Blackwolf's Redemption

by Sandra Marton

  “The view from the half bath?” she said sweetly.

  “The apartment,” he said with a glare—and then, to her surprise, he laughed. “It’s kind of big, I admit.”

  Big? It was almost the size of his house. Not that she cared one way or another. It was just that this was a long way from horses and canyons and Chevy trucks. How? she wanted to ask. Better still, why?

  But she wasn’t about to ask him anything….

  “Stocks,” he said brusquely. “I’m an investor. A trader.”

  So much for cool cynicism. “Oh,” she said, and he laughed again, this time a real laugh, straight from his belly. His flat, hard belly…

  “What? Can’t you think of me as an investor?”

  Sienna swallowed dryly. What she’d been thinking about him didn’t have a thing to do with investments, and she was not going there! She raised her chin, gave him her best “Who cares?” look.

  “Frankly, I wasn’t thinking of you at all. I was thinking which of those four-and-a-half bathrooms would be mine.”

  “Pick a bedroom. They all come with bathrooms.” His mouth twitched. “Though you might want to avoid the one with the unfinished tile work.”

  “The only bedroom I want to avoid is the one that belongs to you.”

  She’d meant it as a cool statement of fact and saw, immediately, that Jesse had taken it as a challenge.

  “Trust me, baby,” he said softly. “If I wanted you in my bedroom, you’d be there.”

  She felt her face heat, knew she needed a flippant rejoinder, but her mind was blank so she made do with marching out of the room. She hadn’t gotten far when he called her name.

  “Sienna?”

  She stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “What now?”

  “I have a meeting in two hours. It’s business, which means you have a meeting, too.”

  She swung toward him. “A meeting? I really don’t want to go to a—”

  “I want you ready to go in an hour and a half.”

  She looked down at herself. There wasn’t much to get ready. Her sweats—his sweats—had not magically become better-fitting, and now they bore almost two days’ worth of grime.

  His gaze followed hers. He looked up, arms folded, one booted foot tapping against the marble floor. “You can’t go to a business meeting looking like that.”

  “No.” She smiled, the skirmish won. “I can’t. So go to your meeting, have a great time, and—”

  He said something under his breath, something she didn’t understand and probably was better off not understanding, and he hurried to where she stood, grabbed her arm and hustled her out the door.

  A while ago, she’d have said nothing this man could do would surprise her anymore.

  Taking her to Neiman Marcus blew that conviction out of the water.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  If the sight of a gorgeous man propelling forward a woman wearing oversized soiled sweats was unusual, you’d never have known it from the sales clerk’s polite smile.

  “The lady needs something to wear,” Jesse said grimly.

  “Certainly, sir. Of what type?”

  “Of what…” Jesse scowled. “Something appropriate for a business meeting. And fast.” The clerk’s eyebrows rose and Jesse took a deep breath. “Please,” he said, and smiled, and damn the man, the smile—sexy, open, charming—made the clerk melt.

  She hustled Sienna into a dressing room, looked her over as if she were a chicken waiting to be put into a pot.

  “I’m a size eight,” Sienna said, “and I like earth tones.”

  Might as well talk to the wall.

  “A six,” the woman said, “pinks and blues.” And she left.

  Five minutes later, Sienna put the sweats back on, pushed past the sputtering clerk and out of the dressing room. Jesse was seated in a gilt chair. Someone had brought him coffee and a stack of magazines. He looked big and masculine, completely out of place and uncomfortable, which was, at least, some reason for rejoicing.

  “Jesse,” Sienna hissed. He looked up. “We need to find a different store. I can’t afford anything here.”

  “No,” he said, “you can’t. But I can.”

  “I cannot permit you to—”

  “This is a business expense.”

  “It most certainly is not!”

  “And you know that because…?”

  “I told you.” She folded her arms. “I took business courses. Intro to Financial Accounting. Clothing is not—”

  “Intro to Accounting?” His smile was pitying. “Just choose something to wear, Cummings. And leave financial decisions to someone who knows how to make them.”

