Bride by the Book (Crimson Romance) (4 page)

Now why had she told him that? Angie asked herself. It was that voice of his, slow and hypnotic. If she didn’t watch out, he’d soon hypnotize her into telling him a lot of other things he didn’t need to know.

“So tell me about your previous job.” Garner stared down at her résumé in a baffled way. “What kind of work did you do?”

“I did … the usual secretarial work,” Angie said, thrown off balance. “The filing was much like what you need done—lots of books and folders that needed organizing. Organizing files is my specialty.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Angie crossed her fingers in her lap and hid them with her other hand.

“Is that right?” Garner sounded as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “What business was the company in?”

Angie had prepared herself thoroughly for this question. “The only companies I’ve ever worked for have been software companies.” She managed a deprecating shrug. “A lot of the industry in Palo Alto revolves around computer technology.”

“‘Van Holden Software,’” Garner read aloud thoughtfully. “What programs do they put out?”

“Oh.” Angie thought fast. “Mr. Van Holden used to be the chief systems programmer with BrownWare, but he left them several months ago. He’s working on an—er—advanced grammar checking program.”

“BrownWare? Isn’t that the big database company?”

Angie wished she’d never mentioned BrownWare, but it was too late to take it back. “Yes, it is. Mr. Van Holden got fed up with databases and decided to do something about grammar. He said it’s terrible the way people have let their grammar skills deteriorate.”

She winced inwardly. Peter Van Holden had never typed a sentence correctly in his entire life. He hadn’t needed to. But she’d caught a glimpse of a box on Garner’s shelf that contained a grammar-checking program. She didn’t dare tell him Van Holden Software’s true goal in the business world, which was to claim half the assets of BrownWare and half-interest in the copyright to BrownWare’s major programs.

Garner stared at her a moment, then looked back at her résumé. Angie had spent many loving hours on that résumé. It was professionally printed on heavy bond paper, and she hoped just the look of it would convince a prospective employer of the quality of her secretarial skills. So far, she couldn’t decipher the expression on Garner’s face.

“Before Van Holden Software, you were with Glen Goodwin Enterprises. I see Goodwin is now a full-time professor at California Institute of Technology. What sort of work did you do for him?”

Angie caught her breath. Why on earth had she mentioned Cal Tech?

Because she had no other job references she could trust to say what she instructed them to say, that was why, and she had to list some phone numbers. Glen couldn’t give her a reference unless her prospective employers could get hold of him.

“Mr. Goodwin was a graduate student—um—researching electronic networking at the time.” Angie could have groaned aloud at this lame explanation and hoped Garner was as ignorant as most people of the more arcane elements of computer technology. “I kept him organized, typed his notes—um—filed his correspondences … that sort of thing.”

She hadn’t realized how hard it was to be creative with her job experience in spite of having practiced her spiel. She hadn’t expected Garner’s interest, or that she’d be rattled enough to mention BrownWare. Angie could have kicked herself.

“Both these guys are known computer wizards,” Garner said. “I suppose you picked up all sorts of computer tricks ordinary people wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, yes.” Angie was almost overcome with gratitude. “I did. They were always looking over my shoulder and trying to show me better ways to do things on the computer.”

That was more like it. Angie cast a beaming smile at Garner. Now she had a ready explanation if Garner should catch her doing something esoteric with his computer.

Garner seemed to freeze. Then he quickly dropped his gaze to the résumé on his desk before he once more studied her from the top of her shining, pale-blond head to the tips of her equally shining brown pumps.

“Is something wrong?” She watched him with outward concern while she berated herself for that smile. Trust something so silly to give her away.

“Wrong?” Garner coughed. “Not at all. That is … No, nothing’s wrong. How many years’ experience did you say you have?”

Angie paled. Just as she’d feared, he had recognized her. She had added a year to her work history so she could say she’d been a secretary for five years, assuming she had graduated from a college secretarial course at the age of twenty-two. She had calculated everything very carefully. What had tipped him off to that extra year?

