скачать книгу бесплатно
“Mr. Hunt called a few minutes ago. I put the message on the desk in your study.”
Lured by Fanny’s offer to make her hot chocolate with marshmallows, Emma trotted off after the housekeeper, and Zach headed into his home office.
Five minutes later, he had Alex Hunt on the line.
“Just wanted you to know I had lunch with Georgie Fairchild today, and she’ll report to work for you on the seventh.”
Zach glanced at his calendar. “That’s sooner than you thought.”
“She wanted to get going even sooner,” Alex continued. “But we compromised. She’ll be staying at the corporate apartment in New York, at least initially. If it turns out she’s going to be in there more than a month or two, then we’ll see about making other arrangements.”
“Hell, Alex, I sure hope it doesn’t take more than a month to find a permanent assistant.” The last thing Zach wanted was for this Fairchild woman to be hanging over him for weeks on end.
“I hope not, either, but you never know. It’s better to be prepared.”
Zach stifled the urge to say some of the things he’d been thinking. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay. I’ll have Deborah make sure everything at the apartment is in order.”
Deborah Zelinsky was Zach’s office manager and, even though the corporate apartment didn’t technically fall under the jurisdiction of the foundation, she was always more than happy to make sure the unit was ready for a visiting dignitary or prospective contributor.
“Thanks, Zach. I think Georgie is going to be a great addition to your team. I know the two of you will get along like a house afire.”
After they’d hung up, Zach sat thinking for a long moment. He still wished he’d said something to Alex about his doubts. And yet, how could he, especially without saying what had prompted those doubts? It wasn’t like he could have come right out and said, Hey, Alex, are you unhappy with me? Is that why you’re sending a spy to New York?
Oh, hell, he had to stop thinking about this. For this weekend, at least, he needed to put Georgie Fairchild and anything else connected to the office out of his mind. Time enough to think about work issues again on Monday.
In the meantime, he’d rather think about Emma, who was a lot more fun, and a lot more important to him, than anything—or anyone—connected with his job could ever be.
“Fanny,” he called as he headed for the kitchen. “Did you make enough hot chocolate for me?”
Chapter Three
Georgie didn’t believe in spending a lot of time packing. Most of the time, she just threw clothes into her trusty old duffel bag on wheels and figured what she didn’t have she would simply go without. And in this case—preparing for an assignment in New York—she could certainly buy anything she needed.
Still … it was winter, and New York was a lot colder than Seattle. Looking at the Weather Channel’s website, she saw that the median temperature this month was hovering around forty degrees. Just her luck. If she had to go to New York, couldn’t Alex at least have sent her in the spring? Or in the fall, which Georgie had been told was probably the most attractive time of the year in Manhattan?
She eyed the clothing she’d piled on her bed. She’d thrown her down parka in the mix and the boots she’d bought last winter in preparation for her trip to Korea. But she didn’t own a nice winter coat, certainly nothing suitable for meeting with potential donors and grant recipients, plus it wouldn’t have fit into the duffel even if she did own one. So she’d definitely have to buy a coat when she got to New York.
“Oh, shoot. I don’t want to do this.”
Even as she muttered the words, she knew she was wasting time and energy on her negative feelings about this assignment. And that was unlike her. What was it about going to New York that was so bad? She’d never been there before, and she’d always wanted to visit. Yeah, but this isn’t a visit. Still, she’d agreed, and she couldn’t change that now. And Alex had promised her time there would only be temporary.
If all went well, they’d find a permanent assistant for Zachary Prince quickly, and Georgie wouldn’t have to stay long at all. And yet … she couldn’t help thinking there must be some reason other than what Alex had given her about why they hadn’t yet been able to find an assistant. Was Zachary Prince difficult to work with? Maybe he was a pain in the butt and Alex hadn’t wanted to say so.
