The Millionaire Meets His Match (9 page)

 

Her office telephone rang at five o'clock. Trish ran back to her desk, recognized Adam's cell phone number and grabbed the phone.

“Hey, Trish,” he said, his deep voice sending waves of desire through her entire body. How could the sound of his voice make her so weak? Oh, she was such a goner.

“Listen,” he continued, “I'd like you to stop by my house and drop off the Spirit file on your way home from work tonight. Will that be a problem?”

“No problem at all.” Trish slid back into her chair and mentally smacked herself. Work. He was calling about work. What had she expected? He was her employer, remember? She worked for him. For goodness' sake, she really needed to get a life.

“If you don't have plans,” he continued, “I can pay you back by cooking dinner.”

Dinner? He wanted to cook her dinner? She knew she should say no. It was inviting trouble to continue seeing him. And dinner at his house? Oh, please, she would never make it home.
Come on, Trish. You can do it. Open your mouth and say, no. Say thanks, but no thanks.

“I really shouldn't,” she hedged, and wanted to kick herself for not being firmer in her refusal.

“Do you have plans already?”

Tell him yes!

“Uh, no,” she said, then rolled her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why didn't she just lie? Because he would've seen right through it. She was a really bad liar, just as Deb always told her.

“Then stay for dinner.”

“I just don't think it's a good idea.”

“I thought you were into health and nutrition.”

“I am,” she said, frowning. What did that have to do with anything?

“You need to eat dinner,” he cajoled. “It's not good to skip meals.”

She shook her head. “I'm not skipping—”

“Look, Trish, you're bringing me work files. It's just business. I'd like you to stay for dinner so we can discuss the opening-night festivities.”

She sighed. “Yes, okay, fine.”
You wimp!

“Great,” he said jovially. “I'll grill some steaks. See you in a while.”

She placed the phone down, then her head hit her desk with an audible thunk. What was wrong with her? What part of
we can't have sex again!
did she not understand? Of course, as soon as she'd thrown those words at him this morning, he'd taken up the challenge. And she'd bent to his will like a floppy licorice stick. But oh, God, that frenzied round of wild sex against his office wall? Sweet Georgia Brown, for as long as she worked for DDI, she would always look fondly on that particular wall.

“Excuse me,” a soft, female voice said. “Is Adam Duke here?”

With a start, Trish lifted her head. She hadn't realized anyone was here, hadn't heard that woman's footsteps because of the thick carpet that covered the wide hallway.

“Hello.” Trish stood, straightened her jacket and brushed her hair back as she surreptitiously studied the woman who was several inches shorter than Trish and definitely more voluptuous. She didn't recognize her and wondered who she might be. A client, maybe? The woman wore a lovely coral halter dress that accentuated her remarkable cleavage, and her perfectly highlighted blond hair was pulled up in a sexy updo. She was beautiful and from the looks of her diamond-encrusted watch, buttery soft taupe purse and matching open-toe high heels, she was wealthy, as well.

“I'm sorry,” Trish said. “Mr. Duke is not available.”

“Oh, dear,” the woman said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I was told he worked late most evenings, so I took a chance, hoping he might be available for cocktails tonight.” She opened her purse and handed Trish a business card. “I guess we'll do it another night.”

“Are you a friend of Adam's?” Trish asked warily as she gripped the business card. Even the woman's stationary was expensive.

“I'm Brenda,” she said smoothly. “He'll know who I am. Are you sure he won't be back tonight?”

“I'm afraid not,” Trish said. “He's gone for the day.”

Brenda sighed again and glanced at her elegant watch. “Tonight really would've been ideal.”

“I'll be glad to give him your card.”

“Please do,” she said, then flashed a knowing smile. “He'll want to know I came by.”

“Of course, he will.”

“Okay, then.” She turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at Trish. She hesitated, then said, “Please let him know that I'm really looking forward to getting to know him better.”

Trish smiled tightly. “I'll be sure to tell him.”

“Thank you,” Brenda said, then walked away.