“Five years.” She drew herself up and tried for a hint of frost. “Didn’t I remember to state that clearly?”

After all the calculation she had done, she knew she had. Part of the problem centered around the fact that she began college at the age of sixteen, which she knew was unusual. She had planned her résumé to project a woman who was thoroughly normal, but highly skilled.

“Here it is. Sorry.” Garner looked at her with that rising-sun smile. “You have such a youthful air I thought you were much too young to have this much experience. Although, I’m sure you’re very qualified. That is—” He stopped and stared at her.

Angie sucked in her breath. She’d lost the job, and all because he had recognized her. Her heart sank to her feet. Her first interview and she had already failed to impress her prospective employer because she’d been dumb enough to appear in a public place wearing shorts and no makeup.

The secretarial manuals were right. A professional secretary could never let down her guard.

“I
am
qualified, Mr. Holt.” She rose with an attempt at dignity. “I’d have worn a gray wig and orthopedic shoes if I’d realized you wanted someone over sixty for the job.”

Garner shot to his feet. He reached toward her and knocked a stack of books off his desk. “Wait. Where are you going? We haven’t even discussed salary yet.”

“Yee-ow!” Two heavy tomes landed on her right foot.

Off-balance already because of her high-heeled pumps, she jumped back and staggered into the stack of books Garner had transferred off her chair. The stack toppled onto her left foot. She tumbled backwards, amid the books and folders, and a cloud of dust rose about her. Her glasses flew off her face and skidded across the room.

“Oh, Lord.” Garner rushed around to help her up. “Are you hurt?”

Angie propped herself up on her elbows and looked at the papers scattered around her. “I’m okay, but your folders aren’t.” She sneezed violently and shoved down her skirt, which had hiked up to expose a good portion of her thigh and her lacy slip.

Two of the file folders had spilled their contents on the floor around her. Angie sneezed again and reached for one.

“I’ll take care of it,” Garner said. “Here. Let me help you up.”

Her head spun when he lifted her to her feet in one smooth motion. She swayed, conscious of her foot and ankle.

“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

He did, Angie realized wildly. She rested in his arms. It was a moment frozen in time, something she’d never experienced before. In her usual textbook manner, Angie tried to sort out, analyze, and explain the feelings rioting through her.

She had been kissed before, on rare occasions, and had experienced her share of hugs. Yet, those feelings weren’t the same. She felt … helpless. She found herself paralyzed by an emotion she tentatively defined as a desire to stay right there.

Her face was pressed against his chest. Angie felt the scratch of his white cotton shirt against her face and breathed in the scent of fresh starch mixed with a unique odor of male and spicy aftershave.

She’d thought the scents of Arkansas roses and pine trees were the most invigorating scents on earth, but it seemed she’d been mistaken. This particular combination of scents made her feel strange, as if she wanted something badly, but she didn’t know what it was she wanted.

What was more, she could hear his heart beating beneath her ear, a strong, steady, reassuring sound, and Angie discovered the sound gave her tremendous comfort.

What she couldn’t understand was why this combination of scents and sound and feelings was creating such a clamor of longing and emotion inside her. Worse, she wanted him to hold her even closer. She wanted to
kiss
him.

What, she wondered, did an ethical professional secretary do now?

Withdraw her application so she could feel free to kiss him, thus losing a perfectly good job opportunity?

Strive for high standards always
, her manuals said.

Angie sighed. High standards were such a pain.

Garner set her back on the chair, frowning. Angie glanced up cautiously. Garner’s face was set in the familiar, brooding expression once more. She rubbed her throbbing foot and noticed a patch of dirt decorating her formerly pristine white linen skirt.

“You know, you really do need to do something about these books,” she said. Since she wasn’t going to get the job, she might as well let him know what he was missing. “They’re a menace to your clients. Besides, it’s a crime to treat valuable books like that. I’d have all those books on shelves by tomorrow afternoon.” She glanced down. “And just look at this floor. You ought to be ashamed of receiving clients in a room that looks as though it hasn’t been swept in a month.”

