The Millionaire Meets His Match (3 page)

Trish shook away the unhappy memories and hurried back to her desk. It wouldn't do to be caught staring out the window, the very thing she'd sworn not to do.

The memories helped strengthen her resolve and she went to work. On her short breaks, she pored through more files, looking for something, anything, that would connect Adam Duke to the unsavory business dealings she knew he was involved in. So far, all she'd found were neatly organized files with legitimate documentation and clearly itemized fees and costs. No double billing, no questionable investments, no shady transactions. But she knew it was only a matter of time until she found something. The destruction of her home and livelihood couldn't have been the only underhanded deal he'd negotiated in all his years in business. She knew what Adam had done probably wasn't illegal per se, but it was sneaky and unfair and mean-spirited. And she would find something eventually, some kind of evidence that would expose him as the sleazy businessman she knew he was. Only then would she fulfill the promise she'd made at her grandmother's deathbed, finally put her memories to rest and go on with her life.

By the end of the day, Trish was no closer to finding anything she might use against Adam Duke than she had been that morning. She turned off her computer
and grabbed her purse, then knocked on Adam's office door. When he called out, she poked her head inside. “If there's nothing else you need, I'll be leaving for the day.”

“Dammit,” he muttered.

With some alarm, she checked her watch. It was almost six o'clock. “My usual hours are nine to five-thirty but I'll be glad to stay later if you need me.”

“What?” Adam looked up and frowned as if just noticing her. “Oh. Sorry. You're leaving? That's fine. Have a good evening.”

“What's wrong?”

He paged through the file, his mouth set in a grim line. “Something's missing from this file.”

Trish's eyes widened. “I—I put everything on your desk.”

“I'm sure you did.” He thumbed through both stacks of papers clipped into the file. “But there's a lease amendment missing. It's got to be somewhere in the files, or maybe it's around Cheryl's—er—your desk.”

“I'll check.” In a panic, she rushed back to her area and rifled through the desk drawers. Had she subconsciously sabotaged a file? Of course she hadn't. She stopped and took a deep breath. Tried to relax. Then she carefully checked the file drawer, nearest to the place she'd first found the Mansfield documents.

“I think I found it,” she said, walking back into Adam's office.

He jumped up from his desk and met her halfway. “Where was it?” he demanded.

“It was tucked inside the Manning file.”

He rolled his eyes. “Manning. Great. I suppose that's close to Mansfield.”

“Next file over.”

“Good to know.” He walked back to his desk where papers were scattered everywhere. “Thanks for finding this. It would've been disastrous if the client found out we'd lost it.”

“I'm glad I could help.”

“I just wonder how many more mistakes like this one are waiting to be found.”

“I can start checking through the files tomorrow if you'd like.”

“Good idea.” He rubbed his knuckles across his jaw. “I guess Cheryl was under more pressure than she let on. This never would've happened if she was on top of her game.”

“Three months' pregnant and trying to plan a wedding?” Trish said. “I'd call that pressure.”

Adam chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I didn't help much. Still, this could've been a costly mistake. I'd appreciate it if you'd start going through the files more closely tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Trish almost laughed out loud at the request. She now had a legitimate reason to pore through the files and he'd handed it to her on a silver platter. She almost felt guilty, but refused to let herself go there. “Do you need anything else tonight?”

“No, thanks,” Adam said as he sat back down at his desk. “You go and enjoy your evening.”

She watched as he rolled his sleeves up his muscular arms. He'd long ago removed his jacket and his tie was off now. His usually well-groomed thick, dark hair was unruly and looked as if he'd combed it with his fingers more than once that afternoon.

A shiver ran up her back that had nothing to do with any temperature shift and everything to do with the ruggedly handsome man sitting before her.

She realized that she was staring. Flustered, she said, “You're working late tonight?”

“It's not that late.”

She checked her watch. “It's after six.”

He shrugged. “That's not late. I'll be here another few hours getting these documents finished for another meeting tomorrow.”

“I can stay if you need help.”

