Coffee was the last thing her roiling stomach needed. As she declined, something on the desk beeped and Jewel’s attention shifted. Dismissed, Gwen went to wait. A leather couch nicer than the ones in most people’s homes looked too squishy to get up from gracefully, so she chose the less comfortable, but much more dignified wing chair instead. Copies of the HarCorp Annual Report covered the small coffee table and for lack of something else to do, Gwen picked one up and flipped through it absently as she mentally rehearsed her pitch one last time.
As a “few minutes” turned into twenty, then thirty, her irritation level rose steadily. At two thirty-five, a forty-something dark-haired woman in a lime-green suit turned the corner and introduced herself as the Nancy Tucker of that morning’s phone call.
“So sorry you had to wait. Mr. Harrison can see you now.”
About damn time, Gwen thought before she checked herself. Breathe. Don’t get irritated. This is too important to get all twitchy about punctuality issues.
Nancy was all business. She led Gwen down the hallway in silence, no small talk at all, and delivered her to William Harrison’s office door. After a quick knock, she opened it, ushering Gwen in ahead of her.
A stunning view of the Dallas skyline greeted her, but the occupant of the office did not. Without breaking his conversation with whomever was on the phone, he waved her in and indicated he’d be with her in just a minute.
Nancy guided her to one of the chairs facing the massive desk, then slipped silently out the door. Gwen set her briefcase on the floor, crossed one foot behind the other, folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Lesson number one: Don’t talk on the phone while there’s a flesh and blood person in front of you. Taking a deep breath, she kept her frustration to herself. He was a busy man, and he’d at least acknowledged her presence. So she sat quietly, but uncomfortably, as the conversation continued. Gwen tried to keep her gaze on the view of the city as it would be rude to stare at Will Harrison.
And she knew for certain that it was Will Harrison. She’d seen his picture in the papers enough to recognize him. While she might not run in the same circles of society as he, her clients certainly did, and as one of Dallas’s Most Eligible Bachelors, many of her debs and their mammas were quite obsessed with him.
She could easily see why they were swooning. If she weren’t so irritated, she might feel a teeny-tiny swoon coming on herself. None of his pictures did him justice. In person, he didn’t look at all like a buttoned-up and stuffy Fortune 500 CEO. His collar and cuffs were both unbuttoned in fact, his tie pulled loose at the knot and his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. His dark hair hung a little longer than most executives’, and the tan on his face said he didn’t spend all of his time in the boardroom. Gwen could easily picture him as the outdoorsy type, and the broad shoulders and strong arms indicated it was something far more active than executive golfing. Maybe he was one of those weekend cowboys? The office lacked any Western-themed decor, so that didn’t help. She tried to casually scan his office for clues to his hobbies, telling herself it was strictly for business purposes…
A deep, rumbling chuckle jerked her attention back to the man behind the desk. This time, he caught her eye and smiled. It was the smile that nearly did her in. The man had a dimple, for God’s sake, and the total effect would give any live woman a pulse spike.
And, if her pulse was any indication, she was very much alive at the moment. Mercy. Most Eligible, indeed. She stifled the urge to fan herself as the room grew a little too warm.
He was around the desk and extending his hand to her before she even realized he’d hung up the phone. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Sawyer. Will Harrison.”
Up close, the man was even more devastating to the senses. At this distance, Gwen could see that Will’s eyes were hazel—not the murky hazel of her own, but a clear, perfect hazel. The hand he offered was strong and warm and sent a little tingle of electricity up her arm as she touched him. That swoon seemed more and more likely with each passing minute.
Focus, Gwen. She gave herself a mental shake. You’re not a groupie here to drool over the man. Pull it together because it’s showtime. “Not a problem.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out several of her HarCorp folders. “Everyday Etiquette has a reputation—”
Will returned to his chair on the other side of the desk. “Nancy assures me you are the best at what you do, so I have no doubts you will be successful with Evie. However, we’re on a deadline here, and I need to know you can work quickly. And, of course, your discretion is essential.”
Irritation at being interrupted midsentence was tempered by the compliment that she was the best. She was, darn it; it was about time somebody took note. But how did Nancy know? And who was Evie? Discretion? What kind of training did HarCorp need?
“The Hospital Benefit is less than three weeks away. It’s Evie’s ‘launch,’ so to speak.”
Confusion reigned. She knew exactly when the Med Ball was—it had been a major topic in one of her classes last week. But what did HarCorp have to do other than write a check? She cleared her throat, berating herself for not getting more details from Nancy that morning on the phone. “Mr. Harrison, Ms. Tucker didn’t provide any specific information about what kind of services HarCorp needed, so I’m afraid I’m a bit at a loss as to what you are talking about.”
Those black eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his computer pinged, and his attention moved to the screen. “Damn.” His fingers flew across the keyboard before responding. “Evie is my sister—my half sister, actually.”
Ah, the elusive Evangeline she’d read about. The society columns were buzzing with speculation…Oh, no. A bad feeling crept up her spine.
“She’s living with me now, and her manners are atrocious. I need you to teach her how to be a lady. That is what you do, correct?”
