by Dara Girard
He leaned back. The chair creaked softly under his weight. “I doubt that.”
“You said you had positions, and I know there’s one especially for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The job that recently popped up—I want it.”
Kenneth sent her a dubious expression. “You want the job that badly?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She cleared her throat. “That’s a good question.” One she hadn’t practiced an answer to. “Um…because I want to try something new. I’m a fast learner and, um…very responsible.”
He rubbed his chin. “I’m surprised word went around so fast. I had hoped to keep it quiet. So who else knows?”
Jessie frowned, unsure why the position would be a secret. “Just Michelle, I think.”
Kenneth nodded. Of course. Because Michelle had once run a temp company, she would be aware of different people and vacant positions. She was very trustworthy with her selection. However, he was surprised that she would recommend her sister for the job of looking after Ace.
“Have you done this type of work before?”
“I’ve done almost everything before. You can test me if you want.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I think that would be a little hard to do, don’t you think?”
Jessie didn’t think so, but agreed with him anyway.
Kenneth rubbed his hands on the arms of his chair. “I won’t deny that this is surprising, especially considering…” He let his words trail off. He rubbed his chin until it ached. When he looked down at his palm, it was red. He spread his hands flat on the desk and tried to choose his words wisely. “You probably know that I’m desperate, and that’s why you’ve come. Besides, Ace instantly liked you, and she doesn’t usually like people. She has requested, or rather demanded, that I hire you.”
Jessie furrowed her brows. “What does Ace have to do with anything?”
“Well, you’re going to look after her, right? It’s important that she likes you.”
Jessie stared at him in stunned silence.
He continued. “You can stay at my house, or commute, if you want. I don’t care. I’m rarely there. Ace usually wakes up around eight. From there, you can schedule your day together.” He folded his arms. “You will be well compensated, and I will pay for any activities you two do together. I just don’t have time, as you probably can guess. Can you start next Monday? I’d like to have the weekend to get things in order.”
Jessie was speechless. There had to be some sort of mistake. She was being hired to look after his niece? Like a nanny?
“Don’t act surprised. You knew I was desperate enough to hire you.”
She found her voice. “No, I didn’t.” She frowned; that hadn’t been much of a compliment.
He picked up three pens and lined them up, side by side. “Now that that’s cleared, what’s the real reason you’re here?”
“I told you. I need a job.”
He nodded. “I know that. What I really want to know is why you’re here in my office.”
She found it much easier to lie to him when he wasn’t looking at her. “I’m trying to change my ways.”
He sent her a doubtful glance, then draped his tie around his neck and began to arrange it. “I’m giving you this job because in spite of our differences, you’ve never betrayed me. You’ve hated me, but never that. The Cliftons have a good reputation when it comes to integrity. I hope that you won’t prove me wrong.”
Yes, the Cliftons had integrity; the Prestons, however, did not. “I won’t.”
He slipped into his jacket and looked up to study her face. His brown eyes were hard. The shark was back. “Because if you do, you will regret it.” His voice held a silken thread of warning.
“Don’t worry. I know what you’re capable of.”
He sighed. “Ace is very important to me. I trust that any dislike you have for me won’t affect how you treat her. She’s…” He stopped, refusing to give any more information than was necessary.
“You can trust me,” Jessie said, eager to reassure him.
His eyes continued to pierce hers until Jessie could feel the hairs on the back of her neck begin to itch. “Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
He watched for any telling reaction. “I mean it.”
She held up her hand, as if ready to say an oath—anything to redirect his gaze. “She will be like my own daughter. Any tricks or pranks will be purely instructional, I promise.”
Kenneth’s mouth softened into a smile, and Jessie had to blink to make sure that she was talking to the same person. “You held up your hand like that when you caught me writing my brother’s paper for him.”
“You were always trying to cover for Eddie.” She bit her lip, unsure whether to ask the question that had been gnawing at her since she had seen his niece. She decided to ask anyway. “Is Ace Eddie’s child?”
“Yes. He’s trying to get back on his feet,” he said simply.
“You know, you’re not doing him any favors by taking up his responsibilities. I mean…” She let her words trail off.
Kenneth had redirected his gaze, placing paper clips in perfect order, side by side. Jessie sensed that he controlled the situation without the need to look up. He made it clear that her opinion was of no importance to him. Jessie wanted to say more, but fought not to. It wouldn’t be the first time they had both helped Eddie. Hadn’t he convinced her to sacrifice her future for his brother’s? And wasn’t she the one who had been so young and blinded by love that she’d agreed? She pushed back the anger. Now wasn’t the time for those memories.
The moment of quiet crackled with an untamed energy between them.
After a few moments, Jessie stood. “I’d better go.”
His head shot up, as if he had forgotten she was in the room. He rose from his chair and went towards her. “So, is this a truce?” It was after he said the words that he realized how important it was for him. Perhaps if they had a truce, he could silently indulge in his fantasies about her. She wouldn’t seem so off-limits. She looked good in cream. Cream made him think of milk; milk made him think of…
Jessie took a step back. His eyes had developed an odd, yet mesmerizing gleam. Not to mention that the closer he got, the more she had to look up at him, and the more she could smell his cologne. “You could say that.”
