Maeve, however, refused to let any notion of gloom overshadow their day. When she met Libby in the lobby, she clapped her hands, practically dancing around like a child. “I’m so glad you’re finally going to put your hair back to rights. I know your mother disliked that boring brown.”
Libby raised her eyebrows. “Has anyone ever accused you of being overly tactful?”
Maeve chuckled, heading out to the large flagstone driveway where her silver Mercedes was parked. “I consider you family, my dear. And as your honorary aunt or stepmother or whatever you want to call me, I’m only doing my duty when I tell you that you have taken a beautiful young woman and turned her into a drudge.”
Libby couldn’t take offense. Maeve was absolutely too gleeful about restoring Libby’s original looks. For a moment, Libby felt a surge of panic. She’d hidden behind her ill-fitting clothes and her nondescript hair color for the better part of a year. What if someone in New York recognized her?
As Maeve navigated the curvy road down the mountain, Libby took several deep breaths. She had started a new life. Did it matter if people knew who she was? Libby hadn’t committed tax fraud.
Besides, most of the friends in her immediate social circle had melted away when the Parkhurst fortunes began to shatter. It was doubtful anyone would even want to acknowledge her. And as far as reporters were concerned, Libby Parkhurst was old news.
When Maeve found a parking spot in Silver Glen, the day of pampering began. First it was private massages, then manicures and pedicures at an upscale spa. Of course, most everything in Silver Glen was upscale. The beautiful alpine-themed town catered to the rich and famous.
An hour and a half later, once her Tahitian Sunset polish had dried, Libby admired her fingers and toes. This kind of self-indulgence had been one of the first things to go when she and her mother had been put out on the street.
It was amazing that something so simple could make a woman feel like she was ready to take on the world.
Next was the hair salon. Libby pulled a photo out of her wallet, one from her college graduation, and showed the stylist her original color. The woman was horrified. “Why would you ruin such an amazing head of hair? Never mind,” she said quickly. “I don’t even want to know. But before you leave here, young lady, I’m going to remind you what the good Lord intended you to look like.”
Libby allowed the woman to whack three inches, since it had been ages since her last cut. Not only had Libby dyed her hair as part of her plan to go incognito, she had straightened it, as well. Little by little, the real Libby returned.
The stylist kept her promise. When it was done, Libby gazed in the mirror with tears in her eyes. Her natural hair was a curly, vibrant red that complemented her pale skin, unlike the dull brown that had washed her out and made her seem tired.
Now, the bouncy chin-length do put color in her cheeks. Parted on one side and tucked behind her ear on the other, the fun, youthful style framed her face and took years off her age.
Maeve beamed. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
Next stop was a charming boutique with an array of trendily clad mannequins in the window. Libby put her foot down. “I have money, Maeve. My first paycheck went in the bank this morning.”
Patrick’s mother frowned. “You nearly died in the service of a Kavanagh business. If I want to buy you a few things as a thank-you for not suing us, that is my prerogative.”
Libby gaped. “You know I would never sue you. That’s ridiculous.”
But Maeve had already crossed the store and engaged the services of a young woman about Libby’s own age. The clerk assessed Libby with a smile. “What kinds of things are we looking for today?”
Maeve shushed Libby when she tried to speak. The older woman steamrollered the conversation. “A little of everything. Casual chic. Business attire...not a suit, I think, but a little black dress. And a very dressy something for dinner...perhaps in ivory or even green if that’s not too obvious with her fabulous hair.”
The couture makeover became a whirlwind. Libby tried on so many garments, she lost count. When the frenzy was done, Maeve plunked down a credit card. “She’ll wear the jeans and stilettos home...plus the peasant blouse. We’ll take all the rest in garment bags.”
Libby gave up trying to protest. In the months ahead, when she was able, she would do her best to repay Maeve. In the meantime, it was exciting to know that she would be able to accompany Patrick to New York looking her best.
Maeve declared herself exhausted when they returned to the Silver Beeches Lodge. “I’m going to see if Liam needs me,” she said. “And if not, I’m headed home to put my feet up.”
Libby hugged her impulsively. “Thank you, dear Maeve. I love you.”
This time it was Maeve who had tears in her eyes. She took Libby’s hands, her expression earnest. “Your mother was a precious woman...fragile, but precious. I still remember how proud she was when you were born. You were the light of her life. When you remember her, Libby, try not to think of the woman she became at the end, but instead, the woman she was at her best...the friend I knew so well.”
Libby managed a smile. “It’s no wonder your sons adore you.”
Maeve waved a dismissive hand. “They think I’m a meddling pain in the ass. But then again, they know I’m always right.”
Libby said her goodbyes and wandered upstairs to her room. She was determined to move to the apartment over the Silver Dollar saloon very soon. How many paychecks would it take before she could afford a rent payment? She chafed at the idea of living on Kavanagh charity, even if it was extremely luxurious and comfortable charity.
She and Maeve had lunched out before their appointments, so tonight, the only thing Libby ordered from room service was a chef salad. Often she ate downstairs in the dining room, but it had been a long, though pleasant, day. Sometimes it was nice to be alone and contemplate the future.
