Daring to Trust the Boss (Harlequin Romance) (10 page)

She told them about the beautiful Italian countryside and then spilled over into a gushing report on Bordighera, which, she told them, they would have to visit—if they ever got enough money to go on a vacation.

She slept like a log, woke groggy, but capable of working, and headed to the office dressed in the gray trousers and pink shirt. No blazer this time. June had turned into July and it was getting hot.

When she arrived at the office, Tucker was already there, head bent over papers on his desk.

She stood by her chair, confused. In a little over a week she and Tucker Engle had gone from being something like adversaries to—

She didn’t know what. Almost friends? He’d apologized for pushing her into talking about something that was none of his business. Hell, she’d told him about something that was none of his business. They’d sat by a swimming pool and talked like normal people.

He’d kissed her.

Then they’d had that wonderful private conversation over the spaghetti Bolognese. He’d told her things about his past. Personal, intimate things. Things that showed her that deep down he was a nice guy, a good guy. Not somebody born to money who abused people. Not somebody she had to fear. But somebody she could trust. Somebody special.

And now they were just supposed to go back to the quiet?

She glanced into his office again. His head was still down. His focus clearly on his work. Wasn’t he even going to say good-morning?

Apparently not.

It was sad, painful. Especially considering that that conversation hadn’t just shown her she could trust him. It had also caused her to like him. The real him.

Maybe too much.

She turned, slid her backpack beneath her desk. A file sat beside her desktop computer. She opened it to find the financials she’d been reviewing the night before. She lowered herself to the office chair, turned the pages to her stopping point, found the legal pad on which she’d been jotting notes and did what she was supposed to do: looked for inconsistencies. Hot spots. Potential trouble.

But her heart broke. She’d never met anybody like him. Never had an adventure like the one she’d had in Italy. And now they were back to not talking.

Two hours later the elevator bell sent a spike of noise into her silent space, causing her head to snap up. Ricky Langley and Elias Greene walked out. Though disgust rolled through her when she saw Elias, he smiled apologetically. She smiled politely and turned to grab the phone to alert Tucker that they were in her office.

But Tucker was already standing in his doorway. He greeted them without as much as a glance in her direction and closed the door behind them.

She sat back in her chair with a huge sigh. Not speaking
might
work to get them past the awkwardness of their near miss with friendship and their kiss, but it wouldn’t do anything to stop her longing for more. If she closed her eyes, she could see the blue Italian sky. The rolling hills. The green grass. The cobblestone streets. The villa gallery.

Her opinions had been important. Antonio had listened to her advice. Constanzo had treated her like an equal. And Tucker
had kissed her.

She traced her fingers over her lips. Every time she thought about that kiss, they tingled. Her whole body came to life as if remembering every single detail of the way his lips felt pressed to hers, the way his tongue felt taking possession of her.

Now here she sat in an office so quiet she could hear her own breathing.

Tucker’s meeting with Elias and Ricky lasted an hour, then he took the pair to lunch. She ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and drank a bottle of water.

Knowing she had to withdraw money for the week, she left the office in search of an ATM. She punched in her account number and waited for her balance to appear. When it did, it was twelve thousand dollars over what she expected.

Twelve thousand dollars
.

Crap. Somebody somewhere had made a mistake and she’d have to fix it.

Knowing she had sufficient cash to cover a meager withdrawal, she retrieved the money she needed and returned to the office to call the bank.

“This is Olivia Prentiss. My checking account number is—” she rattled off her number “—I seem to have too much money. Twelve thousand dollars too much money. You might want to check that out.”

The service representative chuckled. “Thank you for calling us. I’m pulling up your account now.” She paused. “Hmm...I see a twelve thousand dollar deposit from a company called Inferno.” Another pause. “Do you know them?”

She sucked in a breath. “Actually, I work at Inferno.” She grimaced. It would probably be better to tell Human Resources about the mistake and let the company handle it. “Never mind. I’ll check it out with my boss.”

