The American Earl. Kathryn Jensen
been inviting trouble just by stepping outside her home. He studied her further. With the flaming hair, he expected her eyes to be green. They were not. They suggested rich mocha tones and glittered at him enthusiastically. He felt an immediate hot tug from within his body.
“Who are you?” he grumbled.
She produced a business card as swiftly as Annie Oakley drawing her six-shooter. Stepping forward, she thrust the little pink rectangle into his fingers.
“Abigail Benton,” she announced in a crisp voice.
“I represent the Cup and Saucer, a coffee-and-pastry shop here in Chicago. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Words bubbled from her pretty lips etched in a luscious berry-rich shade of gloss. “I’m in the building for a meeting, but I’m running early. If you like, I could collect the necessary supplies and set up the room for you. How many are you entertaining tonight?”
He viewed her speculatively. The raised color in her cheeks and the way she pushed herself halfway up onto her toes as she spoke made him suspect she wasn’t as confident as she was pretending to be. Nevertheless, the woman was putting on a damned fine show. And, admittedly, he was in a sticky situation. Anything she could do for him would be better than nothing.
“Three couples and myself,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Paula, show her where everything is then get that young man’s teeth fixed.”
Back in his private office, Matt pulled his guests’ files in front of him, covering the family crest embossed in gold on the black leather of his desk blotter. He began to review the personal as well as professional profiles in each folder. After only a few minutes, he pushed them away in frustration, unable to concentrate. All he could see was that damned explosion of crimson hair…and her eyes. Abigail Benton’s eyes had been remarkable.
Ruthlessly, he forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand.
Although immediate disaster had been averted, he wondered what the devil he was going to do about the rest of this week’s meetings. And next week’s? His schedule was packed. He needed a full-time hostess and social secretary. Smythe International was known for entertaining its business associates in style. Glamorously intimate dinner parties for his foreign exporters. Cozy receptions for American retailers whose upscale shops he supplied. Lavish entertainment had paid off for Matthew Smythe, seventh earl of Brighton. His catalog carried hundreds of delicious items from all over the world—famed Valrona chocolates made in France, Neapolitan coffees, Turkish spices and dainty British biscuits to nibble with a cup of bergamot-scented Earl Grey tea on a lazy afternoon.
But he needed a reliable staff to pull it all off. Tomorrow he would begin interviewing for Belinda’s replacement. But until then…
He glanced down at the business card tossed absently on his desk. Abigail, an old-fashioned name despite her wild beauty. She was young and, if he had accurately read her body language, inexperienced in her trade. Perhaps inexperienced on many levels. There had been that telltale layer of nervousness beneath her bright-eyed enthusiasm. He was probably a fool for trusting a stranger to such an important task. But it was either let her do whatever she could, or ship his entire party off to a restaurant. That would do neither his sales pitch nor his reputation any good. And so, he’d just have to take the risk.
Abby stood in the center of an immense temperature-controlled vault, looking around with all the prickly excitement of a child left unattended in a candy shop. She had been working for the Cup and Saucer for nine months. It beat selling perfume at a department store or waiting on tables at Burger Delite, both of which she’d done while in college and grad school at Northwestern.
Hopefully, those days were behind her. She was a salaried employee now. Minimum wage, true, but with a commission! And she loved her job.
Two days before her twenty-fifth birthday, she had finished graduate work for her master’s degree in retail marketing. The trick then had been to find a job, and she figured she might as well choose one she enjoyed. While still a student, she had loved treating herself to a cappuccino or herb tea at the Cup and Saucer—when she could afford the luxury. But even when cash was hard to come by, she had adored browsing through the rainbow of exotic teas and coffees, the imported sweets, delicate pastries, homemade cranberry-orange muffins and Chunk o’ Chocolate cookies. This was a world in which she’d be content to give up her last breath.
The last time she’d gone home to the little farm south of Alton, Illinois, she had confided her dreams to her mother. “I’ll work for a few years, saving my money, learning everything I need to know about the gourmet food industry,” she explained. “When the time is right, I’ll finance the rest and open my own little shop. Down on the Navy Pier between the arcade and that cute little jewelry store—that would be perfect.” She tingled with excitement.
“How nice, dear,” her mother had said with a patient smile and a pat on her daughter’s arm. She might as well have added, It’s good for a girl to have a hobby until she starts her family. Clearly, confiding in her mother was a wasted effort.
Actually, a family was only part of Abby’s dream. She wanted a husband and babies, of course, but first she wanted to prove to herself that she could be really good at doing something other than making babies.
With a sigh, Abby began selecting jars of imported calamara and Spanish black olives, fresh fruits, wax-sealed wedges of Stilton and Brie cheese, colorfully wrapped packets of crackers and tins of cookies from the shelves around her. She would aim for a balance of sweet and salty, pungently spiced and delightfully mild foods—since she didn’t know the tastes of the guests. Setting her loot aside on a long shelf, she opened the massive door of a walk-in freezer. Inside was a wheeled cart and, along the walls, packaged rolls, pastries, breads and meats.
Abby loaded up the cart, feeling intoxicated with shopping power. Where had the man bought all of this yummy stuff? She took mental notes of brands and country origins. Whoever the guy was, he had great taste and a genius for a supplier. Maybe he too bought from Smythe Imports, since they were in the same building. Actually on the same floor. She couldn’t find a name plaque anywhere to identify the owner of the conference room.
Glancing at her watch, she gasped. She’d been thirty minutes early for her appointment. If she hurried she could still make it without being too late.
By the time forty minutes had flown by, Abby finally finished setting up. The conference room looked inviting and cozy, the way she’d want a room to feel if she’d been traveling and longed for soothing surroundings. The bar included both chilled spring water and hot water for herb teas, along with a variety of wines and ingredients for cocktails. A round buffet table displayed a combination of imported and domestic delicacies.
She was sorely tempted to nibble, as hungry as she was. But there wasn’t even time to hunt down anyone and tell them she was done. Abby dashed breathlessly down the hall, reading off numbers on office doors as she flew past. She was ten minutes late for her meeting but, with any luck, the sales rep would be running late, too. Ordinarily the reps came to the Cup and Saucer, but she had wanted an excuse to see the offices of the prestigious importer.
She found the suite of rooms marked Smythe International and threw her body through the door—only to run into a wall of muscle and suit that let out a deep, “Ooomph.”
“Oh, sorry, I just…” But her apology was cut short as she ricocheted off the barrier and into the doorframe. Two strong hands viced her shoulders, bringing her back onto her feet and holding her upright until she stabilized.
Slowly Abby looked up at the strikingly handsome man she’d met earlier. She frowned, puzzled. “I’m so sorry,” she managed between gasps. “I guess I was in…in too much of a hurry.”
He glared darkly at her. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem at all. I’ve finished setting up your room.”
He scowled critically at her hair, then his eyes slid down over her department-store suit in a way that made her feel self-conscious. “You’ll need to change.”