Eileen Wilks – Jacob's Proposal (страница 4)

“The damned thing won’t stop growing.” He pulled out one file folder, closed that drawer and opened another one. “Two years ago, when Sonia gave it to me for Christmas, it was in a six-inch pot.”

“Have you considered feeding it less?”

“I don’t feed it. Sonia does, though I’ve never caught her at it. She won’t let me get rid of it.”

The Iceman’s assistant wouldn’t let him get rid of a plant? Claire accepted the stack of files he held out. “I think it’s massing for an assault. You’d better be careful. Your desk is only a few feet away.”

He smiled. And her knees went weak. “It’s pretty fast as vegetation goes, but as a member in good standing of the animal kingdom, I’m faster. I think I can evade any sneak attacks.”

“Yes, of course.” And she was an idiot, chattering about the man’s plant and trying to keep from panting. Or grabbing him. What was wrong with her? She smoothed out her expression. “If you’ll show me to my office, I’ll start reading.”

“This way.” He moved to the opposite wall, where a door was nearly hidden in the elaborate wainscoting. “Pay particular attention to everything relating to the Stellar Security deal. I’ll be needing a report on one of the participants as soon as possible.”

She followed him into the adjoining office—and stopped dead.

There was a bed in the room. Well, in one section of a very long room, the half that wasn’t office. There was also a television, easy chairs and other furniture, with a tiny kitchenette tucked in one corner.

The other corner held the bed.

“Unfortunately my secretary is ill,” he was saying. “So— What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, hadn’t realized that my living quarters and my office were going to be one and the same.”

“I had this room converted when Sonia’s arthritis made using the stairs difficult. Is there a problem with it?”

“Oh, no. No problem. I was just surprised. It’s a pleasant room, actually. In a green sort of way.”

And it was, on both sides of the divider. The ten-by-twelve-foot office area held an L-shaped desk with the usual computer paraphernalia, a bright green swivel chair, a visitor’s chair, file cabinets, a bookcase and floor-to-ceiling shelves. And what looked like a couple hundred plants.

African violets basked under a special light in the shelves; several varieties of ferns snuggled into one corner, nearly hiding the bookcase. A ficus competed with a small palm and some other tropical plant for space in front of the window, while more plants that she couldn’t identify occupied every bare spot on the desk, shelves and bookcase. A relative of the ivy in West’s office was trying valiantly to cover the latticed screen that separated the office section from the bed/sitting room.

Claire shook her head wonderingly. “Sonia asked me to look after her plants while I was here. She didn’t mention that she lives in a jungle.”

“Sonia likes plants.”

“So I see. I suppose you have to count yourself lucky she’s only given you one.”

“I threatened to spray her room with weed killer if she did it again.”

“That’s a joke, right?” But there was no glimmer of amusement in those eyes…quite fascinating eyes, really, the sort that made a woman wonder what they looked like when—

“Would you mind if I called you Claire? I prefer to be on a first-name basis with my staff.”

A cowardly part of her wanted to say “the more formality, the better.” She suppressed it. “Of course—Jacob.”

He nodded. “Ada will give you a key to the front door and explain the security system. I prefer to leave the door connecting our offices open during the workday.”

She smiled. “So you can yell for me when you need me?”

“I don’t yell. When you’ve acquainted yourself with the basics in those files, I have some letters I need to get out.”

“Ah—letters?”

“You are familiar with the term?”

Her lips tightened. “I’ve heard of it. However, I’m an investment advisor. I prepare reports, in-depth summaries, financial evaluations. I don’t do letters. Or windows. And now, I suppose, I’d better start reading.”

A phone rang. There were two of them on her desk, one yellow, one green.

“The yellow phone is the office line. Answer it.”

She raised her eyebrows at his tone, but went ahead and picked up the banana-shaped receiver. “Jacob West’s office. Mr. West is…” She looked a question at him.

“Unavailable. Unless it’s Michael or Luke.”

“…unavailable right now. If you’d like me to take a message—yes, just a moment.” She took the message, hung up and swiveled. “Did you ever go to kindergarten?”