Garner cast a glance at her white linen outfit. “Legal work generates a lot of dust, and I’ve been too busy to sweep lately.”

She sneezed. “I’m surprised you haven’t succumbed to a major allergy attack.”

“Uncle,” Garner said, grinning that sunrise grin of his. “The job is yours. If you want it.”

“Of course, I want it.” Angie sneezed violently and dusted at her skirt. “Why do you think I’m here?”

She was past caring about the bland facade the perfect executive secretary was supposed to maintain. That fall had done something to her attitude and made her revert back to type. She had better go home and get herself back into correct professional order before she showed up to assume her duties.

“Point taken.” He hesitated, staring at her face. “Are you sure you’re over sixteen?”

“I’ll have you know, I am twenty-si—seven years old. Furthermore, I am a graduate of Ca—Stanford University’s business assistant program. I have been out of school and in the job market for five years.”

Garner actually took a few steps back. Angie almost bit her tongue in order to stop herself from giving him the lecture that wanted to burst forth about the length of her experience, including the truth she was determined to hide.

“I believe you,” he said hastily. “It’s just that you look a lot younger than your age without your glasses.”

“My glasses.” Angie looked around for them. She wasn’t used to wearing glasses and had temporarily forgotten about them. “They must have slid underneath something when I fell.”

“Here they are.” Garner located the glasses in the rear corner of his office behind his desk. He studied the lenses a moment then brought them over and placed them in her hand. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the salary?”

Angie stuck the glasses on her nose. “What salary are you willing to pay?”

She didn’t care. She needed a job, and she wanted
this
job.

Besides, she didn’t need to work, at least not right away, thanks to a computer game she had sold that was currently generating huge royalties. She could afford to wait for exactly the right job, and so far as she was concerned, this was the job.

Garner named the salary, described the conditions under which she’d earn a bonus, detailed the job requirements, and went into detail about vacation time.

Angie knew the salary was far below her former pay, but she also figured the peace of mind was more than worth it. “Fine. I’ll take it. When can I start?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Garner looked at her with a strange combination of suspicion and eagerness. “Be here at nine.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you get here earlier?” She recalled that Garner and Cliff had been eating breakfast in the café at seven that very morning.

“I do, but there’s no reason why you should.” He looked closely at her eyes. “You look as if you could use a little extra sleep.”

Angie ignored that in favor of casing his office and listing in her mind where she intended to begin. “We have a lot of work to do if we want to improve your efficiency.”

Garner leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Calm yourself, Miss Brownwood. You don’t want me to think you’re too enthusiastic, do you?”

“I’ve always enjoyed setting things right.” Angie struggled to rein herself in. “Before any secretarial work can be done, the office will have to be straightened. It’s a challenge, but one that I can meet.”

Garner looked at the books and folders scattered over the floor. “I’ll admit that this office is a challenge, but I’m surprised a professional of your obvious caliber would be so eager to tackle what amounts to heavy-duty housework.”

“I’ve never minded rolling up my sleeves and doing a little physical labor.” Angie hoped she sounded sufficiently haughty. “In this case, I’m considering it part of the job.”

Garner looked at her as though he wondered about her sanity. Or maybe her motives, Angie thought. Not that she cared. This job marked the beginning of a whole new life for her, and she did not intend to muff it. This was going to be
fun
.

“I’ll be here when you are,” she said. “The first thing I’ll need to do is get some shelves delivered.”

Garner gave her a silky smile. “Oh, no, you don’t. The first thing you’ll need to do, my dear Miss Brownwood, is type a few letters.”

Angie blinked at him and felt a huge smile coming on in spite of her efforts to tame it down. Trust her to almost forget her true calling as a secretary in the midst of her desire to tackle the mess in Garner’s office.

“Certainly, Mr. Holt,” she said, with formal emphasis. “In fact, maybe I’d better get started on the office this afternoon so I’ll have a suitable space cleared on the desk for actual secretarial work.”

“Also,” he added, frowning, “I can’t go around calling you Miss Brownwood unless clients are present. Do you go by Angelina?”