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The Boss and the Plain Jayne Bride
HEATHER MACALLISTER
Making over Ms. Right…Jayne Nelson's life lacks pizzazz. She wants adventure…she wants romance…She wants Garrett Charles! Since her new boss is a hunky ex-model turned entrepreneur, Jayne's convinced that the only way she'll have a chance with him is to become as model-like as possible. Considering she's short and curvy, this could be difficult!Garrett Charles is fed up with women just interested in his good looks; Jane is the first person to treat him as an equal. Too bad she's determined to change–Garrett liked the old Jayne…. If only he can convince her to forget about makeovers and think about marriage!


“Jayne, will you have dinner with me tonight?” (#u5bb65355-7ee3-5a62-9e9e-2cd82b715a0b)Title Page (#ua745e6fa-224d-5b9c-a903-2e767d9b8874)CHAPTER ONE (#u935b1ceb-09f4-5b03-920f-04712c3f280e)CHAPTER TWO (#uee9b3c45-714b-5eaa-9d4e-f0b4239bd8fa)CHAPTER THREE (#u1a9a8187-1786-52e6-8d0e-a236d860d774)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Jayne, will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She headed for her desk. “I’m free, but let me check with Mr. Waterman. I know he’d like to be there....”
Garrett stepped forward and covered her hand with his. “I don’t want to have dinner with Jayne, the accountant,” he said near her ear. “I want to have dinner with Jayne, the woman.”
Jayne, the woman, was flabbergasted. “You do?”
Garrett laughed softly. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well...yes.”
“Why? We’ve spent days working long hours together and I’d like to get to know you better.”
He made having dinner with her sound so logical. Jayne excelled at logic. “I’d love to.”
Texan Heather MacAllister lives with her electrical-engineer husband and two live-wire sons whose antics inspire her humorous take on love and life. She writes for both Harlequin Romance
and Harlequin
Temptation
, finding that the main difference between her stories for each is that the Romance heroines find love, but love finds the Temptation heroines. And of course, they all live happily ever after.

The Boss and the Plain Jayne Bride
Heather MacAllister


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
“ONE hundred twenty-three thousand dollars sitting in a dormant account?” Tilting back in the executive chair, Mr. Waterman raised a silver eyebrow. “I see you’ve been your usual diligent self, Jayne.”
“Just doing my job.” Until recently—until last night, in fact—the dry acknowledgment from Jayne Nelson’s boss would have made all the sacrificed evenings of the past week worth it. But yesterday had been her twenty-eighth birthday, and she’d spent it working overtime instead of celebrating with her friend Sylvia.
The thrill of getting faint praise from the senior partner at Pace Waterman Accountants was gone, vanishing about the same time she bit into her fourth chocolate-frosted cupcake, left over from the ones Sylvia had brought to the coffee room to mark her birthday. They’d gone stale, rather like her life.
“Nevertheless, Brock Neilson’s widow has every reason to be grateful I designated you as her accountant.” Mr. Waterman casually tossed the file he’d been examining onto the desk.
Jayne tried to remain detached, difficult since the file represented hours of tedious work.
“How did you know to look for those CDs when no one else did?” he asked.
No one else had wanted to put in the effort of auditing the past tax returns. It was a waste of time, the other accountants had told her. But Jayne had suspected something was wrong and decided to pursue her hunch on her own. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, and it wouldn’t be the last, which was why, at the relatively tender age of twenty-seven—make that twenty-eight—Jayne found herself poised on the threshold of a vice presidency. Unfortunately Mr. Waterman didn’t want to open the door.
The unsettling thing was that she didn’t care as much as she had yesterday. Maybe it was the cupcakes she’d eaten for dinner.
Jayne picked up the file she’d brought to his attention. “In 1992, there was a steep drop-off in Mr. Neilson’s reported interest income, which his former accountants explained by maturing certificates of deposit. I checked and there was never any record of the CDs in his subsequent financial statements, nor was there an investment made using those funds.”
Mr. Waterman shook his head. “He had two in college and one in medical school about that time. My guess is he planned to use the cash for the kids.”
Jayne withheld her comment on the financially questionable decision to leave a chunk of cash sitting without drawing interest. “Anyway, there wasn’t a record of this money in his financial assets when he hired Pace Waterman,” she assured him.
Again Mr. Waterman shook his head. “Remarkable piece of detective work. My congratulations.” He stood and offered Jayne his hand.
Just remember this at my annual review, she thought as she shook it and returned to her office.