He glanced at the work spread out on his desk, then looked at her. “You don't have to.”

“At least let me order you dinner before I leave.”

“Not necessary.”

But it was necessary. She would feel guilty all night long if she left him working alone without food. “It's not a problem.”

“Well, if you're sure,” he said, then pulled his wallet out and handed her a $50 bill. “That would be great. Thanks. I think Cheryl's got Angelo's Pizza on speed dial.”

“Pizza? Are you sure?”

“I always order pizza when I work late.”

Trish's eyes narrowed. “How often do you work late?”

“Almost every night.”

“You eat pizza every night?”

He calculated, then shrugged. “Just about.”

“That's not very healthy.”

He grinned. “It's got all the food groups.”

She simply shook her head and walked out to her desk where she found the file folder of local restaurant menus she'd seen earlier. She placed an order with a nearby restaurant for grilled chicken and rice with green beans and a salad.

She busied herself by starting on the filing project,
going through each of the folders more closely, as he'd requested. It also gave her the chance to continue her search for something incriminating, but so far, there was nothing.

After forty minutes, the food delivery arrived. She found a tray in the kitchen down the hall, laid the food out and took it into his office.

He did a double-take when she placed the tray on his desk. “What's this?”

“It's real food,” she said.

He grinned. “You're pretty bossy, aren't you?”

“I just believe in good nutrition,” she said defensively, and waited while he tasted everything.

He watched her with amusement as he took the first bite of chicken. “It's good.”

She nodded. “And good for you.”

He took another bite. “No, it's really good.”

“I'm glad.” She sat on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. “It'll keep you going better than pizza will.”

“You may be right.” After a few more bites, he said, “Marjorie mentioned you have an MBA.”

“You were listening?”

His lips twisted in a self-deprecating grin. “Okay, fine, I deserved that.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I didn't mean—”

“It's okay,” he said with a laugh. “But in my own defense, I've had to deal with some of our floaters before. You haven't.”

“Did you mean special assignment assistants?” Trish said, biting back a smile.

He laughed again. “Okay, I was an ass.”

She couldn't help but laugh. “I wouldn't say that.”

“You didn't have to say it,” he said wryly.

“But you had a right to be angry,” Trish allowed. “I
can't imagine someone leaving you high and dry in the middle of such an important deal.”

He bit into a green bean. “I'm still angry. But I suppose I'm somewhat to blame. Cheryl did mention getting married a few times, but I've been so wrapped up in the Fantasy Mountain deal, I guess I let it go in one ear and out the other.”

“This is the ski resort I've heard so much about?” She'd seen the photographs of the resort lining the walls of the lobby downstairs.

“Yeah,” Adam said, taking another bite of chicken. “We're closing the deal at the end of the month and we've planned a major celebration. The investors and their families will be staying there for a long weekend. There'll be a big formal party and lots of hoopla. If we can get our act together.”

“I'm sure it'll come together nicely,” Trish said. “The photos of the resort look beautiful.”

He sat forward in his chair. “It's a great place, Trish. Top-of-the-line luxury, with a spa and a world-class restaurant, great trails and ski runs. It's fabulous. The rooms are rustic, but warm and beautiful and elegant at the same time. I can't wait to show it off.”

Trish couldn't help but get caught up in his enthusiasm. “It sounds wonderful.”

Adam looked thoughtful. “Cheryl was in charge of the big opening-night gala we're throwing for the investors.”

“A gala?”

“Red carpet, formal ball, the whole bit.”

“Sounds exciting.”

He stabbed at a small piece of chicken. “It will be if we can still pull it off. That's something else I'll need to bring you up to speed on tomorrow.”

“Oh, I'd love to work on something like that. I've always dreamed—” She stopped. Whoa. No dreaming, please. What was she thinking? She'd been drawn in by his charm again. She carefully checked her watch, then stood. “Naturally, I'll be glad to do whatever you need me to do. I'd better be going now. I'll see you in the morning.”