Please let me be wrong. Please. “You need social training for your sister?”
“Table manners. Polite conversation. How to behave at a party.” Another ping from the computer, and his eyes went immediately to the screen. “And she’ll need help with her wardrobe as well.”
Damn. Her heart sank as what was left of her hopes evaporated. HarCorp didn’t need her—another spoiled debutante did. Just to be sure, she asked, “And how old is Evie?”
“Fifteen.”
Gwen tried to keep her disappointment out of her voice. “Fifteen’s a bit young for debutante training, don’t you think? Surely you have a few more years before…”
That got his full attention. She trailed off as he pinned her with those hazel eyes, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “She’s not a debutante. She’s an heiress and a Harrison.” He said “Harrison” like it was a synonym for “royalty.” “Sadly, my father and stepmother didn’t see to it that Evie learn how to behave properly in public before they died. Evie needs someone to teach her, and she needs to know enough not to embarrass herself or the family at the Hospital Benefit. It’s pretty straightforward.”
This time, it was the phone on his desk that beeped, drawing his attention away again with only an offhanded “excuse me” as he answered it. Irritation bloomed again before she could help it. She dug her nails into her palm and bit her tongue. Good manners meant she couldn’t call him on his rudeness—and busy man or not, he was starting to really fray her Miss Behavior nerves.
Good manners also meant she shouldn’t eavesdrop on his conversation, and she needed a moment to think and regroup anyway.
She shouldn’t be upset that he wanted her to do social training—it was, after all, her primary source of income at the moment, and she was very good at it. Her pride was just a bit bruised because she’d come in with such high hopes for something else. She should agree to work with his sister…maybe some of the lessons would rub off on him.
That thought kindled her hopes again. Maybe, just maybe, this was the way into HarCorp. The back way in, granted, but she’d take what she could get. She’d work with the sister and
hope that the brother would be so impressed he’d listen to her proposals for business training…
“Well, Miss Sawyer, what do you think?” Will’s attention was back on her, and she straightened her spine. Even with her irritation, she had to be impressed with how he could jump from one task to another and not lose track of either. Will steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in question.
“I’d be glad to work with your sister, Mr. Harrison, but three weeks is not a lot of time…”
“Exactly. You’ll need every spare minute with Evie.” He reached for a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper before rounding the desk once again. This time, though, he leaned his hips back against it as he handed her the paper.
Dragging her thoughts from the long legs stretched out so close to her, she blinked and tried to focus on the bold scrawl.
An address in the elite Turtle Creek neighborhood.
“I’ve told the housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, to prepare the guest room. You can move your things in tonight and start with Evie tomorrow.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought, and she struggled to find words. “M-m-move in? Are you—I mean, that’s not—” She took a deep breath to calm the unprofessional stuttering caused by his presumptuous statement. “I have a business to run—other clients and responsibilities.” And the papers would have afield day.
“Evie spends several hours a day with her tutors catching up on schoolwork. That would give you some time to take care of your other responsibilities. I’m quite willing to pay you for the inconvenience.”
She had to call on years of training not to react at the outrageous figure he mentioned. He was serious about this.
“And, as I said earlier, your discretion is essential.”
Discretion? For that amount of money he could silence Dallas Lifestyles’ s gossip columnist.
She was younger than he’d expected. Prettier, too, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. She lacked that brittle edge that often came with sophistication—a nice contrast from the women he was used to.
He’d been expecting a plump, gray-haired, grandmotherly type—or, at the very least, a Mary Poppins—if for no other reason he felt anyone calling herself an expert on anything should at least look old enough to drink. Miss Gwen Sawyer was neither plump nor grandmotherly and probably got carded on a regular basis. At the same time, she projected a kind of cool elegance that fascinated him and that Evie would benefit from learning.
She acted completely calm and professional, but he knew she wasn’t as detached as she looked. While Miss Sawyer was capable of keeping a good poker face, she couldn’t control those wide hazel eyes of hers that expressed each and every feeling the moment she had it. And she’d experienced several throughout their interview. Calculation, shock, confusion—she’d worked through them all. At least once, he’d even seen irritation there, but he wasn’t sure why. But something had thrown Gwen off her game very early on in the meeting, and it had taken a few minutes for her to regroup. He still hadn’t figured out what that had been about, either.
He expected the money to throw her off-guard. It was much more than such services could possibly cost, but it would assure she’d give Evie her full attention and keep her mouth closed to Tish Cotter-Hulme, the local society gossip columnist.
Gwen regained her balance much more quickly this time, covering her discomfort with cool politeness. Nice trick. Hopefully she could teach it to Evie.
“I couldn’t possibly move into your home.”
“Are you married?” He glanced down to where her fingers laced together in her lap. The white knuckles gave away her agitation as clearly as her eyes did, but from his position, he couldn’t see if she wore a ring or not.
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows flew toward her hairline in shock, and a flush stained her cheeks.
“Are you married? Do you have children or something?” Gwen took a deep breath before answering, and he realized he was a little too interested in her response.