“Amazing Jayne strikes again,” said a familiar voice behind her.
Jayne grinned. “Listening at the door, Sylvia?”
“Naturally. It was open.” Sylvia Dennison, a secretary with the insurance company three floors above Pace Waterman, and Jayne’s best friend, fell into step beside her. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Hey, that sounded pretty good back there. What did you do this time?”
Jayne tapped the file folder. “Found money for a widow.”
“That was noble of you.”
“And not just any widow—the widow of one of Mr. Waterman’s oldest and dearest friends.”
“Way to go, Jayne! Noble and self-serving at the same time.” Sylvia gave her a look of approval.
Jayne pushed open the door to her office. “Must you make everything sound sordid?”
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you didn’t think of it.” Sylvia followed her into the office, flopped over the arm of Jayne’s leather couch and swung her leg back and forth. “Anyway, I suppose it was worth spending the whole week and your birthday with a calculator instead of with me.”
Jayne was busy clearing off her desk, but didn’t miss the petulance in Sylvia’s voice. “You wouldn’t have noticed, except that you’re between boyfriends.”
“I noticed because days ago you promised to help me put that aubergine rinse in my hair.” Sylvia patted her raven tresses.
Jayne had doubts about the aubergine, especially after the home perm Sylvia had insisted on giving her. Instead of full, shiny bouncy hair, she had brown dandelion fluff. Women accountants didn’t look particularly professional with dandelion fluff for hair.
“Well, anyway, we should celebrate tonight.” Sylvia bounced to her feet. “Shall we go to that new club on Richmond where the brokers hang out? Or how about the sports bar with the lawyers?”
“I can’t tonight.” And Jayne was glad because she hated trailing after Sylvia on her manhunting excursions into Houston’s stylish restaurants. “I’m teaching the June accounting seminars.”
“Jayne!” Sylvia crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. “Can’t they give you a break? There are a ton of accountants working here. Why do you always get stuck teaching the seminars?”
“I like teaching the seminars.” Jayne emptied her electric pencil sharpener into the wastebasket at the side of her desk.
“Try this equation—Jayne works nights equals Jayne never meets anyone.”
“Sylvia.” Jayne swept pencil shavings off her desk. “You’re sounding like my mother’s Sunday afternoon phone calls.” And they were probably both right.
A crafty smile lit Sylvia’s face. “Speaking of relatives—”
“No more blind dates!” At least not the blind dates Sylvia arranged.
“Are you still mad about Mogo?”
“As soon as I heard his name was Mogo, I should have said ‘No go.’” Most of Sylvia’s male relatives played sports. Mogo, aka Mogo the Magnificent, was a professional wrestler. Jayne’s question about whether the matches were real or fixed proved to be the evening’s conversational highlight, especially since Mogo had chosen to take her to one of his. He’d abandoned her outside the entrance to the dressing area, apparently forgetting he’d brought a date, which was fine with Jayne.
Sylvia opened her mouth, but Jayne broke in. “Want to join me for a sandwich downstairs?” Food and men were Sylvia’s two favorite topics.
She groaned. “Not the company snack bar!”
“I’ve only got an hour before class starts.”
“Jayne, let’s at least go to the Greek place across the street.”
Jayne laughed as she retrieved her purse from the bottom file cabinet drawer. “I thought there weren’t any men who ate there.”
“No eligible ones.” Sylvia trudged beside her. “They work around here and I’ve already eliminated them as possibilities.”
Ten minutes later, Jayne and Sylvia, seated in a vinyl booth next to the window, were trying to resist a bowl of salty, oily olives—Sylvia more successfully than Jayne.
“Jayne, fat and salt equal secretary’s butt.”
Jayne dropped the black olive. “You don’t have to keep talking to me in equations.”
“You’re an accountant. You understand equations.” Sylvia snatched the bread basket away from Jayne’s creeping hand. “No bread, either!”
“I like olives! I like bread!” Jayne wailed. She inhaled, her eyes closed. “Warm, yeasty, crusty...I can smell it from here!”
The basket thudded to the table. “Heads up. New waiter.”
“I suppose you’re not going to let me order moussaka, either,” Jayne grumbled as an attractive dark eyed man approached.
“Perish the thought.”
While Sylvia simpered at the waiter, Jayne defiantly snuck in her order for moussaka and ate an olive for good measure. Then another. She was reaching for the bread basket when she saw him.
The most gorgeous man in the universe, or at the very least in Texas, stepped from the evening sunshine into Garcia’s Greek Eats. Impossibly, stunningly handsome, he paused and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the interior.
