Читать книгу Her Boss by Arrangement - Teresa Carpenter - Страница 9
ОглавлениеLATE MONDAY AFTERNOON Tori worked on a spreadsheet displaying the menu for a fiftieth wedding anniversary scheduled for Thursday. She was making the final notes to the grocery list when the bell over the front door sounded.
“Be right there,” she called out as she took a moment to save her file. A quick glance through the glass wall of her office revealed the visitor was a man, but he had his back to her. By Arrangement rarely got drop by traffic. The nature of their business generally took them to their clients. In fact Lauren was out with a prospective client now, which left Tori to handle the man haunting their showroom.
Her toes searched under her desk for her shoes. She ended up kicking them farther back and bent to retrieve the ballerina flats. Happy she chose to wear black jeans today, which were slightly dressier than regular jeans, she walked out of her office, tugging at the hem of her olive sweater as she greeted the visitor.
“Welcome— You.” She stopped short at the sight of Garrett Black. He stood tall and broad in the middle of the showroom in another ill-fitting suit. “What are you doing here?” Hearing the strident tone, she cringed. “I mean, Mr. Black, how can I help you?”
“Ms. Randall.” He glanced around the converted restaurant, taking in the glass offices, the tables dressed in different styles for special occasions, the well-stocked bar. He lifted a brow at her.
“We occasionally host events here,” she explained. “Or we used to.” She and Lauren bought the restaurant four years ago for the kitchen because they’d outgrown her apartment kitchen for food prep. Business continued to bloom, and after six months, the front was converted to offices, storage and the current showroom.
He nodded and continued to wander. At one of the tables he picked up a fork, set it back down. His presence confused her. She and Lauren had great ideas outlined for the film festival, but the next series of meetings with Obsidian weren’t scheduled until the first part of December.
“Would you like to sit?” she asked him.
“No.” He faced her, shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I’ve come about the toe prints.”
She blinked at him. “Toe prints?”
“Yes. Upon inspection of my vehicle this morning I found toe prints on the carpet of the driver’s side. I wanted to let you know I’ll be forwarding the cleaning bill.”
Tori listened with growing outrage. He had to be kidding. “No,” she corrected, keeping her tone easy. “Remember, I was barefoot when we met, but you stopped me before I got in the car.” His precious oh-so-fabulous car.
Aggravating man. How petty of him to try to get a car cleaning out of her, especially when money wasn’t the issue. He was upset because she’d made him feel. Anger, arousal, humor, she’d seen flashes of each emotion in the brief conversations they’d had.
Whatever had happened to him, and it went way further back than his accident, he’d cut himself off from emotion. She imagined the accident and losing his dad only added to the pain he hid behind a brooding facade.
All too familiar with the destructive force of repressed feelings, she easily recognized the anguish simmering in his silver eyes. She felt for him, but not even his manly beauty tempted her to go there again.
Caring for an emotional recluse was equivalent to treading through a mental minefield.
“You were the only one near the car barefoot. I assume you will want to take care of this matter promptly as it would be awkward working together on the film festival with this issue unresolved.”
She gritted her teeth. He was right. Having this issue hanging over By Arrangement while she worked the film festival was unacceptable. Arguing with him didn’t make sense, either. Not while Black was a client.
Plus, no way did Tori want Lauren knowing about this. She would never let Tori forget the need to wear appropriate shoes if she learned Tori was being billed for footprints. Yet she still protested.
“Between the two of us I’m sure we can figure this out.” Much as she disliked confrontation, Tori didn’t care to be pushed around or taken advantage of, either. “Let me see the prints.” She headed for the door and the parking lot beyond.
Hey, she had a right to challenge the totally bogus accusation. Innocent until proven guilty, she wanted to see the evidence, to defend her good name. The truth was she admired the beautiful machinery of the Maserati too much to mar it and she found the accusation insulting.
“You honestly believe I’d make up footprints?” The caustic question came from behind her. “For what reason? Some half-witted excuse to see you again?”
