Her Man Friday (13 page)

Leo had expected the billionaire to be larger than life, but the man who entered the dining room wearing a faultless black tuxedo—and an even more faultless blonde—looked to be ordinary enough. All right, so Kimball was reasonably good-looking, Leo conceded. If you were one of those women who went for a man who was tall and well built, who had ruggedly handsome features… jet-black hair and ice-blue eyes… a square jaw, strong mouth… and one of those cool, shaken-not-stirred dispositions about him. But only if you were the kind of woman who went for a man like that. Immediately, he turned to look at Miss Rigby, whose gaze was still fastened on her employer, and he frowned.

Evidently, she was one of those women.

Because she seemed to have forgotten that Leo was even there, so focused was she on Schuyler Kimball. He looked for traces of jealousy or resentment on her part where the faultless blonde was concerned, but he detected neither. On the contrary, Miss Rigby didn't seem to notice Kimball's companion any more than she noticed Leo.

Instead, she simply watched intently as her employer crossed the dining room toward where the two of them stood.

When Leo turned his attention back to Kimball, his frown deepened. Because the billionaire, too, was clearly far more interested in his secretary than he was in the
extremely
well-endowed, tightly sheathed-in-red woman at his side, the one who had fastened herself so steadfastly to the man that she appeared to be trying to absorb through osmosis. Kimball's gaze never wavered from Miss Rigby as he paused before her, leaned forward, and, to Leo's amazement, brushed a chaste kiss on her cheek that she in no way tried to discourage.

"Lily. Darling," he said as he pulled back, his attention still fixed on her face. "Who on earth have you invited to join our little soiree this evening?"

Leo's amazement compounded. He honestly hadn't thought Kimball had even noticed him. But now the billionaire turned to inspect him, letting his gaze wander over Leo's person from head to toe. And for the first time since coming to Ashling, Leo worried that his cover was blown. Because Schuyler Kimball, for all his reputed eccentricities and self-absorption, seemed capable of staring right down into a person's soul to find every little dirty secret that person held locked inside.

It was more than a little disconcerting.

Adjusting his glasses with feigned disinterest, Leo decided not to bother with the slouch he'd been ordered to maintain. Because even slouching, he'd still be taller than Kimball, if only by an inch or two. For some reason, the realization brought Leo some measure of reassurance.

"Leonard Freiberger," he said, extending his hand.

But instead of acknowledging the gesture—or Leo, for that matter—Kimball turned back to Miss Rigby. "Lily. Darling. Who is this man? More to the point, what's he doing in my dining room?"

"He works for you, Schuyler," she said simply, showing no sign of intimidation where her employer's clear dissatisfaction was concerned. "He's an employee of Kimball Technologies. A bookkeeper. Evidently, there have been some problems with some of your files or something, and Mr. Freiberger is trying to get it all straightened out."

She turned to Leo, giving him the perfect opening to explain the fabrication of facts that was his sole purpose for being these days, but before he could utter a single syllable to explain his mission, Kimball slashed a hand through the air, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Vehemently.

"I don't want to know," he said adamantly. "Don't
even
bring up business to me tonight. It's the absolute last thing I want to have on my mind right now. No business discussions tonight," he reiterated adamantly. "None. I need a drink."

No sooner had he uttered the declaration than someone pressed into his hand a martini glass filled nearly to the brim with something frosty and clear. His mother, Leo noted. Miranda Kimball was still looking after her boy, God love her.

"Thank you, Mother," Kimball said before lifting the drink to his lips for a long, hefty quaff. He sighed with undisguised glee after he swallowed. "Oh, that helps." He sampled the drink again, this time with a bit less gusto, then, almost as an afterthought, turned to his—hoo, boy, was she built—companion. "Everyone, this is…" He hesitated, thinking, then glanced down at his date. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I seem to have forgotten your name."

Leo couldn't help the soft sound of incredulous surprise that escaped his lips at Kimball's disregard for the woman at his side. He'd known some real pricks in his life, but Schuyler Kimball put them all to shame. Leo didn't even know the woman who accompanied the billionaire, but he was ready to declare pistols at dawn on her behalf. No one should be treated so shabbily.