Then she told herself she was doing exactly what Alex had told her not to do. She was being paranoid. Granted, this time her paranoia had nothing to do with her mother, but still …
Lecturing herself to stop borrowing trouble and to think positive, she continued packing. She was almost finished when her cell phone, playing Chris Brown’s “Forever,” sounded from where she’d placed it on her dresser. The song signaled Joanna calling.
“How’s my BFF today?” Georgie said by way of greeting.
“Exhausted.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Too busy, too little time.” Joanna was a struggling fashion designer in the Seattle area, and she was always racing to beat a deadline.
“What else is new?” Georgie abandoned the packing and walked over to the window overlooking the parklike grounds adjacent to her condominium. Below she saw a young couple walking with their arms around each other.
“Nothing, really. Just wanted to see how things were going with you. How was the party last night?” Joanna was referring to Frankie’s engagement party to Eli Wolf.
“It was really nice.”
“And what about Thursday’s farewell lunch with your mother?”
“I enjoyed it. At least this time Mom wasn’t upset. At least, not with me.”
“Who was she upset with?”
“Uncle Harry.”
“What’s the poor guy done now?”
“It’s not what he’s done, it’s what he hasn’t done.” Georgie was still amazed at what her mother had revealed right before Christmas. “Joanna, remember when I told you what my mother told me and my sisters? About Uncle Harry and how she’d once had a thing for him? She made it sound like that was in the distant past, but I think she might really be in love with him.”
“Did she say that?”
“She didn’t have to say it. She was talking about him and some dinner he’d taken her to, and all of a sudden it seemed so obvious I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized it before.”
“I thought he was more like her brother or something. Didn’t you tell me she and your dad and Harry Hunt were like The three Musketeers when they were young? And she picked your dad.”
Joanna didn’t have to say what Harry had done. They both knew the story. Harry had picked one gorgeous model or actress after another, gold diggers all—at least, in his estimation. Each short-lived marriage had produced one son, and Harry Hunt had gotten sole custody of each of them.
“That’s what we all thought,” Georgie said. “But maybe we don’t know the whole story.”
“You mean you think she’s always loved Harry? And not your dad?”
“No, I don’t believe that. I think she loved my dad. But maybe she loved Uncle Harry first. Or maybe … after Dad died …”
“Did you ask her about her feelings yesterday?”
“Good grief, no. You know how private my mother is. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d said anything directly. And, I don’t know, I felt funny about it. Like maybe it was none of my business.”
“Wow,” Joanna said, amusement in her voice. “I think that’s the first time since I met you that you thought something wasn’t your business.”
“Oh, stuff it,” Georgie said, laughing. But she knew Joanna wasn’t far wrong.
“You know,” Joanna said, “maybe this explains why Harry got so weird about your mother dating that golf pro from the club.”
“You’re probably right. Here I thought he was just worried because the guy’s so much younger than my mother. But maybe he was actually jealous!”
“It’s possible. I know Chick can’t stand it when I even look at anyone else.”
Georgie nodded, even though Joanna couldn’t see her. “It all makes sense now. There’s got to be some kind of history here, something my sisters and I never suspected.”
“Oh, Georgie. It’s terribly romantic, isn’t it? Maybe they’ve been pining for each other for years. I know! Why don’t you and your sisters turn the tables on them and try to get them together? I mean, they were trying their darnedest to fix you guys up. Why not fix them up, because, Lord knows, if you don’t, they might never get it right.”
Georgie laughed. “It would serve them right, wouldn’t it? But think about it. What could we actually do? It’s not like we can plop them down on a desert island or something.”
“No, but you can maybe nudge them along a bit.”
“I’m afraid my sisters will have to do the nudging, ‘cause I’ll be in New York.” Glancing at the digital alarm sitting on her bedside table, she added, “Speaking of, I’d better get a move on. My flight leaves at noon, and I still have to finish packing and get a shower.”
“Okay, I’ll let you go. Safe trip.”
