A Will and a Way (7 page)

A frown darkened his handsome face. “I take it back.”

“That’s a bit unethical, don’t you think?”

“More unethical than sleeping with my employee or less?” He leaned in. “Either way, I think I’m okay with it.”

“You are morally corrupt.”

He grinned. “Undoubtedly, but thank you for noticing.”

“Too bad I need the job.” She thrust her résumé and the temp agency paperwork at him.

A puzzled frown took up residence between his eyes. “For real? The agency really sent you here?”

“Did you think I just dropped out of the sky?” The genuine puzzlement on his face made the flame of indignation that burned constantly in her belly flare. “Or what? You think I came looking for you?”

The undisguised disappointment she saw in his eyes was all the answer she needed. But before she could take that massive ego of his down a notch, he shot from the chair, rubbing his jaw with one hand and raking the other through his hair. When he reached the window, he turned back, an odd, almost tortured expression on his face. “You need a job?”

She stood, curling her fingers into her palms to stifle the urge to smooth the furrow between his inky brows. “A temporary one.” The corners of his mouth pulled into a fierce scowl. Betty held her head high. “The agency said you all needed some general office help, and I need some income while I look for something permanent.”

“Office help,” he repeated, searching her eyes.

“That’s why I’m here.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders then smoothed his palms down her arms. The facile fingers she remembered all too well curled around her elbows. He drew her closer, and despite her best intentions, she surrendered a few centimeters. “That can’t be the only reason,” he said, almost to himself. “There has to be more.”

“I told you, I don’t believe in Fate, and I want to assure you that I have no grand design on you, Will.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly, then he smiled, that edgy glint back in his eyes. “No? Well, what if I have one on you?”

“I doubt that.”

“You have no idea what I’ve been cooking up in my head over the last couple of days.”

She wet her lips, but the second his gaze dropped to her mouth, she knew she made a grave mistake. “I need the job.”

He tilted his head, telegraphing the intent to kiss her. “How about a kiss instead?”

Regaining a shred of sense, she placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “Like a consolation prize?”

Irritation flashed across his face, but he quickly masked his impatience. “Would you prefer a years’ supply of car wax?”

Gently disengaging herself from his grasp, she spared him a wan smile. “If it were something edible I’d think about it. Not that your kisses aren’t delicious, but without this job, I think I’d have to start shopping the cat food aisle.”

He conceded to her need for breathing room with a single nod then leaned back against the desk. The smile he gave in return was a pale shadow of its predecessors. Its faded brilliance made her gut twist. “Is that where the single people meet these days?”

She tugged at her suit jacket, using the space he created between them to find her footing again. “Well, the single women. I tend to avoid the men I find there.”

He laughed and her heart gave a disturbing lurch. “Seems sexist and more than a little cheap.” Folding his arms across his chest, he bent at the waist and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m a bit ashamed of you.”

Betty let her gaze travel slowly up the length of him, reacquainting herself with his long legs, lean torso, and broad shoulders. He wore a white dress shirt with a thin blue stripe and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Silky strands of dark hair dusted muscular forearms and curled around thick wrists. She spotted a hint of the same dark hair at his collar, and her tongue curled in appreciation. She’d licked that smooth, vulnerable skin just beneath his Adam’s apple. That perfect spot where the stubble of his beard stopped.

Tearing her eyes from the hollow of his throat, she met his gaze directly. “No more than I am of myself.”

He flinched as if she’s slapped him. “Don’t be. Don’t apologize for that night.” He straightened to his full height and stalked over to the desk. “It was the most memorable night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I doubt that.” She gave him a wry smile. “I haven’t done anything like that…I’ve never…I feel like a—”

“Don’t. Because if you do, I have to feel like one, too. Damn it, I like feeling like a stud better.”

“A stud, huh?”

“Don’t apologize for being who you are, Betty.”

“The woman you met the other night is not at all who I am.” The denial came too fast. Too easy—like she’d been in that bar. The problem was, she didn’t hate that woman.

“I think maybe she is.”