She froze with her hand on the car handle, struck by the concept. For all the derision in his words, she knew he found her attractive. Perhaps that was the answer. He was punishing them both for the chemistry between them.
And perhaps she was overthinking it. He was a jerk, reason enough for his contrary behavior.
She tried opening the door of the red Maserati Spider convertible and about pulled her shoulder from the socket when it refused to give. Locked. She turned to him, forced a smile. “Open, please.”
She met stoic resistance.
What now? Then it hit her, she hadn’t answered his question.
“Look, I’m not vain enough to figure you manufactured an excuse and went out of your way to pursue me. Since I didn’t step barefoot into the car, I want to help you determine what it is.”
“I know toe prints when I see them.” But he clicked the locks, allowing her to open the door.
Bending over, she stuck her head inside. The scent of well-tended leather filled her senses. Such a sexy aroma. It made her think of smart cars, long drives and hard men. None of which were appropriate to the moment. Discounting the hardheaded male looming over her.
She ran her hand over the soft buttercream upholstery, eyed the matching carpet. Three small smudges were grouped close together. She supposed they could be toe prints, but she didn’t think so.
“They look like paw prints,” she said, glancing over her shoulder in time to catch him eyeing her butt. Her blood heated at the appreciation in his pale gaze. But she tamped it down as she stood and faced him, reminding herself of the complications he presented—client, tortured soul.
“Absolutely not.” He denied her explanation. He stepped back and seemed to wobble a bit on the uneven asphalt. He glared at the ground before turning the look on her. “Impossible. Unless you left a window open when you parked the car.”
“No. I adjusted the seat.” A necessity considering, at six feet, he stood a good eight inches taller than her. “But I just pulled it into the garage. There was no need to adjust the mirrors.”
“Then the only explanation is toe prints.”
“Unless the marks were there before you reached the party,” she offered in what she felt was a reasonable tone. “Do you inspect all areas of the car before driving it each time?”
“Of course not.” He scowled, his annoyance over the discussion more than clear. “But they weren’t there before.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t drive it barefoot. And I live alone. Not even a cat. No one else to leave toe prints or paw prints.”
“Okay.” She moved toward him so she could close the car door.
He took a hasty step backward, his heel landed in a small hole and his leg buckled, sending him sprawling on his butt. A grunt of pain was cut off by a string of vile curses.
It was one of those fast-forward, slow-motion moments. Tori saw the fall unfolding and reached out to grab him, but his momentum pulled his hand right through hers. She had to catch herself from falling on top of him.
“Are you okay?” Stupid question. His complexion had gone white and his jaw was clenched against the pain. She crouched next to him. “How can I help?”
“Back the hell up.” He shooed her away. “Give me some room.”
Respecting his wish, she stood back but watched him carefully. In high school she worked two years as a lifeguard at her dad’s golf club. From his paleness and the clamminess of his skin, he looked about to pass out. If that happened, she’d have to call an ambulance because there’d be no handling his deadweight.
“Garrett, are you light-headed?” She knelt next to him.
“A little,” he admitted, which said a lot.
“We don’t want you passing out. I would have to call an ambulance...” Mention of an ambulance got his attention.
“No hospital. I just need a moment.” He supported himself on one arm, leaning sideways. The other hand clutched at his right leg, the obvious point of his pain. He tried to rise but slumped back. “My head is spinning.”
“Okay, you need to sit up. And put your head in your lap.” He no doubt saw spots before his eyes. She helped him into position and rubbed a hand over his back. It was supposed to be your head between your knees. She hoped this would be enough to stop the dots from merging into total darkness.
After a moment, he lifted his head. “It’s better. Thanks. Sorry to snap at you.”
Dark tendrils fell over his eyes. Brushing them back, she felt the dampness of his skin. It had been a close call. “Okay, let’s get you on your feet.”
Without asking this time, she tucked an arm under his right shoulder and lifted. He managed to get his left leg under himself, and between the two of them, he reached his feet.
