Promoted: Secretary to Bride!

CHAPTER THREE

JARROD waited on the porch of Molly’s tiny flat. The flats on either side sported cluttered yards full of potted plants, garden gnomes and odd bits of small statuary. Molly’s yard had a miniature rosebush either side of the path near the porch, a neat little area of lawn and nothing else.

The area didn’t tell him much about his PA’s private life, not that he needed to know.

Jarrod smoothed his hand over his tie and acknowledged he felt tense, keyed up. Understandable. His business was under attack and he wanted that fixed.

Footsteps sounded inside Molly’s apartment, the tap of heels on parquet.

His PA had made that odd comment about shoes when she’d answered her phone, so maybe it only sounded like heels. Even so, he wondered briefly how she would be dressed. In classic black, maybe, something that covered her from neck to toe and went with her thick-framed glasses. Before he finished the thought, the door swung open.

Molly stood on the other side, but it wasn’t the Molly he knew and worked with. It was a vision of a woman with silky dark hair flowing about her shoulders, a flawless face, big brown eyes, and her perfect figure outlined in a beautifully simple burgundy dress that left her arms bare, outlined her curves, dipped in at her waist and flared all the way to her feet.

‘I’m ready. I have the PDA. Izzy and Faye made sandwiches and I talked them out of three layers of necklaces and fifteen cheapskate arm-bracelets.’ The words tumbled breathlessly over each other, and his PA’s face flushed in a way that made her look even more becoming. ‘That is, I’m ready to leave.’

‘I’m glad you’re ready,’ he said rather stupidly. Was his jaw hanging open? He clenched his teeth, just to make sure that wasn’t the case.

‘Yes,’ she muttered through softly parted lips. ‘I’m ready to beard the vultures—that is, to see the sculptures.’

‘You’re wearing heels.’ This was said rather accusingly. He tried to soften his tone. ‘You don’t—at work.’

The sandals on her feet did indeed have heels. They were also encrusted in small glass beads, and he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from toenails painted with burgundy polish to match that on her short, trimmed fingernails. He forced his gaze slowly back up, and noticed the delicate pearl necklace that lay in the valley between her breasts.

‘Not—I don’t usually, no.’ She lowered her hand from the doorknob.

He couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about so he made the only announcement that came to mind. ‘We should go.’

His voice sounded about an octave lower than usual. His ears buzzed, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. A wash of warmth flooded his bloodstream as he added, ‘You’re also not wearing your glasses.’

Brilliant conversation, Banning. Any chance you can do better before she decides you’re a complete, dithering fool?

He cleared his throat. ‘You look very nice, though—glasses or not.’

Far more than that. Sweet, desirable, hot…

A tight feeling caught at his chest. He thought it might be panic—because this was like seeing her for the first time, and he felt as though he’d missed something that was right there. And how could he have missed it for so long? Worse, why did the sight of her this way have such a strong impact on him? He, who felt so little, whose family had bred that lack of feeling into his DNA with their coldness and their lack of love or any kind of gentle feeling?

It must simply be sexual awareness, though that had never jolted him in quite this intense, unexpected way. The thought didn’t exactly help, given it was inappropriate all by itself. Heat warmed the back of his neck as he tried to batten down his reaction to her. Molly was his assistant. This was a working night. The clothes, the appearance, might be different, but nothing had changed between them.

Nothing other than that his eyes had been opened to her.

Well, he could just close them again, couldn’t he?

Molly stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door forward until the lock clicked into place. Her gaze skittered over his charcoal suit-coat, the grey shirt and darker grey silk tie, down to his feet and up again. ‘I like—I like—um, your tie. It matches the colour in your eyes. Yes. You look nice, too. You do. Of course.’

She looked away. ‘That is, the tie matches one of the colours in your eyes, but at the moment they’re mostly grey, not so much on the hazel side of things.’

‘I didn’t think my eyes changed colours much.’ He’d never noticed.

‘Oh, they do. I mean, it appears they have. At the moment—’ She stopped the words.

There’d been something in her eyes for just a moment. Interest—reluctant, unexpected perhaps, as his had been—but there.

He didn’t want that. Didn’t want to think of her that way, or her to think that way of him; he didn’t want this to be personal at all. Such reactions could only cause trouble. So why did the knowledge that she’d studied him closely enough to notice nuances of his eyes almost please him?

‘Right. You’re ready to leave, to get to work on this problem that’s been tossed at the business?’ Perhaps if he repeated the words aloud he would remember the purpose of this night, and get his mind off the vision Molly made in the eyeball-searing dress.

‘Yes. I’m keen to start sorting this matter out.’ She dropped her key into a small clutch-bag made of some kind of shimmery cloth. Her tone was all business, but her hand shook as she carried out the small, ordinary act.

Jarrod searched her gaze, and something passed between them that heated his skin a second time.

