by Linda Turner
Nodding, Phoebe folded the list and carefully stored it in her purse. It was a start. That was all she asked.
Mitch didn’t know how Alice handled her job without going quietly out of her mind. By noon, it seemed like everyone in the building had a problem that they expected him to solve for them. If it wasn’t a lost key or squeaky floors, it was a nightclub across the river playing music until all hours of the night. And then there was the upkeep on the old building. A heater vent in 2A was blowing nothing but cold air and the hot-water heater in ID was on the blink. He’d called in the necessary people to make the repairs, then met with three different plumbers to discuss replacing every pipe in the place. He hadn’t gotten any written bids yet—those would be in the mail by the end of the week—but the verbal estimates were daunting. And on top of all that, he was on the phone to Jennifer, his secretary in Dallas, trying to keep tabs on what Applebee was up to while he was gone. There was no question in his mind that he needed to get back to Dallas, and damn quick. But like it or not, he knew now that he couldn’t turn the running of the Social Club over to some impersonal management company until Alice returned. The house was too old and fragile and had too much historical significance. A member of the family needed to be there to make sure that repairs were done correctly, and he, unfortunately, was the only one available.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, there was nothing he could do but accept the inevitable and try to make the best of it. If he couldn’t go to his office, then he’d bring his office to San Antonio. Getting on the phone, he called a local office equipment company and arranged to have a computer, fax, and laser printer delivered. Another call to an Internet service got him on the Web by the time the computer was delivered, and by two, he had a complete office set up in Alice’s apartment and was interviewing prospective secretaries sent over by the employment agency.
With everything set up and ready to go, finding a temp to answer the phone and deal with the Social Club’s minor problems while he was busy handling more important business shouldn’t have been all that difficult. He knew he could be demanding, but he didn’t think asking a secretary to be computer-literate and friendly on the phone was asking too much. Evidently, though, it was. None of the four women he interviewed was right for the job. Two didn’t know how to send E-mail, and a third didn’t know the difference between the Web and Jack Webb. The fourth could have done anything he wanted without missing a beat, but she had the sourest disposition of anyone he’d ever met in his life. Frustrated, he was considering calling a different employment agency when there was a knock at the door to Alice’s apartment.
Wondering which tenant had a complaint now, he irritably got up and went to answer it, only to find himself face-to-face with Phoebe Smith. He hadn’t seen her since last night, not since he’d caught her in the garden in her nightclothes, and it wasn’t until now that he realized just how much that image had stuck in his mind. She was dressed for work in a businesslike black print dress and sensible heels, but all he could see was her in that damn flannel nightgown and robe.
“What do you want?”
He knew he sounded rude and wanted to kick himself when she flinched, but, dammit all, there was something about her that just seemed to rub him the wrong way. That didn’t, however, excuse poor manners. Pulling the door open wider, he said stiffly, “Sorry about that—it’s been one of those days. What can I do for you, Ms. Smith? Is something wrong with the apartment? The heat’s not working? Or are the pipes rattling? Just tell me what it is and I’ll try to get someone in to fix it.”
Confused, she frowned as she stepped past him into the apartment. “Nothing’s wrong...at least not with the apartment.”
So something was wrong somewhere else, he deduced with a silent groan. Why wasn’t he surprised? Yesterday, the lady had had nothing but one problem after another. Why should today be any different?
His mouth curling cynically, he lifted a mocking eyebrow. “So what’s the problem this time? It can’t be your niece sleepwalking in the garden again—it’s too early. So what is it? Did you park in a loading zone and have your car towed or what?”
“Actually,” she said with a candid honesty that amazed him, “I lost my job. I just wanted you to know in case you heard the kids talking about it and thought I’d try to renege on the terms of our agreement. You don’t have to worry. We’ll still be out of here before the Johnsons move in, as promised.”
Chapter 4
A smart man wouldn’t have gotten involved. He would have thanked her for keeping him apprised of the situation, then shown her the door. After all, he didn’t know her, and didn’t want to know her. If she had a tendency to wander into his thoughts at will, it was only because she was a beautiful woman, and he appreciated that. But she also seemed prone to one disaster after another, and he had enough headaches to deal with as it was. The last thing he needed or wanted was another one.
But instead of wishing her luck in finding another position, then sending her on her way, he heard himself ask, “What exactly do you do?”
“I’m a secretary,” she replied. “Why? Do you know someone who’s hiring?”
No, he told himself. He damn well didn’t. But the idea had already taken root, and even as he cursed it, he knew he couldn’t let it go. He didn’t believe in coincidence. Things happened for a reason, and he’d learned a long time ago not to question what fate threw in his path.
He scrutinized her through narrowed eyes. “I might. Why were you fired?”
“I wasn’t!” she snapped, stung. “The company’s downsizing and my position was eliminated. If you don’t believe me, call my boss. He lost his job, too.”
“I just might do that,” he retorted. “What’s his name?”
“Ned Grisham. He is—was—vice president of sales.”