He brushed off his clothes, teetering, but unwilling to ask for help.
“I’ll send you a bill for the carpet cleaning.” It would be a great exit line, except his right leg wouldn’t hold his weight. He almost went down again when he tried.
“Enough of this.” She invaded his space, cupped his face in her hands, feeling the prickle of an approaching five o’clock shadow, and met his pain-filled gaze. “Either you accept my help or I call for that ambulance. It’s your choice.”
Just for a moment he hooded his eyes, leaned into her touch. In the next instant, he jerked away. Squaring his shoulders, irritation stamped his features, eradicating any flash of vulnerability she may have imagined.
“No hospital.” He repeated his earlier decree. “I strained an old injury. I just need to get home and put some ice on it.”
“It’s your right leg. You aren’t driving anywhere.”
His jaw clenched as he struggled between desire and reality. “Fine.” He gritted the word through his teeth. “You can drive me home.”
Lucky her. As if hauling his injured rear was a highly sought after reward. She rolled her eyes, pretended her heart hadn’t leaped at the notion of driving the Maserati and tucked her shoulder under his arm to help him around the car. This close he smelled of a spicy cologne touched with lavender and citrus, raw male and, oh, Lord, leather.
The sexy combination nearly knocked her on her tush.
Unfortunately, once they reached the passenger side, it became obvious the car was too low-slung for him to comfortably lower himself into it.
“This isn’t going to work,” she declared, raw with frustration.
“For once, I agree.” He shifted on his good leg, and suddenly she was in his arms, her hands clutching his waist. “I need to keep my leg straight.” His breath caressed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.
“We can use the company SUV. It’s higher and has more legroom. Wait here.” Relieved, she ducked out from under his arm. She blamed her near sprint inside on the need to get rid of him. She wasn’t running scared.
“Liar,” she muttered while snagging the keys to the fuel-friendly Ford and locking up the showroom. Wanting him gone had everything to do with running scared. And a strong sense of self-preservation. So she’d drive him home, pay to clean his blasted carpet and put him firmly from her mind.
* * *
Garrett clicked the locks on his prized Maserati, a gift to himself from the profits of his first successful film. He rued the impulse that brought him to West Hollywood and the offices of By Arrangement.
When he found the toe prints in his car this morning, he’d been annoyed.
Tori Randal’s barefooted impersonation of a valet fell short of professionalism in his opinion. He’d come here today in the hopes she could redeem that impression before he put his company’s reputation in her hands at the upcoming international film festival.
Of course the insolent blonde couldn’t simply admit her mistake and agree to right the wrong. No, she questioned his motives and his eyesight. Whatever.
What really needed questioning was his sanity.
He should have remembered how he’d reacted to her. She glowed as only a true optimist could, lush lips too ready to smile, amber eyes sparkling, demanding everyone she came in contact with join her in the dance of life. And the long line of her ivory neck displayed by her sophisticated ponytail at the party and a serviceable braid today just made him want to take a bite.
Exactly when had he become part vampire?
During the long, lonely, pain-ridden nights since the accident came the ready answer. Better to be exhausted from physical therapy and reviewing studio business than to lay awake raked by pain and regrets.
Now he’d let the perky blonde with no sense of boundaries get to him again. And the result was a pulled muscle in his bad leg. His own damned fault, tripping over an inch-deep hole and twisting his foot. Pain had streaked up his weak leg and it gave. He’d done it before, pushing himself too far, too fast, but it still hurt like a bitch.
A white SUV pulled up next to him, and Tori hopped out and came trotting around to his side. He didn’t wait for her. He opened the door, plunked his butt down and pulled his leg in.
“Oh, yeah, much better.” Tori arrived in time to help lift his leg in.
“I can do it.” He scowled at her, both for the interference and the cheerful optimism. “Let’s just get going.”
“Aye-aye.” She saluted him and made the reverse trip around to the driver’s seat.
He might appreciate the impertinence if he weren’t in pain. And mortified. He closed his eyes, as it was he just wanted to get home.
