The Expectant Secretary

Slowly he nodded his understanding and cursed himself for causing her more pain. His chest constricted with a raw burning agony for the heartache she must be suffering. He wished he could give her something to cling to for support—his hand, his arms, maybe. But he knew there was no comfort for a broken heart.

And damn if he ever wanted to be Jillian’s second choice.

It was the right thing to do, Jillian told herself over the next few days as they entered the last week of September. It was best if everyone, especially Brody, thought she mourned James’s loss. She wanted others to think she was a grieving widow. Even if the image she’d created was a blatant lie.

There was no reason to disparage James’s memory. No reason to let her wounds from her marriage ooze. She could clean them in private. But she felt as if she were keeping a dark, ugly secret, which made her feel isolated, alone.

And the feeling only grew worse.

Brody was to blame. Every day she worked with him in close quarters, analyzing reports, scheduling meetings. His rugged accent coiled her insides. She caught herself watching him, noticing his hands, his eyes, his smile. Glimpses of her past crept into her unconscious, reminded her of better days, of a time when Brody had made her feel special. It became a constant struggle to remember how he’d also made her feel used, how he’d broken her heart. And why she no longer trusted him.

With long, ambitious strides, Brody walked into his office, a grin as broad as the Palo Duro Canyon lighting up the sharp angles of his face. “You did good, Jillie. Damn good.”

Pushing up from her desk she followed him, carrying his phone messages in her hand. “The report helped your meeting with the attorneys?”

“It laid out the strategy perfectly.” He set his fawn-colored briefcase on his desk and popped the brackets. “This may end up being the smoothest merger in history.”

Pride surged within her. “I’m glad.” She handed him his messages. Their fingers brushed, sending an electrical current through her. Crossing her arms, she focused on work. “So what’s the next step?”

His gaze softened, making his eyes smoky. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her enthusiasm kicked into gear. She liked the challenges her new position created for her, taking her mind off her own personal problems. “Whatever I can do—”

“What are you doing this weekend?” His question stopped her short.

Had she mistaken his intent? “Excuse me?”

“This weekend,” he repeated. “What are you doing?”

Oh, God! He’s asking me out.

Her pulse thrummed at the possibility—at the impropriety, she corrected. Her mind raced. Of course, she couldn’t go out with him.

Possible excuses filed into place. But the sorry fact was, she didn’t have any real excuse. Except that she didn’t want to see him in anything but a professional setting.

“I, um, well, Brody…” She stuttered to a halt, not knowing how to handle this situation.

She was not interested in him. Or anybody else, for that matter. She wondered why that same denial was beginning to sound more and more hollow.

Maybe she should just explain to Brody that it was too soon after James’s death. Anyone would understand that. She wouldn’t have to explain further. She wouldn’t have to lie. Worse, she wouldn’t have to confront the truth making her knees weak with need.

Strengthening her resolve, she forged ahead. “Brody, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What?”

“About this weekend.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” She maintained eye contact even when she wanted to look away. She had to be firm. “It’s risky. It’s…well, the timing is completely wrong.”

He rubbed his jaw. “How do you know?”

Biting down on her frustration, she wished he would just accept it and move on. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. Explain it to me.” He folded his arms over his broad chest. “I admit I’m new at this.”

New at asking a woman out? She swallowed a laugh. He was the expert. Not her!

“Look, I could make a dozen excuses, but the truth is, I don’t have any plans. And I don’t want any. If I were to make up something, it would mislead you. Then we’d be right back in the same place. Let me make it as plain as I can. I’m a recent widow. I’m not interested in romance…or anything else. I don’t think—”

“I wasn’t asking you out.”

Confused, she blinked. “Excuse me?”

His mouth quirked into a semblance of a smile. He chuckled, but his gaze smoldered like a banked fire. “But if that’s what you want—”

“No.” Embarrassed heat flared inside her. What have I done?

You’ve made a complete fool of yourself, that’s what!

“Let me explain,” he continued, erasing the amused smile pulling at his lips. “I’m interested in looking over a piece of property near the Double Crown Ranch. It’s actually a winery. I hear there are several vineyards in this part of Texas. It’s a growing industry, here, as well as in Australia. I think it might be a good investment for our newly merged company. And it would expand the ranch even more.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t say anything else. She wished she had a magic button that would make her disappear.

“I was hoping you’d go with me. It borders the north side of the ranch.”

“Isn’t the Double Crown Ranch kind of large?”

“Approximately five hundred thousand acres.” He spoke as if that was a drop in an old bucket.

“That could take a while to cross.”

