by Meg Maxwell
She inhaled one last deep breath, counted, slowly released it, then knocked on the door. While there was no expectation of a speedy response since her boss was an invalid, the wait dragged on long enough that she debated going for help. But finally it opened and the man standing there, propped up on crutches, looked the picture of masculinity, in spite of the white, no-nonsense cast on his lower left leg. For the second time since his private plane had landed, she found herself without words. He was very sexy and that was more than a little distracting.
She’d heard about him, none of it flattering, but had only actually seen him from a distance at work. He was very good-looking with his light brown hair and deeply intense blue eyes. The white cotton shirt he wore framed his shoulders and probably made them look broader. Only a hands-on examination would confirm, but the odds of that happening were lower than zero.
“Good. You’re finally here.” He backed up awkwardly and negotiated a turn. “Would you mind getting the door...um—”
She realized he was hesitating because he either couldn’t remember or didn’t know her name. “Justine Walker. And I don’t mind at all, Mr. Hart.”
“Cal.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Cal. Short for Calhoun, and it will save time if you use it.”
“Of course.”
She shut the door and limped after him into a spacious living area. The plush white sofas had throw pillows in tropical ocean shades, and a light-colored wood floor seemed to stretch on forever to the sand and sea beyond, merging inside and outside. Overhead was a high-pitched wooden ceiling and several fans with blades that resembled palm fronds circulated the refreshing breeze coming through the open French doors. Beneath her low-heeled pumps was the thickest, cushiest area rug she’d ever felt.
“Something wrong?”
Justine dragged her gaze from the floor and looked up at her boss. She might as well be honest. “I think I’m on luxury overload.”
“Oh?” He looked amused.
“I’ve never been on a private plane before or anyplace like this.” She glanced around, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t in awe. “And a villa with that ocean view—the sand and palm trees. It’s amazing.”
With a sigh he lowered himself to the sofa that looked big enough to hold an extended family reunion and elevated his injured leg. “Feel free to look around. Your room is over there.” He lifted one of his crutches and used it to point to a recessed doorway on the other side of the enormous area. “The valet has instructions to bring the rest of your luggage, and he’ll use the patio door so you won’t see him.”
The Human Resources director at Hart Energy had explained the accommodations—the fact that this villa was over five thousand square feet and contained two very large, very private suites. Mr. Hart’s injury limited his mobility and he preferred his assistant nearby to facilitate the work environment.
The subtext was that she didn’t need to worry about any hanky-panky. After meeting him that was oddly disappointing. But the compensation for this assignment was so generous, she would have slept on a lounge chair under a tree if he wanted. Before she could check out her room, there was a knock at the door.
“That should be room service,” Cal said. “Would you mind letting them in?”
“Of course.” She walked to the door and felt Cal watching her. When she was tired, like she was now, the limp was more pronounced, but she tried very hard to minimize it. Because she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of this man.
She opened the door to several hotel employees who waited with wheeled carts containing covered dishes. Stepping back, she let them move past her and set everything up on the coffee table, where it was easily accessible to Cal. He signed for it and the servers discreetly left.
“Can I get a plate for you?” she asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
She lifted silver domes from the serving dishes and saw there were multiple entrées to choose from, as well as potatoes, rice, pasta, green salad and fruit. And a sampling of chocolate desserts made her mouth water.
She filled a plate and brought it to him, then arranged eating utensils where he could reach them. “You ordered a lot of food.”
“I didn’t know what you like and thought you might be hungry.”
“I am.” How considerate was that? He worked hard and expected his employees to match his pace, but no one had ever said he didn’t treat the people around him well. Still, she’d pictured a heartless beast, and this unexpected thoughtfulness was a nice surprise. After fixing herself a plate, she sat on the plush chair to his right. “How did you break your leg?”
“Skydiving.” He met her gaze. “What happened to yours?”
“You noticed the limp.” She’d heard about his attention to detail and the demand for it from anyone he worked with. So he wouldn’t miss much. Still, she hadn’t anticipated his blunt question. She should have. There was no reason not to tell him, but he didn’t need to know she’d lost more than her runway-model strut. “Car accident.”
“Ah.”
She took a bite of fish and nearly groaned out loud, it was so good. They ate in silence for several moments, long enough that the need to fill it became necessary. “So, skydiving. You’re one of those sanity-challenged, adrenaline junkie thrill seekers who jump out of perfectly good airplanes on purpose.”
“Yes.”
Thank goodness she wasn’t drinking anything when he smiled, because it rocked her like a 9.5 earthquake. He was a handsome man even with a serious expression on his face. But the smile made a girl want to raise her hand and shout, Over here. Fortunately she didn’t choke, spit or utter a sound to embarrass herself, but it took several moments to gain solid mental footing again.
“Apparently the parachute opened,” she observed. “Or the damage would have been much worse.”
“I landed wrong.” He shrugged. “It was a clean break and the doctor assured me it will heal quickly.”
“Good. Are you in pain now?”
“It’s been several days, so not much.”
Justine knew a thing or two about pain, but didn’t push him. Everyone handled it in their own way, and she was curious about something else. This assignment was supposed to last for a month so it begged the question, “Did you have any other activities planned besides skydiving?”
“Scuba diving. Parasailing. Rock climbing. For starters,” he said.
“Bummer. So why not just cancel the vacay? You’ve obviously changed your plans and are going to work. Wouldn’t it be easier to go home and schedule more time here when you’re healed?”
Something that looked a lot like stubborn determination hardened his eyes and tightened his jaw. “The view is a lot better here.”
“I can’t argue with that.” She looked through the patio doors to the luxurious, private, crystal clear pool, the pristine white sand and the ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see. “It’s something special. But so is the scenery at home. The lake and mountains take my breath away.”
He stared at her for several moments, then seemed to realize he was doing it. “So, you’re part of the advance team from Dallas setting up the new office in Blackwater Lake.”
“Yes.”
She’d found the charming, rapidly growing town a good place to open her business. She’d been saving and moved to Montana with the idea of working there until she had enough start-up money. It never occurred to her that an opportunity like this would come along to speed up her timetable. Now that she thought about it, the offer had escalated because Cal Hart had a reputation for being difficult and demanding, and no one else who was clerically qualified had wanted it. So far he had not lived up to his advance billing.
Justine finished eating and set her plate on the table. “That was delicious. Thanks.”
; “Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.
“No.” She toyed with the cloth napkin still in her lap. “It was nice of you to think of this. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it.”
“What were you expecting?” He didn’t sound defensive, just curious.
“Everyone said you’re a difficult boss who works twelve- to fourteen-hour days and requires your employees to do the same.”
“You’ve been talking to Shanna.”
“She’s a friend. And having a lovely cruise, by the way.” At his quizzical look she added, “Ships have internet. She emails. There was even one warning me not to take this job with you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“So why did you?” he asked.
“Do you have any idea what you’re paying me?”
“A lot, apparently.” He shrugged. “I can afford it.”
She had no doubt about that. The question was, could she? He had her for a month. It hadn’t occurred to her that four weeks in paradise with a man who wasn’t a bastard and looked like a movie star could be a very long time.
Copyright © 2017 by Teresa Southwick
ISBN-13: 9781488014567
Santa’s Seven-Day Baby Tutorial
Copyright © 2017 by Meg Maxwell
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