The Bachelor Boss. Julianna Morris
the idea of Libby becoming a daughter-in-law even more. She’d worked on him for a while, but when it became obvious that he and Libby were grossly incompatible, she’d decided his younger brother, Dylan, was a possibility.
He had news…Dylan had no more interest in finding a bride than he did.
“Mom, don’t you think trying to match Dylan with someone else might upset Katrina?”
“Dylan can’t see Kate, either, though she’s been standin’ right in front of him for years.” Pegeen sounded quite put out, because Katrina Douglas was another name on her daughter-in-law wish list. “But invite Libby just the same.”
“All right.” There wasn’t any point in arguing, when his mother made up her mind she could teach stubborn to a mule. “I’ll see you later.”
Neil dropped his head back onto his chair. He’d started the day with a great promotion, then he’d learned his vice president would be Libby Dumont. In just a few hours they’d already had several disagreements, and he’d been painfully reminded that she was still as attractive as ever.
Beautiful, really.
In a fresh-scrubbed sort of way.
And his delightful, very Irish mother was determined to get Libby married to one of her sons, come hell or high water.
Man, was he in trouble.
At four o’clock a new message alert flashed on Neil’s computer. He opened the e-mail and found Libby’s preliminary report, listing various properties, their historical significance and other pertinent material.
Neil quickly printed the document and hurried out. He walked into Libby’s office, and his nerves went on alert. It wasn’t that she dressed provocatively. Her trim, dark blue suit accentuated the slender lines of her body without drawing attention to her curves. Problem was, he knew all about her curves and how good they felt beneath his fingers—so good he’d never forgotten it.
She was standing next to her desk, explaining something to a tall, gangly young man who looked familiar for some reason.
“Mr. O’Rourke,” the young man exclaimed when he saw Neil. He threw out a nervous hand and knocked over a cup of coffee.
Oh, jeez.
Neil remembered him now. Duncan “Dunk” Anderson. Every time he’d ever seen Dunk he’d managed to spill, break, spindle or mutilate something.
Libby grabbed a handful of tissue and began sopping up the mess. She shot a dire glance in Neil’s direction, which seemed patently unfair since it was Dunk who’d spilled the coffee.
“I’m so sorry, Libby. I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s all right, Duncan,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you take that material over to Kane? I’ll finish up here.”
“Sure thing.” With another sideways glance at Neil, Dunk scooped a file from a nearby credenza and bolted for the door.
“Please tell me he’s only here because there’s a flu epidemic and everyone else is desperately ill,” Neil muttered.
“Duncan is highly qualified.”
“For what? The demolition derby? Oh, God, Dunk is Kane’s new executive assistant, isn’t he?”
Libby rolled her eyes. “Yes, he is. I recommended him and Kane agreed.”
Neil groaned. “Couldn’t you have chosen someone better…like Typhoid Mary? Honestly, your employee recommendations could use some help.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Except Libby did know, because a few weeks ago she had hand-picked the employee to replace Neil’s latest in a long string of secretaries. She’d had a lot of fun, too, watching him squirm over her selection. Not that it lasted, he’d quickly moved Margie Clarke into the position, instead.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” he snapped.
“Not really. Tami Berkut is intelligent, excellent on the computer, and does great phone. She’s highly qualified and very…willing. Eager to please in every way.”
Neil winced at the subtle dig in Libby’s voice. Tami Berkut—also known as Tam Tam the Barracuda—had a fondness for tight red sweaters that showed off her spectacular breasts, and an itch to sleep her way through the executive washroom. But she wasn’t a bad employee, so he’d had her reassigned to a fifty-something executive who was devoted to his mother and thoroughly disinterested in red sweaters.
“Anyway, Kane likes Duncan, and he did a great job when I was on vacation a couple years ago. Besides, he’s only nervous around you, not anyone else. I think it has something to do with that cool, superior stare of yours.”
“I don’t have a superior stare.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I don’t.” Neil insisted, a little offended. First she’d implied he was a snob, now he was cool and superior.
He didn’t think he was better than anyone else. Okay, he should admit preferring more office ceremony than Kane. But Kane could afford to be relaxed—he owned the company, which was a far cry from being the boss’s brother who had to prove he’d earned each and every promotion and wasn’t just being given a free ride out of nepotism.
“Anyway, you make Duncan nervous,” Libby said. “He’s very nice, and quite competent as long as you aren’t around.”
“Kane needs someone who’s competent no matter what.”
She waved her hand, unperturbed. “Duncan will be. I’m going to tell him something outrageous that will make him smile, instead of spill or break something when he sees you.”
Neil’s self-protective instincts went on full alert. “You don’t know anything outrageous about me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
He was sure.
Well, pretty sure.
Kane wouldn’t have told Libby about his occasional boyhood exploits, or about the time he’d gone skinny-dipping with a cheerleader in the Puget Sound. Skinny-dipping during a Washington winter wasn’t the brightest thing, but neither were teenage jocks. And he couldn’t think of anything else she might have heard about in the last eleven years that would qualify as outrageous.
“You don’t have anything to tell Dunk about me, unless you make something up,” he said severely.
“What a great idea. Thanks. I’ll think of something really good.”
“Don’t you dare,” he warned.
“Why not? It was your idea.”
His idea?
Right. As if Libby hadn’t already thought of inventing some extravagant, ridiculous tale to entertain Dunk Anderson. Nothing licentious, of course, just embarrassing as hell.
“I don’t know what Dunk is doing with the company, anyway,” Neil said, trying to change the subject. “Didn’t I hear he has a stockbroker’s license?”
She dumped handfuls of coffee-soaked tissue into the waste can. “Yes, but he didn’t like it. I think you’re prejudiced because he’s a man, and you think secretaries and assistants should be dutiful, coffee-fetching women, while men should be the power-brokers who run the universe.”
“That isn’t true. And didn’t we have this discussion a few hours ago? I don’t have hang-ups about women in business.”
She just lifted an eyebrow.
Neil opened his mouth, then closed it again. He might as well forget it. After countless debates with his sisters, he knew women understood a certain logic, men understood another, and there was no meeting in the middle. Particularly with a woman in Libby’s mood.