The Secretary And The Millionaire

“Oh, I love them all,” Amanda said, her voice full of affection. “Both my sisters received academic scholarships to college, and my brother operates his own successful home-remodeling business. I’m very proud of them, so don’t get me started,” she warned him. “I won’t stop and I’ll end up boring the boss to death.”

“I’m not bored,” he told her. “Would you like a nightcap before you turn in?”

Amanda hesitated, a flash of uncertainty sweeping across her face. For a second he thought she might refuse and felt a strange sting of disappointment.

“Thank you. That would be nice,” she finally said, and pulled the lapels of his robe closer together as they walked toward the den.

“The robe swallows you.”

“Uh—well—”

“You’re not going to lie to be polite, are you?”

Amanda’s cheeks bloomed with color. “Okay, yes, it does. But it’s not a problem. It’s just for one night.”

He headed for the bar on the other side of the room. “What would you like to drink?”

“White wine,” she said, sitting stiffly in an overstuffed chair. “I don’t have a sophisticated palate. One glass usually makes me sleepy.” She gave an earnest but strained smile. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you. The decorator was highly recommended,” he said, placing the wineglass in her hand. He’d had the entire house redone after his marriage broke up, but he didn’t impart that information to Amanda. He noticed her toes were curled into the Oriental carpet and he wondered about her uneasiness.

She nodded. “Whoever it was did a nice job.”

Silence followed. Despite her tension, her presence reminded him of background music. He studied her again. Her hair, still slightly damp from her shower, was pushed behind her ear on one side and curved over her cheek on the other. Her skin was fresh-scrubbed and glowing. The robe gaped slightly at the neck, revealing the gentle curve of her breast; and lower, where she crossed her legs, he saw one silky calf.

He glanced at her face again and something about the restlessness in her dark eyes was sexy to him. He took a quick drink of whiskey at the thought.

If women were music, then he always chose loud, showy numbers, the better to make him forget his marriage failure. Amanda was background music. Too soft, too gentle. With her, he would have time to think.

Strolling closer to her, he propped a hand on a cherry end-table and looked down at her. “You’ve worked for me for four years now. Why are you uneasy with me?” he asked.

She sucked in a quick breath of surprise and glanced away. “I’m not. Well, maybe I am,” she said, running her sentences together. “It’s a different situation. A little odd. I’m wearing your robe, caring for your daughter, drinking a glass of wine with you.” She finally looked up at him. “It’s not the office.”

“As you were singing ‘Eensy Weensy Spider’ with my daughter, it occurred to me that aside from the fact that you are the best assistant I’ve ever had, I don’t know much about you.”

She nervously brushed her hand against her neck. “There’s not much to know,” she said, and when he didn’t fill the silence, added, “I’m kinda quiet.”

Determined to dissolve her discomfort, he took another drink and nodded. “For the next five minutes, forget I’m your boss.”

She gave him a doubtful look and shook her head.

“It’s an order.”

Still doubtful, she sighed. “I’ll try.”

“You have a cat.”

Amanda smiled. “Yes, Delilah. She’s been spayed, but the neighbors in my apartment call her a—” she paused, then shrugged “—slut for human attention.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “So, you live with a slut?”

“Yes, I’ve tried to reform her, but it’s futile.”

“What do you do when you’re not working?”

“Well, I have a very demanding and challenging job, so I don’t have a lot of time to spare.”

“Nice try. Now give the real answer.”

“I belong to a fitness club where I swim a few times each week. I volunteer with a professional advocacy organization for teenage girls and I have friends I jom for lunch, dinner and shopping. Are you asleep yet?”

“No,” he said and swallowed a chuckle. “Men?”

She paused and seemed almost to hold her breath. “Not at the moment.”

He nodded, not quite sure why he’d asked that question. “What do you think of your boss?”

She gave him a long-suffering glance, and Jack wondered how he’d missed the stories her eyes could tell. She looked away again. “He is very challenging and demanding, but also rewarding. Intelligent, makes things happen,” she said. “He leaps tall buildings in a single bound, but he is occasionally human.” Her gaze slid to the brass clock on the mantel and she handed him her still-full wineglass. “Five minutes is up.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“You weren’t the one under the microscope,” she said with gentle reproof, and stood. “Thank you for the wine. Your daughter is beautiful and sweet. You’re lucky. If you ever need me to pinch-hit again, let me know.”

He frowned thoughtfully as she turned away. “Amanda,” he said, stopping her with his voice.

She turned, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were braced for another trip under the microscope. “Yes?”

He detested asking the question, hated that he didn’t have the answer himself. “Why is my daughter afraid of me?”

Her face softened. “You said yourself that she hasn’t spent much time with you. You’re larger than life to her. So tall, so strong. Even your voice is strong.”

“That’s why she whispers,” he muttered, and took another sip of whiskey.

“She doesn’t know your secret yet.”

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “And what is my secret?”

“That you would do just about anything to make her happy. When she learns that, you’re cooked.” She met his gaze with gentle reassurance. “She’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.”

Jack watched Amanda walk out of the room and wondered how his assistant knew so much more about him than he knew about her.

Two

He had looked at her.

Amanda stared wide-eyed at the ceiling in the guest bedroom of Jack’s home. She was wearing his pajamas, sleeping in his house.

All because she was good with kids, her rational mind reminded her. And she was not sleeping.