When she rattled off the number, Mitch lifted a skeptical brow. “You were the private secretary to a vice president?”
Once again, her eyes sparked fire. “I wouldn’t lie about something that can be so easily checked, Mr. Ryan. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pick the kids up at school. There’s no point in sending them to day care after school now that I’m not working.”
Her cheeks bright with color, she walked out with her chin up and her back ramrod-straight. Watching her, Mitch told himself he was a fool for even considering hiring her. The lady had a real talent for getting under his skin. Five minutes. That was all it seemed to take for them to lock horns.
But he needed a secretary, dammit! And if she’d worked for the vice president of a company, as she claimed, she was more than qualified to handle any work he threw at her. Just because she had a knack for setting his teeth on edge didn’t mean they couldn’t work together. At least she had a brain that appeared to be in working order, which was more than he could say for the Einsteins he’d interviewed earlier in the day. And she stood up for herself—he liked that in a secretary. He wanted someone who could work alongside him and who had the gumption to make executive decisions on her own when she had to. Phoebe Smith could do that.
If she was going to work for him, though, she needed a place to stay. And he needed her close at hand, preferably in the building, so she could take complete control of things whenever he had to make unexpected trips to Dallas. The only problem was that once the Johnsons moved into 2C, there would, to put it simply, be no more room at the inn. Every apartment at the Social Club was rented.
She would have to find somewhere else to live...unless he let her move into Alice’s apartment with him.
Immediately, his common sense rejected the idea. Had he lost his mind? Phoebe Smith was a stranger. He’d known her for all of twenty-four hours, and what he knew about her was hardly reassuring. She seemed to attract trouble like the plague, and for all he knew, she could be the kind to take advantage of any man stupid enough to be taken in by her hard-luck story.
And then there were the kids. They appeared harmless enough, but the truth was, he didn’t know a th
ing about rug rats. And the apartment was hardly set up for more than one or two people at the most. There were only two small bedrooms. The four of them wouldn’t be able to turn around without running into each other.
But Phoebe would be right there, day and night, to assist him or the tenants with any problems that came up. And now that she’d lost her job, she could start work as soon as she finished cleaning the Johnsons’ apartment: He could hand the responsibility of the Social Club over to her and turn his attention back to his own work. He’d be there, of course, for any major decisions that had to be made, but she could handle anything else that cropped up, including overseeing not only the renovation of the attic but the more immediate problem of the plumbing repairs. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Maybe it was time he gave her old boss a call.
His brown eyes dancing with wicked laughter, Robby stuffed the rest of his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in his mouth and forgot he wasn’t supposed to talk with a full mouth. “You should have seen Mr. Foster when the monkey jumped on his head in the lunch room and grabbed his wig, Aunt Phoebe. He was so mad, his eyes sort of bugged out and he turned this funky shade of purple! It was awesome!”
Phoebe shouldn’t have laughed. Sneaking a pet monkey into school and allowing it to snitch a teacher’s toupee was a serious matter, and she should have warned Robby not to ever think of pulling that kind of stunt himself. But he was such a natural storyteller, mimicking everything the monkey did, that she could just see the portly teacher, who took himself far too seriously, gasping in outrage.
“Stop!” she choked. “You’re killing me!”
“That’s what Mr. Foster said,” Becky chimed in, giggling. “Somebody get this monster off me! He’s killing me!”
That sent Phoebe off into another gale of laughter. She loved this part of the day, when she could sit down with the kids and hear about their day. At her old apartment, they had quickly established a routine of sitting at the kitchen table for a snack while she started supper. That hadn’t stopped just because most of their things, including her battered but sturdy table, were still in the U-Haul moving trailer parked out in front of the Social Club. With a trusting acceptance that only made her love them more, the kids had made do with lawn chairs and folding snack trays and didn’t seem to care that they didn’t know where they were going to be living next week.
“Remind me never to buy you two a pet monkey,” she teased as they finished their snacks. “Okay, what’s on the agenda for homework? Becky, how are you coming with your spelling? And what about that library book of yours, hotshot?” she asked Robby. “Don’t you have a book report due tomorrow?”
“Can’t we watch cartoons first?” Becky pleaded. “Please?”
“Just for a half hour?” her brother wheedled. “Then we’ll do our homework. I’ll even help Becky with her spelling.”
They looked up at her with such innocent, hopeful faces that if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that they’d never watched cartoons a day in their life. Her lips twitching, she said, “I swear you’re both going to grow up to be con artists. Go on. Watch your cartoons. But only thirty minutes!” she yelled after them as they whooped and ran for the living room and her small, portable TV. “Then it’s time to buckle down and get to work.”
She wouldn’t, she knew, have to hound them about their school work. They were both smart as whips and really liked learning. Usually, she didn’t even have to remind them about their homework. As soon as their favorite cartoon went off, they always turned off the TV without being told and finished whatever worksheets they’d brought home with them.
