скачать книгу бесплатно
“He was a janitor until he died when I was eight”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that he was a janitor or sorry he died?”
His lips curved in an answer to her cheeky question. When he smiled, his face was transformed from godlike perfection to a boyish charm that captivated her. It took yet another stern mental warning to remind her that she didn’t need to be captivated by her new boss—even if he was just a temporary boss.
“I’m sorry that you lost your father,” he clarified with definite sincerity in his voice, despite his teasing smile. “I lost my father when I was in college, and that was hard enough. I can’t imagine being as young as eight.”
“It was rough,” she admitted without rancor. “I was a late-life surprise for my parents, so I have to confess I was fairly doted on.”
His expression turned slightly ironic. “I can see we had vastly different childhoods.”
“I’ll say,” she said with a laugh. “I’d never even seen a tennis court, except on television, until I was a teenager.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he replied. “I’m just trying to picture my father as doting, and the image just won’t gel.”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say,” she admitted hesitantly. He’d startled her as she never expected something so personal to enter the conversation. Weren’t negative family comments a no-no in the rich person’s rule book?
Philip shook his head as if suddenly realazing what he’d said.
“Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepishness that reached out and caught her imagination. “Didn’t mean to get maudlin on you.”
Maudlin wasn’t the word she would have chosen. Introspective, maybe, but that’s what nabbed her attention so fully. The image she was getting of him conflicted with the picture she’d already drawn in her mind. She expected someone cold and calculating, someone who never looked at the past, yet she was facing someone quite charming with an undercurrent of power and magnetism that she would do well to not underestimate.
He put his entrée on the desk before shifting to casually rest his arm on the back of his chair. The move stretched his dress shirt across his chest, his jacket now discarded, and her mouth went a little dry. Good heavens, the man was dreamy! Maybe it was her imagination, but he bore an uncanny resemblance to her favorite actor, although Mr. Brosnan might argue the presumption. Still, with the five-o’clock shadow shading his face and his dark hair just everso-slightly mussed, she’d have to say that yes, indeed, Philip Ambercroft looked rather Bond-ish at the moment
“So tell me about your favorite birthday memory,” he said, startling her out of her wayward thoughts.
Wrinkling her brow, Madalyn tried to think. Favorite birthday?
“I guess it would be my eighth, just before my father died. A carnival was in a town close to ours and where my dad got the money, I have no idea, but we all went and rode every ride, ate every kind of junk food, and I got to ride the little Shetland ponies—you know, where they walk around slowly in a circle? Real excitement for a girl who’d never even seen a horse up close and personal. What about you?”
“Easy. I was sixteen and at boarding school in Switzerland. My parents couldn’t make it over and I spent the entire weekend by myself on the slopes. No pressure, no one watching, no yardsticks.”
“Your sixteenth birthday by yourself? That sounds sad.”
“Not at all. It was the first time I felt like my birthday wasn’t some kind of litmus test about my reaching my manhood.”
He said manhood with such derision, she couldn’t begin to imagine growing up under such pressure. The image was heart-wrenching, one he’d managed to convey in a sentence, and she was once again stunned by this very personal glimpse into a very private man’s life.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Holidays are special to me. Especially Christmas and birthdays. Sounds like you could take ‘em or leave ’em.”
“Oh, not so. And forgive me for being so talkative. I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight.”
“Must be my talent at scintillating dialogue,” she said drolly.
“Must be,” he agreed, his tongue in his cheek.
“You’ll have to remember where to come when you’re depressed from now on. Just call me Dr. Madalyn.”
“Well, Doctor, I think your dinner is getting cold so we’ll have to finish the session another day.”
“Oh, dam,” she said with mock regret, digging in to her orange chicken again and taking a bite. She sighed with sheer pleasure and wiped her mouth with her napkin.
As they finished the soup and egg rolls, the conversation became light and mundane. They talked about the building, about some of Ambercroft’s diverse holdings—nothing she didn’t already know from her research. But it was fun to listen to him talk, to watch his face brighten with pride. He really did love his company, and the many philanthropic endeavors they were involved in.
He even mentioned the gala Eva Price was chairing for the Pediatric AIDS League.
“Are you going?” She couldn’t stop enthusiasm from coloring her voice. How wonderful for Eva, to grab a contributor the likes of the Ambercroft family.
“I haven’t committed yet. Are you attending?”
“Um, yes,” she said, now hesitant and unsure why. “I’m sort of on the committee. I’ve done several with Eva, and it’s wonderful to be a part of such good work.”
“Then I’ll just have to find that invitation and RSVP, won’t I?”
Not sure how she was supposed to respond, she concentrated on the last of her fried rice. The food had been great, and she’d enjoyed talking to Philip, but Madalyn was ready for the evening to be over. It had been a long day, she was tired and she wanted to snuggle her baby for a few minutes before dropping into bed. She thought about telling Philip about Erin, but she didn’t want to start another long conversation.
