Millionaires' Destinies. Sherryl Woods
“Shall I get your coat, then?”
“Didn’t wear one.”
“Then at least let me call a taxi for you. It’s started to snow quite heavily. The sidewalks and streets are treacherous. Perhaps that’s why your guest is late.”
Richard wasn’t interested in finding excuses for the no-show, just in getting back to work. “If the weather’s that bad, I can walk back sooner than you can get a taxi here. Thanks, anyway, Donald. And if Ms. Hart ever shows up, please tell her…” His voice trailed off. He decided the message he’d like to have relayed was better left unsaid. It was bound to come back to haunt him with his aunt, who was one of Donald’s favorite customers. Though he considered his duty to Destiny’s young friend done, his aunt might not see it the same way. “Just tell her I had to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
He opened the front door of the restaurant, stepped outside onto the slick sidewalk and ran straight into a battering ram. If he hadn’t had a firm grip on the door, he’d have been on the ground. Instead, the woman who’d hit him headfirst in the midsection, stared up at him with huge, panicked brown eyes fringed with long, dark lashes just as her feet skidded out from under her.
Richard caught her inches from the icy ground and steadied her. Even though she was bundled up for the weather, she felt delicate. A faint frisson of something that felt like protectiveness hit him. It was something he’d previously experienced only with his younger brothers and his aunt. Most of the women in his life were so strong and capable, he’d never felt the least bit inclined to protect them from anything.
The woman closed her eyes, then opened them again and winced as she surveyed his face. “Please don’t tell me you’re Richard Carlton,” she said, then sighed before he could respond. “But of course you are. You look exactly like the picture your aunt showed me.
“That’s the way my day has gone,” she rattled on. “First I get a cab driver who couldn’t find his way to the corner without a map, then we get stuck behind a trash truck and then the snow starts coming down worse than a blizzard in the Rockies.” She gazed at him hopefully, brushing at a stray strand of hair that was teasing at her still pink cheek. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go back in, sit down and let me make a more dignified entrance?”
Richard bit back a sigh of his own. “Melanie Hart, I presume.”
She gazed at him, her expression thoughtful. “I could pretend to be somebody else, and we could forget all about this unfortunate incident. I could call your office later, apologize profusely for missing you, make another appointment and start over in a very businesslike way.”
“You’re actually considering lying to me?”
“It would be a waste of time, wouldn’t it?” she said with apparent regret. “I’ve already given myself away. I knew this whole lunch thing was a mistake. I make a much better impression in a conference room. I think it’s the setting. People tend to take you more seriously if you can use an overhead projector and all sorts of charts and graphs. Anyway, I told Destiny that, but she insisted lunch would be better. She says you’re less cranky on a full stomach.”
“How lovely of her to share that,” Richard said, vowing to have yet another wasted talk with his aunt about discussing him with anyone and everyone. If he did decide to run for office, her loose tongue would doom his chances before he got started.
“I don’t suppose your stomach’s full now?” Melanie Hart asked hopefully.
“No.”
“Then you’re bound to be cranky, so I’ll just slip on inside and try to figure out how I managed to mess up the most important job interview of my entire life.”
“If you decide you want an outside opinion, give me a call,” Richard said.
He considered brushing right on past this walking disaster, but she looked so genuinely forlorn he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it. Besides, Destiny had said she was very good at what she did, and Destiny was seldom wrong about personnel matters. She was a good judge of people, at least when she didn’t let emotion cloud her judgment. Richard very much feared this was one of those instances when her heart might have overruled her head. Still…
He tucked a hand under Melanie Hart’s elbow and steered her inside. “Thirty minutes,” he said tersely as Donald beamed at them and led them back to the table Richard had vacated just moments earlier. It had a fresh tablecloth, fresh place settings and a lit candle. He was almost certain that candle hadn’t been there before. He had a suspicious feeling Donald had been expecting him back all along and had hoped a little atmosphere would improve his sour mood. No doubt the maître d’ and his aunt were in cahoots. He’d probably called Destiny with a report five seconds after Richard had walked out.
When Donald had brought a fresh pot of coffee, Richard glanced at his watch. “Twenty-four minutes, Ms. Hart. Make ’em count.”
Melanie reached for her attaché case and promptly knocked over her water glass…straight into his lap.
Richard leaped up as the icy water soaked through his pants. The day was just getting better and better.
“Oh, my God, I am so sorry,” Melanie said, on her feet, napkin in hand, poised to sop up the water.
Richard considered letting her do it, just to see how she reacted once she realized exactly where she was touching him, but apparently she caught on to the problem. She handed the napkin to him.
“Sorry,” she said again while he spent several minutes trying to dry himself off. “I swear to you that I am not normally such a klutz.” At his doubtful look, she added, “Really, I’m not.”
“If you say so.”
“If you want to leave, I will totally understand. If you tell me never to darken your door, I’ll understand that, too.” Her chin came up and she looked straight into his eyes. “But you’ll be making a terrible mistake.”
She was a bold one, no question about that. Richard paused in his futile attempt to dry his trousers. “How so?”
“I’m exactly what you need, Mr. Carlton. I know how to get attention.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he said wryly. “There’s unforgettable and then there’s disastrous. I’m hoping for something a little more positive.”
“I can do that,” she insisted. “I have the contacts. I’m clever and innovative. I know exactly how to sell my clients to the media. In fact, I have a preliminary plan right here for your campaign and for Carlton Industries.”
When she started to reach for her attache case again, Richard grabbed the remaining water glass on the table and moved it a safe distance away, then sat back down while she scattered a flurry of papers in every direction. When she was finally done, he said, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ms. Hart, I really do, but this isn’t going to work.” To avoid hurting her feelings, he tried to temper his dismissal. “I need someone a little more seasoned.”
He refrained from adding that he wanted someone less ditzy, someone a little less inclined to remind him with every breath that she was a female and that he was a male who hadn’t had sex for several months now. He did not need an employee who stirred up all these contradictory reactions in him. In this day and age that was a lawsuit waiting to happen.
His response to Melanie Hart bemused him. He’d gone from annoyance to anger to attraction in the space of—he glanced at his watch—less than twenty-five minutes. Relieved that her allotted time was nearly over, he tapped his Rolex. “Time’s about up, Ms. Hart. Nice to meet you. I wish you luck and best success.”
She gave him that forlorn, doe-eyed look that made his stomach clench and his pulse gallop erratically.
“You’re kissing me off, aren’t you?” she said.
It was an unfortunate turn of phrase. Richard