Читать книгу The American Earl - Kathryn Jensen - Страница 9

The limousine wasn’t one of those silly stretch jobs the length of a bowling alley that teenagers chip in to hire for their proms. Lord Matthew Smythe’s car was all business. It seated only six passengers behind the driver’s privacy screen and was furnished with the essential tools of any corporate president—a cell phone, laptop computer with modem and faxing capability, and miniature television to catch late-breaking financial and political news. The CD player and modest wet bar were his only concessions to entertainment. He admitted they had come in handy when his sole guest happened to be an attractive woman in the mood to relax…with him.

The vehicle was black inside and out—a leather-lined cave that glided through the city or down an endless highway smoothly, silently. He liked it better than any of his houses, for it was simple, efficient, mobile and beautiful. Here, he could think and work without distractions, or just remove himself from the world.

Abby sat as far as possible to one end of the half-moon bench seat, staring out the window with determination. She looked very young and equally vulnerable. He sensed she was at least a little afraid of him—although why he had no idea. He tried not to pay too much attention to her long legs.

“You were very good tonight,” he murmured after they had driven awhile.

A timid smile twitched the corner of her lips. But she didn’t face him, yet. “Thank you.”

“I need a full-time hostess.”

Now she did turn. Her coffee-and-cream eyes were richer, darker in the dim interior of the car. “Are you offering me a job?”

“Yes.” His instincts where people were concerned were always on target. He knew she’d be good.

She looked more thoughtful than surprised. “What does the position entail?”

“Just what you did tonight. Orchestrate my guests’ entertainment and be on hand to greet them with me.”

She tilted her head to observe him critically. “That’s hardly full-time work.”

“You’ll be expected to travel with me to my other locations of business.”

“You have offices as well as houses in L.A., New York and Bermuda?” she asked.

“The villa on Bermuda isn’t really an office—though I’ve probably closed as many deals there as anywhere. My Japanese and German exporters particularly like it.”

Something unsettlingly perceptive twinkled from behind her lovely eyes. “And you expect me to quit my job and fly off with you to party—is that it?”

He tensed, ready to vehemently deny her assessment of his lifestyle. He didn’t party for a living; he had worked damn hard to get where he was. But he refused to let a glorified shop girl drag him into a debate over his business tactics.

“I expect a clever young woman like yourself,” he said slowly, “will choose the better of the two jobs.” If that didn’t satisfy her, she wasn’t as smart as he thought she might be.

She gave him a long look. Yes, he mused, the wheels behind those amazing eyes were turning fast and furiously.

“I gather from the little Paula told me, your hostesses don’t last very long.”

“They obviously haven’t been right for the job,” he countered.

“But I am?”

“I think so.”

She nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. Matt had never liked being kept waiting. She made him feel painfully restless. He was tempted to shake an answer out of her, but restrained himself.

“And how do I know I won’t find myself out of work in a few weeks?” she asked at last.

“Think, Abby. What the bloody hell are you going to learn serving up cappuccinos to college students? I’m offering you a chance to connect with people who run some of the most prosperous and prestigious companies in the world.”

“I know that!” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “I just need to understand where I stand. And I would want a contract…for a year.”

“You have it,” he said.

She blinked, looking surprised that she’d immediately received what she had asked for. “And my duties will be limited and spelled out in it.” Although she sounded prim and proper, she failed to look the part with her long, silky legs angled across the limo’s black leather cushions.

“Your responsibilities will be catalogued in detail,” he agreed. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging the unofficial tasks she was so nervous about. He’d never played around with any of his employees.

But he couldn’t help it if his thoughts wandered delightfully in that direction now. Abby smelled wonderful. And that particular shade of red in her hair made him think twice about bothering with blondes and brunettes ever again. She was luminous.

“Because I am not going to sleep with you, Mr. Smythe.”

Well, there it is, he thought. Now he was going to have to pretend that he actually cared about her concerns. “I’m not interested in sleeping with you, Ms. Benton. I would never consider asking any woman for sexual favors in return for employment in my company,” he said carefully. The one thing any executive didn’t need these days was a sexual harassment lawsuit.

She nodded, apparently satisfied. Whether or not she fully believed him, he couldn’t tell. Whether or not he believed himself, he wasn’t sure either. Sleeping with Abigail Benton was becoming an increasingly interesting fantasy. The more she tiptoed around the subject, the more he thought about it.