Philip surprised her when he began clearing the desk.
“I can do that,” she said, preparing to help.
“No. You shut down the computer and get your things. It’s time for the birthday girl to open her fortune cookie and then go home.”
Dutifully cracking the treat, she opened the little slip of paper and immediately laughed.
“Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“It says, ‘A new job awaits you.”’
“You’re joshing me.”
She handed over the fortune, and he laughed with her. “Well, I’m wondering about mine, then. It says, ‘You are next in line for a promotion.”’
She cocked her head. “Can the boss get a promotion?”
“Beats me. But I’ll be sure to bring this to my next board of directors meeting.”
With another round of laughter, they were ready to call it a night. In no time, they were in the elevator and headed for the parking garage. Philip had been so polite the entire evening, it didn’t surprise her when he took the keys from her and opened her car door. Still, she stood there, trying to display the proper amount of righteous, feminist indignation. The problem was, he’d moved so confidently, with such arrogant smoothness, she forgot what she was supposed to do. All she could concentrate on was how close he was, how alone they were, how soft his lips looked. The awkwardness seemed to have vanished, and for the merest second, it seemed he was bending closer to her and she gasped. Yes, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to see if he was everything her imagination promised—
Reality snapped back into place and they both jerked away at the same time. Humiliation burned her face and she fussed with her purse strap so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. Maybe she could find a way to blame this on fatigue....
Wishing she could melt into the pavement, she managed to get in the car and strap her seat belt on.
“Good night, Madalyn,” he said, shutting her door for her. “Sleep in tomorrow. You deserve it.”
She wished she knew what he was thinking. Even more, she wished she could hide her feelings and thoughts as well as he could. She could only imagine the shade of red on her cheeks.
“Good night. And thank you again for dinner.”
He nodded and stepped back so she could pull away, waiting until she’d disappeared from sight before going back to the elevator.
What the hell was wrong with him? When he’d called in dinner, he’d admitted it was a little unusual, but in his wildest dreams he’d never imagined that his secretary would turn him into a jabberjaw. He never talked about his childhood, and he never, ever talked about it with a stranger. But she’d tossed his questions back to him, and he’d responded, the words coming out of his mouth of their own volition.
Which was a huge sign that he needed to stay away from this woman in anything resembling a personal conversation. If she could turn what he had formerly considered his iron-clad control to mush this effortlessly, heaven forbid if she ever asked any really private questions. He’d probably rattle off his Swiss bank-account numbers.
Then his behavior by her car. He was sure he was certifiable after that move. But she’d been so close, and the faint trace of her perfume had made him forget who he was, who she was. All that he’d been thinking at that moment was that he wanted to kiss her, taste her, see if she was as perfect as she appeared.
Thankfully something had snapped him back. Now he had to make sure that this incident was never reprised.
He just hadn’t expected to like her so much. He wasn’t sure why, except maybe that while he had an extreme respect for Mrs. Montague, he’d never taken her or any other secretary out for a private dinner... although, technically, this dinner had been “in” not “out.” Anniversaries and other special occasions were noted with bonuses and gift certificates for Mrs. Montague to enjoy with her family. It was a pattern that made them both comfortable.
But Madalyn had him thinking about sex—hot, hard, driving sex, and then slow, long and languorous sex—and all within hours of meeting her. It wasn’t anything she’d done. Not one movement, not one look, not one word had been suggestive or inappropriate.
It was something primal that called to him past her proper demeanor. Then she’d unknowingly pricked his conscience when they’d spoken about the Price gala, and he’d felt himself withdrawing.
What had Sir Walter Scott said? “Oh, what a tangled web we weave...”
Suddenly he wasn’t so sure working with her was such a good idea after all. Even if it meant not capturing Price Manufacturing, he decided having her so near was too risky. She messed with his equilibrium and he couldn’t afford that; he wouldn’t take that risk.
He had too much to do to be dealing with distractions by his own staff. Especially this kind of distraction. The best thing to do would be to cut his losses and get another temp. What was one more anyway, the way things had been going?
Feeling a pang of regret, he decided he’d have to break the news to her tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Madalyn was surprised to find Philip wasn’t there when she arrived the next morning. A veteran early riser, especially now that she was a single mother, she hadn’t taken him up on his offer to sleep in. She couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to. Erin’s idea of sleeping in was letting the sun actually peek over the horizon.
She wasn’t surprised, though, to see a stack of work neatly aligned on the corner of the desk. From the looks of it, he hadn’t taken his own counsel to go home. He had to have been there past midnight to have gotten so much done.
She was grateful, though. On the drive in, she’d berated herself for being so determined to finish up last night. She feared having to sit there and twiddle her thumbs, which would have made her miserable. She supposed she should have known better. Philip was never idle, so why should his staff be? Besides, being busy made the day go faster, and it felt like she got home to Erin sooner.