After her modest dinner, she packed the suitcase Maeve had loaned her. At one time, Libby had owned a wide array of expensive toiletries. Now she was accustomed to nothing more than discount-store moisturizer, an inexpensive tube of mascara and a couple of lipsticks for dressing up.
Her lace-and-silk nightgown and robe were remnants of the past. As were the several sets of bras and undies she possessed. It was one thing to sell haute couture at a resale shop. No one wanted underwear.
As she crawled into bed, she checked her phone. Patrick had messaged her earlier to let her know he would be sending a taxi to pick her up at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. They would rendezvous at the brand-new airstrip on the other end of the valley.
Patrick’s brief text—and her equally brief response—was the only communication Libby had shared with him since she’d walked out of his office Wednesday afternoon. She missed him. And she had gone back and forth a dozen times about whether or not she was doing the right thing.
Their flirtatious conversation had left the status quo up in the air. What was going to happen when they got to New York?
She could tell herself it was all about finding closure...a bid for saying goodbye to her old life. And maybe trying one more time to convince Patrick she could do the job at Silver Reflections.
But she had a weak spot when it came to her fascinating boss. The possibility of sharing his bed made her shiver with anticipation. Right now, that agenda was winning.
Ten
Patrick had decided to bring in one of the standby pilots the Kavanaghs sometimes used instead of flying himself. For one thing, the deep cut in his leg was still sore as hell. And for another, he liked the idea of sitting in the back of the jet with Libby. She was no stranger to luxury travel...so it wasn’t that he wanted to see her reaction when he dazzled her with sophistication and pampering.
It was far simpler than that. He wanted to spend time with her.
He arrived at the airstrip thirty minutes early. The past two nights, he hadn’t slept worth a damn. He kept reliving the moment the landslide happened. The instant Libby faced one of her worst fears. Because of him. Residual guilt tied his gut in a knot.
Not that she had suffered any lasting harm. Nevertheless, the experience in the mine was unpleasant to say the least. He never should have let her go down there.
He was already on the jet when the taxi pulled up. Peeking through the small window of the plane, he saw Libby get out. The day was drizzly and cold. She was wearing a black wool coat and carried a red-and-black umbrella, her face hidden. All he could see was long legs and sexy shoes.
The pilot was already in the cockpit preparing for takeoff. Patrick went to the open cabin door and stood, ready to lend a hand if Libby needed help on the wet stairs. She hovered on the tarmac as the cabdriver handed a suitcase and matching carry-on to Patrick. Then she came up the steps.
Patrick moved back. “Hand me your umbrella.” He’d been wrong about the coat. It wasn’t wool at all, but instead, a fashionable all-weather trench-style, presumably heavily lined to deal with the cold weather in New York. A hood, edged in faux fur, framed her face.
For some reason, he couldn’t look her in the eyes...not yet. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said over his shoulder. After shaking the worst of the water from the umbrella, he closed it and stored it in a small closet. Then he retracted the jet’s folding steps and turned the locking mechanisms on the cabin door.
“We’ll be taking off in about five minutes.”
At last, he turned around. Libby stood in the center of the cabin, her purse and coat on a seat beside her.
His heart punched once in his chest. Hard. His lungs forgot how to function. “Libby?” Incredulous, he stared at her. She was wearing a long-sleeve, scoop-necked black dress with a chunky silver necklace and matching earrings. The dress was completely plain. But the slubbed-knit fabric fit her body perfectly, emphasizing every sexy curve.
Even so, the dress wasn’t what made the greatest impact. Nor was it the extremely fashionable but wildly impractical high heels that made her legs seem a million miles long. The dramatic jolt wasn’t even a result of her darkly lashed green eyes or her soft crimson lips. It was her hair. God, her hair...
His mouth was probably hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in the pocket of his suit jacket to keep from grabbing her. “Whoever talked you into changing your color back to normal is a genius. It suits you perfectly.” The deep red curls with gold highlights made her skin glow. The new cut framed her face and drew attention to high cheekbones and a slightly pointed chin.
Libby shrugged, seeming both pleased by and uncomfortable with his reaction. She and her mother had been harassed by reporters for months. Looking the way she did right now, it would have been impossible for her to fade into a crowd. Hence the metamorphosis from gorgeous socialite to little brown mouse.
She nodded, her eyes shadowed. “I’ve been hiding for a long time. But that’s over, Patrick. I’m ready to move on.”
He couldn’t help himself. He closed the distance between them. “You’re more than the sum of your looks, Libby.”
“Thank you.”
He winnowed his fingers through her hair. “It’s so light...and fluffy...and red.” He lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “I want to take you right here, right now. In that big overstuffed captain’s chair. You make me crazy.”
She looked at him, her soft green eyes roving his face, perhaps seeking assurance of his sincerity. “I want you, too, Patrick. Perhaps I shouldn’t. My life is complicated enough already. But when I’m with you, I forget about all the bad stuff.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure I want to be used as an amnesiac device.”
