Dying for Love
Mrs. Freeman edged her walker forward. “There it is, dear. Across the way.”
Grace followed the direction of the old woman’s trembling, wrinkled finger. Her brand- new tango-red Honda Accord Crosstour sat on the far side of the parking lot beneath a big tree. She blinked, her pulse skittering. Her lips tightened. What the hell?
Mrs. Freeman tutted. “The carport is safer than that old tree.”
“Um-hmm.”
She clutched the handle of her briefcase tight enough to leave finger imprints. No way had she parked there last night. She was never that tired. There’d better not be a single hairline scratch on the finish, or someone was going down. As a practical joke, the humor escaped her. As something more…She didn’t want to think about anything more. She scanned their surroundings again.
Casual expression firmly in place, she glanced at the elderly woman. “Have you heard about any weird break-ins in the complex?”
Mrs. Freeman’s smile disappeared and a little frown crinkled the white skin between her slim brows. “No, dear. Why? Is something wrong?”
Grace forced her stiff cheeks into a smile. “Goodness, no. Just something I overheard in the hallway the other day. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how kids are.” Leaning down, she planted a soft kiss on Mrs. Freeman’s age-weathered cheek and patted Apollo. “Lovely to see you both. I’ll be by to take Apollo for a walk when I get home.”
She glanced back as she reached the parking lot. Mrs. Freeman’s smile was troubled. Guilt bit hard. Grace waved at Roger Gray as he eased his big Lincoln to a stop near the curb. So he was taking Mrs. Freeman out for breakfast.
As she neared her car, the hair on her neck rose. She glanced around. No face peered from the bushes, no curtains twitched and nothing shifted in the cool morning air. Rubbing her neck with an unsteady hand, she circled the car. Not so much as a fingerprint marred the gleaming finish. She tried the handle. Locked. Rummaging in her purse for the keys, so jittery she may as well have drank the whole untouched pot of coffee, she glanced around again.
A chilly spring breeze ruffled the trees. Shadows skittered for cover.
Grace shivered and hit the remote button to unlock the Honda. With a quick look in the backseat, she tossed in her purse and briefcase, slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and locked it. She wrapped trembling fingers around the leather steering wheel.
“No boogeyman is going to jump out from behind the tree.” She glanced through the sunroof at the tree branches waving overhead. “Or out of the tree.” The whole morning had her on edge, totally creeped out and talking to herself, which was friggin’ fantastic.
Starting the car, she took a deep breath, focused on the smooth sound of the new engine and automatically checked the gas level. A paper covered the gauges.
Nice car, slut
*****
Matt Duncan peered through the door as Grace got off the elevator and walked down the hall toward her office. He snapped straight, shaking his head in disgust. Leering at an employee—he was such a pervert. In his defense, he’d been closing his door when the elevator pinged. The glimpse of Grace emerging froze him in place.
For six long months he’d worked hard to hide his attraction to her. Ever since she’d walked across his office for her interview. Marilyn Monroe couldn’t have done that expanse of polished hardwood more justice. He’d instinctively checked to make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out. Miracle of miracles, no drool pooled on his desk either.
Her job performance, warm friendliness with the other staff, persistent charm, quick wit, and sharp intelligence had quickly made her an asset. And served to fuel and deepen his attraction. Admiration and respect rode hard alongside physical attraction.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and clicked the door shut. The day had barely begun and was already headed to hell in a handbasket. Breakfast with his mom and stepdad had rocked his world, and not in a good way. The cherry on top of his crappy morning? His receptionist reminding him of his brother’s appointment.
“Mr. Duncan?”
Matt strode over to his desk and hit the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Your eight-thirty appointment is here.”
Not what he wanted to deal with today. Especially since his mom hadn’t shared her devastating diagnosis with Jeff yet. Cancer. Damn, she didn’t deserve that. Not after all she’d been through with her ex-husband—his father—screwing around on her.
“Send him in.”