  She couldn’t come up with an answer that didn’t involve four-letter words. After a moment of icy silence, he looked at his watch, then at her. “Ten minutes. I suggest you get moving.”

  Back to the fitting room. Five more minutes went by. He heard female voices and then Sienna was standing in front of him again.

  “I cannot possibly go to a business meeting in this!”

  Jesse looked her over. She had on a pink sweater with some kind of narrow bands down the front. It was tucked into purple trousers that looked as if they’d started out okay before flaring wide enough to hide a couple of dozen dwarfs in each leg. Topping it all was a long purple jacket with a collar big enough to threaten the wearer with decapitation.

  Jesse tried not to laugh. A good plan, because Sienna’s expression was grim.

  “Madam wishes for close-fitting trousers,” the clerk said with distaste. “In white, with a white silk shirt.”

  “And a black blazer. Calvin Klein. Or DKNY—”

  The clerk sniffed. “I’ve never heard of those brands.”

  Sienna swung toward her. “No,” she snapped, “I’ll bet you—”

  “A dress,” he said calmly. “Something in deep gold or coffee-colored silk, knee length, simple and fitted.”

  “Surely such colors are not in vogue, sir.”

  “Surely such colors will complement the lady’s hair. And she’ll need—what did she call it? A blazer. Tan.”

  The clerk was back to smiling. “You mean, beige, sir.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. Shoes. A handbag. The works. Just make it quick. We’re running out of time.”

  Sienna, stuck somewhere back in Jesse’s comment about wanting her in colors to complement her hair, lifted her chin.

  “I make my own choices.”

  Jesse raised one dark eyebrows. “And I make the decisions.”

  If looks could kill, he would have been dead.

  Sienna left the fitting room for the last time fifteen minutes later.

  She was wearing a fitted jacket over a chocolate-brown silk dress, and, yes, the colors were perfect with her hair. Another swift-moving clerk had brought shoes—Jesse had bitten his lip at the sound of Sienna’s laughter over whatever had been the first pair offered. This pair was fine. They were slender high heels the color of the jacket, matched by a small purse that hung from her shoulder. Someone from one of the fancy makeup counters on the first floor had popped in with a bag of tricks: lipstick, mascara, the whisk of a comb through those gold-tinged curls…

  “Madam looks exquisite,” the clerk said, though grudgingly.

  Jesse said nothing.

  “Well?” Sienna said. “Will I do?”

  “You’ll do,” he said, and just for an instant, the air between them took on that electric heat they’d generated before. He liked what he saw, she thought, and despite all her promises to herself about not wanting him, a tremor went through her, so intense and so swift that it made her heart gallop.

  Their eyes met. Time seemed to stop. Then he cleared his throat, went back to looking removed and irritated, and stood up.

  “The bill,” he snapped. The clerk handed it over, Jesse dealt with it, and then they went down the escalator, into another taxi, and were quickly deposited outside an imposing brick building.

  “Where are we?”
Sienna hissed as Jesse clamped his hand around her elbow.

  “We’re meeting with my financial consultant,” he said, and after that, the entire day went to hell.

  It was all her doing, she knew it.

  And knew that her job had gone the same way.

  But, really, was it entirely her fault? Didn’t some of the blame start with the groomed-to-within-an-inch-of-her-life receptionist, wearing flared trousers that put her waistline in the vicinity of her ribs and, yes, shoes with what looked like a four-inch platform? The woman beamed at Jesse.

  “Mr. Blackwolf, how lovely to see you, sir. Mr. Henley’s expecting you.”

  Not even a glance spared for Sienna. Jesse didn’t mention her presence, either. Okay. She was a secretary. Not a PA or an Admin Assistant. Basically, she was a PNN. Persona non noticeable. Or something like that.

  Henley’s secretary came out to greet them. “Mr. Blackwolf, sir. It’s good to see you.”

  This time, a glance went in Sienna’s direction. Sienna smiled pleasantly. “How do you do? I’m—”

  “This way, Mr. Blackwolf.”