He took a step towards her. “Let’s shake hands, then.”
She took another involuntary step back. “Sure.”
He flashed a knowing smile and held out his hand. She stared at it for a moment, then took it. His grip was warm, firm, and strangely gentle. She hadn’t expected him to hold her hand with such care, and she could feel her heart begin to beat in a strange pattern, not from anxiety, but something much more disconcerting: desire. She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held it. “Truce?” he asked, as if to make certain.
“Truce.”
He let her hand go. “Good. Now that we have a truce, I can do something about your hair.”
Stunned by the sudden change of conversation, Jessie watched as he retrieved a tiny comb from the inside of his jacket and began to comb back her hair.
“You keep a comb in your pocket?” she managed to ask.
He glanced down at her, his eyes mischievous. “Have you forgotten how vain I am? Don’t worry, it’s clean.”
She felt heat rise in her cheeks. His vanity was something she always accused him of. He never showed signs of vanity. She just assumed he was vain because he was so good-looking.
She’d never had a man comb her hair before. It was a deliciously pleasant experience feeling his fingers and the comb slipping their way through her hair like a fish slicing its way through a current: solid, smooth, sensual. She stared at his chest, resisting the urge to move closer to him, resisting the urge to ask herself why she was letting him do this.
He stepped back and tilted his head to one side to study her. “Much be
tter.”
“Do you have a mirror in there?” She nodded towards his inner pocket.
“I’m afraid the window works better in cases like this.”
She went to the window and grimaced at her reflection.
He came up behind her. “You don’t like it?”
“No, it’s not that. You did a good job.”
“Then what is it?”
“I look like Michelle.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry, it won’t last.” He sat on his desk. “Now that I’ve done you a favor, can you do one for me?”
“I’ll try.” She stared out at the city moving busily below, watched the fluttering trees of Long Creek Park in the distance and the still waters of the bay.
“Could you tell me what you’re up to?”
She kept her gaze on the distance, trying to gather courage from the water, the sky, and the ancestors who had captured the men they had wanted. She swallowed, then turned and walked towards him. “All I want is a job and a second chance.” She moistened her lower lip.
“A second chance at what?”
She lifted his tie and let it fall between her fingers. “That’s up to you.”
He began to smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.” He blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. “Now that would be the day, wouldn’t it? The day Jasmine Clifton tried to seduce me.” He laughed harder.
Jessie tried not to scowl. “Yes, isn’t that hilarious?” She spun on her heel and walked towards the door.
He stood. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just the thought. It’s like me falling for you.” He began to laugh again.
Jessie opened the door. Let him laugh. He’d always found her amusing and insignificant; that’s why he had used her. She grasped the chain at her throat, a sapphire flashing through her thoughts. She would charm him, then she would make him pay.
Chapter 8
Brooke Radson walked into the dining room and stared across the ornate mahogany table at the woman eating seared halibut on sliced potatoes. She wished the bitch would just drop dead. Unfortunately, there seemed no hope for that. She looked disgustingly healthy for her age, with a smooth brown face nearly free of wrinkles; short-cropped hair, dyed to the perfect gray; and an elegant physique maintained by a strict diet and exercise routine. Brooke could have admired her, and would have, if the woman’s dark brown eyes weren’t so hollow, didn’t look so haunted.
Brooke took a seat. “Hello, Mom.”
Her mother smiled back in her cool, placid way.
She spread the lacy cloth napkin on her lap. She could bear it if her mother at least had a drinking problem. Then she could be cliché—a middle-aged socialite with a drinking problem. She would even accept her smoking too much or spending too much money, but she did nothing, absolutely nothing—no parties, no organizations, no groups. She just stayed in the house, like a modern-day Miss Havisham, a ghost of her former flighty self, loving a man who had another woman filling the greater part of his tiny heart. Thank God she hadn’t inherited her mother’s ineptitude in choosing men. They were, at best, excellent accessories, and at worst, useless pets. And she treated them all accordingly, from her first boyfriend to her latest, Derek Allen, the owner of Invis Electronics.
He would fit perfectly into her plan, and he wasn’t bad in bed, either. Too bad only one man could claim the title of being the best lover she had ever had, and at the moment, he would probably love to see her strangled.
She smiled at the thought. Poor fool. He should have known how much she loved being a bitch, especially since she could get away with it. She was cute, with wide, brown eyes, so innocent that they deceived the shrewdest people; and a round chin and baby-fat cheeks, which helped her to dimple prettily. She had known that was her greatest asset when she had used it to get her cousin Trent into trouble.
She hid a scowl and looked up when she realized the woman in front of her had decided to speak. “Excuse me?”
“How is work?”
She gently stabbed her halibut, keeping her temper. She didn’t know why the woman even asked. She had never been interested in the company, and had barely blinked when Dad had given it to an outsider. “It’s fine, thank you.”