Jayne’s heart hammered with such force she felt the tremor in her hands. The man was out of Sylvia’s sight, or Jayne knew the waiter who had captured her friend’s interest would be forgotten. In fact, when Sylvia did spot this man, she’d probably kill Jayne for not pointing him out to her earlier.
But Jayne couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to share the beautiful man, though he was so far above her orbit, he was more dream than reality.
The restaurant owner approached the sable-haired god and led him to a table on the opposite side of the room where he sat in profile to her and still behind Sylvia.
Jayne swallowed, her mouth dry and brackish from the olives.
“Jayne?” Sylvia gave her a strange look.
“What?” With difficulty, Jayne dragged her gaze away from the Gorgeous One.
“I’ll bring more bread,” the waiter said smoothly.
Sylvia glanced to Jayne’s bread plate where three rolls and five olive pits sat.
“Oh.” Jayne stared at rolls she didn’t remember taking and the pits of the olives she didn’t remember eating. “I’m hungry?”
With Sylvia still looking at her skeptically, Jayne bit into a roll and chewed as though she were enjoying it.
“At least you aren’t slathering them with butter.” As she spoke, Sylvia looked over Jayne’s shoulder out the window, allowing Jayne the opportunity to stare at the man undetected.
From this distance, she couldn’t make out the minute details of his appearance, but what she saw was more than enough to steal her breath. Though dressed in a casual shirt and pants, he had a sleek, well-puttogether look about him.
Toying with her roll, Jayne only half listened as Sylvia extolled the virtues of exercise and fat-free dining and warned Jayne about the dangers of cellulite in women of their age. Sylvia was nearing thirty—nearer than Jayne, but Jayne knew better than to point that out.
She sighed and ate a particularly large olive. No one was likely to see her cellulite anyway.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you eat that olive.” Sylvia interrupted her monologue. “I’ve a highly developed peripheral vision. Nothing much gets by me.”
Except the man behind her and Jayne decided not to mention him. Once or twice, he checked his watch, but he never looked their way, of course. When the waiter approached, he ordered and appeared to be dining alone. Incredible. The woman in his life—Jayne didn’t doubt there was one—shouldn’t let him go out alone. If he were in Jayne’s life, she wouldn’t let him out of her sight for a minute.
Letting Sylvia’s words waft around her, Jayne transported herself into the empty chair across from the man.
He’d raise his eyes to hers, greet her warmly and smile a smile just for her.
And she’d...
Jayne tried again. And she’d...she’d...
Nothing. She wouldn’t do anything because she’d never have the courage to be with or even speak to a man like that.
Such a man was not for her. She acknowledged this fact without self-pity. Beautiful people were attracted to other beautiful people. That was simply a law of nature intended to protect their gene pool. Others might go swimming in that pool, but would soon find they were in over their heads. Survival of the fittest, or in this case, beautifulest.
“Jayne? Are you listening to me?”
“Nope.”
“Figures.” Sylvia pointed to Jayne’s bread plate. “What is with you?”
Jayne stared at her fingers, which were buried in a mound of bread crumbs. “The bread was dry,” she declared and withdrew her hand, scattering bread crumbs and bits of crust across the table. “Really, really dry.”
“And you’re really, really distracted. Are you going to tell me about it?”
“No,” Jayne said as their dinner arrived, “I’m not.”
How could she have eaten so much? Jayne stood in the Pace Waterman conference room and regretted each and every bite of the moussaka. Well, maybe not the first half-dozen bites, but after that she should’ve quit eating and would have if Sylvia hadn’t been scolding her for ordering the heavy dish in the first place.
She was really cross with Sylvia because her scolding kept Jayne from daydreaming about the dreamboat. And then she had to leave the restaurant because of this seminar and didn’t get a chance to see the man’s full face instead of his admittedly perfect profile.
Thus, when the most gorgeous man in the universe strolled into her accounting seminar, Jayne didn’t recognize him until he turned his head to speak to the dazed woman already seated in the row. Then he sat at a student desk, looking for all the world as though he thought he belonged there.
He didn’t, of course. Spectacularly gorgeous men did not study accounting at seminars, at least not at the seminars sponsored by the Pace Waterman accounting firm. In general, gorgeous people did not study accounting at all. Jayne knew this, being an accountant herself.
In two minutes, she would have to start class. This meant that in two minutes, after she welcomed those present to Accounting for Small Businesses, the breathtaking man sitting three seats from the front would recognize his mistake, furrow his brow in attractive confusion, laugh an attractively selfdeprecating laugh and excuse himself, attractively, from her life forever.