  Sienna narrowed her eyes. “I have a name,” she said coldly. “I am not invisi—”

  Jesse’s fingers bit into her elbow.

  “You’re here to take notes,” he said in a low voice. “Not to intrude or interfere. Got that?”

  “Whatever you choose to call them, you should remember that women who take notes and run themselves ragged for men like you are not pieces of furniture.”

  “The last place you ran yourself ragged for a man like me was last night, in front of the fireplace,” he said even more coldly than she. “And it was hardly an event I’d want to remember.”

  God, he was despicable! Sienna clamped her lips together and followed him into a lush office. A football field long, at least. Or damned close.

  “Jesse,” the small man behind the big desk boomed as he shot to his feet, hand extended.

  “Henley.” Jesse shook the man’s hand. Sienna waited expectantly. “My secretary,” he said. No name. No look in her direction. None from Henley, either.

  Sienna gritted her teeth.

  Jesse took a chair before the desk. Sienna looked around. There was a straight-backed chair against the wall. Jesse looked at her, jerked his head toward the chair. She marched to it. Could you grit your teeth hard enough to dislocate your jaw?

  “Coffee?” Henley said.

  Jesse nodded. “That would be fine.”

  The small man looked at his secretary. “Coffee for Mr. Blackwolf, tea for me.” He chuckled. “I’ve had enough caffeine for the day.”

  “Oh,” Sienna said brightly, “tea has as much caffeine as…” They all looked at her. She cleared her throat. “Actually, I’d prefer tea, too, if you—”

  She was still speaking when the secretary left. Henley and Jesse chatted about this and that. Definitely, you could dislocate your jaw, so Sienna gave up tooth-grinding for lip-gnawing. She endured the serving of coffee and tea to the two men, took out a notebook, uncapped a ballpoint pen and prepared to take notes.

  “…so,” Henley said, “the bottom line is, I’m advising against buying this company.”

  “Your reasons?” Jesse said.

  “There are many. First of all, my research indicates it’s very risky. Who knows where computers are going to go?”

  Sienna’s head came up.

  “Their use is surely limited. They’re enormous. They require dust-free, air-conditioned rooms.”

  “There are personal computers out there already.”

  “Small, underpowered things, Mr. Blackwolf. My assessment is that they’ll never find favor with any sort of substantial segment of the populace.”

  Sienna snorted. Both men looked at her. “Uh, sorry,” she said. “I, ah, I sneezed.”

  Jesse narrowed his eyes, then focused on Henley again. “I appreciate your concern, but my understanding is that this company has a significant chance of surviving and prospering.”

  “The company is new. It’s probably underfunded.” The consultant shook his head. “It doesn’t actually deal in computers, it deals in what’s called ‘operating systems.’” He flashed a pitying smile. “Trust me when I tell you that IBM has a lock on that market.”

  Sienna looked up. “Operating systems? IBM operating systems?”

  Jesse flashed her a warning look. Henley ignored her.

  “More to the point, the two men who started this company are children, Mr. Blackwolf. Well, they’re barely in their twenties. Neither has a college degree.”

  “I know, but I’ve done a lot of reading on Gates and Allen, and—”

  “Paul Allen?” Sienna said. “Bill Gates?”

  “Miss—Miss whatever your name is, if you would kindly—”

  “Jesse. They’re Microsoft!”

  Jesse looked at her. “That’s right.”

  “That’s the company you want to buy?” She laughed. “You can’t. But ohmygod, buy as many shares as you possibly can!”

  “Really, young lady…”

  Sienna got to her feet. “I am not a young lady,” she said, “I am Mr. Blackwolf’s administrative assistant.”

  Henley looked confused. “Isn’t she your secretary?”

  “Jesse,” Sienna said, “this man’s advice is dead wrong.”

  “Now, wait just a minute, miss! I am not going to permit a—a secretary to—”

  “I told you, I’m not a secretary. I’m an administrative assistant. A personal assistant.” The consultant flashed a smug, sexist smile. Sienna narrowed her eyes. “And you can get that look right off your face. That phrase does not mean what a sleaze like you thinks it means.”