She flashed another placid smile.
Brooke lowered her eyes to hide her disgust. The entire house could crumble to the ground, but as long as Winifred Radson was told things were fine, she assumed they were. Fortunately, Brooke was not that stupid. Radson was in the wrong hands and she would make sure that error was corrected. It was the impetus to make sure that the county’s power was held in check. She loved Randall, with its diverse ethnic groups and mixture of cities and suburbs, but as in any society, a sense of balance had to be maintained.
African Americans were already a minority, and she did not want them polluted by the growing power of the island immigrants. They had their exclusive councils, scholarships, stores, and businesses. She couldn’t allow them to reap the riches her ancestors had sweated for with their blood.
She glanced around the room, her eyes falling on a hand-painted porcelain Japanese Imari plate. It was a dish found in grand European homes dating from the 1680s to the 1740s. Would her great-great-grandfather have hoped this for his descendents? She loved the sense of power in acquiring things. It was this obsession that had led her to smuggling diamonds inside antiques—the thought of possessing something she shouldn’t. Plus it was extremely profitable.
A low feminine voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hello, Mom, Brooke.”
This time Brooke smiled for real. She loved her sister, Stephanie, the woman who had really taken care of her growing up. She was beautiful, with dark eyes that were too clever to be pretty, a striking physique, and a sharp tongue that made most men wary. Brooke wasn’t worried; most men didn’t deserve her. Yes, Stephanie was perfect, except for one glaring fault: she was too kind. She had let Dad shit all over her, still loving him although he had given her company to an outsider and cared about a mother who was no better than a zombie. Fortunately, Stephanie also had a love of success and money, and they both wanted Radson to make money.
Stephanie touched her hand, her eyes apologetic. “Brooke, I owe you a bracelet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I picked up the wooden bracelet from Mrs. Donovan, as you requested, and I put it on because it matched my earrings. I thought it was a good way to keep it with me, but I seem to have misplaced it. I’ll check the Lost and Found at work. Otherwise, I’ll just get you another one.”
Brooke only nodded. She pushed herself away from the table.
“You haven’t finished.”
“I’ve had enough.” She stood. “Excuse me.” She walked away, keeping her hands relaxed, reminding herself that it wasn’t wise to kill the only person you love, no matter how much you wanted to. Stephanie had lost her bracelet—a bracelet filled with enough diamonds to house a sultan. She would not panic.
Her entire plan depended on the payment she had received from the South African mining company in exchange for computer cycles. Diamonds were the perfect payment because they left no money trail. However, without them she wouldn’t be able to bribe the board members and get rid of the current CEO.
She saw her mother’s cat, Cally, licking her silky white fur on the side table. The cat looked up at her with wary green eyes. Brooke stroked the cat until it began to purr. She suddenly pushed it off the table. It squealed in surprise, then ran off. Good: she could still tame and trap. She would have to use this skill to the best of her ability. She released a sigh and smiled. The bracelet would be returned to her in due time; she always got what she wanted. She even had God wrapped around her finger. Stephanie had probably put it in a drawer in her office or something; if not, she would place an ad, and of course there was Jack.
She had time before anyone asked for payment. The vote was months away. Fortunately, the diamonds were only one part of her plan to destroy the perf
ect man.
Chapter 9
I belong in a disaster movie, Jessie thought, sitting in her sister’s office later that day. The echo of Kenneth’s laughter still rang in her mind. She had wanted to speak to Teresa, but she was with a piano student, so Michelle would have to do…even though she was as comforting as a scorpion. “Why doesn’t anything in my life ever go right?”
Michelle impatiently shuffled through a couple of papers. “What are you talking about?”
She kicked off her shoes and took a seat. “I’ve been hired to look after his niece. I’m a damn nanny. Can you believe it?”
Michelle’s head came up. “How did that happen?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I went there thinking I was applying for a vacant position with his company, and the next thing I knew he was telling me he was glad that Ace liked me.”
“Ace?”
“Yes, that’s the kid’s name. I met her when…” She trailed off. The less said about their introduction, the better. “She’s going to be a handful,” she finished lamely.
“How do you know?”
Jessie wiggled her hands. “She has sticky fingers.”
“Oh.”
“I start on Monday.” She swung her foot. “Now, I ask you: how am I supposed to win him over if I’m with his niece and he’s away at the office?”
“That’s a question you should ask Teresa.”
“Teresa’s busy. I’m asking you.”
Michelle sighed. “How old is the kid?”
“Eight or nine, I guess. That’s another thing. You know I’m not good with kids. I’m not very patient.”
“There’s nothing wrong with learning a new skill.” Michelle drummed her fingers. “You know, this might work to your advantage. You can appear domestic.”
“Domestic, me? How?”
“Let me think.” She tapped her chin. “You could cook. No, he doesn’t deserve that kind of punishment. You could play an instrument, if you’d ever learned one, or…”
Jessie narrowed her eyes. “This is not helpful.”
“You’ll just have to hope he thinks of you as his Jane Eyre.”