The assertion flew all over her. She reared back, incensed that this stranger would presume to know who she was when she barely had the foggiest idea herself. “How would you know who I am?”

“I have eyes and a brain. And my gut. You’re a beautiful, vibrant woman.” His eyebrow arched as he gave her a frank perusal. “A damn sexy one, too. My gut tells me you’re a pretty brave one as well.”

The last bit sucked the annoyance from her sails. “How do you figure?”

“You walked into a nest of strangers and damn-near owned the place.”

“Hardly.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking what you want from life.” He challenged her with a sly smirk.

“By any means? Even if it means rescinding a job offer in hopes of getting laid?” she shot back.

Will treated her to a patently unrepentant smirk. “Yeah, well, what can I say? I really wish you would have slept with me.”

She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Now we’ll never know.”

“Not until I fire you.”

“You are quite the charmer.”

“So I’m told.”

Betty didn’t resist when he reached for her again, but instead of taking her hand, he clutched the hem of her jacket. Falling back against the desk once more, he dragged her to him.

He spread one hand across the small of her back, holding her there, but with the same easy pressure he’d exerted at the bar. She could break away any time. Once again, he left the choice entirely to her.

“You know, this doesn’t have to be all or nothing. We could have both.”

“Both?”

Dark eyes, eager and searching, scanned her face. “Do we really need to waste time? I think we both know that one way or another, this is going to happen.”

“Is it?”

“Fate.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“That, too,” he conceded. “I know I want it to. I want it to happen so badly I can taste it.”

She inhaled sharply when he moved in closer. Warm breath teased her lips. Heat rose off his skin.

“I could still taste your mouth the next day. I want more.”

Soap, aftershave, and the heady scent of determined, predatory male laid waste to whatever good sense she had left. His fingers threaded through her hair. He cradled her cheek in one palm. Slowly, deliberately, and so masterfully she had the absurd urge to applaud, Will used the utter surety of each caress to dismantle her defenses. Each heartbeat he waited to kiss her felt like a lifetime.

“Please.”

Her plea bounced off his lips. She could taste the anticipation pooling on her tongue.

His dark eyes flared. He knew exactly how much she wanted him. The bastard.

“Please what? Give you the job? You’ve got it.”

“Kiss me.”

His pink tongue darted out to moisten sculpted lips, but still he held back. “I just need to be sure we’re clear. You’ve got a job as long as you want it.”

“No strings attached?”

“Not a one,” he promised.

“And in bed?”

“You can have whatever you want.”

Betty nearly wept with gratitude when he pressed those warm, damp lips to the corner of her mouth. He chased that opening salvo with a feather-light brush and a playful peck. None of them were enough to douse the slow burn he ignited inside her.

“But right now, I need to know… How are you with spreadsheets, my beautiful Betty?”

“Spreadsheets?”

He grimaced and waved a hand at the computer centered on a sleek desk. “If you’re as
familiar
,” he made the word sound positively filthy, “with that thing as you say you are, you can save me.”

“Save you?”

“I have a meeting, and I’m already late. If you can make it give me the permits I need, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Worth my while as in I get a steady paycheck, or worth my while in other ways?”

“Yes. Both.” He flashed a cocky smile. “But first, I really need those permits, Ms. Asher.”

By the time noon rolled around, Betty repaired and rebuilt three spreadsheets, removed the fine layer of dust covering everything in the reception area, and had taken a half-dozen messages from women claiming to need Will to return their calls immediately, if not sooner. She stood staring at the selection of coffee pots beside the single-cup machine. Awkward encounter with her barroom lothario aside, this assignment was proving to be far better than the frantic three days she’d spent trying to keep up with a hyper-wired commodities broker. He’d been impressed enough with her skills to offer her a permanent position on the second day, but she hadn’t been crazy about the hours or the guy’s erratic mood swings. Just as she wasn’t nuts about fielding phone numbers for a man who’d kissed her straight down to her toes then run.

Not that she didn’t deserve it, turnabout being fair play and all. She had left Will high and dry that night at the bar.