Retrieving his coffee from the bar, he carried it to his desk. A large object between him and his brother was always beneficial. Jeff threw open the door and stomped in before Matt’s butt hit leather. Great. Already sporting an attitude.
Matt leaned back, sipping cold coffee gone bitter. His brother flung himself into one of the hard chairs facing the big desk. His worn polo shirt pulled taut over his round belly. Prematurely thinning hair added to Jeff’s general resentment of the world. In less charitable moments, Matt wondered how they came from the same parents.
“Hey, big bro.” Jeff didn’t make eye contact. “What’s up?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who asked to see me.”
Jeff snorted, finally raising watery eyes to Matt. “Yeah, and I have to make an appointment with your stinkin’ secretary to even get in the door.”
“You said it was about business, and that’s how a business is run. People make appointments with one another so they can schedule their day. Makes things easier on everyone.”
“Or just you.”
Matt gently set his cup on the desk and laced his fingers together in his lap. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s your new job?”
Jeff laced and unlaced his fingers, straightened and slouched and then straightened again. Matt tensed. His brother cracked his neck.
“That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Things didn’t go so good. The supervisor was totally unreasonable when I forgot to come back from lunch last week.”
“You forgot…” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “…to come back from lunch?”
“Yeah. I got distracted. So, I figured, ya know, to hell with it.”
“Really.” Matt wanted to close his eyes and pretend Jeff wasn’t sitting there. That he hadn’t just blown off this latest job. One Matt had gotten for him, calling in yet another favor. He couldn’t wait to hear from the contractor. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already.
“I was hoping you’d let me help out on the construction site again.”
Matt bit back a sharp bark of laughter. “You think I should let you back on my job sites, where you took your buddies after-hours two months ago and let them take off with fifteen hundred dollars in materials and tools. Three months ago you almost killed a guy when you swung the crane around too fast and lost a load of lumber.”
Jeff slunk lower. “No need to get bitchy about it, man.”
“I’ve warned you before. No foul language in my office.”
“Sh…Damn, dude. What’s gotten into you?”
“During the ten years you blew off, roaming free and living off Dad, having a grand ol’ time, I’ve worked my butt off building this business. I have a reputation for well-built structures and well-run construction sites. All of my employees behave in a professional manner at all times.”
“I had my own business for a while, ya know.”
Oh, Matt knew. He knew too much about that disaster. It had taken the whole family pooling their resources to drag Jeff’s butt out of the sinkhole he’d created. Plus, a corporate lawyer, moving company and a psychiatrist. He didn’t need to be reminded of that fiasco.
“I can’t allow you on the job sites.”
Jeff stared at the floor and shrugged his shoulders. Beneath the desk, Matt fisted his hand. This shadow of a man was all that was left of his brother. He had so many memories of growing up together, playing alongside each other and on the river, hunting and camping together and the stringers of fish they caught.
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Nah. I gotta go.”
Jeff rose but hesitated, studying the floor. Opened and closed his mouth. In the end, he just turned and walked out without another word. Matt stared after him. He had spent months working through his anger over his brother’s betrayal, and Jeff never expressed an ounce of remorse.
His shoulders slumped and he fought the urge to lay his head on the desk.
An image of Grace flashed through his mind. The shock of his mom’s news had brought the reality of life sharply into focus. Between his brother’s behavior and his mom’s illness, he didn’t know how much more his family could take. Life was too damn short. He squared his shoulders. It was time to see if there was more to his attraction.
CHAPTER TWO
“Grace, isn’t that report due to Mr. Duncan. As of, like, five minutes ago.”
“Yes. I’m on my way. I promise.”
“He’s in a real mood today, ya know.” Sally shook her head and walked away.
Like her day didn’t already suck. Getting fired on top of everything else would seriously suck. She’d snagged a position that a lot of people would kill for, in a firm recently listed in the top ten list of a local business publication. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest executive in the large construction firm.
Not to mention, the job enabled her to pay for her beautiful new car.
The low-grade headache thrumming at the base of her skull kicked up a notch. She wanted to drop her aching head into her hands and sob for a few minutes. Or hours. Something…anything to release the build-up of fear, stress and delayed shock. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.
