Читать книгу The Billionaire and His Boss - Patricia Kay - Страница 9

Chapter Three

P.J. wanted to turn around and look back in the worst way. Yet the last thing, the very last thing she wanted was for Alex Noble to think she was interested in him like the rest of those silly women at work.

Because she wasn’t.

Not at all.

But, she thought grudgingly, she had to admit he was good to look at. Idly, she wondered how tall he was. At least six-two or six-three, she imagined. P.J. had always had a thing for tall men. Maybe that was because at five-seven she was on the tall side herself. And the rare times she got dressed up, she liked wearing three-inch heels. She also liked looking up when she was with a man. No Katie Holmes–Tom Cruise thing for her!

Will you stop it? Alex Noble is not in the running as an escort or anything else. Remember that. He’s an employee. Your employee. So even if you were interested—and you’re not!—you don’t date employees.

Ever.

Yet no matter how many times she told herself to stop thinking about Alex, she couldn’t seem to wipe the image of him in those shorts and that T-shirt that defined his well-developed pecs out of her mind.

She thought about him all the way back to her condo. She thought about him as she took a quick shower. She thought about him as she dressed to meet Courtney. And she was still thinking about him as she walked into Mackey’s Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown Webber—which was halfway between Seattle proper and Jansen—at exactly one minute to seven.

Courtney was already there and had secured a booth. She grinned at P.J. and stood to give her a hug. Courtney had inherited their mother’s blond hair and green eyes, whereas P.J.’s coloring came from her Grandmother Kincaid. As always, Courtney looked bandbox perfect in creamy linen cropped pants, a short-sleeved black silk summer sweater, and black espadrilles. P.J. couldn’t help but notice the beautifully manicured toenails and fingernails sporting a summery shade of coral. In contrast, P.J.’s own nails were unpolished and desperately needed work. And her jeans and T-shirt weren’t exactly the latest fashion, either.

That’s what happens when there’s no man in your life, an insidious little voice said. You forget to pay attention to yourself. She couldn’t even use the excuse of her job, because most of the women at the center paid a lot more attention to their appearance than P.J. did.

She and Courtney had barely said their hellos and how-are-yous when their waiter approached. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked, looking at P.J.

“What have you got on draft?” she asked.

He named the brands.

“No Black Sheep?” P.J. had a weakness for good English ale.

“No, sorry.”

“Okay. I’ll have a Guinness.” She smiled at her sister after he’d left to fill her order. “What’re you drinking?”

Courtney made a face. “Ginger ale.”

Thinking her sister wasn’t having a beer because she had a fairly long drive back to Mercer Island where she and her husband had bought a new home the year before, P.J. said, “One beer should be okay. I mean, you’re going to eat before you get behind the wheel again.”

Courtney hesitated, her gaze sliding away briefly before returning to meet P.J.’s. “That’s not why I’m not drinking,” she finally said.

“Well, what then—?” P.J. stopped abruptly. She fought against feelings she’d thought she’d conquered long ago. Yet here they were again, still hurtful, still unworthy of her, especially considering how much she loved Courtney. “You’re pregnant again?” she asked softly.

Courtney nodded. “Three months.”

“Three months! And you’ve kept it a secret this long?” P.J. was proud of herself. She sounded just the way she wanted to sound—happy for Courtney and nothing else.

“I wanted to wait till I’d passed the first trimester.” Courtney’s eyes searched P.J.’s. P.J. knew Courtney was worried about how her news would affect P.J.

Reaching across the table, she took Courtney’s hand. “Are you happy about this?” Courtney and her husband already had three kids—a boy, ten, and two little girls, seven and four.

Courtney nodded. “I am. Brad…well, he wants another boy in the worst way.”

P.J. refrained from rolling her eyes or saying what she thought about Brad and his wants. In her opinion, her sister’s husband was a neanderthal. P.J. wouldn’t have put up with him for a minute, let alone the twelve years Courtney’d been married to him. For one thing, he didn’t believe in women holding jobs outside the home.

For another, he was constantly saying things like, “Honey, you wouldn’t understand that even if I did explain it,” when Courtney asked him about anything to do with his job. You’d think he was a rocket scientist, for God’s sake, when he was a lawyer.

Courtney was every bit as smart as he was, probably smarter, P.J. thought. Yet she seemed contented with Brad. His put-downs didn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice them.

To each his own, P.J. thought. Better her than me.

“Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you,” she said now. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Courtney sipped at her ginger ale and eyed her sister over the rim of her glass.

P.J. knew she wanted to say something. To prevent yet another conversation about P.J.’s situation, she hurriedly asked, “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“Not yet.”

“You mean, you’re telling me before you told them?”