Sending up a silent prayer of thanks that their parents had taught them such good study habits, she reminded herself that she had work of her own to do. She’d promised to clean the apartment in exchange for staying there, and except for the quick once-over she’d given the kitchen and bathroom last night when she and the kids had moved in, she’d hardly begun. One look inside the blackened oven and she knew she had her work cut out for her.
When there was a knock at the front door of the apartment ten minutes later, she was up to her elbows in hot, sudsy water and cursing what looked like twenty years’ accumulation of dirt and grime on the small, apartment-size stove. Not surprisingly, the kids didn’t answer the door. When they were engrossed in their cartoons, the space shuttle could have landed right next to them and they never would have noticed.
“I’m coming,” she muttered when whoever was at the door knocked again. “Geez, give me a second—”
Her words trailed off at the sight of Mitch Ryan standing on her threshold, his clenched fist already raised to knock again. She hadn’t forgotten how rude he’d been to her earlier, that he’d all but accused her of lying about her work experience. And every time she thought about it, she fumed. No one had ever accused her of lying before, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all!
Glaring at him, she made no move to open the door wider and invite him inside. “You don’t seem the type of man who associates with liars, so I assume this isn’t a social call,” she said tartly. “Are we disturbing the neighbors or what?”
If she’d wanted to touch a nerve, she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d done so. Irritation flickered in his blue eyes like lightning before a storm. But instead of retorting icily, the way she half expected, he surprised her by mockingly marking off an imaginary point in the air.
“Score one for you, Ms. Smith,” he drawled. “Would it help if I explained that I spent the morning interviewing women who claimed to have the same skills you do? Three out of four of them barely knew how to turn on a computer, let alone operate one. On a good day, I’m not the most trusting of souls. By the time you knocked on my door, I would have doubted the Pope himself.”
As far as explanations went, it was a good one. He’d had a rough day and she’d caught him at a bad time. He didn’t appear to be the type of man who bothered to explain himself very often, and she supposed she should have been grateful that he’d taken the time to do so to her. But nothing, not even a rotten day, excused rudeness.
Her smile as sardonic as his, she crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, her eyes coolly meeting his. “If that’s an apology, Mr. Ryan, I’m afraid you left out a few words. Like I’m sorry. You should try them. They have a nice ring to them.”
Amazingly, he laughed. “I was getting to that. I’m sorry. There. Now can I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”
The charming smile he flashed her was free of mockery and lit up his usually stern face with devastating effect. Her eyes drawn like a magnet to his mouth, Phoebe felt something shift deep inside her, something that shook her to the core. Stunned, she told herself she could not be attracted to Mitch Ryan. It just wasn’t possible. If her heart was doing cartwheels in her breast, it was because he’d surprised her by actually acting civil.
Standing her ground, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m busy cleaning the stove, and frankly, I can’t think of a thing we need to talk about that hasn’t already been said.”
Amused, he cocked a teasing brow at her. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Ms. Smith?”
“No, of course not!”
Her answer was a little too quick, his blue eyes a little too knowing. Flustered, she warned herself that this was a man she’d be wise to be wary of. He was attractive and sophisticated and all too aware of the effect he had on women. Scott Calvin, the only man she’d ever given her heart to, had been much the same way. She’d known the second she met him that he was out of her league, but thought she could handle him and the way he made her feel. She’d been wrong.
She was smarter now, though—she no longer ventured out into water that was over her head. And Mitch Ryan definitely swam with the sharks. Knowing that, she should have been immune to his brand of charm, but standing there, caught in the trap of his gaze, she could not deny that he had only to turn that devilish smile of h
is on her to make her go weak at the knees.
Disgusted with herself, irritated at him, she let out her breath in a huff. “Look, I don’t know if you’re having a slow day or what, but I really don’t have time to stand here and amuse you. So if you’ve really got something to say to me, spit it out so I can get back to work.”
Her tone held just the right amount of studied indifference to send the most persistent of men packing, but it didn’t so much as dent Mitch Ryan’s hide. Grinning, he said, “We’re a mite touchy today, aren’t we? I guess getting fired can do that to a person.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Fired,” he supplied for her, chuckling. “Yes, so you’ve said. And as it happens, your old boss verified that.”
“You called him?”
“I generally check out the people I hire.”
If there’d been a chair nearby, Phoebe would have dropped into it. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” he said dryly. “I need a secretary and you’re a secretary who needs a job. According to Ned Grisham, you’re conscientious and dependable and given the chance, you could have run Wainwright Pharmaceutical with one hand tied behind your back. That’s what I need. Someone who can take the initiative and handle things without me having to constantly tell them what to do. I want to begin remodeling the attic into another apartment, and all the plumbing in the building needs to be replaced, but my business interests take up a lot of my time. Your duties would include supervising all repairs as well as lining up an architect and contractor for the remodeling, then seeing that the construction gets under way as soon as possible. I would also expect you to handle whatever problems crop up with the tenants, too, since I’ll be traveling back and forth between here and Dallas.”