“No, no, thank you,” Trish murmured as she watched the woman stroll down the hall.

 

The potatoes were baking in the oven, the wine was opened and breathing, the steaks were marinating. As the doorbell rang, Adam put the salad he'd just made into the refrigerator to chill.

“Perfect timing,” he murmured, then jogged to the front door, opened it and smiled. “Come on in.”

“Sorry I can't stay,” Trish said breezily as she shoved the thick Spirit file into his chest. He struggled to catch it.

“What's this?” Adam said, taken aback. “Why can't you stay?”

“I just remembered a previous engagement,” she said through clenched teeth. “Oh, and by the way, Brenda said to say hi.”

“What?” Adam shook his head. “Who's Brenda?”

“Oh, that's nice,” she said tightly. “You date so many women, you can't even remember their names.”

“No, I—”

“And she was so disappointed you weren't there. Here's her card. You be sure to call her for a good time. Oh, hey, maybe she'd like to come over for dinner.”

“Trish, this is ridiculous. What's going on?”

“I've had my eyes opened.” She seemed to deflate before his eyes. “Never mind. It's not your fault. It's mine. I never should've gotten involved. It was wrong. You're my boss.”

“That doesn't matter,” he insisted. “Please, Trish, don't—”

“Good night, Adam.”

“Wait. Will I at least see you Monday?”

She sniffed. “I told you I wasn't going to leave you in the lurch. I don't go back on my word.”

Adam couldn't be sure but he thought she looked close to tears. He grabbed her hand. “Trish, I don't know what happened but we can—”

“No. I'm sorry.” She pulled her hand free and backed away from him. “I can't. I just can't do it.”

 

“Move it a little more to the left, boys,” Sally said, and Adam and Brandon groaned in unison. “I think it'll look beautiful centered on the window, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, straining as he moved the heavy love seat one more inch. Then he dropped his end of the couch and swiped his damp forehead with the sleeve of his denim work shirt. “See, Mom? It's perfect. It's staying right here.”

It was Saturday afternoon and his mother needed to rearrange her furniture. It did no good to ask why. Sally often got a wild hair up her butt to move stuff around for no rhyme or reason. But, hey, it meant free beer and pizza for lunch.

“Hey, Cam,” Adam called, “bring me a beer, will you?”

From the kitchen, Cameron yelled back. “No problem.”

Sally bent her head to the left, then the right, closing
first one eye, then the other, trying to make sure the love seat was exactly where she wanted it to be.

Ignoring her, Brandon plopped down on the couch and yelled, “Bring me a beer, too, will you?”

“Already on it,” Cameron said, as he walked back into the den, holding three icy bottles. He handed one to each of his brothers, then took a long, satisfying swig from his own.

“I think it's perfect, right where it is,” Sally said finally.

Adam chuckled. “Glad you think so, Mom, because it's not going anywhere else today.”

“That stupid little thing weighs a ton,” Brandon groused as he sat back and perched his bare feet on the ancient wide oak coffee table.

Sally sat down next to him and patted his biceps. “That's why I keep you around, sweetie. Now, take your feet off the table.”

He did, but rolled his eyes. “Can you feel the love?” Brandon said, and his brothers laughed.

Cameron took a seat in one of the leather Buster chairs that faced the small couch. Glancing up at Adam, who slouched against the wall, he said, “Everything go smoothly with the Fantasy ADA survey?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, taking a long sip of beer. “Trish had everything written up the next day and we sent the settlement letter off to the other side. Bob Paxton should have the renovations done within two weeks.”

“That's fast.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed. “He was motivated.”

“By anger, I'll bet.”

“Exactly.” Adam grabbed a chair from the game table and sat. Just mentioning Trish's name made him worry and wonder for the hundredth time today, what
in the world had happened to her last evening. She'd gone running off and before he could even think to go after her, she was gone. Now he would have to wait until Monday to find out how everything in his world had gone south between the time he called her at five o'clock and the time she showed up at his place less than an hour later. And who was Brenda?