“You’re my favorite sister, you know that.”

They smiled at each other, and P.J. forced herself to remember how lucky she was. She might not ever be able to have any children of her own, and she might have repudiated her family’s money and her status as an heiress, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her parents and siblings. And she absolutely adored her nieces and nephews—Courtney’s three and soon to be four, Jillian’s two, and Peter’s two.

P.J. told herself it didn’t matter if she couldn’t have kids, because she had no intention of getting married, anyway. She’d known long ago she wasn’t cut out for marriage. In fact, she couldn’t imagine subjugating herself to a man…any man. Just the idea of a man telling her what she could and couldn’t do set her teeth on edge.

And she certainly wasn’t cut out for homemaking. Hell, she couldn’t even boil water, let alone cook. And as far as cleaning went, forget that, too. One of her indulgences was a once-a-week maid service, and even if she had to give up food, she intended to keep that.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She liked food too much, especially carbs. In fact, she’d never met a carb she didn’t like. That was the biggest reason she forced herself to run five miles every day. So she could keep eating all those fries and pasta and pizza and still keep her figure.

Yet, even as she told herself all of this, she knew she might have been willing to give the marriage thing a try if not for her probable inability to have children. Providing, of course, the right man should come along.

You can always adopt.

Maybe, she thought. But there again, it would take the right kind of man. And lately, she’d begun to think he didn’t exist.

Plenty of single women adopt.

P.J. had actually considered adoption. In fact, she’d given some serious consideration to adopting an older child—one of the ones considered hard to place since everyone seemed to want babies. And maybe one of these days she’d finally get around to doing something about it.

By now the waiter had brought P.J.’s beer and the sisters had placed their orders—P.J. a steak sandwich and fries, Courtney the house specialty of coconut-crusted shrimp salad.

“P.J., you eat entirely too much junk food,” Courtney said mildly as their waiter walked off.

“I know. That’s why I run.”

“Do you ever eat a salad?”

“Sure.”

“How often, once a month?”

P.J. grinned. “You know me too well.” After taking a swallow of her beer, she said, “So you’re due in…mid-February?”

Courtney nodded. “February fourteenth, to be exact.”

“At least it’s not Christmas day.” P.J.’s birthday was two days before Christmas and she’d always hated that. “Just don’t name him Valentino or something like that.”

Courtney snorted. “Like Brad would let me.”

To keep from saying something snide about Brad, P.J. said, “So what else is new?”

“Let’s see. Um, Melissa McKee is getting a divorce.”

“You’re not serious!”

“Melissa’s the one who told me.”

“That’s a shame. I thought she and Rod had a good marriage.”

“Hey, he’ll be eligible now…” Courtney’s eyes were speculative.

P.J. knew what she was thinking. “Forget that,” she said quickly. “He’s not my type. But he’ll have no shortage of women lining up to be the next Mrs. McKee, I’m sure of that.”

Rod was a very wealthy man as well as a good-looking one. P.J. wasn’t sure what he did. Something in commodities trading, she thought. He probably had no social conscience to speak of. Definitely not her type.

Thinking that, she couldn’t help remembering she’d said the same thing about Alex Noble just today, that he was not her type, either. Something in her expression must have alerted Courtney to the direction of her thoughts because her sister said, “Wait a minute. Are you dating someone?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“You had a strange look on your face.”

“Oh, I was just thinking about a new guy who started working for me today. Anna—you’ve heard me talk about her—said something about him and I told her he wasn’t my type, either.”

“Why’d she say something about him?”

P.J. shrugged. “He’s kind of a hunk. If you like that type.”

“And what type is that?”

“Oh, you know, tall, dark, handsome.” P.J. smiled in spite of herself.

“And you don’t like that type.” Courtney shook her head, laughing. “You’re one of a kind, you know that?”

Just then the waiter came with their food, and the sisters fell silent until he was gone again.

Courtney began to cut up her salad. She speared a piece of shrimp and some lettuce leaves, but before putting them into her mouth, she said, “Maybe you should give this new guy at work a chance. Who knows? You might actually like him.”

“Who said he’s interested in me?” P.J. poured a mound of ketchup next to her fries and dipped one in.

Courtney gave her a look. “You’re a very pretty, very sexy woman. Of course he’ll be interested in you.” She forked another bite of salad into her mouth. Then she grinned. “That’s if you can keep your mouth shut.”

P.J. glared at her sister. But she couldn’t hold the expression and was soon laughing. “Yeah, that can be a problem,” she admitted. She’d run more than one guy off by expressing her opinions, which were almost always diametrically opposed to theirs.

“So tell me more about this guy,” Courtney said when their laughter subsided.

“No point. I’m not interested in him. And even if I were