Читать книгу The Texan's Business Proposition - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 6

Now, this is the life, Sally Gregg thought to herself. Swaying palm trees, a private pool, a house with every amenity known to man.

She tipped her sunglasses down and craned her neck to peer at the structure behind her. Not just a house, she corrected. It was a friggin’ mansion. Nestled in Houston’s prestigious River Oaks subdivision and situated on two lush acres, the house rivaled its neighbors in both design and size.

Too bad the interior doesn’t reflect the traditional style of the exterior, she thought with regret. She supposed the ultramodern design suited her boss, but the mix of chrome and black lacquer didn’t do a thing for her.

Thankfully her boss had limited the changes he’d made after purchasing the house to the inside and had left the exterior and landscaping alone. As a result, the backyard was an oasis, as soothing to the soul as it was to the eye. A clever blend of French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of the pool and landscaped lawn beyond from inside the house.

Sure beats the heck out of the view of the parking lot from my apartment window, she thought with more than a little envy. With a sigh, she pushed her sunglasses back into place and settled on the lounge chair again.

But she’d have a house someday, she promised herself. Maybe not as large and grand as her boss’s and definitely not one with a River Oaks address, but she’d have a home.

The only thing that kept her from having one now was money. Thanks to the generous salary her employer paid her and her own prudent lifestyle, she was steadily chipping away at that particular roadblock. Having learned frugality the hard way—by necessity—she knew how to stretch a dollar until it all but screamed for mercy. As a result she was close to becoming debt free, while still managing to squirrel away money toward a down payment.

Which she’d already have, if not for Brad.

She scowled at the reminder of her ex. She never should have given him the money, she thought bitterly. She, better than anyone, knew he’d never pay it back. Brad was, and always had been, fast with a promise and slow on delivery.

It was bad enough that she’d wasted four years of her life with a man who didn’t care for her, but then he’d decided to prolong her misery by showing up unannounced on her doorstep every time he needed money. For some stupid reason, he’d gotten it in his head that she owed him, which was insane, considering she had been the sole breadwinner throughout their marriage. Now she was forced to constantly move, in order to escape his mental abuse and the demands he made on her. As a result of the forced nomadic lifestyle, she had few possessions and even fewer friends.

She stubbornly pushed the thoughts of her ex from her mind. She wasn’t letting Brad, or anything, for that matter, spoil her stay in paradise. And house-sitting for Vince Donnelly was exactly that. Paradise.

She shivered deliciously, thinking the stars definitely had been shining on her the day she’d snagged the job as Vince’s executive secretary. Besides house-sitting for him when he was out of town—a perk she hadn’t expected when she’d accepted the job—she received an above-average salary and more benefits than any of the other positions she’d applied for after moving to Houston. Granted, Vince wasn’t the easiest man to work with. He was obsessive, demanding and micromanaged all of his employees. But he was also successful and drop-dead gorgeous.

Not that his looks had factored into her accepting the job as his secretary, she thought judiciously. Money was her motivator.

She remembered the shock she’d experienced when she’d walked into his office for her job interview and gotten her first look at the owner and founder of Donnelly Consulting. Based on the size and value of the company, she’d expected an older man. One with at least a spattering of gray at his temples.

What she’d found was a thirty-six-year-old hunk with the disposition of a grizzly bear.

With a shake of her head, she sat up and reached for the bottle of sunscreen, squirted a blob on her palm. Thirty minutes, she promised herself as she smoothed the cream over her arms, chest and legs, then she’d go inside and tackle the tasks her boss had e-mailed her overnight.

Grimacing, she mentally added workaholic to her boss’s faults. The man was relentless. In the four months she’d worked for him, she’d never known him to take so much as a day off, which was a shame, since his business trips took him all over the world.

With a rueful shake of her head, she lay back and closed her eyes again. If she were required to take business trips all over the world, she’d darn well stay over a day or two and see the sights. Tokyo. Paris. Venice.

She smiled dreamily, easily able to imagine herself floating on a gondola along the canals of Venice.

“Sally!”