“What will my salary be?” she asked.

He stopped himself from grinning in triumph. She was ready to talk business. How he loved winning a battle of wits with a worthy opponent. Selecting a pen and slip of paper from the caddy beside the cell phone, Matt wrote a figure.

She delicately plucked the paper from his hand but scrunched up her nose at it. “Do I have to cover my own travel expenses out of this?”

“Of course not.”

She sighed. “My wardrobe is quite limited. I don’t know if I can afford to dress the way you would want me to.”

Oh bother, he thought. He scribbled a higher figure on a second piece of paper, including a generous clothing allowance. She took this one, too.

Her eyes widened, but she sighed again. “I’m sorry. This is more than generous. But, to be honest, it’s not a matter of money. I just don’t feel this will be a secure position for me. More than anything, that’s what I need now.” She looked entreatingly across the car at him. “I want to save up and open my own little gourmet shop down by the lake. And I’ve never intended to leave Chicago, you see. It’s my hometown. I really apprecia—”

He violently dashed off a third amount, twice his original offer. The money was of little consequence to him, but he knew the figure would seem outrageously high to her. Thrusting the paper at her, he leaned back and watched with boyish anticipation as her expression changed from frustration to shock.

“Lord Smythe!”

“Matt.”

She sighed, her eyes softly appealing, as if she hoped he would understand her reticence without demanding further explanation.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He understood all right. She wanted success without risk. And even then, she was scared she might get what she wished for. Abigail, he thought, you need a healthy shove off your safe little lily pad. And he needed someone like her to continue bringing business his way. Competitors like Joseph Cooper Imports had been breathing down his neck for years. Whatever he had to do to hold them at bay, he’d do.

He wrote one final figure on a fourth scrap. “Last offer,” he said tightly. “Don’t answer me now. Sleep on it.”

She started to speak, but he placed a finger over her lips, silencing them.

“Discuss the offer with your roommate, your parents, your priest—I don’t care who. Call me tomorrow with your answer. If you really want to own your own store, or even a chain of stores someday, you’ll take a chance with me.” She was staring incredulously at the number he’d written. “Look at it this way, the worst that can happen is, I’ll work you harder than you’ve ever worked before. But you’ll have your start-up cash four times faster under my employ than with anyone else. And you’ll know the business inside out.”

The car stopped. The driver came around to open the door. Abby clambered out, a fistful of paper scraps clutched in one hand, her purse and sack of leftovers in the other. She was staring at him in puzzlement, as if hoping, in these last few seconds, she’d discover the ruse he was playing on her.

“No hidden agendas, Ms. Benton. I need smart, dedicated people around me, and I think you’re one of that breed.” He looked at her sharply, making sure she understood he was serious. “Call me. It’s your future.”

Matt flipped a hand at the driver, who closed the door between them. A smile crept outward along his lips. Well, he’d been mostly honest with her. Still, it was a tempting concept—their sleeping together. Very tempting.

As the limo started moving again, he let the thought go. Just let it drift free, like a kite after the string breaks—only he had intentionally cut the cord. If she agreed to work for him, he couldn’t afford to turn her into a mistress. She would be too valuable to him in other ways. And, above all, he was a businessman.

Abby slept not at all that night. It wasn’t until a thin, rosy dawn broke that she dropped off into an uneasy slumber. She heard the alarm and smacked the snooze button once, twice, then tossed the horrid thing against the wall and collapsed, scrunching her pillow down over her head. She didn’t care what time it was, she needed some real sleep.

“So, how’d it go last night?” a too-chipper voice penetrated the layer of fluff.

Abby tentatively peeked out. It was Dee, bless her cold heart, standing in the bedroom doorway, sipping her morning java from a stoneware mug.

“Leave me alone.”

“It’s Saturday. You have to be down at the store by nine, don’t you?”

“Oh God, yes. I wasn’t even thinking.” Abby flung the pillow aside and pressed her fingertips to her temples, squinting into the morning light.

“That bad, huh?” Dee guessed. “Boring people, bad food and the boss-man made a pass at you, poor baby.”

“Not quite.” Abby sat up in bed. “Fascinating people, the best food I’ve ever eaten and Smythe offered me a job that pays four times what I’m making now.”

“Bummer.” Dee’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Knock it off. This isn’t funny.”

