Читать книгу Bachelor Boss - Pamela Ingrahm, Pamela Ingrahm - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Madalyn shook a cramp out of her wrist. Now she knew why they called Philip Ambercroft a tyrant!

Thank God her mother was visiting from Louisiana. She was lucky enough to have a private sitter who never worried about an exact pick-up time, and she had a cousin in town who was always delighted to get Erin in an emergency, but she hated to ask unless it was absolutely necessary. At least her guilt was somewhat mitigated by knowing Erin was with her grandmother—someone who worshiped the ground Erin toddled on.

She reminded herself not to complain. Even if it was a bit surprising to be put to work the same day as an interview—and at five o’clock in the evening at that—at least Philip was interested in her. And if she made a good impression, her future employment might just be sealed. He was by no means bound by what he’d said earlier, so she wanted to be dam sure to earn that permanent position.

She knew some called him ruthless, castigating him as a takeover tycoon, but she had read enough about him to know that while he wasn’t totally altruistic, he did rebuild the floundering companies he bought and turned them into cash cows. She admired Philip’s nononsense approach to business and his refusal to accept less than the best from his employees. She had scraped and pulled herself inch by inch out of the suffocating poverty of her hometown, and had gotten where she was by giving one hundred and ten percent at every job she’d ever had. Philip seemed like a boss who could appreciate that kind of work ethic.

As long as he didn’t take advantage too often. She admitted she was a bit sensitive in this area, but she was working on not letting a past mistake color her whole future. Not every handsome boss was a lying snake in the grass.

Of course, now that she’d taken dictation steadily for over an hour, which still had to be typed up, a part of Madalyn wanted to tell him to take his job and...well, do something anatomically impossible with it. The thought was fleeting, and she nearly gave her desk a superstitious rap. She didn’t want to jinx anything, even with an errant though.

She didn’t mind giving one hundred and ten percent, but today was her birthday. Her mother was waiting to go out for Chinese food, and then they were going to take turns arguing over who got to hold Erin while they watched the movie Madalyn had rented the night before. It probably wasn’t most people’s idea of a big birthday bash, but it suited her just fine.

Madalyn glanced at the clock. It was almost seven and she wasn’t even close to being finished. Picking up the telephone, she sighed and dialed her home number. She brushed a wayward strand of not-quite brown, not-quite-red hair out of the way as she pressed the receiver to her ear.

Her mother’s Cajun accent jarred her out of her wandering thoughts.

“Et?”

“Hi, Mom, it’s me again. Looks like we have to cancel my birthday plans. I’m not even close to getting out of here.”

“You’re still working? My goodness!”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there, but that may not be for a while. Don’t let me forget to call Mr. Price at home and let him know what happened.”

“I’ll write you a note. I’m sorry about tonight, shay. But my angel and I are having a good time.”

“Oh, yeah? And how many cookies has she conned you out of?”

“Don’ you talk about my angel that way!”

“Mother...”

“Just three, but they were just a bit and a piece—”

“Mother, don’t you dare give her another one. Has she eaten any dinner at all?”

“Yes, and had a bath, and she’s rubbin’ her little eyes. I swear she looks like your papa lookin’ back at me.”

Madalyn smiled. “I know, Mama. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon. Kiss my sweetie for me.”

“Sho’ thing. You drive home careful, he’ya?”

“Yes, I hear. Love you.”

Madalyn hung up, her good humor restored. With her usual determination, she faced the computer screen and typed the pages of dictation she’d taken. Once she was in the groove, she lost track of time again, and it was only when she realized she was in danger of a permanent crick in her neck that she stopped and stretched.

“Madalyn?”

Philip’s voice startled her, making her heart race. She hadn’t even heard him open his door.

“I’m sorry I’ve taken such advantage of you on your birthday. I was looking over your résumé again and the date finally struck me.”

She tried to make her smile sincere. “That happens sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Still, I’ve thrust you straight into the lion’s den and didn’t even think about the time. Let me take you to dinner to make up for it.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary—”

“I insist. What do you like? Chinese? Mexican?”

“I love Chinese, but—”

Madalyn paused, sensing a challenge in his voice. Good heavens, hadn’t she proven already that she was a team player? A cold fear settled in her stomach, and she hoped she hadn’t misjudged Philip—she hoped he wasn’t the philandering type. But then, she’d misjudged before...

“Philip, listen, I have to be up-front with you.” She took a deep breath, hoping she wasn’t about to put herself out of a job. “I’m not comfortable mixing business with social events. I appreciate the offer and all, but I’d rather not.”