She shot up from the chair, to find her boss standing in the open French door.

“Vince,” she said dully. Remembering how she was dressed, she snatched up a towel and whipped it around her. “What are you doing home? You aren’t supposed to be back until Monday.”

“Cut the trip short. Wasn’t feeling good.”

She peered at him more closely and had to admit he did look kind of sick. His face was pale, his shoulders stooped, his clothing rumpled. “Did you pick up a bug or something?”

Shaking his head, he rubbed a hand across his chest. “Heartburn. Something I ate must not have agreed with me.”

She started toward him, praying whatever he had wasn’t contagious. “When did you get sick?”

“Hit me last night. Caught a red-eye home.” He braced a hand against the doorjamb as if needing its support as he turned inside the house. “Did you update the spreadsheets on the Holmes deal?”

She rolled her eyes, but dutifully followed him inside. “No.”

He shot her a frown over his shoulder. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”

“Yes. This morning. I planned to do it this afternoon.”

“I need that report now.”

Before she could remind him it was Saturday and technically her day off, he clamped a hand over the back of a chair and bent double with a groan.

“Vince?” When he didn’t reply, she moved around him to peer at his face and saw that his skin had turned a deathly gray and his breathing was labored. “Vince? Are you okay?”

He pressed a hand against his chest. “Can’t breathe,” he choked out.

She bolted for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Stay right there. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

A step short of reaching her destination, she heard a loud crash behind her. Quickly reversing her direction, she raced back and found Vince sprawled on the floor and the stainless-steel end table that usually stood beside the chair on its side less than a foot from his head. She burned a full twenty seconds wringing her hands, trying to think what to do, then noticed his cell phone clipped at his waist. Snatching it from its holder, she punched in 911.

“911 operator. What is your emergency?”

She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure. I’m at my boss’s house. He said he wasn’t feeling well. I went to get him a glass a water. He must’ve fainted or something because now he’s lying on the floor.”

“Is he conscious?”

She shifted her gaze to Vince’s closed eyes and gulped. “No.”

“Your name?”

She frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Your name.”

“Sally Gregg. Please,” she begged. “Send an ambulance. I don’t know what to do.”

“Your relationship to the victim?”

“What difference does that make?” she cried. “The man needs help!”

“Try to remain calm, ma’am.”

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, telling herself that losing her cool wasn’t going to help things. “We’re not related. He’s my boss.”

“The victim’s name?”

“Vince Donnelly.”

“Address?”

She rattled off Vince’s address.

“Phone number?”

“For God’s sake!” she snapped. “I don’t want you to call me, I want an ambulance! He could be dying!”

“Ma’am, I understand your concern, but I’m required to collect this information.”

“It’s 555-423-6597,” she said in a rush. “I’ll leave the front door open.”

Before the operator could ask her any more ridiculous questions, she threw down the phone and ran to unlock the front door, then raced back and dropped to a knee beside Vince.

“Vince? Vince, can you hear me?”

She held her breath, watching his face for a reaction and bit back a moan when not so much as an eyelash fluttered. “Vince, please,” she begged. “Hold on. An ambulance is on the way.”

There was a rap on the door.

“Houston Fire Department! Is there an emergency?”

Sally jumped to her feet. “In here!”

A man appeared, followed on his heels by a second man carrying a bag.

The first to arrive moved to stand with Sally, while the other dropped down beside Vince and began pulling equipment from his bag.

“What happened?” the man beside Sally asked.

She wrung her hands. “I don’t know. He just returned from a trip. Said he wasn’t feeling well. I went to get him a glass of water. He must have fainted, because I heard this loud crash. I ran back and found him lying on the floor.”

“He’s breathing,” the second fireman reported.

A third man appeared and dropped down at Vince’s head to support his neck while the second fireman fastened what looked like a thick, padded belt around it.

“What’s he doing?” Sally asked in concern.

“Applying a C-collar,” the man at her side explained. “In the event he injured his neck when he fell, the collar will prevent further damage.”

