Читать книгу: «Wanted by the Boss»
WANTED BY
THE BOSS
Sleeping with the Boss
MAUREEN CHILD
Cowboy Boss
KATHIE DENOSKY
Billionaire Boss
MEAGAN MCKINNEY
MILLS & BOON
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Sleeping with the Boss
MAUREEN CHILD
MAUREEN CHILD
is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever who has delusions of grandeur.
Visit her website at www.maureenchild.com.
To Wendi Heard Muhlenbruch – an artist with
flowers and the inspiration behind Eileen – may
your new baby bring you and Daren joy always.
One
Eileen Ryan faced her grandmother down in battle, even knowing that she would, eventually, lose the war. It was inevitable. Her grandmother was undefeated. If she wanted something, Margaret Mary—Maggie to her friends—Ryan, usually found a way to get it. But Eileen was determined to stand her ground. ‘‘Gran, I’m not a secretary anymore.’’
Sunlight danced in the small living room. The tiny beach cottage that Maggie Ryan had called home for more than forty years was packed full of her memories, but was never less than tidy. Gran sat in a splash of sunshine that gilded her perfectly styled gray hair. The older woman wore a pale peach dress, nylons and sensible black shoes. Her deeply lined features creased in a patient smile and her hands rested on the doily-covered arms of her favorite chair. She looked quietly regal—which was one of the reasons no one ever won an argument with her.
‘‘Yes, but it’s like riding a bike,’’ Gran countered. ‘‘You never forget.’’
‘‘You can if you work at it hard enough,’’ Eileen told her, stubbornly clinging to her argument.
Heaven knows Eileen had certainly tried to forget everything about being a secretary. It had been three years since she’d last worked in an office. And she didn’t miss it.
She’d always hated working in offices. First, there was the whole ‘‘trapped behind a desk’’ feeling—not to mention having to put up with a boss looking over your shoulder all the time. But the absolute worst part of being a secretary, as far as Eileen was concerned, was being smarter than the boss and having him treat her like an idiot. An old echo of pain welled up inside her and she fought it back down. Her last boss, Joshua Payton, had pretended to love her. Pretended to need her. Until he got the fat promotion that had taken him up the ladder of success and sent her back to the secretarial pool.
Well, she wouldn’t be used and discarded again. She’d made her escape and didn’t want to go back. Not even temporarily.
‘‘Piffle.’’
‘‘Piffle?’’ Eileen repeated, laughing.
Maggie’s nose twitched. ‘‘It’s not as though I were asking you to take a nosedive into the black hole of Calcutta.’’
‘‘Close, though.’’
‘‘I’m only asking you to help Rick out for two weeks. His secretary’s gone on maternity leave and—’’
‘‘No way, Gran,’’ she said, shaking her head and taking a step backward, just for good measure. Going into an office again was going backward. Revisiting a past that she’d just as soon forget.
Maggie didn’t even blink. She simply stared at Eileen through emerald-green eyes and waited. And waited.
Eileen folded. She never had been able to stand tough under the silent treatment. ‘‘Come on, Gran. It’s my vacation.’’
‘‘Your vacation was canceled.’’
True. She and her best friend, Tina, had planned on two weeks in Mexico. Until, that is, Tina had unexpectedly eloped with her longtime boyfriend, leaving Eileen an apologetic message on her machine. Now Eileen had her passport in hand and no real desire to go to a fun-in-the-sun spot all on her lonesome.
Frustrating, since she’d spent so much time arranging things so that her flower shop wouldn’t fold in her absence. Eileen had prepped her staff, coached her assistant and cleared her own decks to allow herself two whole weeks of a well-earned vacation. Early October was the best possible chance for her to take some time off. There was a real lull in a florist’s calendar at this time of year—and as soon as October was finished, the holiday frenzy would kick in. She wouldn’t have a moment to herself until after Valentine’s Day.
Stress rattled through her like a freight train and even her eyes suddenly hurt. She could almost feel her time off slipping away from her. ‘‘The trip was canceled. I still have my two weeks.’’
‘‘And nothing to do,’’ her grandmother pointed out.
True again and darn it, Gran knew her way too well. Yes, she’d probably go a little nuts with nothing to occupy her time. But she was willing to risk it. ‘‘Hey, you never know. I might actually learn to like doing nothing at all.’’
Maggie chuckled. ‘‘Not you, honey. You never were one to sit still when you could be up and running.’’
‘‘Maybe it’s time I slowed down a little then,’’ Eileen said, and started pacing. ‘‘I could read. Or go to the movies. Or maybe sit down at the beach and watch the waves.’’