“So, who’s laughing? Sounds like you walked into a dream. Why are you looking like a stressed-out ostrich instead of jumping for joy on the bed?”

Abby rolled her eyes, at a loss for words to explain her tangled emotions. “Because I don’t trust him. And I don’t trust myself to make the right decision.”

Dee came and sat on the bed beside her. “Tell Mama.”

Abby accepted a sip from her friend’s mug then rolled her eyes with the effort of putting her feelings into words. “He’s…I don’t know…overpowering. You’d have to see him to understand. Matthew Smythe walks into a room, and you just know he’s going to waltz out of there with anything he wants. I’ll bet he signs deals next week with all three of the bigwigs he was entertaining last night. And when he drove me home in his limo—”

“His li-mo-o-o-o?” Dee arched an ebony brow at her.

“Yes, his limo. When he drove me home after his guests had left, he told me he wanted me to come work for him. When I didn’t say yes right away, he kept upping the ante. He swore it was strictly business, no fooling around.”

“They all do,” Dee mused, but didn’t look too unhappy at the thought.

“It sounded as if he meant it. That’s what bothered me.”

“You mean, you wanted him to proposition you?”

“Of course not…at least, I don’t think I did. But when he didn’t I felt kind of…disappointed.” Abby agitatedly fluttered her fingers in the air. “It’s hard to explain. I just don’t trust myself around him. I’m like a spaceship in one of those intergalactic sci-fi flicks. My shields go down.”

Dee laughed. “You’ve really got it bad, girl.”

“The irritating thing is, I know the job is absolutely perfect. It would put me miles ahead in my master plan to open my own place. I’d only have to work for Smythe two, maybe three years…and I’d have all my start-up money plus the experience I’d need to run my own business.”

“But?”

“But I’d have to keep my shields up.”

“And after all this time, you don’t really want to, is that it?”

The all this time brought a painful twinge of remorse to her heart, for the words didn’t refer to the few hours she’d known Lord Matthew Smythe. Dee was referring to the other men who had come into Abby’s life, only to be told that she intended to wait for marriage to sleep with anyone. Richad Wooten, the last one, had nearly made it to the altar. Nearly being the operative word.

Abby nodded slowly, only now admitting to herself what she’d felt all the night before. “I can’t begin to tell you how handsome he is and what he does to my insides.” She hesitated. “And there’s something else.”

“I’m listening.” Dee sipped her coffee, her eyes never leaving Abby’s.

“I’m not sure I believe his promise that it will always be only business between us. And I know that sounds as if I’m contradicting myself—because of what I said about being attracted to him. But I keep asking myself, if he’s lying to me about our getting involved, how can I trust him not to lie about other things—like not firing me after just a few months?”

Dee shrugged. “Good point. You’d be working here in Chicago?”

“Some of the time.” Abby pursed her lips and looked across the bedroom at her collection of tiny crystal animals on the bureau. She’d had some of them since she was in seventh grade, and her parents still added a new one every birthday and Christmas. No matter where she’d lived, even in the dorm at school, they’d been with her. “He travels a lot, keeps offices on the West Coast, in New York, and entertains at his villa in Bermuda.”

“No way.”

“I swear. I’m supposed to accompany him, set up his receptions and parties, play hostess wherever he goes.”

Dee solemnly shook her head. “Definitely a tough life…”

Glaring at her roommate, Abby raised a warning finger. “You’re laughing at me.”

Dee winked. “Now would I do that?”

The phone rang before Abby could heave a pillow at her. Reaching across her rumpled sheets, she picked up the receiver.

Before Abby could answer, a voice boomed through the line. “I want your answer now.”

“Lord Smythe!” Self-consciously, Abby yanked the sheets up over the front of her thin nightdress…then felt silly when Dee laughed at her knee-jerk gesture of modesty. “I haven’t really had a chance to thi—”

“You’ve slept on my proposal,” he stated. “If you don’t know your own mind by now, you won’t know it any better twenty-four hours from now.”

Abby shot a desperate look at Dee, who blinked, looked amused, and was no help at all.

Abby cleared her throat. “Working for you would mean a lot of changes for me. I told you, I’ve never considered leaving Chicago and—”

“Do you have family here?” he asked.

Was she imagining a gentling of his voice? “Not in the city. But my parents live thirty miles away. I have no brothers or sisters.”