Gulping, Sally watched as the men continued to work, one attaching a heart monitor to Vince’s chest, the other wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

“EMS!”

Sally snapped up her head to see two more uniformed men rushing into the house, carrying a stretcher.

The man beside her quickly shifted his attention to the EMS team and reported, “Male, midthirties, possible cardiac arrest. Witness reports he passed out and hit his head on the table. We’re holding C-spine, have applied oxygen via nonrebreather at fifteen liters per minute. Blood pressure 178/96, pulse is 102 respirations at 24 rapid.”

Wide-eyed, Sally scooted out of the way and watched while the EMS team positioned a backboard beside Vince. On the count of three, the fireman rolled Vince to his side, and the EMS team slid the backboard into position. After lowering Vince to the backboard, they cinched straps around him to secure him. On the count of three again, the men lifted him onto the stretcher.

“You’ll need to meet the ambulance at the hospital,” the fireman told Sally, as the other men gathered their equipment, preparing to leave.

Sally took a step back. “Oh, I’m not family,” she said. “I’m just his secretary.”

The fireman gave her a slow look up and down and Sally cringed, knowing what he must think. A woman at her boss’ house on the weekend wearing a towel wrapped around her? No, this didn’t look good, at all.

The EMS team started toward the front door with Vince. The fireman placed a hand in the middle of Sally’s back, urging her to follow.

He stopped on the porch. “Can you notify his family?”

“The only relative I know of is his mother, and she’s confined to a nursing home.”

“Then you’ll need to go to the hospital.”

“But I’m not family,” she said again.

“Admittance is going to need whatever information you have to offer.”

Leaving Sally on the porch, the fireman went to help the others load Vince into the back of the ambulance. One of the EMS team hopped into the back with Vince, while the other ran to climb behind the wheel of the vehicle. With lights flashing and siren screaming, the ambulance took off down the circle drive and bounced onto the street.

As Sally watched the vehicle disappear from sight, she sent up a silent prayer for Vince, then whispered another for her own forgiveness.

She might’ve prayed for Vince, but it was really her own welfare she was worried about.

If anything happened to her boss, she knew she’d be out of a job.

Sally spent the next eight hours in the hospital’s emergency room. Upon her arrival, she’d provided the desk clerk with what information she could about Vince, which proved enough to allow them to locate his records, as well as his doctor. Technically, she could have left then, and with a clear conscious. But some weird sense of duty made her stay. Since she knew of no family or friends of Vince’s to call to sit in her stead, she felt obligated to remain and await news of his condition.

During her long vigil, she read every magazine in the waiting room, drank four cups of coffee, made numerous trips to the restroom, one to the snack machine, and all without receiving any word on Vince’s condition. Fearing the worst, she gathered her courage and approached the reception desk. The staff had changed at three o’clock, and a different woman now sat behind the desk, having replaced the clerk Sally had spoken to previously.

“Excuse me,” she said, in order to get the clerk’s attention. “Is there any word on Vince Donnelly?”

“Are you family?”

She shook her head. “His secretary.”

“The doctor’s still with Mr. Donnelly. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Sally murmured her thanks and returned to her seat. Desperate for something to help pass the time, she picked up a tattered paperback novel someone had left behind and began to read. As luck would have it, it was a mystery, her favorite genre, and two pages into the book, she was totally engrossed by the story.

“Are you Sally?”

She snapped up her head to find a doctor standing in front of her. Gulping, she set the book aside and slowly rose. “Y-yes. I’m Sally.”

“I’m Dr. O’Connor, Vince’s physician.” He gestured toward a door. “If you’ll come with me.”

Sally followed him through the door and down a short hall.

Unsure what to expect, she asked uneasily, “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

“That depends on Vince.”

Considering that a nonanswer, she followed the doctor into one of the curtained-off examining rooms, where Vince lay, his eyes closed, his hands folded over the hospital gown that covered his chest. An IV tube ran from the back of one hand to a bottle hanging from a hook at the head of the bed. A white plastic bracelet circled his left wrist. She stared hard at his hands and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath them.

