly to some strange man she had chanced upon in a bathroom? She wondered uneasily. She had never been the impulsive type about anything—and that included sexual attraction. Not only that, but she didn’t know the first thing about this guy.

No, that wasn’t quite true, she corrected herself. She actually knew two things about him. She knew he was gorgeous, and she knew he was a plumber.

He might live, but he wouldn’t do it with any degree of comfort in her vicinity, Richard Worthington thought ruefully as he struggled to control his body’s enthusiastic response to her touch. He certainly didn’t want her to realize that he’d taken one look at her and every male hormone he had had kicked into overdrive—at least, not until he figured out who she was and what she was doing in his apartment.

He was positive he’d locked the door behind him, so she had to have had a key to have gotten in. Could she have come from the office of the lawyer who was handling his sublease of the place? One thing was clear: she certainly hadn’t come to steal anything because she had no place to hide it. His gaze lingered on the small expanse of delectable-looking skin between her form-fitting sweater and her pants. The blackness of her outfit highlighted the creamy texture of her perfect skin.

“I’m Richard, and you are…” He held out his hand, seizing the opportunity to touch her.

The woman put her hand in his.

“Maggie. Do you know where the housekeeper is?” she said, looking uncomfortable, as if she wasn’t used to dealing with unknown men.

“What housekeeper?” Richard looked around the spacious bathroom as if he expected to find a strange woman hiding in a corner. “There was no one else here when I arrived earlier.”

“Oh,” Maggie said and glanced down, only to find that she was still holding on to his hand like a lifeline. Appearing to be embarrassed, she dropped it and took a step back. “Tell me, have you seen the study?”

“Why?” he said curiously.

“I’m supposed to put that on the desk in the study.” She nodded toward the manila envelope on the vanity.

“What’s in it?” Richard leaned over and began to search through the toolbox on the floor.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Here, hold this.” Richard handed her the wrench and went back to rummaging through his tools.

Maggie automatically accepted it, though she seemed to be rather surprised by its weight.

“Open the envelope and see what it is,” Richard ordered, wondering if it was the treasurer’s report that was supposed to have arrived earlier. Straightening out the mess Sam had created was not going to be an easy job—he felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of the challenge—but it would be worth it. Both he and his father agreed that the company was the perfect vehicle to use to get a foothold in the software applications market.

“Certainly not!” Maggie snapped. “And why are you so interested? Unless you’re an industrial spy?”

With narrowed eyes, she studied his arrested expression. His gray eyes were blank, and his mouth had fallen slightly open, revealing perfect white teeth. Could he actually be such a thing? She wondered uncertainly. On the surface, it seemed like a ludicrous idea because, until Worthington actually arrived, there should have been nothing of any business import in the apartment for him to spy on. He could hardly have known that someone would be coming by with an envelope from the treasurer, could he? She wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew about industrial spying had been learned at the movies, which was hardly a reliable source of information.

“Are you serious?” Richard asked, studying her suspicious face, unable to decide whether to be amused or annoyed. Clearly she had no idea that he owned the company that had hired her messenger firm to deliver the package. Who did she think he was? Her next words answered his question.

“No, not really, but I think you’d better stick to the plumbing you were hired to do.”

Could she really think he was a plumber? He wondered in confusion. Or was this some clever ploy to…To do what? No one knew he was in New York yet except Daniel, and he wouldn’t willingly give anyone the time of day, let alone information about him.

“You’re very loyal to your boss,” he probed as he inched back under the sink.

“No, I’m not,” she said, allowing herself the self-indulgent pleasure of openly eyeing his body while he couldn’t see her. “What I do have is a strongly developed sense of survival. I don’t even want to think about what he’d do if he found out I’d looked at his precious papers!”

“I suppose anyone who operated a messenger service would have to be extra careful about her company’s reputation,” he said. “Hand me the wrench I asked you to hold.” Richard stuck a large hand out from under the sink.

Maggie gave it to him. “I don’t work for a messenger service. I work for a computer firm that was just bought out by a big electronics holding company from California. The son of the owner is coming to town to oversee the takeover, and, from what I’ve seen, he makes Simon Legree look like an advocate for human rights. The person who should have delivered this package was the old president’s secretary, and she flatly refused to even come near this place. That’s how bad Worthington is.”

Richard’s hand stilled as her words sank in. She was referring to him, he realized in shock. But why did she dislike him so much? Unless office gossip was responsible? Rumors did tend to be rife during a takeover.

“What exactly are you doing?” Maggie threw into the silence. She’d much rather talk about Worthington than her problems at work.

“I’m replacing the cold-water pipe to the faucet,” he said, deciding not to tell her who he was just yet.

“I need a Phillips screwdriver. Do you know what one looks like?”

“Of course I know what a Phillips head screwdriver looks like. The days of the helpless little woman are long gone.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s something kind of appealing about knowing more than a woman about guy things.”