But she didn't seem at all surprised or bothered by Kimball's—to put it mildly—faux pas, and she won Leo's admiration when she simply smiled at everyone and said, "I'm Valerie. Hello."

Kimball nodded as recollection evidently dawned. "Valerie," he said, disengaging himself from her to sweep his free hand carelessly over the small crowd that had gathered to welcome him home. "This is everyone. Everyone, this is Valerie. We met…" Another hesitation, then Kimball turned to the woman again. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, where was it we met?"

Leo's fist clenched involuntarily at the second slight perpetrated against the undeserving Valerie, but she seemed to be not at all concerned with the rude dismissal.

"We were first introduced in the back seat of your limo," she said simply. "Right after you gave Miss Wisteria your platinum card and told her you only needed me for one night."

"That's right," Kimball said with a slow nod, lifting his drink for another sip. "It's coming back to me now."

Janey Kimball pushed through the throng and eyed Valerie with a look clearly meant to put the blonde on the defensive. "Do you know how to spell
scopaphilia
?" she asked Kimball's… date.

The billionaire rolled his eyes heavenward and expelled a hiss of discontent. "Mother, I thought I told you to keep Janey away from the
Oxford English Dictionary
. Am I going to have to lock up every book in the house?"

"Do you know how to spell it?" Janey demanded again, though she threw her brother a look of grave concern when she heard his threat.

"Sure," Valerie replied easily. Then she made good on the assurance by quickly and accurately fulfilling Janey's request.

"Do you know what it means?" Janey asked further.

"Yes, I do," Valerie told her. "But something tells me you don't, asking the question in mixed and polite company this way."

Janey furrowed her brow with more concern. "What's your IQ?" she asked anxiously.

Valerie lifted a hand to the permanent wave of silky blond that swept across one eyebrow. "It's a hundred and thirty," she replied. Rather smugly, too, Leo thought. "I pull in a hundred more an hour than the other girls do, thanks to that."

Kimball gaped at his escort. "It's
what
?" he demanded. "I told Miss Wisteria specifically that I
didn't
want a woman in that range."

Valerie shrugged off his displeasure. "You also said you wanted someone who could, um…"

She pushed herself up on tiptoe and whispered something into Kimball's ear that immediately had him smiling. And also shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, as if trying to dislodge something from his pants.

"And I'm the only one who can do that right," Valerie concluded as she returned to her regular stance. "Miss Wisteria figured you'd think that was more important than the IQ thing."

Kimball tugged impatiently at his tie and shifted his weight again. "Miss Wisteria was absolutely right."

Janey frowned in clear consternation. "
Mother
," she growled to the woman beside her. "Are you going to talk to Schuyler about this or not?"

Leo turned to the billionaire, curious as to whether or not he would indeed make good on his threat to lock up all the dictionaries, suddenly thinking it a very good idea. But Kimball only sipped his drink again and ignored his sister. Likewise, his mother said nothing in response to her daughter's question, just looked a bit pained around the eyes.

Leo shook his head once again in disbelief. At the family. At Kimball's… date. A hooker? he wondered. Billionaire Schuyler Kimball, who looked like one of Hollywood's most successful leading men, had been reduced to hiring a hooker to be his companion for dinner?

Well, naturally, Kimball had probably hired her for more than just
dinner
, Leo thought further, but still. He'd always kind of liked to think that once a man reached a certain level of success in life—like, oh, say…
billionaire
—he stopped having trouble getting dates. And why the hell would Kimball bother with a hooker when he had Lily Rigby waiting for him at home, looking at him like… like…

He turned his attention to Miss Rigby—again—and frowned—again.

Like
that
.

Okay, so Valerie might have one or two qualities that Miss Rigby lacked. Like, for instance, Valerie would probably be able to perform page seventy-two of
How to Leave a Man Groaning with Satisfaction Every Time
correctly. But was that really important when there was another woman around who obviously had
feelings
for you?

Well, yeah, okay, page seventy-two was pretty important, Leo backpedaled. But still. Surely it was in bad taste to bring a hired woman home to one's family and social secretary, even if one was an eccentric billionaire. Or was Kimball a billionaire eccentric? At the moment, Leo couldn't quite decide which word should be the adjective and which should be the noun.