Jayne had two minutes to imprint every detail of his perfect features on her psyche. Two minutes to fuel future fantasies. It wasn’t much, but she could work with it.
Taking a step closer, she inhaled, as if to absorb his essence into her being, and let her breath out on a sigh as her eyes traced the contours of his face.
From the cleft in his chin, her gaze climbed the steep slope of his cheekbones, waded through the blue pools of his eyes, tangled in his black brows, slid down an impossibly straight nose and landed in the valley between his lips.
His lips. Jayne shivered and clutched the class roster to the bodice of her navy-blue suit Not skinny lips and not full, blatantly sensual lips; these lips were kissing lips. Athletic lips.
Jayne had never been privileged to kiss or be kissed by such a pair of lips. And even if a man of her acquaintance possessed such lips, he wouldn’t know what to do with them. Jayne doubted she would know what to do with them, either, but she was willing to learn.
Her watch beeped the hour. Lost in the valley of the shadow of his lips, Jayne tried to ignore the beep but a restless shifting and a few stray whispers among the two dozen people seated before her told her she’d better start class.
Drawing a breath, she spoke the words which would send the stunning god back to Mount Olympus. “Welcome to Small Business Accounting sponsored by the accounting firm of Pace Waterman. I’m Jayne Nelson, your instructor.” She paused, waiting for him to leave.
He regarded her with an impassive blue gaze.
“We’ll be meeting twice a week for six weeks,” she continued, and looked at him expectantly.
He smiled a politely devastating smile. He had dimples. Jayne smothered her small whimper before it could escape.
“I’ll call roll, so I can get to know you.” Please be on the list. Please be on the list.
Suppressing the impulse to skip all the female names, Jayne began at the top of the alphabet and was rewarded when a deep male voice answered, “Here” to the name Garrett Charles.
Garrett Charles. Jayne Nelson Charies Jayne Charles. Jaynie Charles. Mrs. Garrett Charles. She sighed and raced through the rest of the roster.
He was on the list. He had actually paid money to take the class. He belonged here. The accounting gods were smiling on her.
Pace Waterman offered a variety of courses and seminars such as this one geared toward people who were thinking of starting their own businesses. Naturally Pace Waterman hoped that the business would grow and eventually require the services of one of their accountants, especially during income tax season.
The account executives took turns teaching the seminars and this was Jayne’s rotation.
Lucky Jayne.
She set the roster on the table, remembering to suck in her moussaka-laden stomach.
“Ninety percent of all start-up businesses fail within one year due to lack of sufficient operating capital,” she began, wondering what kind of business Garrett Charles was in. He looked like the restaurant type.
Why don’t you ask him? “I’m going to go around the room and have each of you tell a little about the business you have or plan to start. Then I can tailor the class more to your needs.” I’m good I’m really, really good.
Boutiques, bookstores, craft stores, a couple of fastfood franchises, restaurants and...
“I’m taking over the family modeling agency,” he said.
Of course. She should have known that Garrett Charles was either a model or an actor.
A feminine purr greeted his announcement as the women unconsciously straightened spines and hair. The men wore varying looks of disdain and threatened manhood.
Jayne’s stomach muscles hurt. “I don’t know anything about the modeling business,” she blurted out. He knows that. All he has to do is look at you. You’re five-three and...curvy. And why did you let Sylvia give you a home perm?
“And I don’t know anything about the accounting business.” Garrett stretched those gorgeous kissable lips of his into a smile that revealed teeth so straight and white they wouldn’t need retouching in a photograph. His dimples deepened and Jayne’s knees quivered. “I suppose that makes us even.”
Even. She was even with a man who could look good in fluorescent lighting.
“And I don’t know anything about this accounting stuff, either, but I sure would like to,” prompted one of Jayne’s male students. “So let’s get on with it, already.”
She couldn’t remember the man’s name because she hadn’t been paying attention when she called roll.
Turning to the man, Garrett presented his perfect profile to Jayne. “And what business are you in, Mr....?”
“Name’s Monty. My mother-in-law is coming from Italy to live with the wife and me. She likes to cook.” He shrugged. “Friend of mine, he’s got a restaurant down in Montrose and he’s ready to retire. I got a mother-in-law who needs something to do. I figured, let her cook.” Monty spread his hands. “So I bought the place.”
“And then you found out about the paperwork, right?” Garrett’s eyebrows arched.