Maggie waved a hand at her. ‘‘You wouldn’t last twenty-four hours.’’
Eileen tried to placate her grandmother even while sticking to her plan to escape doing her this ‘‘favor.’’ ‘‘Rick Hawkins is a pain, Gran, and you know it.’’
‘‘You only say that because he used to tease you.’’
Eileen nodded. ‘‘You bet. Every time he came over to pick up Bridie for a date, he tormented me. He used to make me so mad.’’
‘‘You were a little girl and he was your big sister’s boyfriend. He was supposed to tease you. It was sort of his job.’’
‘‘Uh-huh.’’
Maggie’s sharp green eyes narrowed. ‘‘His grandmother is a very old, very dear friend.’’
‘‘Great,’’ Eileen interrupted in a rush. ‘‘I’ll go help her, then.’’
‘‘Nice try, but Loretta doesn’t need a secretary. Her grandson does.’’
‘‘So what’s he do, anyway?’’ Eileen plopped down into a chair close to her grandmother’s. ‘‘With as mean as he was to me, I’m figuring he’s some sort of criminal mastermind.’’
‘‘Financial advisor,’’ Maggie said, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. ‘‘He’s doing very well, too, according to Loretta.’’
Eileen wasn’t impressed. ‘‘She’s his grandmother. She’s deluded, poor woman.’’
‘‘Eileen…’’
‘‘Fine. So he’s rich. Is he on wife number five by now?’’
‘‘Awfully curious, aren’t you?’’
‘‘It’s a tragic flaw.’’
Maggie’s mouth twitched. ‘‘One ex-wife, no children. Apparently the woman was just a barracuda.’’
‘‘Hey, even a barracuda doesn’t stand a chance against a great white.’’ She hated to admit that she felt even the slightest pang of sympathy for a guy she hadn’t seen in years, but divorces were never pretty. Not that she would know from personal experience, of course. You had to actually get married to be able to experience divorce. And her one and only engagement had ended—thank heaven—before she’d actually taken the vows.
‘‘Honestly, Eileen,’’ her grandmother said. ‘‘You’re making the man sound awful.’’
‘‘Well…’’
Maggie frowned at her. ‘‘Rick is the grandson of my very dear friend.’’
The solid steel guilt trap was swinging closed. Eileen could actually feel its cold, sharp jaws pinching at her flesh. Yet still she struggled. ‘‘Rick never liked me much either, you know.’’
‘‘Don’t be silly.’’
‘‘He probably wouldn’t want me to help him.’’
‘‘Loretta says he’s grateful for your offer.’’
Eileen’s eyes bugged out. She wouldn’t have been surprised to feel them pop right out of her head. ‘‘He knows already?’’ So much for free will.
‘‘Well, I had to say something, didn’t I?’’
‘‘And volunteering me was the first thing that came to mind?’’ Her only family, turning on her like a snake.
‘‘You’re a good girl, Eileen. I didn’t think you’d mind.’’
‘‘Rick Hawkins,’’ she muttered, shaking her head. She hadn’t seen him in six years. He’d come to her grandfather’s funeral. Six years was a long time. And that was okay by her. The one brief glimpse of him in a business suit didn’t wipe away her real memories of him. The way she remembered it, he was a bully who’d picked on an eleven-year-old kid who’d kinda, sorta, had a crush on him. There’s a guy she wanted to work for. Nope. No way. Uh-uh. ‘‘I’m so not gonna do this.’’
Maggie Ryan rested her elbows on the arms of the floral tapestry chair and steepled her fingers. Tipping her head to one side, she studied her granddaughter and said softly, ‘‘When you were ten years old, you broke Great Grandmother O’Hara’s china cup.’’
‘‘Oh, God…’’ Run, Eileen, she told herself. Run and keep on running.
‘‘I seem to remember you saying something along the lines of, ‘I’m so sorry, Gran. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything.’’’
‘‘I was ten,’’ Eileen protested, desperately looking for a loophole. ‘‘That was seventeen years ago.’’
Maggie sighed dramatically and laid one hand across what she was pretending to be a broken heart. ‘‘So, there’s a time limit on promises in this house, is there?’’
‘‘No, but…’’ The trap tightened a notch or two. It was getting harder to breathe.
‘‘That was the last cup in the set my grandmother carried over from the old country.’’
‘‘Gran…’’ The cold, cold steel of guilt wrapped around her, the jaws of the trap nearly closed around her now. She winced.
The older woman rolled her eyes toward heaven. ‘‘Her grandmother gave her the set as a wedding gift. So she could bring it with her from County Mayo—a piece of her old world. And she took it with love, knowing they’d never meet again in this life.’’