“No, but—”
“Good.” He let out the breath he’d been holding. “I understand the request is a bit odd—” Gwen gave him a wonderful “you think?” look that would have been funny in a different situation, so he forged ahead before she could mount a stronger rejection of his offer. “But Evie’s still recovering from her mother’s death. She’s a little fragile at times and having a hard time adjusting. She needs someone who can give her undivided attention. It would be easier on her to have you there full-time.”
He could see Gwen softening.
She played with the pearls at her neck, calling his attention to the flush rising from the collar of her blouse. “I guess I could—”
“Excellent.”
Gwen took a deep breath, and her hand fell back to her lap. When she spoke, that cool professionalism was back. In a way he was disappointed; a slightly rattled Gwen was much more interesting.
“I’ll prepare a contract and fax it to your secretary this afternoon.”
“And I have a nondisclosure agreement that will require your signature as well. I don’t want Evie embarrassed or details of my private life shared with the papers.”
“Of course. I understand completely.” She stood, and he rose to his feet. Although he topped her by a good seven inches, she pushed her shoulders back and looked him squarely in the eye for the first time since he’d rattled her with his unorthodox proposal. “I’ll gather my things and be at your home tonight around six-thirty or so. Will that be acceptable?”
Her words caused a smile. He didn’t know much about etiquette, but Miss Sawyer would make one hell of an executive if she put her mind to it. He was looking forward to seeing her in action with Evie.
“That’ll be fine. I’ll tell Mrs. Gray to serve dinner around seven.”
She offered her hand. “I’ll see you then. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Harrison.”
“Call me Will.”
“And I’m Gwen. I’ll see you tonight.”
With another of those cool, polite smiles, Gwen Sawyer showed herself to the door, allowing him the opportunity to observe what he’d missed earlier by being on the phone when she arrived. Long legs. Nice curves almost camouflaged by a conservative suit. A graceful and unhurried walk.
Hopefully Evie would take to her.
He couldn’t help but think back to the evening two nights ago. After Marcus left, he’d found Evie on the stairs, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. Evie took after Rachel with her auburn hair and high cheekbones, but she had her father’s—their father’s—eyes. Unsure how to handle a teary teenager, he’d joined her on the steps but said nothing.
Evie broke the silence first. “I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you.”
She must have overhead Marcus’s comments. “You’re not an embarrassment. You just don’t know what it’s like here.” He patted her shoulder, feeling awkward as he did. He was still new to this big brother thing.
“I’m willing to learn, Will. I promise I’ll work really hard.” She swallowed hard as the tears overflowed. “Please don’t send me away.”
“Away?”
“To boarding school. I heard Uncle Marcus mention it last week. I don’t want to go. Please, Will.”
Guilt at even considering Marcus’s suggestion nagged at him. “You’re not going to boarding school. You’re a Harrison, and this is where you belong.”
Evie’s tear-streaked face split into a wide grin as she launched herself into his arms.
Parenting a teenager still had him confused, but he’d bridged a gap that night with Evie. He barely knew her—partly due to the difference in their ages and partly because he’d simply been too busy to concern himself with a child several thousand miles away. But they were getting to know each other now and coming to an agreeable living arrangement.
He was getting the hang of this after all. With the addition of Gwen Sawyer to the team, his life could start working itself back to normal.
/> And, just to be sure, he’d be home for Gwen’s arrival tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU are kidding me, right? The Will Harrison hired you? I didn’t even know he had a sister.”
“That’s because you don’t read the society section closely enough. And don’t sound so surprised. As I’ve been reminded more than once recently, social training is what I do for a living.” Gwen balanced the phone on her shoulder as she loaded her laptop into its case.
Sarah went into Sister Support Mode. “Temporarily, Gwennie, temporarily. Even if the kid eats with her feet, you’ll turn her into Jackie O in no time. Then, big brother will have to listen to what you can do for his company.”
“I can hope.” Gwen consulted her list. Laptop. Dinner kit. Tea kit. Etiquette books for her new client. Her suitcase. Check, check, check and check.
The increase in background noise meant her sister was no longer alone. Hastily she added, “Listen, you can’t tell anyone about this. ‘My discretion is essential,’ remember?”
“Ich verstehe.” Sarah switched to German, a tactic they’d used for years when they didn’t want others to understand their conversation. “Is he as handsome as his pictures?”
Better than his pictures. Yummy, actually. “Oh, grow up, Sarah.”
“He’s Dallas’s Most Eligible Bachelor, you know.”
“One of them, at least,” she hedged.
“Seriously, what’s he like?”
“Busy. A bit brusque. In need of one of my refresher classes.” Gwen grabbed her address book and current client files and added them to the growing pile. Will Harrison might be the biggest client she’d signed on, but she still had to take care of the others.
“Well, maybe your lessons with his sister will rub off on him.”
Gwen responded with an unladylike, but noncommittal “humph” as she dragged her suitcase down the hallway. “One more thing. Can you look after Letitia for a while?”
The Millionaire's Misbehaving Mistress Page 2