Adam seemed surprised by her abrupt change in attitude, but said smoothly, “Of course, it's late. Thanks again for everything. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, good night.” She hurried out of his office, grabbed her purse off her desktop and raced to the elevator. As she waited, she berated herself. What was wrong with her, sitting around chatting with him as though they were the best of friends? Lest she forget, Adam Duke was not her friend and never would be.

And furthermore, as far as the opening-night gala was concerned, if she managed to complete the
real
job she'd come here to do, she'd be long gone before the Fantasy Mountain formal ball ever took place.

S
he should've quit yesterday.

It was now Trish's fourth day on the job. She'd been through every file drawer along one long wall of her workspace but had found absolutely nothing incriminating about Adam Duke. Nothing that could be used to create even the tiniest public outcry against him and his company. On the contrary, yesterday she'd stumbled upon a full drawer of files containing the many charitable foundations he served on, along with pages and pages of donations he'd given over the years. The man seemed to be a veritable paragon.

“He even wants to save the whales,” she muttered.

But that's not why she should've quit. She wanted whales to have a good life, too. And it was great that he supported all those charities. But did Adam have to come across as such a Boy Scout? She knew he wasn't, knew all those good deeds were just a façade to cover
up the slimier projects his company carried out. There were plenty more files to search and she knew she'd find something eventually. She had to. She'd been here almost a week and so far he'd treated her so nicely, she was racked with guilt.

But that wasn't the reason why she should've quit, either. No, the reason was that she was starting to
like
Adam Duke. And not just because he was beyond handsome, not just because her heart stammered whenever he got close to her and not just because she was starting to dream of him at night. God help her.

No. The problem was, she was starting to like
him.
The man himself. His sense of humor, his sense of right and wrong, his work ethic, the way he treated his subordinates. Everyone in the company seemed to adore him and as much as she'd fought it, she found herself teetering dangerously close to that slippery slope. And adoration was not, repeat,
not
listed on her business plan.

And even if she did adore him—which she
didn't
—Adam Duke was the last person on earth she would ever get involved with. Not that he'd asked her out or anything. He never would. She was his employee and he was probably too damn conscientious to ever cross that line. And that was fine, too. She'd heard enough office gossip to know that she wasn't his type at all. Meaning, she wasn't a supermodel, tall and thin and beautiful—if vapid. Nor was she the type to fall into bed with a man just because he took her out to dinner.

She fumed as she slammed shut another file drawer. Even if he did ask her out to that fancy dinner, she would say no. Because Adam Duke was the enemy.

“Remember, Trish?” she muttered fiercely under her
breath. “That's why you're here. The man is the
enemy.
Try to stay on track, would you?”

“Good morning, Trish,” Adam said.

Okay, she might've let out the eensiest little squeal, but she applauded herself for not jumping more than six inches at the sound of his voice. Why did he continue to sneak up on her?

“Good morning,” she whispered hoarsely, trying to catch her breath.

“You're trying to make me look bad, aren't you?” he said, gazing at her through narrowed eyes.

“What? Me? No.” She glanced around quickly. The file drawers were closed. There were no incriminating notes on her desk. How had he grasped the true reason why she was here?

He laughed and every last synapse in her nervous system stood up and did the cha-cha-cha. Who needed coffee when Adam Duke was in the room?

She cleared her throat and moved to her desk. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I thought I'd be the first one in the office,” he explained. “But you've beat me to it every day this week and here you are again, already settled in and hard at work.”

“Oh.” She was such a moron. “Right.” She tried to breathe evenly as she fiddled with the staple remover and almost gouged her thumb. “Um, well, I do like to get an early start on things.”

“Great,” he said with a wink and a crooked smile. “I like that, too.”

She resisted the urge to check her pulse. She looked away, tried to swallow, but her throat was dry as dust.

“Everything okay this morning?” Adam asked.

“Uh, yes.”

“Any calls?”

“No, sir.”

“Sir?” He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

She shook her head. There was that teasing sense of humor again. And that, combined with a winning smile, was surely the most attractive quality in any man. Well, a perfectly shaped rear end helped, and Adam Duke had that going for him, too.

