Promoted: Secretary to Bride!. Jennie Adams
feeling?
It must simply be sexual awareness, though that had never jolted him in quite this intense, unexpected way. The thought didn’t exactly help, given it was inappropriate all by itself. Heat warmed the back of his neck as he tried to batten down his reaction to her. Molly was his assistant. This was a working night. The clothes, the appearance, might be different, but nothing had changed between them.
Nothing other than that his eyes had been opened to her.
Well, he could just close them again, couldn’t he?
Molly stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door forward until the lock clicked into place. Her gaze skittered over his charcoal suit-coat, the grey shirt and darker grey silk tie, down to his feet and up again. ‘I like—I like—um, your tie. It matches the colour in your eyes. Yes. You look nice, too. You do. Of course.’
She looked away. ‘That is, the tie matches one of the colours in your eyes, but at the moment they’re mostly grey, not so much on the hazel side of things.’
‘I didn’t think my eyes changed colours much.’ He’d never noticed.
‘Oh, they do. I mean, it appears they have. At the moment—’ She stopped the words.
There’d been something in her eyes for just a moment. Interest—reluctant, unexpected perhaps, as his had been—but there.
He didn’t want that. Didn’t want to think of her that way, or her to think that way of him; he didn’t want this to be personal at all. Such reactions could only cause trouble. So why did the knowledge that she’d studied him closely enough to notice nuances of his eyes almost please him?
‘Right. You’re ready to leave, to get to work on this problem that’s been tossed at the business?’ Perhaps if he repeated the words aloud he would remember the purpose of this night, and get his mind off the vision Molly made in the eyeball-searing dress.
‘Yes. I’m keen to start sorting this matter out.’ She dropped her key into a small clutch-bag made of some kind of shimmery cloth. Her tone was all business, but her hand shook as she carried out the small, ordinary act.
Jarrod searched her gaze, and something passed between them that heated his skin a second time.
His hand lifted towards her face before he registered the desire to touch. He dropped it away again, turned aside. ‘Then let’s go search for a rumourmonger, spread subtle reassurance and build up the business with as many people as we can along the way.’
‘Yes. Let’s.’ Molly nodded a little too vehemently.
And Jarrod told himself to relax. This was just work, after all.
Molly’s tummy danced an out-of-control jig as she settled into the car beside Jarrod. The sedan was midnight-blue, and the engine gave a muscled purr when her boss turned the key in the ignition.
She wanted to blame her tummy flutters solely on nerves about the upcoming evening. That accounted for part of it, but there was more. The look in his eyes just now. Surely she had misinterpreted that, imagined that altogether?
‘I’ve never seen you without your glasses before.’
He murmured the words as he steered the sleek sedan through the city streets.
It was an observation about her person, and it wouldn’t have occurred a day ago. It was change, and in this instance Molly wanted to be as immovable as the most stubborn non-embracer of change.
‘I wear contacts occasionally.’ She almost said ‘on special occasions’—but this wasn’t one. Instead, she took the PDA from her purse and cast a repressive glance his way that was equally aimed at herself. ‘Glasses are far more sensible, in my opinion, even if Izzy and Faye—’
Molly cut herself off. Her boss didn’t need to hear about that. Work. What she needed was work. ‘There wasn’t time this afternoon to get the names of the people you hope to speak with tonight who aren’t our clients. If you can tell me now, I’ll key them into the organiser for reference later. Also, now you’ve had a little time to consider it, can you think of anyone who might want to do this to you?’
‘I have a couple of old school rivals, but I don’t have any true leads on this.’ His frustration showed through as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Either people are my clients, in which case I look after them, or they’re not, and what I do with my work is irrelevant to them.’
‘Maybe a thwarted girlfriend might be behind the rumours?’
The moment she said the words, Molly wished them unsaid. So much for keeping to business, because that subject was so not her business! Besides, in the time Molly had known him, Jarrod had shown no signs of any significant relationship. He seemed to prefer to date casually and sporadically.
Without commitment. His parents’ coldness this afternoon came back to her. He could be aloof, sure, and maybe it was odd that he hadn’t been in any deep relationships since she’d known him—but lots of people just weren’t ready.
She chose not to remember that her last date had practically been aeons ago. ‘Never mind about that. It’s probably more important to get that list of key names together.’
‘Yes, quite, and there’s been no one of significance, in any case. I don’t do the commitment thing.’ He started tossing out names of associates.
Molly wondered about those words, but he didn’t give her time to dwell on them. She duly made notes about his associates.
After a time, Jarrod turned his car through a set of gates. ‘This is the Laurant family’s estate.’ He stopped at the signal of a gloved attendant. ‘The car will be parked for us. Wait there. I’ll come round for you.’
Molly drew a sharp breath. Other thoughts receded as she stared at the grounds and mansion. People strolled across vast lawns and along bordered walkways. Glittery, wealthy people like her boss—whether she tried not to think about that side of him during office hours or not.
And here was Molly—working class to the tips of her cheaply painted toenails. They were being valet-parked, for heaven’s sake, whereas she didn’t even own a car.
Jarrod opened her door. ‘Ready?’
‘Not exactly.’ But she pasted a smile on her face and climbed out.
The first group of people Jarrod led her to comprised a woman somewhere between forty and fifty, a man with white hair and a trimmed moustache of the same tone and two women a few years older than Molly’s own twenty-three years.
They were all dressed immaculately, with jewels dripping from ears, wrists and necks, and they were critiquing a sculpture mounted on a platform at a curve in the crushed-granite pathway.
‘The lines, darling. Look at that form and grace.’
‘And wrought-iron for those edges. Such an intriguing choice.’
Molly glanced at the sculpture, and then stared. She couldn’t help it. It was beautiful. Better than anything she had seen.
A combination of swirls, arcs and dips gave a sense of movement so real, she reached out to clutch Jarrod’s arm, and a gush of awe came out of her. ‘It’s lovely. Like the sea swirling around rocks on a clear warm day. It’s such a privilege to get to see something like this.’
Four heads turned towards them. Four sets of eyes stared askance at her.
Blurt city; great way to start the night.
Molly went to drop her hand away from her boss as unobtrusively as possible, but he tucked it through his crooked elbow and covered it with his other hand.
‘Good evening.’ Jarrod stepped forward, his tone urbane, calm. As though her gauche observations hadn’t happened.
The Prince rescued Cinderella from her case of foot-in-mouth disease and probably wished