He looked surprised, but nodded graciously.

“Very well, then. Why don’t you get out of here and salvage what’s left of your evening?”

“I appreciate that. I’m close to being done, so I’d like to finish these letters so we can start fresh tomorrow. If that’s all right.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“Really, I’d rather. It shouldn’t take me but an hour or so. I’m on a roll. Unless I’m keeping you?”

“Not at all. I appreciate the offer.”

He retreated again into his office, and his phone line lit up almost immediately. It only served to heighten her image of Philip at his desk seven days a week. She didn’t need her insider info to know that he was a driven man; that was the first thing any article said about him. Now that she’d met him in person, his drive emanated from him in a palpable wave. She wondered for a moment just what she’d gotten herself into, and decided just as quickly that she’d work weekends without complaint, if he asked, for the experience this was going to provide her, and the security it would give her and Erin.

She wasn’t sure what could have surprised her more, a mere forty-five minutes later, when the elevator door opened and a man came in bearing white plastic bags. The smells emanating from the bags made her stomach grumble, and she didn’t have to be able to read the red symbols on the outside of the bags to know a feast had just been delivered from Woo Duck Fong’s Chinese Emporium. Fong’s was her favorite restaurant in the whole world.

Philip must have heard the commotion, for his door opened and he took care of the delivery guy with a minimum of fuss. She watched, amusement warring with concern.

“Philip—”

“Nope, no arguments. I’ve worked you like a slave driver on your birthday. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my invitation, so I did the next best thing.”

While he was speaking, he’d been pulling out little boxes and covered bowls. He moved files from her desk to the floor to make room.

“You really shouldn’t have.”

A smile transformed his face, making her heart turn over.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe she should keep looking until she found a kind, toadfaced man who was at least five inches shorter than her to work for. Anyone but a tall, dark man with a smile that could light up entire rooms at a time.

Madalyn didn’t want to admit how nervous his proximity made her, and she tried to tell herself it was because he was her new boss, not because he was so devastatingly handsome. It was nearly eight o’clock at night and the man’s suit looked as fresh and crisp as if he’d just put it on. She, on the other hand, felt rumpled and wrinkled, which was not unexpected after the day she’d had. Her suit jacket was hanging on the back of her chair and now she wished she hadn’t taken it off.

Giving herself a stern mental rap on the knuckles, she told herself to be gracious, eat the food that was making her mouth water and then get home.

“Thank you for the dinner. It smells great. But how did you know Fong’s is my favorite?”

“Isn’t it everybody’s?” he asked, his expression teasing. “The truth is, I had no idea, but you said you loved Chinese, and this is the best food this side of Hong Kong, so it made sense to me....”

Somehow she knew he wasn’t speaking metaphorically. He’d probably been to Hong Kong a dozen times and knew exactly who served the best Chinese food this side of the Pacific.

Philip pulled one of the guest chairs closer to the desk and settled back with a carton of beef and broccoli.

“So tell me about yourself, your family.” He grimaced and waved his chopsticks in the air. “Wait! Forget I asked that. My attorney said he’d have my head if I asked any personal questions of my employees.”

She had to smile at his obvious disgust. “I take it you’ve been thoroughly warned about avoiding discrimination lawsuits.”

Stabbing a bright green broccoli flower, he chomped it with a satisfied sigh before nodding. “Sometimes I think we’ve just about gone over the edge with political correctness. I hate having to guard every word I say.”

Madalyn tilted her head to the side. “I’m surprised With your business reputation, I’d think you’d be well-tuned to this stuff.”

“This stuff, as you put it, is taking all the fun out of business.”

“Well, don’t worry. You didn’t offend me, and I promise not to sue.”

He returned her smile and leaned forward, reaching for a packet of soy sauce. “Good. So tell me about yourself, Madalyn Wier.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything. Start with the usual, like where you’re from, and we’ll go from there.”

Other than perfunctory information, she hardly expected true interest from him. After a few unimportant details, undoubtedly he’d carry the conversation. Which was fine with her, since he’d been a source of fascination for her for a long time. She wanted to know everything about him, and to have the ball in her court was slightly disconcerting.

“I was raised in a little town called Asulta, Louisiana.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

She laughed. “Of course you haven’t! It’s a tiny little town, meriting a mere pinprick on a Rand-McNally map. We’re far off the beaten path and miles from the nearest highway, so the only industry in our town is a couple of garment factories. Everyone worked for one or the other, except for the few folks like my father who worked for the school system.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a janitor until he died when I was eight”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that he was a janitor or sorry he died?”