She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he was still alive and her job hopefully secure, then whispered to the doctor, “Why hasn’t he regained consciousness?”

“He did. His current state is drug induced.”

At her questioning look, he went on to explain, “Vince doesn’t make a very good patient. He regained consciousness shortly after arriving and pitched a fit when he realized where he was. I sedated him to calm him down.”

Sally nodded, easily able to imagine the kind of ruckus her boss had kicked up. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“Before, during or after his fall?”

She shrugged. “All of it, I guess.”

“He suffered a mild heart attack. The dizziness he experienced during the attack probably caused the fall. Unfortunately, on the way down he cracked his head on something and—”

“The end table,” Sally interjected. “When I found him, the end table was lying next to him.”

“Ah,” the doctor said, nodding. “Stainless steel, as I recall. That explains the bump on the back of his head.” He chuckled softly. “Too bad it didn’t knock any sense into that thick skull of his.”

Sally looked at the doctor curiously, surprised that he was familiar with Vince’s home, as well as her boss’s stubborn streak. “Do you know Vince?”

“Since we were kids.” He glanced over at Vince and gave his head a rueful shake. “The most stubborn person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

Sally would have laughed at the doctor’s assessment of her boss, but she was too worried about her job to find anything amusing. “How long will he have to stay in the hospital?”

“I’d like to keep him a week, at the very least.”

“Like hell you will.”

Sally and the doctor both glanced over to find Vince awake and struggling to sit up.

The doctor quickly placed a hand against Vince’s chest. “Unless you want me to put another knot on your head, I’d advise you to stay put.”

Obviously too weak to put up much of a fight, Vince sank back against the pillow and squeezed his forehead between his fingers. “What’d you give me? I feel like I’ve been on a three-day drunk.”

“It was a cocktail, all right, but not the kind you might expect.”

Judging by Vince’s weakened state, Sally had to believe whatever the doctor had given him was strong.

“I’m getting out of here.”

The doctor looked down his nose at Vince. “You’ll leave when I say you can.”

Vince dropped his hand to scowl. “Don’t be a jerk, Pat. You know I hate hospitals. Cut me loose so I can go home.”

“You’re in no condition to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as the drugs wear off.”

“You had a heart attack,” the doctor reminded him. “Which is exactly what I’ve been telling you was going to happen if you didn’t cut back on your workload and get rid of some of the stress in your life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my heart,” Vince grumbled.

“No, there’s not,” the doctor agreed. “Not this time, at least. The tests we ran indicated no damage was done to your heart. But you did suffer a concussion when you fell, which requires round-the-clock monitoring. Last I heard, you lived alone.”

Vince glanced at Sally. She backed up a step, fearing she knew what he was going to suggest.

“Sally will take care of me.”

She groaned inwardly.

The doctor turned to peer at her. “I thought the clerk said you were his secretary?”

“She is,” Vince replied for her, then gave Sally a warning look. “And she can earn her salary at my house as easily as she can at my office.”

The doctor kept his gaze fixed on Sally. “Would you seriously be willing to stay with this lug for a week?”

Sally stole a glance at Vince. The message in his eyes was clear: if she liked her job, she’d do as he said.

Turning back to the doctor, she forced a smile. “If that’s what Vince wants.”

“You’ll be doing more than monitoring his sleep,” the doctor warned her. “I’ve been telling him for years to slow down. This week he’s going to do just that. No work. Period. And under no circumstances is he to leave the house. I want him resting, and when he’s not resting, I want him relaxing and that means no phone calls and no e-mail. In fact, no contact with the outside world whatsoever. I don’t want anything even remotely related to business anywhere near him. Got it?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And work on improving his nutrition. His eating habits are worse than a nine-year-old’s.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see that he eats properly balanced meals. What about his physical activity? Should I monitor that, too?”

The doctor glanced at Vince, then shook his head. “No. In fact, it would probably do him some good, considering he spends most of his time sitting on an airplane or behind a desk.”

“I’m sure I can think of something to keep him active.”