If she started talking about the steerage section of the boat again, it was all over. ‘‘I know, but—’’
‘‘She kept those cups safe on the boat. It wasn’t easy. She was in steerage, you know and—’’
Snap.
‘‘I surrender,’’ Eileen said, lifting both hands in the traditional pose. No matter how much she wanted to avoid working for Rick, she was caught and she knew it. ‘‘I’ll do it. I’ll work for Rick. But it’s two weeks only. Not a day longer.’’
‘‘Wonderful, dear.’’ Gran reached for the shamrock-dusted teacup on the table beside her. ‘‘Be at the office at eight tomorrow morning. I told Rick to expect you.’’
‘‘You knew I’d do it all along, didn’t you?’’
Gran smiled.
‘‘Just so you know, I still haven’t forgiven you for the whole Barbie episode.’’
Rick Hawkins just stared at the tall, elegant-looking redhead standing in his outer office. Her features were wary, but couldn’t disguise her beauty. Irish green eyes narrowed, but not enough to hide the gleam in their depths. Her mouth was full and lush, her eyebrows finely arched. Her hair fell in red-gold waves to her shoulders. She wore a white dress shirt tucked into sleek black slacks and shiny black boots peeked out from beneath the hem. Small silver hoops dangled from her ears and a serviceable silver watch encircled her left wrist. Her hands were bare but for a coat of clear nail polish. She looked businesslike. Dignified and too damn good.
He never should have listened to his grandmother.
This could be a long two weeks.
‘‘You were eleven,’’ he reminded her at last.
‘‘And you were almost sixteen,’’ she countered.
‘‘You were a pest.’’ Looking at her now, though, he couldn’t imagine being bothered by having her around. Which worried him a little. He’d been taken in by a gorgeous face before. He’d trusted her. Believed in her. And then she’d left. Just like every other woman in his life—except the grandmother who’d raised him after his mother decided she’d rather be a free spirit than be tied to a child.
She nodded, allowing his point. ‘‘True. But you didn’t have to decapitate Barbie.’’
He smiled despite the memories crowding his brain. ‘‘Maybe not, but you left me alone after that.’’
‘‘Well yeah.’’ She folded her arms across her chest and tapped the toe of one shoe against the steel-blue carpet. ‘‘That’s a sure sign of a serial killer in the making.’’
‘‘Sorry to disappoint you. No grisly past here. Just a businessman.’’
She shrugged. ‘‘Same difference.’’
Rick shook his head. She had the same temperament she’d had as a kid. Always ready for war. Must be the red hair. And with a personality like that, this might just work. ‘‘Is the office going to be a war zone for the next two weeks, because if it is…’’
‘‘No,’’ she said, tossing her black leather purse onto the desk that would be hers as long as she was there. ‘‘I’m just being pissy. It’s not even your fault.’’
‘‘For which I’m grateful.’’
‘‘Cute.’’
‘‘Peace, okay? I appreciate you helping me out, Eileen.’’ He did. He needed the help. He just didn’t need the kind of distraction she was no doubt going to be.
Her eyebrows went high on her forehead. ‘‘Hey,’’ she said smiling, ‘‘that’s an improvement. At least you didn’t call me Eyeball.’’
‘‘No,’’ he said, giving her a slow, approving up-and-down look. The scrawny little girl with long braids and a perpetual scab on her knee was gone. This woman was a world away from the child he’d nicknamed Eyeball. ‘‘You’re definitely an ‘Eileen’ these days.’’
She inclined her head in a silent thank-you and it seemed, he thought, that a temporary truce had been declared.
‘‘It’s been awhile,’’ she said.
‘‘Yeah.’’ It had, in fact, been about six years since he’d last seen her. When they were growing up, he and the Ryan sisters had been thrown together a lot, thanks to their grandmothers’ close friendship. But once out of high school—hell, once he and Eileen’s sister Bridget had broken up, he’d stopped coming around.
And while he’d been gone, Eileen Ryan had done a hell of a job of growing up.
Damn it.
‘‘How’s your grandmother?’’ he asked.
‘‘Just as spry and manipulative as always,’’ Eileen said with a quick grin that dazzled him even from across the room. ‘‘Here I stand as living proof. Gran is probably the only woman in the world who could have talked me into taking on a job on what should have been my vacation.’’
‘‘She’s good.’’
‘‘She is.’’ She reached up to push her hair behind her ears. The silver hoops winked at him in the sunlight. ‘‘And she misses you. You should stop and see her sometime.’’