Monty made a disgusted sound. “You ain’t kiddin’.”
Garrett had deflected Monty’s heckling and Jayne fell a little bit in love with him for it. However, this was her class and she could handle herself.
“Most of you are probably feeling overwhelmed by the financial records you must keep for the government.” There was murmured agreement. “That’s exactly why Pace Waterman recommends that you take this overview. Then afterward, when you meet with one of our account executives, you’ll be able to make an informed decision about whether or not you need further assistance.” And naturally, Pace Waterman was standing by to offer that assistance, which an average of thirty-seven percent of the people finishing the seminar accepted—and paid for. The rest either dropped out, decided that owning their own business wasn’t such a good idea after all or actually did their own bookkeeping. Rarely did they contact another accounting firm, a fact Pace Waterman used to justify subsidizing the courses.
Jayne removed a stack of papers from the table and passed them out. “This is a schedule of the subjects we’ll discuss. If you miss a topic, you may come to that session during another seminar.”
While the class rustled the papers, Jayne distributed the course notebooks, vinyl binders with the Pace Waterman logo prominently featured. Jayne’s distaste for the relentless self-promotion was offset by the valuable information contained in the binders. Informed clients were satisfied clients was the Pace Waterman philosophy, to which Jayne heartily subscribed.
The binders were on a small cart that Jayne wheeled around the room.
She was going to see Garrett Charles up close. Would he be just as devastatingly attractive? Would there be some minute flaw in his appearance? Jayne refused to look his way until she was actually handing him his notebook.
He glanced up to smile his thanks and Jayne’s gaze collided with his. Her breath caught. She couldn’t move. She barely felt him slide the binder out of her nerveless fingers. The Pace Waterman mint-green and burgundy conference room ceased to exist as Jayne lost herself in the marvel that was Garret Charles.
He had beautiful skin the color of buttery leather with the slightest darkening above his upper lip. She inhaled and was pleased to discover that he wore no scent.
“Thank you.” His deep voice broke the spell that paralyzed her.
Flushing, Jayne lurched toward the next student.
And bashed the cart into Garrett’s knee.
She knew it the instant she felt the bump. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped as he grimaced.
But it was an elegant, manly grimace, quickly smoothed.
“No.” He waved away her apology and briefly massaged his leg. “I should have moved my foot out of the aisle.”
“But it must hurt!” Jayne knelt to inspect the damage, brushing at the place on his khaki-clad thigh where the cart had left a dark smudge.
“It’s fine now. Really.” He placed his hand directly over hers.
Jayne stared at the well-shaped hand with its ringless fingers covering hers. She felt the muscles of his leg tense under her fingers and in that instant, became fully aware of her position. His waist and points south were directly in her line of sight and her hand was on the hard muscles of his thigh.
Meeting his faintly amused blue eyes, Jayne gasped a horrified, “Ohmigosh!”, shot to her feet and blindly pushed the cart.
There was a shuffling sound as the rest of the students drew in their legs. Behind her, Jayne knew at least three feet separated the cart from the next row of desks. Plenty of room, unless one were trying to get as close as possible to Garrett Charles, which she had been.
Parking the cart in the front, Jayne gathered her tattered composure and faced the class. “If any of you had concerns about your personal safety during the class, I believe I’ve sufficiently demonstrated my proficiency with the rolling cart—” she gave it a pat “—a vastly underrated weapon.”
Soft laughter broke the tension, but Jayne didn’t know how she got through the next two hours, or even what she said. Every time she looked at Garrett, she was in danger of losing her place in the lesson, so she had to concentrate more than usual. By the time she dismissed class, she had a headache.
Resting her forehead against the dry erase board prior to cleaning it, Jayne didn’t realize at first that she had company.
“Are you all right?” asked a deep male voice behind her.
She whirled around, then jammed the heel of her hand against her head as the pain speared through it. “Uh, I’ve got a headache,” she managed to say even though voices in her poor abused head were shouting at her to say something witty.
His brow furrowed in attractive wrinkles. Attractive wrinkles for Pete’s sake. “I’m sorry.” He sounded as though he meant it. Good trick. “I noticed that you seemed distracted this evening,” he began diplomatically, “and I hope it wasn’t because you felt awkward about bumping me with the cart.”
Bumping. How kind he was. “I am so sorry about that. How’s your leg? It’s bruised, isn’t it?” she asked, when he hesitated.
“Don’t worry about it.” A corner of his mouth tilted upward, deepening a dimple. “Accidents happen.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Why? You’re telling me it wasn’t an accident?”