“Here.” She thrust a water bottle at him after climbing in next to him. “Do you have any pain pills with you?”
“I don’t like taking pain meds.” The usual protest sprang automatically to his tongue.
She gave him a schoolteacher glare, the kind that made you question your own intelligence. “That’s not what I asked. If you have something with you, take it.”
He glared back, not caring in the least that it screamed petulant rebellion. He may have tripped up like a little boy, but he was a grown man capable of knowing the needs of his own body.
“I can always take you to the hospital. I’m sure they’ll give you something.”
“Why do you care if I’m in pain?”
She looked truly confused by the question. “I care whenever anyone is in pain.”
“The painkillers don’t help the injury. They just mask the pain, making it possible for you to hurt yourself even more.”
“The pain medicine helps you to relax. If it’s a pulled muscle like you seem to think, a lessening of the tension in the muscles actually will assist in the healing process.”
“They make me sleepy.” It wasn’t quite a whine but too close for his pride. So he dug out the pills, popped one in his mouth and chased it with a long sip of water. “You seem to know a lot about physical ailments for an event coordinator.”
“I got into first aid when I was doing my lifeguard stint. Where are we going?” She’d been driving as they argued but had reached the freeway. “Do I go north or south?”
He directed her north and gave her the address, which she put in her GPS.
“I know that address. You’re living at Obsidian Studios?”
“Sometimes it feels like it, but no, I’m staying at The Old Manor House.”
Her head whipped his way. “How can you be living at The Old Manor House?”
He cocked a brow at her surprise. “My family does own the house.”
“Of course.” Eyes back on the road, she shrugged. “But I thought it was closed up.”
“It was, most of it still is, but after his last divorce, my father moved back into a wing on the bottom floor.” Why was he explaining anything to her? But what the heck, he preferred to be alert. Talking helped. “I’d rather go to my place on the coast in Santa Barbara, but I moved into the Hollywood mansion when I started working at the studio. It’s closer, more convenient when I have to be there every day.”
No need to admit driving still bothered his leg. In fact, no need to talk about himself.
“From lifeguard to event coordinator. That’s quite a change. How’d that happen?”
Her luscious lips pursed. “Well, after high school we went to UCLA.” Her gaze touched him for a second. “You’re an alum, too.”
“Yes.” He agreed. “A few years before you I’m guessing.”
“Four,” she answered promptly.
“Very precise.” Why would she know that?
A grin flashed his way. “I searched for you online. Standard research prior to putting in the bid to Obsidian Studios.”
“What was your major?” He lobbed the focus back to her. Smothering a yawn, he convinced himself it was drowsiness and not disappointment he felt. Of course her research had been business related not personal.
“Communications, but I switched to business when By Arrangement came to be.”
“You started your business in college?”
She laughed. “Sometimes I think we started our business in the womb. My mom is big on celebrations. Birthdays, holidays, accomplishments were all good reasons to have a party. So we grew up entertaining. When we hit the sorority at UCLA, we naturally stepped up whenever there was an event. Our reputation grew and we started doing other events around school. It started as a way to make extra money. But as people graduated, they still called us and we started doing events outside the school. Our junior year, we named our business By Arrangement, changed our majors to business and never looked back.”
The love for her job rang loud in her animated chatter. The pride in her accomplishments, which she clearly shared with her sister, indicated a bond of trust and affection. From what she’d said of her mother, it sounded as if she’d had a happy childhood.
Too much cheer for him.
“I must say By Arrangement came highly recommended. Your previous clients must have missed out on the toe print experience.”
In profile he watched the joy in her switch off.
He heard a sigh and then a very polite, “I’m sorry. Please send me the cleaning bill and I’ll see it’s paid.”
Blessed silence filled the vehicle.
He turned to look unseeing out the window, feeling as if he’d spanked a puppy. She was the one in need of a spanking. If she’d gracefully accepted the blame when he’d first arrived, he would have left immediately and been sitting down to a nice meal at Antonio’s right now.