His lips curved in an answer to her cheeky question. When he smiled, his face was transformed from godlike perfection to a boyish charm that captivated her. It took yet another stern mental warning to remind her that she didn’t need to be captivated by her new boss—even if he was just a temporary boss.

“I’m sorry that you lost your father,” he clarified with definite sincerity in his voice, despite his teasing smile. “I lost my father when I was in college, and that was hard enough. I can’t imagine being as young as eight.”

“It was rough,” she admitted without rancor. “I was a late-life surprise for my parents, so I have to confess I was fairly doted on.”

His expression turned slightly ironic. “I can see we had vastly different childhoods.”

“I’ll say,” she said with a laugh. “I’d never even seen a tennis court, except on television, until I was a teenager.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied. “I’m just trying to picture my father as doting, and the image just won’t gel.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say,” she admitted hesitantly. He’d startled her as she never expected something so personal to enter the conversation. Weren’t negative family comments a no-no in the rich person’s rule book?

Philip shook his head as if suddenly realazing what he’d said.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepishness that reached out and caught her imagination. “Didn’t mean to get maudlin on you.”

Maudlin wasn’t the word she would have chosen. Introspective, maybe, but that’s what nabbed her attention so fully. The image she was getting of him conflicted with the picture she’d already drawn in her mind. She expected someone cold and calculating, someone who never looked at the past, yet she was facing someone quite charming with an undercurrent of power and magnetism that she would do well to not underestimate.

He put his entrée on the desk before shifting to casually rest his arm on the back of his chair. The move stretched his dress shirt across his chest, his jacket now discarded, and her mouth went a little dry. Good heavens, the man was dreamy! Maybe it was her imagination, but he bore an uncanny resemblance to her favorite actor, although Mr. Brosnan might argue the presumption. Still, with the five-o’clock shadow shading his face and his dark hair just everso-slightly mussed, she’d have to say that yes, indeed, Philip Ambercroft looked rather Bond-ish at the moment

“So tell me about your favorite birthday memory,” he said, startling her out of her wayward thoughts.

Wrinkling her brow, Madalyn tried to think. Favorite birthday?

“I guess it would be my eighth, just before my father died. A carnival was in a town close to ours and where my dad got the money, I have no idea, but we all went and rode every ride, ate every kind of junk food, and I got to ride the little Shetland ponies—you know, where they walk around slowly in a circle? Real excitement for a girl who’d never even seen a horse up close and personal. What about you?”

“Easy. I was sixteen and at boarding school in Switzerland. My parents couldn’t make it over and I spent the entire weekend by myself on the slopes. No pressure, no one watching, no yardsticks.”

“Your sixteenth birthday by yourself? That sounds sad.”

“Not at all. It was the first time I felt like my birthday wasn’t some kind of litmus test about my reaching my manhood.”

He said manhood with such derision, she couldn’t begin to imagine growing up under such pressure. The image was heart-wrenching, one he’d managed to convey in a sentence, and she was once again stunned by this very personal glimpse into a very private man’s life.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Holidays are special to me. Especially Christmas and birthdays. Sounds like you could take ‘em or leave ’em.”

“Oh, not so. And forgive me for being so talkative. I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight.”

“Must be my talent at scintillating dialogue,” she said drolly.

“Must be,” he agreed, his tongue in his cheek.

“You’ll have to remember where to come when you’re depressed from now on. Just call me Dr. Madalyn.”

“Well, Doctor, I think your dinner is getting cold so we’ll have to finish the session another day.”

“Oh, dam,” she said with mock regret, digging in to her orange chicken again and taking a bite. She sighed with sheer pleasure and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

As they finished the soup and egg rolls, the conversation became light and mundane. They talked about the building, about some of Ambercroft’s diverse holdings—nothing she didn’t already know from her research. But it was fun to listen to him talk, to watch his face brighten with pride. He really did love his company, and the many philanthropic endeavors they were involved in.

He even mentioned the gala Eva Price was chairing for the Pediatric AIDS League.

“Are you going?” She couldn’t stop enthusiasm from coloring her voice. How wonderful for Eva, to grab a contributor the likes of the Ambercroft family.

“I haven’t committed yet. Are you attending?”

“Um, yes,” she said, now hesitant and unsure why. “I’m sort of on the committee. I’ve done several with Eva, and it’s wonderful to be a part of such good work.”