She had the pleasure of seeing him startled. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The ‘please and thank you’ magic seems to have missed you.” She held out the message. “That was Bill Prescott. He’d like you to call back as soon as possible.”

“Later. I don’t want to talk to anyone today, unless one of my brothers calls.”

Claire had met Bill Prescott—William Prescott the Third, actually. He was the chairman of the board of a large electronics firm, among other things. He wasn’t a man accustomed to being kept waiting. “Am I supposed to screen your calls, then? And handle your correspondence?”

“Until my secretary is well, yes.”

“No doubt I can fit in any reports you’d like prepared in my spare time. Perhaps you want me to take dictation? Or get you a cup of coffee?”

“Do you take dictation?” he asked politely.

“It wasn’t a requirement for my degree in Economics.”

“Pity.” He studied her a moment. “I pay my staff well. In return I expect a great deal, even from temporary employees such as yourself. If your dignity won’t allow you to depart from the strict letter of your duties, tell me now so I can make other arrangements.”

Tell him she wouldn’t type his letters and she could go home, where she wouldn’t have to compete for space with a jungle, or put up with a highhanded, irritatingly sexy man.

And wait there for Ken to show up. “I will try to be flexible.”

“Good.” He stopped in the doorway. “By the way, Ada supplies us with coffee, the windows are cleaned by a window-washing company and my secretary’s name is Cosmo Penopolous.”

“Cosmo what?”

“Penopolous. When he isn’t suffering from a stomach virus, he’s also my personal trainer and occasional sparring partner. I do expect a lot from my employees, but my expectations are based on their individual talents, not on stereotypes.” He smiled that slow, killer smile. “I look forward to discovering where your particular skills lie, Ms. McGuire. And putting them to use.”

Two

Claire couldn’t hear Jacob’s footsteps when he left. The Oriental carpet in his office was too thick. She did hear the creak of leather when he sat in his chair, followed by the quiet click of keys that indicated he was using his computer. She opened the top folder. Instead of reading the contents, though, she stared straight ahead.

He wanted to put her skills to use?

The look in his eyes…well, she wouldn’t call it obvious. Jacob West was not an obvious man. But it had been personal. And sexual.

The faint tapping of keys in the other room stopped. Claire found herself listening, wondering what he was doing now. He hadn’t said a word about her past. Did that mean he wasn’t aware of it? Or was he possessed of an extraordinary degree of tact?

Jacob West didn’t strike her as a man much interested in tact. But he was interested in her. And she…but it was her body that was interested, not her. She’d get over that.

It would have been simpler if her new boss had been old or fat or interested in men, though.

She’d handle it, she assured herself. Men hated rejection. Once she’d figured that out, it had made her life a lot easier. Most men tested the waters before risking rejection with an outright pass, and she’d learned to give the right signals to discourage them. Of course, a few were so blinded by youth, hormones or sheer conceit that the only signal they would notice involved a two-by-four.

Claire didn’t think Jacob West was blind. She thought he was unusually observant. That was the problem. The man made her hot, and he knew it.

This time it was his voice that distracted her. It was pitched low, as if he were talking on the phone.

I don’t yell, he’d said. No, she thought, a man with a voice like that—crisp and smooth at the same time, like good whiskey—wouldn’t have to raise his voice.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. Enough. West had seen her response to him, and in return he’d let her know he was interested. So, okay, that was nothing to get upset about. Eventually her lustful thoughts would die a natural death. In the meantime, she would keep them to herself.

It occurred to her that this was the man her cousin had advised her to have a screaming affair with. The thought was so absurd she chuckled. No way was she that foolish.

In the other room, he stopped speaking. Leather creaked, and she pictured him shifting in his chair, maybe stretching out those long legs of his, the thigh muscles taut beneath the pressed slacks…

There was a radio on her desk next to the yellow phone. Claire punched the power button, and some country singer started crooning about a fool-hearted man.

She listened for a moment, but couldn’t hear anything from the other room over the music. Satisfied, she leaned back in her own chair and started reading.