She helped herself to a dark roast that claimed it could strip the hair from her chest then sprout a fresh crop. She’d done the right thing in ditching that broker. It would be much easier to mix up a few digits on a phone number from someone named Misti—with an I—than to drag herself out of bed at four-thirty each morning. The past few days had peeled away another layer of her bravado. She wasn’t proud of her behavior in the bar, but oddly enough, she was more ashamed of the fact that she’d ditched. She’d promised herself she’d leave all that judgment and uncertainty behind. She was a grown-ass woman with needs and the right to have them met as she chose. And if she chose to get too tipsy on kerosene and rub all over a Hollywood fantasy of a man, then that was her own damn business.

This big, bad city was her brave new world.

She mainlined the caffeine as she poked through the kitchen cabinets, making note of various office supplies and food stuffs stored there. Given the stockpile, she deduced that someone had a serious yen for Pop Tarts and gel pens. Her money was on Will for the snacks and the yet-to-be-seen Greg for the writing implements. Uncertain if she should leave the office empty and unlocked long enough to run out to get some lunch, she helped herself to a toaster pastry and peeled back the foil wrapper as she took in the odd mixture of homey and utilitarian fixtures.

A massive file cabinet stood opposite the refrigerator. The built-in pantry was loaded with blueprints coiled into tight rolls. She stroked a fingertip over the curling corners of one bundle then carefully closed the doors. Just off the kitchen, another office held a battered surplus desk that was the antithesis of the sleek design in the front areas. She knew it must be Will’s even before she spotted the jumble of hard hats, heavy-duty jackets, and muddy work smothering a metal folding chair in the corner.

He’d taken great pains to reassure her while she’d extracted the information he’d needed for his meeting. Claimed he wasn’t in the office very much, and when he was, it was usually before or after business hours. This barely-furnished and excessively dusty office lent a bit of credence to his story. It was unmistakably his. An ‘up yours’ to the strictures of business administration. She smirked as she eyed the stack of manila file folders, cheap task chair behind the desk, and the wall calendar proclaiming it to be July even though April was just around the corner.

She crossed the room to take a peek at June and August, wondering if there was any particular reason time stopped in the dead of summer. The other pages were much the same, leaving her to conclude he must prefer his bikini-clad women in tool belts rather than safety goggles. Or, in the case of Miss August, wielding a nail gun as pneumatic as her breasts.

“Hello?”

She jumped at the sound of Will’s voice. Hot coffee sloshed over her hand. She left a trail of Pop Tart crumbs in her wake as she rushed from the office.

“Betty?”

She shot a worried glance at the incriminating bits of pastry then squared her shoulders. “I’m in the back.”

He skidded to a halt in the doorway, a carrier bag banging against his leg, and cocked his head when he spotted her hover at the door to his office. “Oh. Hi.” The obvious relief in his crooked smile made her heart do a lazy somersault in her chest. “I was afraid you’d ditched again.”

“I was just looking around.”

“I brought lunch.” His gaze traveled to the crushed toaster treat in her hand. “Ah, I see you found Greg’s stash.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “These aren’t yours? Don’t tell me you’re a Toaster Strudel man.”

Will shook his head as he crossed to the counter. “I prefer real pastries.”

“Heretic.”

He looked up from the containers he was unpacking, and she shrugged.

“Pop Tarts are a classic.”

“There’s a German bakery two blocks down. I’ll bring in real strudel.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should leave for lunch or not,” she said, tossing the uneaten pastry in the trash. “I didn’t have any way to lock up, and I hadn’t thought to pack something.”

He nodded. “I figured. I tried to get back, but things got snarled on the site check.” He jerked his chin toward a cabinet. “If you’d grab a couple of plates, I have lasagna and fettuccine Alfredo. I had them throw in some grilled chicken, but I didn’t know if you eat meat or not….”

She nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh, I eat meat.”

His hands stilled, and he shot her a narrow look. “Now? You’re going to start this now?”

She blinked, taken aback by the swift shift in topic. “Start what?”