“There are no guy things. That’s…” Her voice trailed away as her eyes instinctively dropped to his groin and the muscles in her abdomen suddenly clenched. Okay, so there were some exclusively guy things, but she had no intention of amending her original statement and opening up what could prove to be an embarrassing line of discussion.

“Okay, traditional guy things, then,” Richard said. “Turn on the faucet, will you?”

Maggie obediently turned on the faucet and yelped when cold water spurted up, soaking the front of her sweater. Hastily, she jumped back. To her dismay, the heel of her shoe caught on the edge of his body and she tripped, landing on him.

The feel of his hard body beneath her soft hips had a curiously enervating effect on her. All she wanted to do was stay there and absorb the feel of his flesh pressing into hers. He felt so good. So…

“Are you all right?” Richard demanded, as Maggie winced. The man must think she was a total klutz.

Hurriedly, she scrambled off him and muttered, “Other than being drenched, I’m fine.”

“Sorry about that, but getting wet is one of the hazards of being a plumber’s helper,” Richard said in a cool tone that was totally at odds with the interest in his eyes as he moved from under the sink and noted the way her wet sweater was plastered to her breasts.

“I am not a plumber’s helper. I’m simply an innocent bystander. A wet innocent bystander.”

“I should be able to do something about the wet part. I replaced a washer in the sink in the kitchen earlier and there’s a washer and dryer in there. We’ll just throw your sweater and bra in the dryer. Since no one’s living here yet, no one will mind.”

Maggie felt her cheeks heat at his casual reference to her underwear. It appeared that even the plumber was more sophisticated than she was.

She shook her head, sending the damp ends of her curls flying. “It’s too risky. Suppose Worthington decided to catch an earlier flight. I can just imagine his reaction if he walked in and found me wrapped in a towel. Besides, I don’t make it a habit to take off my clothes in front of strange men.” Even handsome ones, she silently added.

Actually, she was pretty sure she knew exactly what Worthington’s reaction would be, she thought grimly. One of the strongest dislikes her program had registered was that he hated being chased—apparently even more than he hated publicity. Which probably accounted for the fact that the only photograph she had been able to find of him had been a grainy long-distance shot that looked like it had been taken through a heavy fog. Even the holding company’s website hadn’t included a single photo of her quarry, only of his father, the titular head of the company, John Worthington, Sr.

“We’ll hear him if he shows up, and I’ll distract him with a report on his plumbing while you retrieve your clothes. In the meantime, you can wear my shirt.”

Richard casually stripped it off and handed it to her.

“The guard downstairs told me to make a pot of coffee if I wanted to,” he lied. “Why don’t you change while I fix us some? I’m ready for a break anyway.”

Normally, Maggie would have never considered the offer, but she was due back at the office and showing up in soaking wet clothes just wouldn’t do. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough time to run back to her own apartment to change. Spending the next fifteen to twenty minutes letting her stuff dry was her best option.

Cautiously, she reached for his shirt, her entire attention focused on his bare chest. It was covered by a thick wedge of curly black hair that arrowed downward, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

Maggie’s breathing shortened as in her imagination her fingers followed that line of silky hair down his body, all the way down his body. She shivered as goose-bumps popped up on her arms.

“You’re chilled.” Richard misinterpreted her reaction.

“Hurry up and get out of those wet clothes.”

Stepping around her, he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Maggie released her breath on a long, wistful sigh, then blinked when she could still see the enticing vision of his bare chest in her mind’s eye.

“Okay, so you’ve got a bad case of the hots for the plumber,” she muttered to herself. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re a normal woman. Why shouldn’t you respond to male perfection when you find it?”

Heat twisted through her abdomen at the thought of just how enthusiastically she’d like to respond.

Chance was a fine thing, she thought ruefully as she pulled her sweater over her head. She might lust after him, but she’d seen no sign that he felt anything at all when he looked at her.

What kind of woman would appeal to Richard? She wondered and immediately thought of her program. Unfortunately, there was no way she could apply it to a normal man. It was only high-profile ones like John Worthington that she could find out enough information about to use it on.

She frowned as she remembered why she was here in the first place. Unfortunately, her plan to check the apartment for clues to Worthington’s personality wasn’t going to get very far with Richard here. He might be taking full advantage of his boss’s offer to use the facilities, but she doubted that he’d stand by and let her snoop in drawers. He’d be afraid that she might take something and he’d get blamed.

The vexing problem of getting even with John Worthington slipped from her mind as she pulled Richard’s softly worn denim shirt on and the citrusy scent of his cologne drifted into her lungs, speeding up her heart rate and making her nerves tighten. Trying to ignore the unsettling sensation, Maggie buttoned the shirt and then rolled up the sleeves so that she could use her hands. Picking up her wet clothes, the manila envelope and her purse, she went to look for the kitchen.

She had no trouble finding it. She simply followed the tantalizing smell of freshly brewed coffee. She walked into the large room decorated entirely in white—white tile floor, white walls, white cabinets and white ceiling. Even the appliances were white.

“This place could double as an operating room,” she said as she handed Richard her wet clothes. “Make sure you use the delicate low-heat option.”