She disconnected the call and was ready to dial the extension for HR, but a strange thought popped into her head. What if it had been Tucker who’d dropped the twelve thousand dollars into her bank account?

And if so, why?

She went over everything that had happened in Italy and stopped when she remembered that kiss. The rush of excitement. The rightness. The swirl of need. The way he took possession of her.

And the cash in her checking account felt like a glaring, horrible insult—a blackmail payment.
Forget everything that happened in Italy.

Waiting for him to return, she tried to focus on the financials, but the money in her checking account haunted her.

The second the elevator doors opened, she said, “So, what? Were you afraid I’d tell somebody you kissed me? Or afraid I’d tell somebody the things you’d told me while we were eating spaghetti?”

Tucker’s face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“The twelve grand. Is that payment so I’ll keep my mouth shut?”

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead as if totally unable to believe what she’d said then he pointed at his door. “My office. Now.”

She rose from her seat, her head high, and followed him. He fell to the chair behind the desk. She primly sat on the chair in front of it.

“That kiss meant nothing.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs. Just when she thought she couldn’t feel any worse, he proved her wrong.

“Well, thanks.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Miss Prentiss. Either you’re insulted enough by the kiss to think I’d need to pay you off, or you liked kissing me.”

Heat rose to her face.

He sighed. “The order to get the money into your account went out before we went to Italy. The day we left, HR called and told me there was too big of a disparity between Betsy’s salary and yours. We couldn’t give you a raise to take you up to Betsy’s salary since you won’t earn that much in Accounting, so we chose a bonus. Your direct deposit is equivalent to an extra thousand dollars a week while you’re filling in for her.”

Her mouth hung open. Everybody had told her Betsy would be out eight weeks, ten tops. Now suddenly it was twelve? Twelve weeks with a guy she liked, a guy she’d confided in, a guy she’d kissed...a guy who now hated having her around?

“I can’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not right.”

“Betsy makes about three times what you make in Accounting. Adding another thousand dollars a week hardly evens the score. It was a compromise number set by Human Resources. Besides, you earned your keep last week.”

“I did very little.”

“You understood Antonio. You knew to jump in when he needed someone to intervene.”

“We haven’t told him Constanzo’s his father.”

“Constanzo wants the chance to tell him himself. We have to respect that.”

“I still don’t feel right.”

He leaned back and steepled his fingers. Vivi surreptitiously studied him, suddenly realizing why she didn’t want to take his money. She wanted him to like her and he didn’t. She didn’t know why he behaved so different in Italy, but they’d talked honestly. Openly. He’d apologized. She’d explained things to him that she’d only ever told Eloise and Laura Beth. They’d connected.

That’s
what made him different from Cord.
That’s
why she liked him. It wasn’t the money or his good looks or even the romantic trip to Italy.

They had connected.

“I don’t want your money.” She lifted her chin. “I want to go back to what we had in Italy.”

“We didn’t have anything in Italy.”

“Yes, we did. We talked. We got close. You kissed me.”

“That was a mistake.” Tucker looked away, but he knew this was his opportunity to fix the slip up of kissing her and talking to her, to get the stars out of her eyes and get their relationship back to a professional one.

He deliberately caught her gaze again, held it. “Kisses lead to becoming lovers and if I take a lover it’s for sex and sex only.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me.”

“You
liked
talking to me.”

“Maybe, but in that conversation I also realized you like connections. Continuity. You want somebody to connect with long term. Somebody to share your life with, I’m not that man.”

“How do you know if you won’t even try?”

“Because it’s not what I want. And I’m rich enough that I don’t have to do things I don’t want to do.”

He saw the light of recognition come to her eyes. They widened with surprise, then dulled with acceptance. In essence, he’d just dumped her.

She rose. “I still don’t want your money.” Head high, she walked out of his office.

The relief he expected didn’t come. Instead, his stomach soured with the truth. No matter how much he wanted her, how tempting her body and how alluring her honesty, he couldn’t have her. And it was time they both faced that.