  Henley shot to his feet. “How dare you?”

  “How dare I not?” Sienna strode toward him and leaned across the desk, her nose inches from his. “You don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to computers. Or me.”

  The man turned scarlet. He glared at her, then at Jesse. “Mr. Blackwolf. I am waiting for this young woman’s apology.”

  Jesse gave a lazy smile. He stood up, held out his hand. “Thank you for your time, Henley.”

  “But we’re not done here, sir! We have a great deal more to discuss. I’ve taken the liberty of checking around. Have you considered the growth potential in Polaroid cameras?”

  Sienna snorted again. The men looked at her. “I promise you,” she said sweetly, “that was not a sneeze. It was a polite belly laugh.”

  “Listen here, Miss—”

  “Cummings. Sienna Cummings. Ms. Sienna Cummings. Miz, not Miss. I assume you’ve heard the term.”

  “Well, that explains it. You’re one of those—those bra burners who favor unisex bathrooms.”

  Sienna blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “The ERA. The Equal Rights Amendment. I know your type. I just cannot imagine you, Mr. Blackwolf, employing someone like this.”

  Sienna and the attorney both looked at Jesse. His face was unreadable. Oh, God, Sienna thought, after all he’s done for me…

  “Jesse,” she said unhappily. “Jesse, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Thank you for your time,” Jesse said again. And he took Sienna’s arm and hustled her to the door so fast that her feet almost left the floor.

  He hailed a taxi as soon as they reached the street.

  Sienna sat huddled in one corner. If only Jesse would say something—but he didn’t. He gave the driver a destination and completely ignored her.

  Moments later, their cab pulled up at a hotel at the top of a steep hill. Jesse stepped from the cab; she scooted out after him.

  “Jesse,” she said in a low voice, “I know you’re angry but—”

  “Evening, sir. Madam.”

  At least the doorman was willing to acknowledge her presence. Not that she cared. The only man whose acknowledgment mattered was Jesse.

  Had she ruined an important business relationship for him? She’d certainly ruined his meeting. She hadn’t mean
t to do either; she’d intended to do as he’d asked. Not interfere, not speak out, not intrude…

  An elevator whisked them to the top floor of the hotel. They stepped out into a dazzling restaurant crowded with patrons. Was her boss going to feed her before he fired her?

  Sienna tried again.

  “Jesse. I’m sorry if—”

  He put his hand on the small of her back. His touch was cool. Impersonal. Why did she want to lean back into it, turn that casual touch into a caress?

  A smiling maître d’hôtel greeted them. “Good evening…Ah, Mr. Blackwolf. Welcome back, sir.”

  “Good evening, John. I’m afraid we don’t have a reservation.”

  “No problem at all, sir. If you’d follow me, please…?”

  The maître d’snapped his fingers. A busboy whisked a discreet “reserved” sign from a window table with an expansive view of the city. As soon as they were seated, the sommelier appeared and handed Jesse a drinks list.

  He waved it away.

  “A bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée.”

  The sommelier beamed with approval. Sienna didn’t. Who cared about champagne right now?

  Although, it would have been nice if Jesse had thought to ask her if she liked champagne… And what a petty thought at a time like this! She was lucky he hadn’t ordered champagne for himself and hemlock for her.

  “Look, Jesse, I know I was out of line, but I couldn’t let that man talk you into making a huge mist—”

  The champagne arrived. Sienna waited through the ceremony of Jesse examining the bottle, the sommelier expertly popping the cork, the presentation of the cork, the pouring of the sparkling wine so Jesse could taste it, then the pouring of it into two glasses.

  She could feel her patience fraying. Such nonsense. Such an expression of male vanity. Men still did it in her time and it was just plain silly….

  Damn it, so what? Explaining why she’d done what she’d done was what mattered.

  She tried as soon as they were alone again.

  “Jesse,” she said urgently, “will you at least look at me? I can explain—”