“Thanks.” After promising to call or text Joanna as soon as she hit LaGuardia, they said goodbye.
Fifteen minutes later, duffel packed, laptop and cell phone charging, Georgie headed for the shower.
Katie, Zach’s ten-year-old, kept Zach up half the night with a sore throat and a fever. On any other day, even if he had work stacked to the ceiling, Zach would have taken the morning off—maybe even the entire day—and taken his daughter to the doctor himself. But today was the day Georgie Fairchild was to report to work, so he reluctantly agreed that Fanny could take Katie to see their pediatrician.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Prince. She’ll be fine. I’ll call you after we’ve seen Dr. Noble.”
But Zach knew he would worry. Worse, he’d feel guilty all day. He should be the one taking care of Katie, not Fanny. As he had so often since Jenny died, he thought about how little consideration he’d ever given to the plight of single parents. But that was before, and this was now. Now he was a single parent himself. And he was fortunate. He had money, and when he couldn’t be here, he could afford the best care possible for his children. And yet he still felt guilty when he couldn’t do the things Jenny had done.
Some days he felt he was incredibly selfish—working when he didn’t have to. And yet everyone needed some kind of work. Worthwhile work was important. He wanted to set that example for his children, even as he wanted to be with them as much as possible.
He was still mulling over his ever-present, unsolvable dilemma as he wearily headed to the office.
Always begin the way you mean to continue. Georgie thought of her mother’s advice, given so often over the years, as she dressed for her first day in the New York office.
Good thing she’d arrived in the city a few days early. She’d quickly discovered her ideas of what New York women wear were wrong. First of all, she didn’t own anywhere near enough black. Second, she needed better walking boots that she could actually wear to the office—ones that wouldn’t be ruined by dirty snow and slush—because New York was definitely a walking city, which she actually liked.
Now, after a couple of necessary shopping trips, she felt as if she fit in. At least she wouldn’t look like a tourist.
She’d also scoped out the location of the Hunt Foundation’s New York office (only a couple of blocks away from the corporate apartment), the closest Starbucks (after all, she was a Seattle girl, and if she couldn’t have her daily fix of her sister Bobbie’s brew, she’d take theirs) and the best place to buy tickets to hear classical musicians she admired (this she was still investigating).
Now she was armed and ready to meet her new boss.
Dressed in black wool pants, her new black boots, businesslike white blouse, lightweight black cardigan and a good-looking black wool coat she’d bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s, she left the apartment at 8:25, even though supposedly the office didn’t open for business until nine. Why so late? she wondered. Seattle offices started their workday at eight. Did a nine o’clock start have something to do with being on Eastern Time? She guessed it didn’t really matter. There was a Starbucks conveniently close by; she’d just duck in there and get a skinny latte.
Latte in hand, she arrived at the foundation office eight minutes before nine, at the same time an attractive redhead was unlocking the door. The redhead looked up. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“I’m Georgie Fairchild. I—”
“Oh, yes, of course. We’re expecting you. I’m Deborah Zelinsky, the office manager here.” She pulled off a wool glove and stuck out her right hand. “C’mon in. I generally get here earlier, but my son woke up with a stomachache and, well, you know …”
Georgie nodded, although she really didn’t know … and didn’t want to know what it must be like to be both mother and employee. She felt capable of many things, but juggling two such important roles seemed to her to be the ultimate in self-sacrifice. She had nothing but admiration for working mothers—for all mothers—but was glad she’d realized early on that role wasn’t for her.
Following Deborah into the office, Georgie quickly saw it wasn’t a fancy place. Not that she’d expected it to be. Most foundations, even well-funded ones, didn’t waste money on frills. And if they did, then they were suspect in Georgie’s eyes.
Substance over flash, that was Georgie’s credo.
Deborah dumped her handbag and a paper sack onto a desk in the outer office and gestured to a group of chairs against the wall. “Have a seat. Let me get things turned on and organized, then I’ll show you around.”