CHAPTER TEN

A
FTER
DAYS
OF
INTENSE
FOCUS
on the financials of a company Tucker ultimately decided not to buy, he switched gears and had Vivi looking at the financials of a company he already owned. The weekend came, and, glad for two days off, she did nothing but read.

On Monday morning, she woke with a headache and by the time she got out of the shower she was so dizzy she could barely stand.

Racing out the door, Laura Beth told her to take the day off. Heading into the shower, Eloise agreed. So she unwound her towel and walked to the dresser for clean pajamas. Almost too tired to lift them out of the drawer, she struggled to get the top over her head and the bottom pulled up to her waist.

Exhausted, she fell face first on her bed. Vaguely, she heard the sound of Eloise leaving for that day’s interview but that was her last conscious thought.

* * *

At twenty till ten, Tucker Engle sat at his desk staring at the phone. He had no idea why Olivia hadn’t come into the office today but he had one of those sneaking suspicions she’d told him about.

She was quitting. After almost complete silence between them for days, their only words to each other questions and answers about that day’s work, she’d had enough.

He supposed it was her prerogative to leave Inferno, but no matter how close they’d gotten in Italy, how disappointed she was in his ability to return those feelings, she still had to turn in a notice. Two weeks was customary.

He could have Human Resources call her. But what would he do if she told them she was quitting because he’d kissed her? Or she was quitting because they’d connected in Italy and now he refused to be personal with her?

He didn’t think she’d do that, but he also didn’t want his private business advertised. So he called Human Resources, got her cell phone number and called her.

He waited four rings before the call went to voice mail.

Which probably meant her phone was busy.

He gave her twenty minutes then hit redial. After four rings, it went to voice mail.

Ten minutes later, he hit redial again and it went to voice mail.

Five minutes later, he hit redial. And finally she answered.

“Hello?”

Her weak voice cracked. She sounded like she was on death’s door.

Cold fear flooded him. He cursed the feeling. Not just because he wasn’t supposed to like her but because he hated anything he couldn’t control.

“Are you all right, Miss Prentiss?”

“What?”

The disorientation in her frail voice sent panic through him. But he forced himself to remain professional. “Okay, I’m guessing you’re sick.”

Nothing.

“Miss Prentiss?”

Nothing.

“Olivia?”

“I’m fine.”

No, she wasn’t! He could tell from her weak voice that something serious was wrong. He disconnected the call and summoned his driver. The forty minutes it took to get to her apartment increased his panic and he raced into her building. He sighed at the three flights of stairs he had to climb and in the end took them two at a time. When he reached her apartment door, he knocked and knocked. Just as he was considering finding her building superintendent to get a key, the door opened.

Her hair was a tumble of knots. The puffy lids over her glazed eyes drooped. His gaze fell to her soft pink pajamas. The top had thin straps that all but bared her shoulders to him and revealed a plump pink strip of cleavage. The loose bottoms clung to the swell of her hips.

He swallowed hard. He’d never met anyone as naturally beautiful, as naturally built, as she was. And yet she believed she wasn’t good enough.

“Well, at least you’re not dying.”

She looked at him, but said nothing. Tucker wasn’t really sure she saw him.

He shepherded her back into her apartment, which was small, but neat and clean. “Which room is yours?”

She pointed back down the hall. That didn’t tell him anything, so he let her lead. She passed the first door and turned into the second. One bed was made. The other looked as if a band of feral cats had had a fight under the covers. She fell to the bed with the tousled bedclothes.

Silence fell over the room, the echoing sound of no people. She was alone, sick. Too sick to even get herself a glass of water. And there was no one in this quiet, quiet apartment to help her. The way there hadn’t ever been anyone to help him when he was sick. Not that he’d wanted someone to coddle him, but there was an undeniable loneliness, an emptiness to be faced when even a simple cold demonstrated that you didn’t have anyone in your life.