‘‘I will,’’ he said, meaning it. Maggie Ryan had been a second grandmother to him. It shamed him to admit that he hadn’t kept up with her.
‘‘How’s your gran?’’
‘‘In Florida,’’ he said, grinning. ‘‘To catch the space shuttle launch next week.’’
Eileen turned and leaned one hip on the edge of her desk. ‘‘She was always doing something exciting, as I remember it.’’
Rick smiled to himself. His grandmother had always been one for grand adventures. ‘‘I think she was actually born a gypsy and then sold to a normal family as a baby.’’
Eileen shrugged and that fabulous hair actually rippled with light and color. ‘‘What’s normal?’’
‘‘Beats the hell outta me,’’ he admitted. He’d once thought he knew what normal was. It was everything he didn’t have. A regular family with a mom and a dad. A house with a picket fence and a big sloppy dog to play with. Dreams and plans and everything else he’d worked so hard to acquire. But now he wasn’t so sure.
For some people, Rick thought, ‘‘normal’’ just never came into play. And that was okay with him now that he’d come to grips with the fact that he was a member of that particular group. He’d tried to find that normalcy once. He’d married a woman he thought loved him as much as he cared for her. By the time he’d figured out how wrong he was, she’d left, taking half of his business with her.
And his ability to trust went with her.
‘‘So.’’ Eileen’s voice cut into his thoughts and he turned his attention back to her, gratefully. ‘‘What exactly is it you need me to do?’’
‘‘Right.’’ Good idea, he told himself. Stick to business here. Just because their families were friendly was no reason for them to treat this situation as anything more than strictly business. Better all the way around, he thought as his gaze slipped back to her and he felt his blood thicken. Yep. A long two weeks.
Rick walked to the desk and stopped behind it. ‘‘Mainly, I need you to take care of the phones, take messages and type up a few reports for me when necessary.’’
‘‘So basically, you want me to stick my finger in a dyke and keep the place from flooding until you can get someone in here permanently.’’
‘‘Well, yeah, that’s one way to put it.’’ Rick pushed the edges of his navy-blue suit jacket back and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. ‘‘With Margo out early on maternity leave, the place is falling apart and the temp agency can’t send me anyone for another two weeks at least.’’
‘‘Whoa—’’ Eileen held up one hand as she stared at him. Okay, she could admit, to herself anyway, that Rick Hawkins was a little…more than she’d expected. For some reason, even after that glimpse of him six years ago her mind had kept his image as he was at sixteen. Tall and lanky, with messy brown hair and a crooked smile. Well, that smile was there, but he wasn’t lanky anymore. He was built like a man who knew what the inside of a gym looked like.
And his voice sounded like melted chocolate tasted.
So sure, she was female enough to be distracted. A lot. Until he’d used the words ‘‘at least’’. She wasn’t about to let herself get sucked into giving him more than the agreed-on time.
‘‘At least?’’ she repeated. ‘‘I can only do this for two weeks, Rick. Then I turn back into a pumpkin and head back out to Larkspur.’’
‘‘Larkspur?’’
‘‘My shop.’’ Her pride and joy. The spot she’d worked so hard to build.
‘‘Oh that’s right. Grandma said you worked at a flower shop.’’
‘‘I own a flower shop. Small, exclusive, with an emphasis on design.’’ She reached across the desk for her purse, rummaged in its depths for a second or two, then came up with a brass card case. Flipping it open, she pulled out a card and handed it to him. Pale blue linen, the card stock was heavy, and the printing was embossed. A lone stalk of delicate-looking flowers curled around the left-hand side, looping around the name Larkspur. Eileen’s name and phone number were discreetly added at the bottom.
‘‘Very nice,’’ Rick said, lifting his gaze back to hers as he automatically tucked the card into his breast pocket.
‘‘Thanks. We do good work. You should give us a try.’’
‘‘I will.’’ A heartbeat or two passed and the silence in the room dragged on, getting thicker, heavier, warmer. Something indefinable sizzled in the air between them and Rick told himself to put a lid on it. He’d never made a play for a co-worker before and now certainly wasn’t the time to start. Not when he would have two grandmothers out for his head if Eileen complained.
‘‘Anyway,’’ he said, his voice a little louder than he’d planned, ‘‘two weeks will be great. I’m sure the temp agency will come through for me.’’
‘‘There’re plenty of temp agencies out there. Why not try a different one?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘I’ve tried lots of them. This one always sends good people. Most of them don’t. I’d rather wait.’’
‘‘Why didn’t you get someone lined up before Margo left?’’