“Are you ready to go over the opening-night arrangements?” she asked as Adam turned toward his office.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Grab your notes and come in.”

Trish squelched the thought that her notepad wasn't the only thing she wanted to grab. As she followed him into his office, she took it all in: the perfect butt, the wide shoulders, his masculine scent, his powerful stride. The man exuded strength, charisma and incredible sex appeal, and his ethics had the appearance of being honorable. So what was she doing here? Besides tormenting herself, of course? Lust, forbidden and sweet, roiled inside her and she almost groaned. How could she be so stupid as to be falling for him?

She really should've quit yesterday.

 

Adam ignored the now-familiar tightness pulling at his groin and sat down behind the heavy mahogany desk. By now, he should've been used to this ridiculous lust and the physical manifestation it produced in him every time he walked into the office and feasted his eyes on the deliciously curvaceous Trish James.

Physical manifestation?
He rolled his eyes in disgust. Why not call it a hard-on and be done with it? But hey, wouldn't his brothers be proud that he was using his words?

Despite the physical…whatever, Adam had to admit he got a kick out of seeing Trish every morning. She was adorable without even trying to be, and it was easy and fun to spook her. You'd think she was up to no good, the way she startled so easily.

His chuckle got lost somewhere in his chest as he watched her plant herself in the chair opposite him and cross her legs. She was wearing a dress today and it was just as he'd suspected: her legs were world class. Smooth, shapely and lightly tanned, they were accentuated by three-inch heels that made Adam wish they were all she was wearing. He would start at her ankles, kissing and licking his way up to—

“Before we go over my notes,” Trish began, “there's a letter you should probably read.” She pulled a piece of correspondence from his inbox and handed it to him. “It looks important.”

Adam raised his eyebrows when he saw the law firm letterhead and was scowling by the time he finished reading the contents.

He grabbed the phone and hit the speed-dial number of the contractor on-site at Fantasy Mountain. Holding up one finger to let Trish know this wouldn't take long, he waited for his call to be put through. He and his brothers hired Bob Paxton Construction for all their projects because Bob was simply the best in the business. And the Duke brothers only worked with the best.

Ten minutes later, Adam hung up the phone.

“I take it the news is bad?” Trish asked.

He glanced over, noticed her look of concern and realized that he was grateful she was so in tune with him and his business. It felt good to have someone on his side. Almost instantly, he brushed that odd feeling away and stood to pace.

“Yeah, it's bad news,” he said, walking across the room to the coffeepot. He poured himself a cup and held the pot out to Trish.

“No, thanks,” she said, still wearing that look of consternation. “Did someone get hurt at Fantasy Mountain?”

“No,” Adam said immediately. “You read the letter, right?”

“Yes,” she said, making a face. “But the legalese made my eyes cross.”

“I know what you mean.” Adam chuckled and sat back down at his desk. “But I assure you, nobody was hurt.”

“Then what happened? Can you discuss it?”

“Yeah. The ADA guidelines weren't followed for the parking structures.” He set the coffee mug on the corner of his desk.

“ADA is the Americans with Disabilities Act?”

“Right,” Adam said, impressed that Trish had heard of the federal act. He'd had to explain it more than once to Cheryl when she'd first started working for him. “We make every effort to comply with the ADA, not only because we don't want to get sued, but also, more importantly, because we want everyone to be able to enjoy the experience our resorts have to offer. It's a no-brainer. But somehow, the subcontractor who built the parking structure didn't comply with the guidelines.”

“The guidelines tell you how many spaces you need for handicapped parking and that sort of thing?”

“Right,” Adam said, pleased once again that she was aware of the issues involved. “It's a lot more complicated than that, though, right down to the angles of curbs and degrees of slope, the width of sidewalks, the height of sinks in the bathrooms. I could bore you to tears with
all the details. But the bottom line is, the crew building the parking lot screwed up.”