He crouched beside her. “What can I do?”

Her face smashed against the pillow, she said, “Go away.”

“I’m serious. Can I make you some soup? Get you orange juice?”

“I don’t think we have any of those things.”

He took out his cell phone. “Not a problem.” He called his driver. “Maurice, we’re going to need some chicken soup. Find a good deli. Also get a gallon of orange juice, some pain relievers and some flu medications.”

He clicked off the call and looked at Olivia. For all practical intents and purposes she was out. He pulled the covers from under her and gently spread them over her. His fingers brushing her soft, soft shoulders caused an awkward fluttering of his heart. His hands paused, fingers skimming the delicate flesh he longed to be allowed to touch, to taste.

He really liked her. But they were so different. And not just about money or social status. He couldn’t talk to her. When she tried to get him to tell her about his past, he’d stupidly told her something that had made her feel sorry for him. After that he couldn’t tell her anything else. His past hadn’t merely been bad; it had left him in the awkward position of being incredibly social in the right crowd and totally unable to be intimate—even with the right person. And
that
was the real reason he wouldn’t pursue her. She deserved better.

He walked into the front part of her apartment with a sigh. He’d panicked. Stupidly. Over a case of the flu.

Of course, he hated the thought of anyone being alone and sick. And, more important, he didn’t want her to get dehydrated. He needed her to get well enough to return to work. He convinced himself the panic was nothing more serious than his need to have his assistant on the job again. Also giving him a story of explanation to tell Olivia when she questioned him—and she would. He smiled ruefully. She always did.

He opened cupboard doors, looking for tea and eventually found some in the cabinet above a rather fancy-looking coffee machine. For three girls just starting out, they had an odd mix of really, really expensive things and things that appeared to be someone’s castoffs.

He prepared the tea and almost took it back down the hall but realized he’d be waking her when Maurice returned with the pain killers and flu meds, and he hated to wake her twice. So he sat on her sofa and drank it himself. Sipping, he picked up his phone and read his emails, but he didn’t have a decent attention span, not enough to answer important questions, so he turned on the television.

He sat back on the comfortable red sofa and sipped the tea. By the time Maurice arrived with the soup and medicines, he’d seen two news programs, which he should have considered a waste of time. Instead, he felt more relaxed than he had in years.

He took the soup and meds from Maurice who winced. “You should give her a raise or a bonus or something so she can get into a building with an elevator.”

“I tried. She told me I was buying her off.”

Maurice’s eyebrows rose.

“Trust me. She’s an odd, odd woman. And if you’re smart you won’t try to figure her out.”

Maurice chuckled and left. Tucker opened the soup which had cooled during transport. He took that, a spoon, the flu meds and the pain reliever back down the hall to her room. She lay sprawled across the bed, exactly as he had left her.

He marched to the bed. “Come on, now,” he said using his outside voice in the hope of waking her. “We can’t let you get dehydrated.”

She didn’t even stir.

He placed the soup and meds on her bedside table, sat on her bed and put his hand to her shoulder, then drew it back as if it had stung him. The softness of her skin always seemed to do him in. But he’d made his decisions. A man who couldn’t talk about his past couldn’t give a woman like Olivia the kind of love she needed.

But he glanced at her face, her eyelashes fanning against cheeks red with fever, her usually smiling lips a straight line and he wanted to touch her. To help her. He had to do this.

He slid his hand to her shoulder again. “Hey, sick person. I’m here to help you.”

The warmth of her fever heated his fingers and hit him right in the heart. She needed him. It almost physically hurt to think of her alone and so sick she could barely blink. So he might as well admit it and do what he’d stayed here to do.

He slid farther onto the bed, put his hands beneath her shoulders and lifted her into a sort of sitting position, leaning against him.

“What do you want first? Soup? Pain meds? Flu meds?”

“Flu meds.”

He opened the package and filled the little cup to the appropriate measuring point. But by the time he turned to give it to her she was asleep again. He put the cup to her lips and nudged until she woke and drank. She also took a few sips of juice, but that was it.