His hand lifted towards her face before he registered the desire to touch. He dropped it away again, turned aside. ‘Then let’s go search for a rumourmonger, spread subtle reassurance and build up the business with as many people as we can along the way.’

‘Yes. Let’s.’ Molly nodded a little too vehemently.

And Jarrod told himself to relax. This was just work, after all.

Molly’s tummy danced an out-of-control jig as she settled into the car beside Jarrod. The sedan was midnight-blue, and the engine gave a muscled purr when her boss turned the key in the ignition.

She wanted to blame her tummy flutters solely on nerves about the upcoming evening. That accounted for part of it, but there was more. The look in his eyes just now. Surely she had misinterpreted that, imagined that altogether?

‘I’ve never seen you without your glasses before.’

He murmured the words as he steered the sleek sedan through the city streets.

It was an observation about her person, and it wouldn’t have occurred a day ago. It was change, and in this instance Molly wanted to be as immovable as the most stubborn non-embracer of change.

‘I wear contacts occasionally.’ She almost said ‘on special occasions’—but this wasn’t one. Instead, she took the PDA from her purse and cast a repressive glance his way that was equally aimed at herself. ‘Glasses are far more sensible, in my opinion, even if Izzy and Faye—’

Molly cut herself off. Her boss didn’t need to hear about that. Work. What she needed was work. ‘There wasn’t time this afternoon to get the names of the people you hope to speak with tonight who aren’t our clients. If you can tell me now, I’ll key them into the organiser for reference later. Also, now you’ve had a little time to consider it, can you think of anyone who might want to do this to you?’

‘I have a couple of old school rivals, but I don’t have any true leads on this.’ His frustration showed through as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Either people are my clients, in which case I look after them, or they’re not, and what I do with my work is irrelevant to them.’

‘Maybe a thwarted girlfriend might be behind the rumours?’

The moment she said the words, Molly wished them unsaid. So much for keeping to business, because that subject was so not her business! Besides, in the time Molly had known him, Jarrod had shown no signs of any significant relationship. He seemed to prefer to date casually and sporadically.

Without commitment. His parents’ coldness this afternoon came back to her. He could be aloof, sure, and maybe it was odd that he hadn’t been in any deep relationships since she’d known him—but lots of people just weren’t ready.

She chose not to remember that her last date had practically been aeons ago. ‘Never mind about that. It’s probably more important to get that list of key names together.’

‘Yes, quite, and there’s been no one of significance, in any case. I don’t do the commitment thing.’ He started tossing out names of associates.

Molly wondered about those words, but he didn’t give her time to dwell on them. She duly made notes about his associates.

After a time, Jarrod turned his car through a set of gates. ‘This is the Laurant family’s estate.’ He stopped at the signal of a gloved attendant. ‘The car will be parked for us. Wait there. I’ll come round for you.’

Molly drew a sharp breath. Other thoughts receded as she stared at the grounds and mansion. People strolled across vast lawns and along bordered walkways. Glittery, wealthy people like her boss—whether she tried not to think about that side of him during office hours or not.

And here was Molly—working class to the tips of her cheaply painted toenails. They were being valet-parked, for heaven’s sake, whereas she didn’t even own a car.

Jarrod opened her door. ‘Ready?’

‘Not exactly.’ But she pasted a smile on her face and climbed out.

The first group of people Jarrod led her to comprised a woman somewhere between forty and fifty, a man with white hair and a trimmed moustache of the same tone and two women a few years older than Molly’s own twenty-three years.

They were all dressed immaculately, with jewels dripping from ears, wrists and necks, and they were critiquing a sculpture mounted on a platform at a curve in the crushed-granite pathway.

‘The lines, darling. Look at that form and grace.’

‘And wrought-iron for those edges. Such an intriguing choice.’

Molly glanced at the sculpture, and then stared. She couldn’t help it. It was beautiful. Better than anything she had seen.

A combination of swirls, arcs and dips gave a sense of movement so real, she reached out to clutch Jarrod’s arm, and a gush of awe came out of her. ‘It’s lovely. Like the sea swirling around rocks on a clear warm day. It’s such a privilege to get to see something like this.’

Four heads turned towards them. Four sets of eyes stared askance at her.

Blurt city; great way to start the night.

Molly went to drop her hand away from her boss as unobtrusively as possible, but he tucked it through his crooked elbow and covered it with his other hand.

‘Good evening.’ Jarrod stepped forward, his tone urbane, calm. As though her gauche observations hadn’t happened.

The Prince rescued Cinderella from her case of foot-in-mouth disease and probably wished he’d never brought her along.

‘Allow me to introduce Molly Taylor.’ His fingers squeezed over hers briefly before he dropped his hand—but he didn’t release her from that elbow tuck. ‘Molly is my PA, and right hand to me at Banning Financial Services.’

Correct. And she had a job to do for him tonight and couldn’t afford to mess it up. ‘Hello. It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?’ Molly tried to sound as though she did this kind of thing all the time.