Grace hit PRINT, swiveled around in her chair and snagged a binder from the storage cabinet. Mr. Duncan insisted reports be presented neatly and properly. Printed, bound, no factual errors and no typos.
In the six months she’d worked there, only two people had made the mistake of handing imperfect work to Mr. Duncan. They were no longer employed at the prestigious firm of Duncan Construction, Inc. Personally, she thought that was a bit over the top. Matthew Duncan might be hot sin walking, but he didn’t have to act like the Devil incarnate.
Not that Mr. Duncan was interested in her opinion. Nor would she ever dare voice it. She liked her job and would very much like to keep it. Especially in this economy. A fabulous job she enjoyed was a bonus she didn’t intend to waste by bandying about her opinions about.
She’d worked too hard, for too long to get where she was.
Neatly bound report in hand, she rushed out of her office. Sally, the first friend Grace had made at work, looked up from her desk and sent her a sympathetic smile as she held up two fingers crossed for luck. Grace blew out a breath and grinned.
The click-clack of her modest black pumps followed her down the tiled hallway. The rich cinnamon scent permeating the hall was supposed to be calming. She inhaled deeply.
Mr. Duncan wouldn’t fly off the handle just because he requested this report be in his hands at 9:30 and it was now—she glanced at her watch and swallowed—9:44. Her stomach tightened and she started relaxation breathing.
“Better hurry, Grace,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear.
Without thinking, she spun around and lightly whacked Luke in the gut. “Not funny.”
Hitting her co-worker. Nice. Very professional. She winced. Too much time spent around too many boys growing up and too much…everything this morning.
Luke doubled over, groaning like she’d punched him. Lips twitching, Grace kept walking.
“Oh, man.” He caught up and clapped a hand over his mouth. His cheeks bulged. “Ooh…” One hand pressed to his stomach, he staggered across her path and collapsed against the wall.
“Good grief, Luke.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself already.”
He straightened, grinning. “Hey, just trying to keep your spirits up. Facing old man Duncan would terrify anyone. Especially with mediocre, late work in hand.”
“Hey!”
Luke trotted off down the hall with a jaunty wave. The nerve. She did good work, no, excellent work, for this company. Mr. Duncan wouldn’t can her because of one late report. He was a reasonable man. Well, sort of reasonable. In an anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive kind of way.
She smiled at Nancy, Mr. Duncan’s secretary. Outside Mr. Duncan’s door, she took another deep breath. The stupid cinnamon was so not doing its job.
Grace stared at the dark mahogany door, straightened the hem of her short, fitted blazer, smoothed the back of her knee-length matching tweed skirt and, in general, procrastinated as only a terrified employee could. She’d just about, kind of, almost, worked up the nerve to knock.
“Fortifying yourself to beard the lion?” said a deep voice behind her.
She jumped and almost dropped the precious report. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. Great. Caught dawdling like a student called into the principal’s office. By her boss, nonetheless. Reminding herself to breathe, she turned.
“Why, yes.” She forced a smile.
Mr. Duncan’s bland expression betrayed none of the soft mockery she could have sworn his voice contained. Did his lips quirk, or was it a trick of the light? He was infamous for his non-existent sense of humor.
“Well, let’s not delay a second longer.” Reaching past her, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. “After you.”
His nearness and masculine scent curled around her with wanton invitation. Imagined invitation, she sternly reminded herself, splashing cold water on her overactive hormones. Dredging up confidence she didn’t feel, she smiled and strode past him into the cool interior of the immaculate office. The door closed quietly behind her.
“Mr—”
“Would you care for a drink, Miss Debry? A shot of Scotch, perhaps?”
She jerked her head up. Again with the dark humor. No, she had to be mistaken. Overwrought with stress and attraction to the point she was imagining things. Sad, really.
His back to her, he rummaged through the bar. From experience, she knew how well stocked it was.