He was spared having to ponder the quandary further, thanks to the entrance of Chloe the Magnificent. And the befuddlement that had dogged Leo for oh, about two days now, ascended to the next level. Because where before Chloe had been a surly, snide nymphet of indeterminate criminal potential, there was now a quiet, unassuming young woman of almost startling beauty and grace in her place.

Without all the hardware and makeup, Chloe's face was fresh and youthful looking, her complexion smooth, ivory, and flawless. She had somehow managed to contain all that dark hair in a short braid fixed at the end with a plain white ribbon. Her attire, to Leo, seemed appropriate for the teenage daughter of a billionaire—whether or not that was what Chloe was. A simple, sleeveless white satin dress, accessorized by a string of pearls and white satin flats. He could scarcely believe she was the same juvenile delinquent he had met that afternoon.

Then, "So we gonna toss chow or what?" she asked, spoiling the image completely.

Mrs. Puddleduck stumbled in behind her then, her face red, her knuckles white, her mouth open to utter language that was undoubtedly blue. Leo couldn't help but wonder what had transpired between the two to create this kinder, gentler version of Chloe. To her credit, however, the nanny curbed whatever words—or expletives—she had been about to utter when faced with the crowd before her. But he noticed that she was eyeing the bar on the other side of the room with
much
affection.

Beside him, Lily Rigby smiled at the pair with what appeared to be genuine warmth. "Aren't you going to say hello to Mr. Kimball, Chloe? Mrs. Puddleduck?"

"That's Poddledock," the older woman returned. But she covered the distance necessary to greet her host—who replied with a benign "Hello, Mrs. Puddleduck"—then she hastened over to the bar to pour herself what looked like… a double Stoli straight up.

For a moment, Leo suspected that Chloe was going to stand firm and reply that hell, no, she wasn't going to say hello to Mr. Kimball, why the hell should she? Then she dropped her gaze to the floor and moved slowly forward, pausing a good foot away from her… whatever it was Kimball was.

"Hey, Mr. Kimball," she said softly.

"Chloe," Kimball replied without looking at her. Then he enjoyed another sip of his martini and gazed at a trio of masks on the wall. "Lily, darling, one of those is crooked. See to it, would you?"

"Certainly, Schuyler," Miss Rigby replied readily. "I'll have Mrs. Skolnik take care of it first thing tomorrow."

Evidently satisfied that everything was right in his world again, Kimball spun around and made his way to the head of the table to claim a chair that was much larger—and more thronelike—than the others. And wordlessly, everyone else in the room followed suit. Leo waited until the others had been seated to figure out where he should place himself, then was delighted to discover that the only vacancy was beside Miss Rigby.

He wondered if she had done that on purpose, or if the seating had simply been a result of necessity. Because on her other side was Chloe, who clearly needed an additional handler, and beyond Chloe, Mrs. Puddleduck. To Leo's left, claiming the head of the table, was Kimball, and directly opposite Leo, on Kimball's left, was Valerie. Beside Valerie was Janey Kimball, and beside her, as far from Kimball as she could be, was his mother.

Just how accurately, Leo wondered further, did the dynamics of their dinner seating reflect the politics of the Kimball family? It didn't escape his notice that he and Kimball were the only two men present, nor did he miss the fact that they were both seated in the traditional places of honor at the table. This in spite of the fact that Leo was a virtual stranger, and, in his guise of bookkeeper, was more than likely the one with the lowest income. Doubtless Mrs. Puddleduck was pulling in a bundle for taking on the care and feeding of Chloe, and as for Valerie, well… It went without saying that if her usual customers were of Kimball's ilk, she was pulling in a lot more than a lowly bookkeeper would be.

So clearly it was gender rather than wealth that Kimball valued more in a person. Yet he lived in a house surrounded by women. Then again, he spent much of his time away. Interesting. Leo still couldn't quite dissuade himself of the idea that Kimball and Miss Rigby had more going on between them than the usual employer/employee relationship. Yet it was Leo, not Miss Rigby, who was sitting at Kimball's right hand. And it was a prostitute, not a friend or family member, sitting on his left.