“How did this lawyer find out about it?” she asked, pointing to the letter.

“Good question,” Adam said, taking another sip of coffee. “There are organizations that make it their business to check out new facilities like hotels, shopping centers, public spaces, to make sure that the ADA guidelines are followed to the letter. That way, they can assure their members that they'll have access to all areas.”

“That's probably a good idea.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, and ordinarily he had no trouble with the inspections. Because the Dukes had never had a problem. Until now. “So now we've got to get it fixed before the resort opens.”

“Can it be done that fast?”

“That's what the phone call was for. Bob's already on it. In fact, he's more furious than I am. He'll get the subcontractor back there to clean up their mess. I want them to start as soon as possible, but before anything can happen, this lawyer wants to survey the site with us and point out everything that's wrong.”

She gave him an understanding smile. “You don't like lawyers.”

“They're a necessary evil,” Adam said, shrugging. Then he grinned. “Besides, my lawyers can beat up anyone else's lawyers any day.”

Trish laughed. “I'm sure they can.”

As pleased as he was to have made Trish laugh, he quickly sobered. “I don't want to make light of this situation. I grew up with plenty of handicapped kids in the orphanage, so I know the problems they face.”

Whoa, where had that come from?

He rushed to change the subject even as Trish's eyes
widened in sympathy. “So while this problem is stupid and annoying, it's not irreparable.”

She nodded slowly, but didn't say anything, and Adam knew that if he could've kicked himself, he would have. He'd never made a slip like that before. What was he doing, talking about the orphanage to someone outside of his own family? It was none of the world's business what his life had been like before Sally Duke had intervened. Sure, reporters had dug out the truth in the past, but he preferred never to discuss it at all.

“We'll need the jet,” he said abruptly.

She blinked. “We have a jet?”

He simply nodded, then punched up his calendar on the computer. “Yeah, we've got a jet. I'll need you to call and book it for Wednesday morning.”

She snapped back into business mode and began writing in her notepad. “Wednesday morning. Where and when?”

“Let's make it eight o'clock. Leaving Dunsmuir Airport and traveling to the Fantasy Mountain airstrip. They've made the flight before. Let them know what you want for breakfast, and tell them I'll have the usual.”

She looked up, mystified. “The usual? Wait. Breakfast? Me? Why?”

He grinned as she tripped over her words. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “You don't need me to go with you.”

“Of course I do,” he said, breezing over her protest. He strolled to the wet bar, placed the coffee mug in the little sink, then casually added, “And pack an overnight bag.”

“What?” She jumped up from the chair and blocked his way back to his desk. “Why?”

He gazed into her beautiful, leaf-green eyes and almost forgot what they were talking about. Almost. “It might be a long day. We could get stuck on the mountain. You never know about the weather in November.” He could hear the tension in his own voice and wondered why a discussion of travel arrangements made him feel as horny as a high school kid.

“I suppose,” she said slowly, but she didn't look at all convinced. She obviously didn't want to go to Fantasy Mountain, but the more she protested, the more he wanted her with him. She was so close, he itched to take her in his arms and fuse her body to his. But that probably wouldn't help his cause just now.

“Besides bringing you up to speed on the ADA issues,” he explained, “this'll be a good time for you to take a look at the space for the opening-night festivities.”

“Really, Adam, I don't see why…” Her shoulders slumped and she blew out a breath.

Adam stared at her for a moment. “Trish, are you afraid of flying?”

“Of course not,” she said indignantly, her chin held high.

“Good. Be ready to leave at eight o'clock Wednesday morning.”

“Fine.”

He sat down at his desk again and said, “We'll go over your notes for the opening-night festivities while we're in the air next week. I won't have time to do it until then. And right now, I need you to pull some files.”

Once Trish left the office, Adam could breathe again.

Pensively, he stood up, strolled to the wide bank of windows and stared out at the coast. He'd been walking
an increasingly narrow tightrope over the last few days, trying to keep his mind on business despite being barraged by sexual fantasies that featured his attractive new assistant.