Joan Hohl – Beguiling the Boss (страница 4)
“A girl’s got to have her books,” Jen said as she headed off in the direction he indicated, giving him a luscious view that made him sure he was going to regret the day Jennifer Dunning came into his life.
As they walked through the garage to the apartment, Jen took note of the four very expensive cars parked in each bay and the workhorse truck in the fifth one. The cars—and the garage itself—were cleaner than the interior of the house. Jen smiled to herself as Marsh crossed the spotless cement floor to a side door.
“Will you get the door, please? It’s unlocked.”
“Of course,” she said, skirting around him to open it and stepping back for him to precede her. Nodding in thanks, he started up a flight of stairs. To her surprise, the stairway led into a long hallway inside the house, not above the garage, as she had assumed. So, the quarters weren’t attached to the house, they were
She ignored the sensation and decided she was being ridiculous. The door would have a lock … or so she hoped.
Dropping the suitcase, Marsh dug a ring of keys from his pocket and removed one, unlocking and opening the door. “After you,” he said, standing back to let her pass.
“Thank you.” Jen entered, pleasantly surprised by the cozy living room. She heard him sigh behind her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, following her into the room. “The place needs a good cleaning. If I’d have known …”
“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Possibly I could get the young woman who used to help out once a week before the housekeeper …”
“It’s all right. Really.” She smiled. “I learned how to clean from the best.” Jen was on the move as she spoke, checking out the bedroom, the bathroom, the small dining area and lastly the kitchen. He trailed behind her.
Making a quick turn, she almost crashed into him.
“Sorry.” They spoke in unison.
Jen laughed.
Marsh smiled. “So, what do you think?”
“I like it,” she said. “This kitchen is fabulous.”
“You can cook?”
She swung a wicked grin at him. “I’m a damn good cook. I practically grew up with the chef in my mother’s kitchen.”
“Uh-huh.” He hesitated before saying, “I’m a disaster in the kitchen. The last decent meal I had was in a restaurant two weeks ago.”
“Too bad,” she commiserated with him. “I love to cook.”
“Wanna get paid for it?”
Jen frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll up your salary by half if you’ll take over the cooking in the main kitchen downstairs.”
Jen extended her hand to him. “You’ve got yourself a cook.” Her palm tingled at the touch of his rough, callused skin against hers. It wasn’t the first time—she had felt the same sensation when they had shaken hands before, only then she had put it down to nervousness over the interview. Then there was that funny twist in her midsection a short time ago.
She didn’t know what it all was exactly, but she didn’t like it.
Fortunately, the contact lasted only a moment. He released her hand and moved to the door, pausing again to glance back at her.
“You don’t have to start your administrative duties tomorrow, as you offered. Take the next three days to get set up in here. I’ll be in my office. If you need anything—” he nodded at the slim phone on the countertop “—just hit number one. Any questions?”
“Yes,” Jen said. “Since I assume there is no food here, where is the nearest grocery store?”
He frowned.
Jen had the distinct impression he frowned a lot.
“I thought you were going to cook in the kitchen downstairs.”
A shade of a smile crossed his lips. Jen had another distinct impression: that he didn’t smile all that often. Shame. It was quite an attractive smile.
“Look, leave the grocery shopping until tomorrow. There is stuff in the downstairs kitchen—in the pantry, fridge and freezer. If you’ll come along now, you can take things for tonight and make a shopping list for tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Jen followed him from the room. Getting to the kitchen was simple. They walked to the end of the hallway to a large landing, where a broad open staircase curved down to an equally broad foyer at the front of the house.
At the bottom of the stairs, Marsh turned left and strode along another hallway that led to the kitchen at the back of the house. By Jen’s calculations, her new living quarters were directly above the kitchen and formal dining room. From the dining room’s sliding glass doors, she caught a glimpse of a large patio and a swimming pool.
Gorgeous property, nicer than the too-formal look of her parents’ home, she was thinking.
“Okay, the kitchen’s all yours,” Marsh said. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Wait,” Jen said.
He frowned again but this time, impatience flashed across his features, making them look severe. Slowly, he raised one eyebrow.
If he meant to intimidate, he succeeded.
But Jen was not about to let him know it. “Jot down a few of your food preferences,” she said, fully aware that her request sounded like an order. “Meanwhile, I’ll start a list of the things we’ll need.” She raised an eyebrow right back at him. “Okay?”
He sighed, gave her a terse nod and left the room.
When he was gone, Jen exhaled. Working for Marshall Grainger was going to be a challenge, in a number of ways, not the least of which was remaining professional and not losing her temper right along with him.
Finding a notebook and pencils in a drawer, she began opening cabinets. None of them contained foodstuffs; a few were completely empty. Then she discovered the double pantry next to the fridge. Now she was getting somewhere. There were plenty of dried foods: flour, sugar, cereals and canned goods, except for soup. There were only two cans in an otherwise empty area.
She stared at the shelf for a moment, wondering whether her new employer didn’t like soup, or loved it so much it was a regular for him.
Recalling his words, she shook her head. He had admitted to being a lousy cook. Conclusion? The man had been practically living on soup. After checking out the fridge, she added sandwiches to the list of things he’d been living on. Other than two slices of cheese wrapped in plastic, a nearly empty carton of eggs, a small package of bacon, a half-empty carton of milk and a couple of slices of bread, along with some beer and soda, the fridge was empty.
Jen opened the freezer door on the side-by-side. Now, this looked better. The freezer was packed and everything was dated. Maybe there was hope for Marsh Grainger after all, she thought with a smile.
Her shopping list completed, she sent a slow look around the room. The countertop looked spotless, as if very recently cleaned. Hmm, she mused. Had her boss given it a quick cleaning before she arrived?
Had he done that for her benefit?
Giving herself a mental get-with-it shake, she glanced at the clock.
It was eight minutes after three. Jen figured she had time enough to clean the kitchen. But first, dinner. She rummaged around in the freezer and grabbed a package of ground turkey and a bag of mixed veggies with an herb sauce. Within minutes she had a turkey stew cooking in the slow cooker on the counter.
Turkey stew would have to do. Smiling at her silly rhyme, she pulled out some cleaning supplies, slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and got down to the business at hand.
A couple hours later, her skin moist with perspiration from her efforts, Jen stood in the kitchen doorway admiring the results. The room was spotless. A sense of satisfaction brought a small smile to her lips—Ida would be proud.
After touching the floor tiles to see if they were dry, Jen walked to the phone and hit the 1 button.
“What is it, Ms. Dunning?”
Jen didn’t miss the exasperated note in Marshall’s voice. Keeping her own voice carefree and chipper, she said, “Dinner is ready whenever you are.” She paused, then deliberately added, “sir.”
“Thank you. But don’t call me that.”
His tone had lightened a bit. Jen smirked. “You’re welcome.”
“I’ll be there in a little while.”
“Take your time, it will keep. I’m going up to my place now.”
“What about you?”
She couldn’t quite read his meaning. Was he worried she wanted to dine with him? Or did he want her to? “I’ve eaten, thank you. What time would you like breakfast?”
“Is six-thirty okay with you?”