The man smiled a little. She wasn’t sure quite what he was thinking. The women didn’t.

Jarrod introduced each person by name. For the next few minutes her boss discussed a variety of generalities. It was all about subtle probing, assertion of his confident stance, assurances given and offers made without a direct word being spoken.

Molly listened, and watched and waited for her turn. She didn’t have a lot to say about the cost of importing ancient jade artefacts from a private dealer in Asia, which was where the conversation had drifted at the moment.

‘My Aunt Izzy works at a courier’s office’ didn’t seem quite appropriate, nor did describing her own brief stint after high school in a company that sold fertiliser, nor any of her other jobs before she’d landed the one with Jarrod.

When the conversation turned to her boss’s work more directly at last, she tried not to sag with relief. He discussed some of his hottest recent investment efforts. Molly inserted statistical facts and figures where appropriate.

This she could do, and his bent head and, ‘Good work, Molly,’ whispered against her ear helped allay some of her unease. For a moment, at least, though that brush of his breath made it hard to think!

Her boss released her arm, only to lay a hand against her back between her shoulder blades. Though she knew he did it as an act of solidarity, and perhaps to silently commend her contribution to the conversation, her skin burned beneath his touch. She forced herself to stand still, to focus. And couldn’t see any hint as to whether these people had heard rumours. The highly polished social veneer was just too blinding for her to tell.

Jarrod wound things up at just the right moment. ‘The thing is to keep sharp. I’m sure the world of finance will change many times before I hit retirement age, for example—if I decide to give up my work even then.’

That was his statement: I’m here to stay.

‘I might give you a call.’ The man he had introduced as Phillip Yates smiled through his moustache. ‘Must admit, I’d wondered how things were going, but I can see— Well, a fellow can never have too much good advice about investment, and what you’ve just said backs up everything I’ve heard about the best side of it. Interesting statistics, too.’

That was quite positive! Molly made a mental note to put those results in the PDA. She caught herself smiling a little, and caught a snide glance from one of the women as a sharp gaze raked over her clothing and back up again.

Molly’s smile faded, though she told herself to buck up. She didn’t belong here, with them in their designer originals and her in her modest dress and borrowed shoes and bag. She could have spent Jarrod’s money on something very expensive, either, and they’d still have seen she was a fraud. It didn’t matter what people thought of her, provided she and Jarrod achieved their goals.

Molly’s fingers tightened involuntarily around Jarrod’s arm and he glanced down at her. Smiled. Patted her hand.

‘Give Molly a call at work. She’ll sort out an appointment for you.’ With that he propelled her away from the group.

Molly hauled out the PDA and started to key as though her life depended on it.

Jarrod let her for just a few moments, and then he drew her into a quiet nook beneath an enormous fig tree.

‘What’s the matter? I thought you paled just now. Are you unwell?’

‘No. No, I’m fine.’ She tipped up her chin. ‘Can we keep going? I want us to cover as much ground as possible tonight.’

He frowned and seemed about to press the matter, but she tugged at his arm and he gave in, for the moment, at least.

They moved on, and got back into the thick of things. Molly watched her P’s and Q’s with everyone and tried not to dwell on her awareness of her boss. Tried to remember she really didn’t belong here. Yet every time she told herself this her boss would cast a glance her way, or his hand would linger that little bit longer than necessary at her back, and finally she admitted it to herself.

Maybe it was only the dress—no doubt it was only the dress—but Jarrod was noticing her tonight. As a man noticed a woman. And, the more she thought about that, the more her heart thundered with all sorts of wild and nefarious thoughts. Dream on. Mum and the others would be proud, which should be enough to stop her thoughts right there.

‘Champagne, wine or juice?’ Jarrod’s words broke through her reverie.

A drink waiter stood before them, tray held deftly aloft. Molly stared at the beverages. Juice might be the smartest choice. ‘Champagne, please,’ she blurted, because she’d never had it, and why not? And it would only be one glass.

‘I’ll have a Chardonnay.’ Jarrod took their drinks and handed Molly’s to her.

She had the good sense at least not to get the bubbles up her nose.

They visited one group after another for the next three hours. Jarrod nursed his wine.

Molly somehow ended up with a second glass of champagne, but that was okay, as it helped settle her nerves. She wasn’t doing too badly at all, really.

‘There’s a display of smaller works in the ballroom of the house.’ Jarrod leaned down to speak the words near her ear as they headed in that direction. ‘We’ve covered about two thirds of our client base, plus some others. We’ll speak to what people we can inside. You’re not tired, Molly? Your feet aren’t sore from all the standing about?’

Her ear tingled. She drew a breath that was too short and sharp, and took care to ease it out again unobtrusively. As for the shoes? ‘The sandals fit as though they were made for me. I haven’t felt a pinch or a painful twinge all night.’ She frowned.

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ He sounded confused.

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