The American Earl. Kathryn Jensen
think so.”
She nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. Matt had never liked being kept waiting. She made him feel painfully restless. He was tempted to shake an answer out of her, but restrained himself.
“And how do I know I won’t find myself out of work in a few weeks?” she asked at last.
“Think, Abby. What the bloody hell are you going to learn serving up cappuccinos to college students? I’m offering you a chance to connect with people who run some of the most prosperous and prestigious companies in the world.”
“I know that!” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “I just need to understand where I stand. And I would want a contract…for a year.”
“You have it,” he said.
She blinked, looking surprised that she’d immediately received what she had asked for. “And my duties will be limited and spelled out in it.” Although she sounded prim and proper, she failed to look the part with her long, silky legs angled across the limo’s black leather cushions.
“Your responsibilities will be catalogued in detail,” he agreed. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging the unofficial tasks she was so nervous about. He’d never played around with any of his employees.
But he couldn’t help it if his thoughts wandered delightfully in that direction now. Abby smelled wonderful. And that particular shade of red in her hair made him think twice about bothering with blondes and brunettes ever again. She was luminous.
“Because I am not going to sleep with you, Mr. Smythe.”
Well, there it is, he thought. Now he was going to have to pretend that he actually cared about her concerns. “I’m not interested in sleeping with you, Ms. Benton. I would never consider asking any woman for sexual favors in return for employment in my company,” he said carefully. The one thing any executive didn’t need these days was a sexual harassment lawsuit.
She nodded, apparently satisfied. Whether or not she fully believed him, he couldn’t tell. Whether or not he believed himself, he wasn’t sure either. Sleeping with Abigail Benton was becoming an increasingly interesting fantasy. The more she tiptoed around the subject, the more he thought about it.
“What will my salary be?” she asked.
He stopped himself from grinning in triumph. She was ready to talk business. How he loved winning a battle of wits with a worthy opponent. Selecting a pen and slip of paper from the caddy beside the cell phone, Matt wrote a figure.
She delicately plucked the paper from his hand but scrunched up her nose at it. “Do I have to cover my own travel expenses out of this?”
“Of course not.”
She sighed. “My wardrobe is quite limited. I don’t know if I can afford to dress the way you would want me to.”
Oh bother, he thought. He scribbled a higher figure on a second piece of paper, including a generous clothing allowance. She took this one, too.
Her eyes widened, but she sighed again. “I’m sorry. This is more than generous. But, to be honest, it’s not a matter of money. I just don’t feel this will be a secure position for me. More than anything, that’s what I need now.” She looked entreatingly across the car at him. “I want to save up and open my own little gourmet shop down by the lake. And I’ve never intended to leave Chicago, you see. It’s my hometown. I really apprecia—”
He violently dashed off a third amount, twice his original offer. The money was of little consequence to him, but he knew the figure would seem outrageously high to her. Thrusting the paper at her, he leaned back and watched with boyish anticipation as her expression changed from frustration to shock.
“Lord Smythe!”
“Matt.”
She sighed, her eyes softly appealing, as if she hoped he would understand her reticence without demanding further explanation.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He understood all right. She wanted success without risk. And even then, she was scared she might get what she wished for. Abigail, he thought, you need a healthy shove off your safe little lily pad. And he needed someone like her to continue bringing business his way. Competitors like Joseph Cooper Imports had been breathing down his neck for years. Whatever he had to do to hold them at bay, he’d do.
He wrote one final figure on a fourth scrap. “Last offer,” he said tightly. “Don’t answer me now. Sleep on it.”
She started to speak, but he placed a finger over her lips, silencing them.
“Discuss the offer with your roommate, your parents, your priest—I don’t care who. Call me tomorrow with your answer. If you really want to own your own store, or even a chain of stores someday, you’ll take a chance with me.” She was staring incredulously at the number he’d written. “Look at it this way, the worst that can happen is, I’ll work you harder than you’ve ever worked before. But you’ll have your start-up cash four times faster under my employ than with anyone else. And you’ll know the business inside out.”
The car stopped. The driver came around to open the door. Abby clambered out, a fistful of paper scraps clutched in one hand, her purse and sack of leftovers in the other. She was staring at him in puzzlement, as if hoping, in these last few seconds, she’d discover the ruse he was playing on her.
“No hidden agendas, Ms. Benton. I need smart, dedicated people around me, and I think you’re one of that breed.” He looked at her sharply, making sure she understood he was serious. “Call me. It’s your future.”
Matt flipped a hand at the driver, who closed the door between them. A smile crept outward along his lips. Well, he’d been mostly honest with her. Still, it was a tempting concept—their sleeping together. Very tempting.
As the limo started moving again, he let the thought go. Just let it drift free, like a kite after the string breaks—only he had intentionally cut the cord. If she agreed to work for him, he couldn’t afford to turn her into a mistress. She would be too valuable to him in other ways. And, above all, he was a businessman.
Abby slept not at all that night. It wasn’t until a thin, rosy dawn broke that she dropped off into an uneasy slumber. She heard the alarm and smacked the snooze button once, twice, then tossed the horrid thing against the wall and collapsed, scrunching her pillow down over her head. She didn’t care what time it was, she needed some real sleep.
“So, how’d it go last night?” a too-chipper voice penetrated the layer of fluff.
Abby tentatively peeked out. It was Dee, bless her cold heart, standing in the bedroom doorway, sipping her morning java from a stoneware mug.
“Leave me alone.”
“It’s Saturday. You have to be down at the store by nine, don’t you?”
“Oh God, yes. I wasn’t even thinking.” Abby flung the pillow aside and pressed her fingertips to her temples, squinting into the morning light.
“That bad, huh?” Dee guessed. “Boring people, bad food and the boss-man made a pass at you, poor baby.”
“Not quite.” Abby sat up in bed. “Fascinating people, the best food I’ve ever eaten and Smythe offered me a job that pays four times what I’m making now.”
“Bummer.” Dee’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Knock it off. This isn’t funny.”
“So, who’s laughing? Sounds like you walked into a dream. Why are you looking like a stressed-out ostrich instead of jumping for joy on the bed?”
Abby rolled her eyes, at a loss for words to explain her tangled emotions. “Because I don’t trust him. And I don’t trust myself to make the right decision.”
Dee came and sat on the bed beside her. “Tell Mama.”
Abby