“Okay.” But Georgie didn’t sit down. Instead she walked over to the opposite wall where several black-and-white framed photographs were hung. She studied them with interest. The first showed a familiar actor shaking hands with Bill Clinton. She idly wondered why a photo of Patrick Dempsey would be hanging in the foundation’s office. Had he made a big contribution or been involved in a recent humanitarian effort on behalf of the foundation? He and the former president were the only ones she recognized. The other photos were of people she didn’t know, people who were obviously either supporters or workers for the foundation. She only glanced at them, thinking it was likely one of the men in those photos was her new boss, Zachary Prince.
“Miss Fairchild?”
Georgie whipped around. She hadn’t heard Deborah’s return.
“Our one claim to fame,” Deborah said, walking over and pointing to the photo of the actor and Bill Clinton.
“What did Patrick Dempsey do for the foundation?” Georgie asked.
Deborah rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy. Zach hates that.”
“Hates what?”
“When people think he’s Patrick Dempsey. He gets it all the time. Women have been known to follow him on the street. One or two have even followed him to the office. And let’s not even talk about the paparazzi.” She shook her head. “They’ve been fooled by the resemblance, too.”
Georgie stared at Deborah. “That’s Zachary Prince? Not Patrick Dempsey?”
“Yep. That’s Zach.”
Geez Louise. Georgie didn’t trust gorgeous men. In fact, aside from Alex, she’d never met one who wasn’t full of himself. I knew I wasn’t going to like this assignment, and that conviction just got a lot stronger.
Deborah was still chuckling as she said, “C’mon, I’ll give you the ten-cent tour now.”
It didn’t take long to see the rest of the offices. There were only three of them, plus a small conference room, a tiny kitchen and a unisex bathroom. The largest office was Zachary Prince’s, Deborah explained. Georgie only caught a glimpse of it, because they didn’t go inside. The office assigned to Georgie was directly across the hall, and next door to hers was an office that was used by everyone and anyone associated with the foundation at any given time.
“Including visitors and temporary help,” Deborah said. “We pretty much operate on a shoestring. Zach doesn’t believe in wasting money that can be used in better places.”
Good, Georgie thought. At least he and she would agree in one area. “Where is Mr. Prince?”
Deborah smiled. “Oh, don’t call him Mr. Prince. He’d hate that, too. He’s Zach to everyone.”
Georgie noticed that Deborah hadn’t answered her question. She was just about to pose it again, when Deborah said, “To answer your question, Zach doesn’t usually get here before ten.”
Oh, really? Strike two, Georgie thought, only barely preventing herself from rolling her eyes the way Deborah had earlier. Georgie could just imagine why he couldn’t make it in early. She’d known a few of his type—pretty boys who did the club scene at night. No wonder Alex was concerned about the New York office, even if he hadn’t seen fit to tell her exactly why he was concerned.
She was still thinking about the things Deborah had told her, even as she unpacked her satchel and arranged the supplies piled upon her desk. She hoped she was wrong. She hoped Zach Prince would turn out to be just as great as Alex had made him out to be. But she had a bad feeling that Alex had kept things from her.
And even if he hadn’t, even if he really thought Zachary Prince was terrific, there was always a first time to be fooled, especially when you were operating long distance from each other. In fact, maybe the reason they so desperately needed to hire an assistant here was because the assistant actually did all the work. And who knew? Maybe down deep, Alex suspected as much, even if he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, put his suspicions into words.
Georgie had just finished setting everything up to her liking, booting up her company-issue laptop and logging on to the employee section of the foundation’s website, where she’d begun reading the reports of weekend activity posted by various field agents and other foundation employees, when she heard a male voice talking to Deborah, then the footsteps of someone coming down the hall.
Mr. Gorgeous had finally arrived, she guessed.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, the Patrick Dempsey lookalike stood in her open doorway. “Good morning,” he said.