He left the room thinking he should go back to the office now. There was nothing else he could do for her. She was fine—safe in her bed—but alone.

The emptiness of being alone rose up in him. Having no one who cared when he was sick. Having no one who really knew him, really cared about him. He couldn’t leave her with nothing but the ringing silence of this apartment to keep her company.

With a sigh, he returned to the red sofa, took off his jacket, loosened his tie and turned on the TV again.

Two hours later she staggered into the living room, a blanket wrapped around her.

He shot off the sofa. “Miss Prentiss! Are you sure it’s wise for you to be out of bed?”

She made her way over to him. “At this point I’m not entirely sure I’m going to live.” She sat on the sofa. “The only reason I have strength enough to get out of bed is the medicine you gave me. Thank you for that, by the way.”

He slowly lowered himself beside her. “You’re welcome.”

“And for coming over.”

“I couldn’t stand to think of you alone and sick.”

She glanced at him. Her eyes told him that she remembered the things he’d said on the trip to Italy, about being a foster child, a baby left in a church in only a blue blanket. A little boy who had once gotten a Christmas gift and that had come at the expense of clothes he’d needed.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I get it.”

Discomfort turned his muscles to stone. He
hated
that she felt sorry for him. He could not handle pity. And maybe that’s why talking to her had scared him more than thoughts of seducing her? People who knew his past might respect him for how he’d changed his life, but deep down inside most people also pitied his humble beginnings. That’s why he’d choked on the words and couldn’t tell her any more than he already had. He didn’t want to be pitied. Especially not by her.

He rose from the sofa and grabbed his suit jacket. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it. Are you well enough for me to go back to the office?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I had Maurice get you chicken soup from a deli. You should eat that and drink plenty of fluids.”

She nodded.

He hesitated. With the threat of discussing his past gone, it again felt wrong to leave. She appeared to be well. At least well enough that he knew she could take care of herself, but it just didn’t feel right leaving her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and play cards or something?”

She laughed. “You play cards?”

“I do all kinds of normal things.”

“I have always suspected as much.”

He shook his head. “Even sick you’re a smart-ass.”

“You’re the boss. You could have gotten rid of me on day one.”

Her slightly glassy blue eyes connected with his and his heart turned around in his chest, like a little kid doing somersaults in a swimming pool.

He liked her so much.

He didn’t just think she was pretty or had potential. He
liked
her. That was why he didn’t get rid of her, always felt different around her, more alive.

But he didn’t share his past with anyone. Ever. He’d tried with her and only ended up evoking her pity.

He stuffed his cell phone in his pocket. “I’ll see you when you’re better.” He walked to the door, but faced her again. “You should call HR tomorrow morning if you’re not coming in. They like to keep track of things like that.”

He walked out of her apartment, closed the door behind him and squeezed his eyes shut.

He had been perfectly fine, perfectly happy until she’d come into his life. Now he yearned for things he couldn’t have...things he’d long ago adjusted to never having.

He wished with every fiber in his being that Betsy could get better so Olivia could return to Accounting and maybe, just maybe, he could forget all this.

* * *

A week after her four-day flu, Vivi sat in Tucker’s office, straight as an arrow.

Though he’d very sweetly cared for her the first day she was sick, when she’d recovered, she’d returned to a silent workplace, a venue for nothing but labor. He wouldn’t accept her thanks for caring for her. He didn’t want to discuss it. He didn’t look at her. Gave her assignments piecemeal, as Mrs. Martin had said he would, and absolutely didn’t give any explanations for anything.

She couldn’t even measure the disappointment. But she got the message. He didn’t want any misunderstanding. He’d cared for her because she was alone. He knew what it was like to be alone, and didn’t want to see anybody suffer that fate, but he did not like her.

So why the hell did she continue to like him more and more?

In the silence of his enormous office, the ring of his phone sounded like a bomb going off.