The doctor studied her a long moment as if judging her ability to carry out his orders. “All right,” he finally agreed, and headed out. “I’ll write up instructions and sign his release.”

As Sally watched the doctor disappear from sight, the enormity of the task she’d taken on sunk in. Panicking, she whipped her head around to level Vince with a threatening look. “Don’t you move so much as a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

Flinging back the curtain, she ran after the doctor. “Dr. O’Connor! Wait!”

He glanced over his shoulder, then stopped and turned, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Changed your mind already?”

She dragged in a breath, choosing her words carefully, knowing she might very well be putting her job on the line. “I’m a secretary, not a nurse. I’m not sure I’m qualified to take care of someone who’s had a heart attack. What if he should…” She swallowed hard, unable to voice her fears.

Chuckling, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. Vince isn’t going to die.” He lifted a brow and added, “Though you might consider killing him before the week’s over.”

“But he had a heart attack,” she said in frustration. “I’d think he’d need to stay in the hospital for at least a couple of days.”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d keep him overnight.” He shrugged. “But his attack was mild. More a warning, really. What he needs is rest and lots of it. Keeping him in the hospital, in Vince’s case, would actually do him more harm than good.”

Sally gave him a dubious look.

Chuckling, the doctor gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Trust me. He really is better off at home.”

And home is exactly where Sally took Vince.

Thanks to another shot of Dr. O’Connor’s wonder drug prior to leaving the hospital, he slept throughout the ride. Sally was grateful for the reprieve. It gave her time to get a grip on her anger with her boss for putting her in such an awkward position.

Heck, she didn’t want to spend the week at his house! Not with him in residence. He was hard enough to get along with when he was well. She couldn’t imagine what a forced convalescence would do to his already disagreeable personality.

She shot a scowl at the passenger seat where Vince slept, his head tipped back, his jaw slack, his lips parted. Spoiled brat, she thought resentfully. Using her job to coerce her into agreeing to act as his nursemaid. And if he thought he’d found himself a way to avoid following his doctor’s orders, he had a new think coming. She intended to see that he followed them to the letter. Before the week was over, he’d be begging Dr. O’Connor to admit him to the hospital.

She parked her car close to the front door and rounded the vehicle to help her patient out.

“Vince?” She gave his arm a none-too-gentle poke. “We’re home.”

He roused slightly. “Home?”

His slurred speech let her know the shot was still working.

“Yes, home.” She took his arm and gave it a tug. “Come on. I’ll help you inside.”

It seemed to take him forever to unfold his long legs from the interior of her compact car. Her one regret was that he was too sedated to be aware of his surroundings. He’d really hate knowing he’d ridden in a six-year-old economy car, when he was accustomed to tooling around in a sporty and luxurious Lexus SC.

Pleased that she’d reduced her boss to slumming, she helped him to his feet. When he staggered a step, she quickly moved beneath his arm and locked an arm around his waist.

“Don’t you dare fall,” she warned. “If you do, I’m leaving you where you land.”

He looked down at her, his mouth slanted in a lopsided grin. “Ah, come on, Sal. You wouldn’t leave me out here all by myself.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she muttered. Taking a firmer grip on his waist, she urged him into motion. “Now walk.”

She halted him at the door, pressed her thumb against the security monitor, marveling anew at the high-tech system, while waiting for it to recognize her print. When the green light beamed, she shoved open the door and maneuvered him over the threshold.

He veered in the direction of his home office.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, and bulldozed him down the long hall that led to the master bedroom. Once inside, she pointed him toward the king size bed and gave him a shove. He fell like a ton of bricks across its top. She quickly flipped back the covers, pulled off his shoes and socks. She frowned at his shirt and slacks, thinking he’d rest more comfortably without them.

“So, suffer,” she grumbled. Cupping her hands at his heels, she lifted his legs and swung them onto the bed. Winded by the effort, she gave herself a moment to catch her breath, then reached to pull the covers over him.

She started to turn away, then stopped and leaned to place her face within inches of his. “Sleep well, Vince,” she whispered evilly. “When you wake up, you’re going to find yourself in hell.”