“Your parents are in good health?”

“Yes.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No,” she answered automatically, although she would have told any other person interviewing her for a job that such information was none of their business.

“No one serious in your life,” he murmured. “And you have no personal commitments. I see.”

What does “I see” mean? she thought frantically.

“Then tell me, Abby,” he asked in a rich baritone that sent curls of warmth through her center, “what is keeping you cemented to this city?”

What indeed? she asked herself. Perhaps it was just that she’d never considered living elsewhere. She felt safe here, comfortable within familiar surroundings. Chicago had never seemed a big city to her, even though she’d grown up on a dairy farm. She loved the distinct neighborhoods of the windy city. She had friends in Greektown, shopped the Arab fruit markets and Jewish bakeries and ate in Polish restaurants. She had never considered needing a larger canvas on which to paint her life. Everything she needed to be happy was right here.

Or so she’d always thought.

“Nothing,” she whispered into the phone. “Nothing keeps me here. It’s just my home.”

He was silent on the other end, and she could tell this was a silence calculated to let her think about what she’d just said. She did think. She considered the advantages he was offering her…and the dangers. Far more risk was involved in working for Matthew Smythe than she’d ever dreamed of taking. Her stomach felt tied in a knot.

Dee nudged her, hard. When Abby looked up, her friend was mouthing the words—Take it! Take it! Take it!

Abby drew a long, deep breath, then let it out very slowly. “I need to give my boss notice.”

“I want you to start today.”

“But I—”

“Monday morning we’ll leave for New York. You’ll need the weekend to familiarize yourself with the company’s products and the accounts we’ll be working on. I’ll want you in my office by noon today.”

Abby covered the receiver and whispered, “I’m negotiating with Attila the Hun!”

Dee chuckled. “Honey, aggression’s bred into ’em.”

Not into every man, Abby thought. They weren’t all as arrogant and bent on having their own way as the entrepreneur aristocrat. Every instinct told her to say no. Just to spite the man. But by doing so she would hurt only herself. There were hundreds…thousands of young women who would leap at the chance to work for Smythe, travel the world and be paid far more than they were worth.

Through the line she thought she could hear another voice. A woman’s. Abby’s ears perked up, but she couldn’t make out the exact words.

Then Matt was back on the phone, his tone noticeably gentler. “If you accept the terms of our agreement and the salary suits you, Paula will be here at the office to brief you. She says just to let her know a convenient time, and she’ll make sure she’s available.” He sounded like a schoolboy who’d been taken to task by his teacher. So there was someone who had found a way to muffle his bark. Interesting, Abby thought.

“I can’t leave my boss at the Cup and Saucer without any help,” she responded cautiously. “If I’m able to find someone today to fill in for me until a full-time replacement is hired, I’ll come to your office as soon as possible. If not, I’ll let you know when I can make it.”

Matt hung up the phone and sat staring at it, considering the conversation he had just had. Abby had never actually said she was taking the job. She simply informed him she would come if and when she could. It was almost as if she was still wrestling with him for control. Control over what, though? He’d always thought that employer–employee relationships were pretty clear-cut. He was the one who was supposed to be the boss!

After Paula left the room, he slid lower in the high-backed Scandinavian chair, clunked his heels on the polished teak desktop and thought about all of this before remembering a scene he’d witnessed recently while jogging through Lake Shore Park. He had been running his usual five miles when he spotted a toddler in a bathing suit, standing at the water’s edge. She was testing the temperature with the toes of one bare foot, giggling and running back from the lapping wavelets, then touching them again, and again—until she finally worked up the courage to wade in up to her ankles, then her knees, then finally to her waist. At which point she had turned and grinned triumphantly at her parents who were watching with amusement from the shore.

Abby was eager to succeed, and bright, he had no doubt of that, but eternally wary.

Caution was a foreign concept to him. Matt supposed his lack of fear came from never having to worry about failing. His family’s money had always provided an excellent safety net. No doubt his brothers felt it, too. When several million sat snugly in a London bank account with your name on it, you didn’t worry about making mistakes. What was the worst that could happen? Your latest business venture would flop. Then you’d have to try something different. But you’d bloody well still have a roof over your head and a meal on your plate the next day.