By the time the elevator doors opened and he emerged, she was engrossed in a prospectus from Philip to the members of a joint venture interested in buying one of his companies. It should have been dry, dull work—inputting numbers into a spreadsheet, typing a long document from one of the tapes Philip had claimed to hate. Instead, she was intrigued.
“I thought I told you to sleep in.”
Madalyn wished there had been a more teasing quality to his voice. “You did, but I’m not very good at that. It was hard enough waiting until nine to get here.”
“Oh, well, yes, I appreciate your dedication. Listen, Madalyn...”
“Yes?”
“You see, about last night, I—”
The phone rang and she hesitated, picking it up when he gave an exasperated nod toward the phone.
“Mr. Ambercroft’s office,” she answered in a crisp, professional tone.
There was no response.
“Hello? May I help you?”
“Who is this?”
Madalyn told herself not to be put out by the imperious tone in the woman’s voice. “I’m Madalyn Wier, Mr. Ambercroft’s assistant.”
“Of course,” the woman said slowly. “Is my son in his office?”
“One moment please.”
He raised an eyebrow as she put the call on hold.
“It’s your mother,” she said, answering his silent question.
Philip rubbed his forehead for a moment and when he dropped his hand, she thought she saw weariness in his incredibly blue eyes.
“I’ll take it in here.”
He disappeared into his office, shutting the door behind him. She understood his reaction. She loved her own mother dearly, and worried about her increasingly poor health, but no one on the face of the earth could exasperate her faster. She was grateful that her mother’s visit had only produced one argument so far on Madalyn’s single status. It was the only real source of contention between them. Their usual argument consisted of Madalyn trying to get her mother to move to Dallas so they could see each other more.
Philip came back out sometime later, and asked her about a file she had waiting for him. She stopped him when he turned to go back into his office.
“Was there something you wanted to say to me before we were interrupted?”
He looked at her for the longest time, the intensity of his gaze making her decidedly uncomfortable. It was almost as though he were battling himself, and she wondered if her own anxiety was what someone felt when facing a firing squad.
“No,” was all he said before he shut his door behind him.
She didn’t have to be hit on the head to understand that whatever subject he had been about to bring up was now closed and off-limits.
Philip leaned against his door, unaware until he looked down that he was crushing the file Madalyn had given him. After tossing the papers on his desk, he sat with controlled movements and leaned back.
First, he’d surprised himself by telling his mother more about Madalyn than that she was a temporary secretary. It had somehow slipped out that she had worked for Price Manufacturing, and even more startling, he’d said something about her amazing skills.
His mother’s pause had spoken volumes. She was obviously as taken aback as he was to be discussing such mundane details with her. They weren’t usually chatty.
Then he’d felt doubly foolish to hear his mother admonish him to not let his emotions interfere with his business sense. Since when had he needed his mother’s advice? Not that she was ever hesitant to give it, but Philip had drawn the line years ago to remind his mother that not only was he nearly forty years old, but he was more than capable of making decisions without his mama’s help.
He took responsibility for his actions, mistakes and all. Some lessons had been hard learned, such as losing his heart to Hannah Hollingsworth in college. That vivid lesson had made clear the fantasy of love conquering all. He hadn’t thought it mattered that the Ambercrofts couldn’t trace their roots to the Mayflawer. They’d been proud, self-made Americans... even if they glossed over the fact that Grandfather Ambercroft was the one who had really boosted the family fortune by bootlegging whiskey during Prohibition. As for himself, Philip thought his grandfather had been a hell of a guy, and he remembered listening intently to the stories the man had told about his youth. Philip suspected his grandfather had told the stories to irritate his mother as much as anything else.
But Hannah’s family had a decided lack of humor, and put exorbitant pride in their mostly blue-blood ancestry, but he’d foolishly believed that wasn’t enough to keep them apart. He’d begged her to run away with him, to marry him, and then they’d force her parents to accept him. But Hannah had been unable to defy her parents for a man they had considered well beneath them on the social register.
Philip was sure the day she’d refused him was the day his heart had frozen solid, as so many people believed to be true, and he’d vowed never again to let his emotions override his common sense.
Since then, he’d never let anything interfere with his goals. Now, all of a sudden, he’s about to give up a lucrative business deal just because his new secretary—his temporary secretary—gave him a hard-on? Not bloody likely. He was going to get his brain and his libido under control and remember what he’d planned. He had no intention of doing anything illegal, or even immoral. When the time was right, he was going to flat-out ask her about Price Manufacturing. That was hardly diabolical.
He smoothed out the papers he’d wrinkled and sat down to put his mind to work with a ruthlessness that had made him the success he was. His eyes lost focus as his mind began to whirl. Price Manufacturing wasn’t his pressing issue at the moment, so he set it aside. His present goal was McConnally Machinery.