He missed Trish, dammit. Not that it meant anything. It couldn't mean anything. He would never allow a woman to become so important that she had the power to disrupt his peace of mind. But Trish was his assistant. They worked well together. And yeah, okay, he wanted to be wrapped up in her naked, hot body more than he wanted to breathe again. But never mind all that. She was a valued employee. Of course he was worried about her. And that's the story he was sticking to.

“So, how is Trish?” Brandon asked casually. “How're things going?”

Adam flashed him a look of warning but said nothing.

Sally perked up. “Who's Trish?”

“She's my assistant, Mom,” Adam said tightly. As if she didn't know.

“Oh, I've spoken to her on the phone. She sounds so sweet.”

Cameron snorted as Adam slumped over in the chair, rolling his eyes.

“Who's Trish?” Brandon repeated with a chuckle. “That's real funny coming from you, Mom.”

“It is?” Sally said. She glanced from one son to the other, then shook her head in confusion. “I guess I don't understand your male sense of humor.”

“Brandon's humor is a world apart,” Cameron said.

“True enough,” she said. Again she stared at each
of the men, no doubt in search of the real story, then homed in on Brandon, clearly the weak link in this scenario. “So why don't you explain to me just how funny I am?”

Brandon exchanged glances with his brothers, then shrugged. “Guess it had to come out sometime.”

“Ball's in your corner, dude,” Cameron said, then stood. “I think this calls for more beers. Mom, you want something?”

“Chicken,” Adam muttered under his breath.

“Got that right,” Cameron said with a grin. “I can't watch.”

“I'd better have a glass of white wine,” Sally said, but didn't take her eyes off Brandon, who was starting to squirm.

“Coming right up,” Cameron said, whistling as he left the room.

“Now, what in the world are you talking about?” Sally said. “What's going on?”

Brandon squeezed her hand patiently. “Mom, we know you arranged the whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“With Trish.” He shrugged again. “And Adam. We know Marjorie helped. We know the whole story.”

She cocked her head and stared at him in complete befuddlement. Adam's stomach was beginning to sink. His mother wasn't that good an actress.

Cameron walked back in and handed her a glass of pale, straw-colored wine.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, smiling up at him. “I think I'm going to need it.”

“No problemo,” he said, and quickly moved out of his mother's line of sight.

She took a sip of wine, placed the glass on the side
table, then cast a meaningful glance at Adam. “Can you explain what Brandon's talking about?”

Adam frowned as whispers of worry fluttered inside him and couldn't be stopped. Had he been wrong? Was his mother really not playing games? Impossible. He blew out a tired breath and said, “Trish is the woman Marjorie hired to be my assistant.”

“What happened to Cheryl?”

Brandon chuckled. “Oh, you're good, Mom.”

“Cheryl got pregnant and quit,” Adam explained.

“Oh!” Sally said, clapping her hands. “Well, that's wonderful. I should send her a gift.”

“Mom, focus,” Brandon said, sitting forward. “We know you arranged for Trish to work for Adam.”

She blinked. “I did what?”

“We know you're trying to set him up with women. You know, so he'll get married and have children and you'll have grandchildren and—” Brandon waved his arms around. “You know, blah, blah, blah.”

“Ah.” Sally's eyes narrowed. “Blah, blah, blah. Yes. Well, it's true I want grandchildren, but I'm not sure…well, tell me again how I arranged for—what was her name?”

“Trish,” Brandon said. His patience was wearing thin.

“Right, Trish.” Sally looked contemplative. “Tell me again how I arranged to get her into Adam's office.”

Brandon cast an anxious glance at his brothers, not saying aloud what he was so obviously thinking.
Could their mother's memory be slipping?
Adam almost laughed out loud. He had no such doubts. Sally Duke was smart as a whip. She was pulling Brandon's chain. He shouldn't be enjoying the show, considering it was his ass on the line, but he just couldn't help himself.

“Remember, Mom?” Cameron spoke slowly. “Marjorie arranged it for you. She got Trish in there.”