“Um, no. I don’t think a shot of anything would be a good idea at…” She glanced at her watch and winced. Well, no point putting off the inevitable. She cleared her throat. “Nine forty-eight in the morning.”
“How terribly precise, Miss Debry. No, I don’t suppose it would be appropriate to indulge so early.”
He sighed. The unusual sign of humanity took her aback. He sounded tired. More than tired. Bone-deep weary.
“How about some coffee, then? Water? Juice?”
“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” Swallowing might prove an issue, but he was clearly determined she drink something.
“Cream and sugar, as I recall.”
“Yes.”
Were you courteous to someone you were about to fire? A final liquid meal before kicking them out in the cold? She failed to find any comfort in his hospitality. She eyed his broad shoulders, refusing to allow her gaze to dip lower, no matter how much it wanted to. Since when did he remember personal details about his employees, like how they drank coffee? The fact he’d taken note of her preferences was bewildering.
“I—”
“Please, have a seat. No need to stand when there are relatively comfortable chairs just waiting to be of use.”
He turned from the bar, coffee cup in hand and she headed for one of the chairs facing the massive desk dominating the space. An excellent place for intimidating employees.
“No, no. Not there.”
Her eyebrows shot up at the impatience lacing his words. She always sat in one of those chairs during a meeting with him. Just like he always sat in his elegant black chair behind the large expanse of gleaming wood, maintaining the proper distance between a denizen of the construction world and his employees. Always.
“Yes, I know. I’m excessively full of what’s proper, establishing my authority and all that crap. Come sit over here.”
The conversation area he indicated faced the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. She glanced again at the low-backed chairs in front of his polished desk. Uncertainty sat low and uncomfortable in her belly. Her stomach rolled. Shoulders back, head erect, Grace walked over and sat in a comfortable chair.
She’d always assumed the hard chairs were intentional. A subtle hint that relaxing in his presence was unacceptable.
He placed the full coffee cup and saucer on the table between them, then settled in a neighboring chair. “Is that the report?”
“Yes.” She handed the paperwork to him. “I’m sorry it’s late, Mr. Duncan.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Eyes widening, she clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open.
He tossed the report on a little table. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“No, sir.”
He nodded, staring out the windows. It was a beautiful view. Neo-classic buildings sat with cheerful disregard amongst high-rise glass structures like theirs. The oldest had been there since the city’s birth well over one hundred years ago.
The trees were still stark and barren despite the warmer weather. The river twisted like a dark ribbon through the midst of the city that had grown up around it. Hence the city’s nickname, The City of Trees.
Mr. Duncan’s dark gaze returned to her with uncomfortable intensity. She resisted the urge to squirm.
“Are you okay, sir? You don’t quite seem yourself.”
Like she knew him. She gnawed on the side of her lip, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. His reserve kept everyone at a distance, even higher-up executives who’d worked with him for years. She was a newbie, inexperienced in the ways of office politics and Mr. Duncan.
“Let’s just say today hasn’t turned out as expected.” A grim smile twisted his lips.
“I apologize. I had no business prying.”
Sighing, he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it ruffled. She’d never seen him anything but perfect. The glossy strands looked silky-soft all mussed and somehow made him more human and approachable. More masculine. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch.
Grace threw the emergency brake on her thoughts and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Time for a strategic retreat.
“If there’s nothing else …” She started to rise.
“You haven’t touched your coffee.”
“Right.”
Sinking back into the chair, she picked up the delicate china. The rich coffee aroma liquefied her resistance and she relaxed a little, sipping quietly. A dab of cream and a touch of sweetness. Why she was surprised to find the coffee just right, she didn’t know. Mr. Duncan did everything to perfection. It was one of the reasons his company was so successful.
She glanced up. He was watching her. Something in his eyes made her cheeks heat, but his strained expression kept her butt planted firmly in the chair. He looked grievous. Lonely?
“So.” Desperate, she searched for a safe topic of conversation. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipped and absently licked a stray drop of coffee from the rim. “Did you grow up in Boise?”