“Don’t think of it that way. You’re like a drug. But the good kind. One that makes me feel alive in the best possible way. When I’m with you, I’m happy. It’s as simple as that.”
Her explanation mollified him somewhat, but he still wasn’t entirely satisfied. He wanted to kiss her, but the pilot used the intercom to notify them of imminent takeoff. “This discussion isn’t over,” he said.
They strapped into adjacent seats and prepared to be airborne. Libby turned to look out the window. Her profile was as familiar to him now as was his own. He struggled with a hodgepodge of emotions that left him feeling out of sorts.
He liked being Libby Parkhurst’s savior. In the beginning he had resented his mother’s interference. But once Libby was installed at Silver Reflections, it made him feel good to know he was helping make her life easier. Now that she had acquitted herself reasonably well in the woods, there was really no reason not to let her finish out Charlise’s maternity leave.
But did he honestly want Libby under his nose 24/7? The situation would be perfect fodder for his mother’s wedding-obsessed machinations behind the scenes. Patrick, however, was more worried about becoming a slobbering sex-starved idiot.
He had a business to run. Silver Reflections was doing very well, but any relatively new business had to keep on its toes. He couldn’t afford to let his focus be drawn away by a woman, no matter how appealing.
The flight to New York was uneventful. Patrick worked on his presentation. Libby read a novel. They spoke occasionally, but it was stilted conversation. Was he the only one feeling shaken by what might happen during the night to come?
* * *
Libby felt like a girl in a fairy tale. Except this was backward. She had already been the princess with the world at her feet. Now she was an ordinary woman trying to embrace her new life.
It didn’t hurt that Maeve had spoiled her with a suitcase full of new clothes. When Libby was growing up, her mother had bought Libby an entire new wardrobe every spring and fall. The castoffs were given to charity. They were always good clothes, some of them barely worn. Libby had never thought twice about it...other than the few times she had begged to keep a favorite sweater or pair of jeans.
Such excess seemed dreadful now. The clothes she’d brought with her this weekend would have to last several years. They were quality items, well made and classic in style. Perhaps Maeve was more perceptive than Libby realized, because during their wild shopping spree, Maeve had never once suggested anything that was faddish, nothing that would be dated by the next season.
On the other hand, Libby knew it wasn’t the clothing that defined her new maturity. The past year had been a trial by fire. She had struggled with the emotional loss of her father, grieved the physical loss of her mother and juggled all of that alongside the almost inexplicable loss of her own identity.
And now there was Patrick. What to do about Patrick?
He disturbed her introspection. “Do you have any current plans to see your father?”
“Will you think I’m a terrible person if I say no?”
His smile was gentle and encompassed an understanding that threatened her composure. “Of course not. No one can make that decision for you.”
She picked at the armrest. “I’ve sent him the occasional note. And of course, I called him after Mother, well...you know.”
“Was he able to attend the funeral?”
“No. The request to the prison would have had to come from me, and I didn’t think I could handle it. I was pretty much a mess. Fortunately, my parents had actually bought plots where my father grew up in Connecticut. They even prepaid for funerals. So at least I didn’t have to worry about that.”
“Has he written to you?”
“Only twice. I think he’s ashamed. And embarrassed. But mostly angry he got caught. My father apparently subscribed to the theory that tax fraud isn’t actually a crime unless someone finds out what you’ve done.”
“He’s not alone in that view.”
“Doesn’t make it right.�
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“How long does he have to serve?”
“Seven to ten. It was a lot of money. And apparently he was not exactly repentant in front of the judge.”
“Time in prison can change people. Maybe it will show him what matters.”
“I suppose...” But she was dubious. Her father was accustomed to throwing his weight around. His money had made it possible for him to demand what he wanted when he wanted. She had tried to find it in her heart to have sympathy for him. But she was still too shattered about the whole experience.
Patrick leaned forward and pointed out her window. “There’s the skyline.”
Libby took in the familiar sight and felt a stab of grief so raw and deep it caught her off guard. Patrick didn’t say a word. But he used his finger to catch a tear that rolled down her cheek, and he finally offered her a pristine handkerchief to blow her nose.
“It’s not my home anymore,” she said, her throat so tight she could barely speak.
Patrick slid an arm around her shoulders. “It will always be your first home. And at some point, the trauma of what happened will become part of your past. Not so devastating that you think of it every day.”
“I hope so.”
“Silver Glen is a pretty good place for a fresh start. I know you came to the mountains to heal and to get back on your feet financially. My mother would be over the moon if you decided to stay forever.”
“What about you, Patrick?”
The impulsive query came from her own lips, but shocked her nevertheless. It was the kind of needy leading question an insecure woman asks. “Don’t answer that,” she said quickly. “I don’t know why I said it.”
His expression was impassive, his thoughts impossible to decipher. “I have nothing to hide. I’ve already told you how I feel about marriage. I get the impression you’re the kind of woman who will want a permanent relationship eventually. Maybe you can find that in Silver Glen. I don’t know. But in the meantime, we’ve come very close to a line you may not want to cross when you’re no longer in fear for your life.”
How to Sleep with the Boss Page 9