‘‘Good question,’’ he said wryly. ‘‘Should have. But I was so busy trying to get things done and finished before she was gone, that time sort of got away from me. And then in the last month or so, Margo wasn’t her usual organized self.’’
‘‘She probably had more important things on her mind.’’
‘‘I suppose.’’ His trusty secretary-assistant had left him high and dry even before her last day of work. Margo’s normally brilliant brain had dissolved into a sea of pregnancy hormones and daydreams of pitter-pattering feet. He couldn’t wait for her to give birth so things could get back to normal. ‘‘I’m just glad she’s going to come back to work after she has the kid.’’
‘‘That’s a shame,’’ Eileen said.
‘‘Huh?’’ He looked at her. ‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Well, because if I had a baby, I’d want to be able to stay home and take care of it myself.’’ Eileen set her purse down again, walked around the edge of the desk and nudged him out of the way so she could sit down in the blue leather desk chair. ‘‘I mean, I know lots of women have to work, but if you don’t have to…’’
‘‘Margo would go nuts without something to do with her day,’’ he argued, recalling his secretary’s gung-ho attitude. ‘‘She likes being busy.’’
‘‘I hear babies can keep you plenty busy.’’
He shuddered at the thought of Margo turning into a stay-at-home mom. ‘‘Don’t say that. She has to come back to work. She runs this place.’’
‘‘She probably will then,’’ Eileen said and opened the top drawer, inspecting, looking around, familiarizing herself with the setup. ‘‘I’m just saying…’’
‘‘Don’t say it again. You’ll jinx it.’’
‘‘Very mature.’’ She shut the drawer and opened another one, poking through the pads and boxes of pencils and even a bag of candy Margo had left behind. Pulling one piece free, she peeled off the silver foil and popped the chocolate into her mouth. ‘‘Do we have a coffee pot?’’
‘‘Right over there.’’ He pointed, looking away to keep from noticing how her tongue swept across her bottom lip as she chased every last crumb of chocolate.
‘‘Thank God,’’ she muttered, and hopped up again. Striding across the room to the low oak sideboard, she glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘‘Since it’s my first day, I’ll even get you a cup. After that though, you’re on your own. I’m not a waitress. I’m a secretary. Temporarily.’’
Temporarily, he reminded himself as his gaze locked onto the curve of her behind as she moved with an easy sway that was enough to knock any man’s temperature up a notch or two. Hell, every relationship became temporary eventually. At least this one was labeled correctly right from the start.
This could only be trouble, he told himself and wondered how in the hell he’d survive the next two weeks with Eileen back in his life.
By day three, Eileen remembered exactly why she’d left the business world for that of flowers. Flowers never gave you a headache. Flowers didn’t expect you to have all the answers. Flowers didn’t look great in three-piece suits.
Okay, that last one wasn’t one of her original reasons for relinquishing her keyboard. But it was right up there on the list now.
The work wasn’t hard. It was actually fairly interesting, though she’d never admit that out loud to Rick. And, after spending the past two years in a work wardrobe that consisted of jeans and a wide selection of T-shirts, it was sort of nice getting dressed up again. Good thing she hadn’t gotten rid of her work wardrobe. Slacks, shirts, discreet pumps or her comfy boots. She was wearing makeup and doing her hair every morning, too. A big change from her usual ponytail and a quick slash of lipstick. But none of that made up for the fact that she was spending way too much time watching Rick.
She’d had a crush on him when she was a kid, of course. Well, at least until the unfortunate Barbie incident. He and Bridie had ignored her most of the time and, when forced to spend time with her, Rick had teased Eileen until she’d wanted to kick him. But now…she turned her head just far enough to be able to look into his office through the partially opened door.
With his tie loosened at his open collar and his dark brown hair mussed from stabbing his fingers through it in frustration, he looked…what was the word? Oh, yeah. Tasty.
Oh ye gods.
This was a complication she didn’t want or need.
She couldn’t be fantasizing about Rick Hawkins. For one thing, when these two weeks were up, she’d be going back to her world, leaving him to his and never their twain would meet again. For another…he was so not her type. She liked the artsy guys with a slightly bohemian air that she ran into down at the beach. The guys who were tanned and relaxed, with the attitude of why do today what can be put off indefinitely? Those guys were safe. She knew no relationship with them was going to go anywhere. The farthest they could see into the future was the next wave. Or their next paycheck. They didn’t have portfolios.
Heck, most of them didn’t own a pair of shoes that required socks.
So why suddenly was she spending way too much time thinking about, and fantasizing about, Mr. Corporate Millionaire?