He opened a pair of white louvered doors on the opposite wall to reveal a tiny laundry room. He tossed her damp things into the white dryer, set it and turned it on.

“I think the owner is into the utilitarian look. Either that or he never comes into the kitchen, so he doesn’t care how stark it looks. Help yourself to some coffee.” Richard gestured toward the steaming pot.

Maggie set her envelope and purse down on the counter, took one of the mugs hanging from a cast-iron holder and poured herself a cup. She sat down on a bar stool at the Corian breakfast bar.

“I hope they don’t take long to dry. I want to get out of here before Worthington shows. Did whoever hired you tell you when he was scheduled to arrive?” she asked.

Maggie noticed his slight frown and assumed it was because he didn’t know whom she was talking about. “Or weren’t you told whom you were doing the job for?”

Thoughtfully, Richard took a drink of his coffee as he tried to decide what to do. He didn’t like lying, even by omission, but the idea of telling Maggie the truth appealed to him even less. If he did, she would probably walk out, and he didn’t want her to. He wanted the chance to get to know her better. Much better.

He’d been intrigued by her from the moment he’d first he’d seen her. Her gleaming brown hair with its reddish highlights and her deep blue eyes appealed to his aesthetic sense, while the perfection of her slender, long legs made him fantasize about what it would feel like to have them wrapped around him.

Richard studied her over the rim of her coffee cup. She really did think he was the plumber, which meant that the sexual interest he could see in her eyes every time she looked at him was for him and not his money. The knowledge sent a fizz of anticipation zinging through his bloodstream—an anticipation vaguely tinged with worry as he remembered her very unflattering opinion of him. Would that spark of interest die when she found out who he really was? And she would have to find out. There was no way he could keep his identity a secret from her indefinitely. Once he showed up at the office on Monday, everyone would be jostling for a glimpse of him. But that was Monday, and this was only Friday. He had a little time before he had to tell her the truth—time enough to convince her that the nasty rumors circulating in the office about him obviously had no basis in fact.

He frowned as Maggie’s eyes suddenly widened in shock.

“Ugh!” she gasped and set the mug down with a thump. “What is this?” She stared into the stygian depths of the cup with disbelief.

“Just coffee,” Richard said. “I made it myself.”

“I certainly wouldn’t advertise the fact,” she shot back. “You might be held responsible for the results. This stuff could double as paint remover.”

“I can’t stand it weak.”

“And I can’t stand getting my week’s allotment of caffeine in one shot.” Maggie got up and poured half the brew down the sink. Then she added water, a large spoonful of sugar and a hefty dose of milk.

“Milk and sugar ruin the flavor of good coffee,” he said.

“This is not good coffee,” Maggie said, cautiously taking a sip of the resulting mixture. “Strong, yes. Good, no. And don’t tell me it’s a guy thing. Bad is bad.”

“Ha, you probably make instant. Your taste buds need educating.”

“If I drank much of this stuff, my taste buds would be more likely to be dissolved than educated. It…”

She tensed as she heard the chimes from the front door.

Was that Worthington? She wondered in dismay as Richard got up to answer it. But Worthington wouldn’t knock on his own apartment door, would he? Surely, he’d have a key.

She didn’t know, but she had no intention of guessing—and guessing wrong. She didn’t want to meet him yet. She wanted their first meeting to take place on ground of her choosing, not his. Hurriedly, she grabbed the envelope and rushed after Richard, catching up with him at the front door.

“Don’t open that,” she whispered to Richard.

He paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to meet anyone wearing your shirt.”

“How about if I just call through the door and tell them to come back when the dryer goes off.”

“Don’t be silly,” she muttered.

“Me?!”

“I need to put this envelope on the desk the way I was told to. Stall whomever is out there while I find the study.”

The person rang the bell again.

“Wait a minute. We’re stalling,” Richard yelled through the door.

“Honestly!” Maggie gave him an exasperated look. “This is important. That could be Worthington.”

“It can’t be Worthington,” Richard said. “The guard at the front desk was specific about him not arriving until after I was finished.”

“Then if you know so much, who is it?”

“Who are you?” Richard yelled through the door.

“Daniel Romanos,” the voice called back.

“Damn!” Maggie scowled. “It’s almost as bad. That’s Worthington’s hatchet man. Stall him.”

She raced down the hall and pulled open an oak door. To her relief, it was the study. She pitched the manila envelope onto the middle of the bare desk and hurried back to the living room and Richard.

“Is the evidence hidden?” Richard asked.

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was just putting it where it belongs.” Where she should have put it the minute she arrived—and would have if she hadn’t been distracted by him.

Her eyes lingered on the firm line of his dark jaw. And it had been fatally easy to get sidetracked, too, she conceded honestly. There was something about Richard that made everything else fade into the background. It was a reaction she’d never had before, and it worried her. This was not the time for her to finally discover a man who appealed to her sexually—not when she had everything in place to launch her plan of revenge against Worthington.