“Then I’ll just have to find that invitation and RSVP, won’t I?”

Not sure how she was supposed to respond, she concentrated on the last of her fried rice. The food had been great, and she’d enjoyed talking to Philip, but Madalyn was ready for the evening to be over. It had been a long day, she was tired and she wanted to snuggle her baby for a few minutes before dropping into bed. She thought about telling Philip about Erin, but she didn’t want to start another long conversation.

Philip surprised her when he began clearing the desk.

“I can do that,” she said, preparing to help.

“No. You shut down the computer and get your things. It’s time for the birthday girl to open her fortune cookie and then go home.”

Dutifully cracking the treat, she opened the little slip of paper and immediately laughed.

“Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It says, ‘A new job awaits you.”’

“You’re joshing me.”

She handed over the fortune, and he laughed with her. “Well, I’m wondering about mine, then. It says, ‘You are next in line for a promotion.”’

She cocked her head. “Can the boss get a promotion?”

“Beats me. But I’ll be sure to bring this to my next board of directors meeting.”

With another round of laughter, they were ready to call it a night. In no time, they were in the elevator and headed for the parking garage. Philip had been so polite the entire evening, it didn’t surprise her when he took the keys from her and opened her car door. Still, she stood there, trying to display the proper amount of righteous, feminist indignation. The problem was, he’d moved so confidently, with such arrogant smoothness, she forgot what she was supposed to do. All she could concentrate on was how close he was, how alone they were, how soft his lips looked. The awkwardness seemed to have vanished, and for the merest second, it seemed he was bending closer to her and she gasped. Yes, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to see if he was everything her imagination promised—

Reality snapped back into place and they both jerked away at the same time. Humiliation burned her face and she fussed with her purse strap so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. Maybe she could find a way to blame this on fatigue....

Wishing she could melt into the pavement, she managed to get in the car and strap her seat belt on.

“Good night, Madalyn,” he said, shutting her door for her. “Sleep in tomorrow. You deserve it.”

She wished she knew what he was thinking. Even more, she wished she could hide her feelings and thoughts as well as he could. She could only imagine the shade of red on her cheeks.

“Good night. And thank you again for dinner.”

He nodded and stepped back so she could pull away, waiting until she’d disappeared from sight before going back to the elevator.

What the hell was wrong with him? When he’d called in dinner, he’d admitted it was a little unusual, but in his wildest dreams he’d never imagined that his secretary would turn him into a jabberjaw. He never talked about his childhood, and he never, ever talked about it with a stranger. But she’d tossed his questions back to him, and he’d responded, the words coming out of his mouth of their own volition.

Which was a huge sign that he needed to stay away from this woman in anything resembling a personal conversation. If she could turn what he had formerly considered his iron-clad control to mush this effortlessly, heaven forbid if she ever asked any really private questions. He’d probably rattle off his Swiss bank-account numbers.

Then his behavior by her car. He was sure he was certifiable after that move. But she’d been so close, and the faint trace of her perfume had made him forget who he was, who she was. All that he’d been thinking at that moment was that he wanted to kiss her, taste her, see if she was as perfect as she appeared.

Thankfully something had snapped him back. Now he had to make sure that this incident was never reprised.

He just hadn’t expected to like her so much. He wasn’t sure why, except maybe that while he had an extreme respect for Mrs. Montague, he’d never taken her or any other secretary out for a private dinner... although, technically, this dinner had been “in” not “out.” Anniversaries and other special occasions were noted with bonuses and gift certificates for Mrs. Montague to enjoy with her family. It was a pattern that made them both comfortable.

But Madalyn had him thinking about sex—hot, hard, driving sex, and then slow, long and languorous sex—and all within hours of meeting her. It wasn’t anything she’d done. Not one movement, not one look, not one word had been suggestive or inappropriate.

It was something primal that called to him past her proper demeanor. Then she’d unknowingly pricked his conscience when they’d spoken about the Price gala, and he’d felt himself withdrawing.

What had Sir Walter Scott said? “Oh, what a tangled web we weave...”

Suddenly he wasn’t so sure working with her was such a good idea after all. Even if it meant not capturing Price Manufacturing, he decided having her so near was too risky. She messed with his equilibrium and he couldn’t afford that; he wouldn’t take that risk.

He had too much to do to be dealing with distractions by his own staff. Especially this kind of distraction. The best thing to do would be to cut his losses and get another temp. What was one more anyway, the way things had been going?

Feeling a pang of regret, he decided he’d have to break the news to her tomorrow.