His gaze, which had been on her lips, returned to her eyes. She had a sudden urge for lip liner and glossy lipstick. Mr. Duncan settled back. He seemed relieved, as if he’d been afraid she would abandon him.
Wow. She totally needed to get a grip.
“Yes. What about you? I know you graduated from Purdue then worked in the Chicago area for several years before moving here. Did you grow up in Lafayette?”
She blinked. Did he pay such close attention to everyone he hired? Duh. Of course he did. No reason he’d pay special attention to her.
“I grew up in Northern Indiana by Lake Michigan. I lived in Michigan City for a while, then spent all of high school with a family that lived near the border of Michigan City and LaPorte.”
“That’s right. You grew up in foster care. Not an easy childhood.”
Her eyes had to be as big as saucers. She shifted uncomfortably. “How did you know that?”
Amusement brightened his eyes. “You did consent to a full background check, Miss Debry.”
“Well, yes. But I…that is …” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know the extent of what such a check would reveal. Or that you would remember it.”
He inclined his head. “You interest me.”
Grace blinked. Interested him like an insect squashed between two slides and pressed into the plate beneath a microscope lens? “No.”
His eyebrows rose. “No?”
Her face heated. “No, it wasn’t difficult growing up in foster care.”
“Ah. Good.”
She fiddled with her cup. That was a lie, but she didn’t share her past. Besides, her mind had gone completely and utterly blank. In a gulp, she finished her coffee and gently set the cup and saucer on the low table.
Mr. Duncan met her gaze. “What brought you to Boise? It’s a long way from the Midwest.”
“I got tired of the crowds. Chicago is a beautiful city, but it’s congested and rundown. I wanted a change.”
“Why Boise?” He leaned forward. “You could have gone anywhere. You have excellent references. You’re young. The world is your oyster.”
A slight smile revealed a dimple on his left cheek. Attraction zipped through her veins without permission.
Stomach tightening, Grace licked her lips. “I Googled it. Boise sounded small enough to offer room to roam, yet large enough to offer the amenities and shopping I enjoy. Plus, the athleticism of the area appealed to me. Skiing, cycling, hiking. The Greenbelt.” She gestured toward the river. “I was able to find a great condo overlooking the Greenbelt and the Boise River, just past Katherine Albertson Park.”
A great condo easily broken into … The scene in her kitchen flashed in her mind. Her hands shook and she tucked them beneath her legs, focusing on the here and now. She chewed on the corner of her lip. Reduced to rambling. Time to go. She didn’t care how lonely he seemed. He was handsome and wealthy. No way was he lonely.
“I need to get back to work.” Grabbing the cup and saucer, Grace rose and ducked behind the elaborate bar set-up. She washed her dishes and returned them to the sleek wall-mounted cabinets. Turning to leave, she abruptly backed into the cabinet. Mr. Duncan lounged against the granite counter.
She’d never realized how big he was. Other than his demand for perfection, she hadn’t allowed herself to notice anything beyond his extravagant signature on her paychecks. Not his broad shoulders. Not his incredible eyes. Definitely not the way he moved, that somehow communicated “great in bed” to all her feminine transponders.
“Housekeeping takes care of dirty dishes.” His disconcerting dimple winked into existence again.
“I know.” She stepped closer, but he didn’t budge. “Um, I need to sort through the bids for the Peterman Project and select the contractors for the interior.”
He nodded, his gaze unwavering. There was more than enough space between him and the wall to get past. Still, her nerves stuttered and her breath hitched.
“Well, I’ll just get back to work then.” She edged past him.
He didn’t move, but his brown eyes sparked with some emotion that made her long to further investigate this new side of her enigmatic boss.
Grace wasn’t too proud to admit she all but ran. Confused and alarmed by the arousal humming through her, she hurried back to the safe walls of her office. The comfy custom chair embraced her. The bubbles floating across her monitor mesmerized her.
“So, how’d it go?”
She startled like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Luke hung halfway into her office, staring with obvious lust at her coveted corner office.
“How did what go?”
He frowned. “The meeting with Mr. Duncan. I heard your report was late.”