On cue his stomach rumbled.
Ignoring it, ignoring her, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
* * *
Tori kept her eyes on the road. In another ten minutes she’d drop his ungrateful hide off at the curb. She couldn’t wait.
Thank heavens the meds finally kicked in and he fell asleep, lifting the need for conversation. If you counted grunts and sarcasm as conversation. She got it. He’d had a bad year. But there was no reason to take it out on her.
She took the off-ramp that led to Obsidian Studios and The Old Manor House. He deserved to live alone in a spooky old place. The house got its name shortly after it was built because the house and grounds were used in an old black-and-white movie of the same name. The movie became a Gothic horror classic. It scared her spitless as a kid.
Only a few more blocks.
Then she heard it again, the rumble of his stomach. Her brow puckered as she tried to recall if he’d mentioned staff. He probably had a cook and a housekeeper, right? She had no doubt whatsoever that his father would have had a staff. But Garrett spent several months in the hospital. It was totally possible the staff had been let go. Especially as Garrett had his own home.
Dang it. Sometimes she was too nice for her own good, but she couldn’t leave him at the curb both hurt and hungry.
Dark had fallen and she panned the street in front of her and then in the rearview mirror. Spotting the pink neon sign of a fast-food Chinese restaurant, she whipped a U-turn and zipped into the parking lot. Perfect.
She glanced at Garrett, who didn’t move. Good. She may be willing to feed him, but she was done talking to the man. Grabbing her purse, she went inside. The savory scents of East Asia immediately enveloped the senses. The smell of garlic, ginger, onions and chicken made her mouth water.
Yes, this would do nicely for dinner. Having no idea what Garrett liked, she requested both beef and chicken items. He didn’t strike her as a vegetarian. Too much the predator.
Back in the car she tucked the bags behind the passenger seat and reengaged the GPS. A few minutes later she turned into a gated drive. Of course it would have security.
Man, she’d really been anticipating the curb.
“Mr. Black,” she called, hoping to rouse him. He didn’t move, so she said his name again, louder. Then she shook his arm. “Garrett!”
His pale eyes opened, appearing silver in the glare of the spotlight aimed at the SUV. The light triggered when she pulled up to the security display situated just short of the ten-foot-high brick wall. Garrett blinked at her and then the house.
“We’re here.” His voice was thick with sleep.
“Yes. I need the code.”
He rattled off a number, the gate began to open and she inched forward. A groan sounded next to her as Garrett shifted in his seat. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw him scrub his hands over his face.
Once she cleared the gate, streetlights came on showing the way to the house in the distance. She drove a quarter mile curving around to the front of the house, where the drive circled a large fountain. Six steps led up to an extensive porch. That presented a problem.
“Is there a better spot to drop you?” she asked. “An entrance without steps?”
“Yeah, pull around to the back. There are only two steps up to the back porch.”
She followed his directions and stopped so her lights shined on the steps. A gray cat sprang up and darted away.
“No cat, huh?”
“I’ve never seen it before.”
“Of course not.” As if she believed that.
“And it hasn’t been in my car.” He opened his door and slid out. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Wait.” She hurried around the front of the SUV to reach his side.
“I don’t need your help.” He advised her, the short nap unfortunately not improving his disposition.
“Probably not.” She agreed and took his arm. “You’re getting it anyway. It’s dark and the ground is uneven. I prefer not to take any chances.”
A put-upon sigh filled the chill November evening. Once they reached the porch, he made a point of climbing them unassisted. Irritating man!
But good. She didn’t need to worry about leaving him. At the bottom of the stairs she waited until he opened the door and turned on the light.
“Good night, Ms. Randall.”
“Good night, Mr. Black.” Good riddance, more like.
“Oh, wait.” She ran to the SUV and came back with the white bag of food. Climbing to the porch she crossed to him and pushed the package into his arms. “Bon appétit. You probably shouldn’t feed the cat.”