What mattered most to him wasn’t making more money. Matt could take or leave that. He supposed the drive to succeed that had spurred him on had more to do with showing his father that he didn’t need him, his aristocratic fortune or the estate in the South of England that came with his title. Just as the earl of Suffolk had demonstrated time and again to his sons that he didn’t need them. Matt had come to America the first chance he got and made it on his own—totally on his own—leaving money, valuable social and business connections, and land behind.

But Abby didn’t have scratch.

He knew the type because Paula had been much like her—although somewhat older and with two sons—before she’d come to work for him. Paula used to buy groceries for a month at a time then squirrel them away, making the food last as long as possible. She paid her rent not a day early, keeping it in a savings account to capture those few extra pennies of interest. Nearly all of every paycheck was spent on bills and necessities. Paula had once confided in him that she had maxed out her credit cards months before he hired her.

The idea of Abby ever being able to scrape up enough cash from her old job to start a business was ludicrous.

There were thousands of single people like Paula and Abby—living on the edge but still cherishing their dreams of being out of debt, maybe even owning their own home someday. He didn’t think of himself as a philanthropist, but he liked to believe he was giving the men and women he hired a chance to turn their lives around. Some did. Others failed to take advantage of all he was offering them.

Which would it be for Abby?

Matt tossed two files into his briefcase, ordered his car to be brought around, then returned two important calls. As he strode through the reception area, Paula looked up from her desk.

“Your new gal-Friday called. You were on your line so I took the message. She said she’d be here around two o’clock.”

“Good. You’ll brief her as we discussed?”

Paula nodded, but gave him a strange look. “You won’t be here when she arrives?”

“I have no idea when I’ll be back from my appointments. You can do the honors.”

He hesitated before stepping into the hallway. “Thank you, Paula, for coming in on a Saturday. Will you still have some time to spend with your boys this weekend?”

She laughed at him. “Saturdays, young men have their own agendas. Or don’t you remember the other side of twenty? Tomorrow, though, they’ll take me out for brunch. We splurge on double-yolk omelets once a month.”

Matt smiled, glad to see her beaming with pride. Before too many years, the boys would be applying to colleges. He’d have to look into scholarship possibilities then, or maybe a private grant.

“Have fun tomorrow then. You can leave as soon as you’ve given Abby the lowdown. Tell her to wait for me. She can keep herself busy reading clients’ files until I get here.”

As Matt waited for the elevator, he thought again about Abby. Or maybe it was just a continuation of one long thought that had extended over nearly two days. He would probably be back in the office by five o’clock. By then he would have to come up with a safe method of relating to her. Last night, as he had drifted off to sleep, she had come to him. Those lovely limbs, mocha eyes, the tumble of red hair curling down over her shoulders…amazing.

Now he firmly assured himself that, once they buckled down to a regular work schedule, he would discover enough irritating things about her to shut down his rogue hormones. Then he’d have no more of those thoughts.

Abby was a little surprised that Wanda Evans, her boss at the Cup and Saucer, took her sudden resignation as calmly as she did. “Don’t you worry, dear, I have everything covered here. This sounds like a wonderful opportunity. Good luck.” And that was that.

Her arrival at Smythe International was unremarkable, too. She was met by Paula Shapiro, the woman she’d seen with Matt the day before. Paula introduced herself, with a twinkle in her eyes. “My official title is executive assistant. Plain old secretary would be fine by me. My real job is to keep the man from killing himself and the rest of us with work.”

Abby laughed a little nervously. “He does seem to like getting things done fast…and his own way.”

“Oh, he knows his own mind, that’s for sure. And there’s both heaven and hell to pay when he doesn’t get it. But let me tell you,” Paula whispered confidentially as she took Abby’s arm and guided her past two empty offices then into a quiet conference room, “the best way to handle the man is not to let him think you’re afraid of him. He knows enough not to mess with me, but he scared off his last four hostesses without even realizing he was doing it. Before that, one fell in love with him and, of course, that was the kiss of death as far as Matt is concerned. He keeps business strictly separate from his social life. And the one before that, she got herself engaged to one of his clients and flew off to Paris with him.”

Abby shook her head. This didn’t sound encouraging at all. “I’m curious…how long has each of his hostesses before me lasted?”

“The longest was a year. The shortest, two weeks. I’m hoping you’ll hang in with us a while.” Paula squeezed her arm and waved toward a seat at the long mahogany table piled with tabbed folders. “We could use some stability around here. It’s hard having to work with new people all the time.”