“We have to go around but it should be only a three or four hour drive. You could help gather information for my presentation to the board. But I understand if you’re not comfortable—”

“Forget what I said.” How could she have been so stupid? The only way for her to not look like a fool was to go with Brody. What had she done? “Please, just forget everything I said.”

He quirked a brow. “What are you saying?”

“Basically that I’ve been a complete idiot. I’m sorry, Brody. I—I…”

“Then you’ll go with me? To see the property, that is.”

Why did she think she’d regret this? Not for the usual reasons, but because it was now so obvious that Brody wasn’t interested in her.

“If you n-need me,” she stammered. “I mean, need me for work…for…” Flustered, she tried to mask the sudden twinge of disappointment…and irritation. Why didn’t he want to go out with her? That thought placed her in dangerous territory. She shouldn’t care what he thought about her. Or if he could ever be interested in her as anything other than an assistant. It shouldn’t matter.

But somehow it did.

Four

You’re just asking for trouble. Amy’s words haunted Jillian as she drove across San Antonio to reach Brody’s apartment punctually at nine o’clock the following Saturday morning. She’d suggested they go in her battered Camry, since she knew her way around Texas better than Brody did and they’d have to take back roads to reach the winery. He wasn’t the type to willingly turn control over to anyone, but he had reluctantly agreed.

Her palms began to sweat as she turned into the circular drive of the Remington Heights’ high-rise luxury apartments. She convinced herself that her rattled nerves were from the snobbish look the valet gave her as she parked outside the sliding-glass door entrance. But she knew the real reason.

Brody.

“Can I help you, miss?” the valet asked, meeting her as she opened her car door.

“I’m here to see a fr—my boss. Brody Fortune.”

He squinted down at her, his slicked-back hair reflecting the sun’s rays. “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes.” What did she look like, a groupie? “He is.”

“Very well.” Although obviously doubtful, he relented. “If you’ll step into the lobby, the receptionist will ring his apartment. In the meantime, I’ll drive your car around back.”

Probably so it wouldn’t be an eyesore in front of the swanky building. She handed over her keys in exchange for a valet ticket. “Fine.”

Jillian’s nerves chafed raw as she waited for the female receptionist with French-manicured nails and mink-colored hair to ring Brody. In a haughty tone, the woman said, “Mr. Fortune, pardon me for disturbing you, but there’s a woman here who says she has an appointment with you…a…”

“Jillian Tanner,” she answered the receptionist’s silent question.

The woman paused, listening to Brody’s response. “Yes, sir, I’ll send Ms. Tanner right up.” She placed the receiver back in its cradle. “He said he was expecting you.”

Imagine that!

The woman flicked a contemptuous glance over Jillian’s khaki slacks and butterscotch top. “Take the elevator to the seventh floor. Mr. Fortune is in apartment 7-D.”

“Thank you.” A satisfied smile pulled at Jillian’s lips. She stepped into the oak-paneled elevator, almost relieved that she only had Brody to face.

Before the doors closed, she heard the receptionist mutter, “Wouldn’t have thought she was his type.”

Well, Jillian wasn’t Brody’s type. She never had been. Never would be. This was business, she assured herself, and that’s all.

When the elevator reached the seventh floor, she walked down an elegant hallway, her steps muffled by the muted brandy-and-forest-green runner that stretched the length of the hardwood floor. Along the way, she passed polished tables decorated with impressive silk flower arrangements, Queen Anne-style armchairs and gold-framed paintings in the tradition of Monet. It didn’t take much to remind her that she and Brody were from very different worlds.

She paused at the last apartment and swallowed the rest of her reservations. Why did she feel like a pauper about to enter the king’s palace? Staring at the massive twelve-foot-tall door, she felt her stomach twist into a rock-hard knot.

After ringing the bell, she waited. And waited. A few anxious seconds passed, and she glanced at the gold-plated plaque again—7-D. Where was Brody? Hadn’t he said for her to come right up?

Allowing another pause, she finally rang the bell again. If he didn’t open the door soon, she would retrace her steps. Perplexed, she started to turn away when the door swung open.

Brody greeted her with an embarrassed grin. A shock of black hair fell across his brow, and she resisted the absurd urge to smooth it back into place. In one hand he held a spatula and in the other a smoking skillet.

Jacques Pépin, the famous French chef, he wasn’t. But fatally sexy, he was. She felt the impact of his smile clear down to her toes.

“So much for breakfast.” His starched white shirt and faded blue jeans seemed as out of place in the opulent surroundings as he would in a kitchen. “We can eat on the way to the vineyard.”

“You made breakfast? For me?”

“I know you haven’t had anything to eat.” He narrowed his gray eyes on her as if suddenly unsure of himself. A rare emotion for Brody, one that made him seem vulnerable, and too appealing. “Have you?”

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