Jayne’s eyes widened. “Of course it was!” she spluttered, horrified.
Garrett laughed lightly and touched her briefly on the shoulder. “Relax. I’m kidding. I only wanted you to know that I’m not the kind of person who’ll have his lawyer camping on your doorstep within twentyfour hours, in case you were worried.”
Jayne’s mouth opened. She’d never even considered that he might sue. Her financial life flashed before her.
He raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
Jayne shut her mouth and, having lost the power of speech, nodded.
“See you on Thursday, then.” He turned and walked out of the conference room, footsteps muffled by the industrial carpeting.
Jayne stared after him. He was coming back! She was going to get a second chance!
So what was she going to do with it?
CHAPTER TWO
JAYNE might as well have stayed at home for all the work she accomplished the next day. What happened to competence? Disgusted with herself, she thumbed through the reports left over from yesterday and sighed. Garrett Charles was haunting her every waking moment and most of her sleeping ones as well.
Over and over, she relived the embarrassing moments from last night. She’d stared at him, attacked him with the book cart and then lectured on who knows what. Her only hope was that since she’d taught the class so many times, her brain could coast for a while. She hoped it was coasting in familiar waters.
Then there was the strange, unsettled feeling she’d had lately. She probably needed a vacation. That was it. Maybe she could talk Sylvia into one of those four-day cruises that left from the Port of Houston. At the prospect, Jayne immediately felt brighter.
That was it. She just needed a vacation. Her life had become drab and predictable and her reaction to Garrett was nature’s way of telling her that her social life needed attention. A lot of attention. Her mother had always told her she was going to be a late bloomer. Well, twenty-eight was late and Jayne must be blooming.
On Thursday, class day, Jayne stood indecisively in front of her closet. What to wear, what to wear.
Her sartorial decisions usually consisted of which version of a navy-blue suit she would wear. Solid? Midnight-navy? Royal-blue navy? Pin-striped? Glenplaid ? White blouse or pale blue? Blue on red tie or red on blue? She’d always been pleased with her professional wardrobe. Now it all looked too...too something. Predictable? Staid? Stuffy? All of the above?
There was always her beige suit, which she wore in the heat of summer, but she felt like a lightweight in it.
Okay, she’d analyze the situation. She wanted to appear competent to reassure everyone after Tuesday, so she’d wear her most conservative, expensive, darkest suit with a blinding white shirt and a regimental striped women’s ascot at the neck. She’d add height with her highest heeled pumps.
She set off for work, feeling her old competent self. It was a good feeling and one she wanted to hold on to until her vacation.
“Hey, Jayne, you look ready to take on the world,” commented Bill Pellman as she passed his cubicle on the way to her office. “Big account on the hne?”
“No,” Jayne responded with deliberate casualness, “but I do have class to teach tonight.”
Bill was young, eager and considered Jayne his mentor—a pleasant, sexless mentor who lived for work just as he did. Jayne sighed, thinking there was more truth there than she liked.
“Any hot prospects?” he asked now.
She thought of Garrett and her throat went dry. “Not really,” she croaked and fled to her office.
So much for renewed competence. Just thinking of Garrett made her heart race, so she attempted to figure out her surprising response to him.
Never in her life had she responded to a man’s physical appearance with such...awareness. Parts of her body, parts that were usually hibernating, had awakened. She wasn’t even sure she was experiencing desire. Desire flourished when there was a chance of being desired in return. Competent, realistic, feetfirmly-on-the-ground Jayne Nelson did not attract the Garrett Charles type of man. Her head knew that, but her body must have short-circuited. That would explain the tingling.
She was staring off into the distance, chewing on a pen, when Sylvia popped into her office.
“I’ve got a Schlotz’s Deli two-for-one coupon. You interested?”
Jayne dropped her pen. “Is it time for lunch already?”
Sylvia held up her arm, which was decorated with three gaudy watches.
“Oh. Right.” Jayne pushed back her chair and pulled her purse from the file drawer.
“Aren’t you going to change your shoes?” Sylvia kicked out a sneaker-clad foot.
“Shoes?” Jayne blinked.
“The deli is at the other end of the mall by the movie theater.”
“Oh. Right. I should change.” Pace Waterman was in the Transco Tower, which was connected by a walkway to Houston’s Galleria mall across the street. Jayne and Sylvia frequently spent their lunch hours hiking through it for exercise.
Jayne stood staring at the bank of file drawers. Where was Garrett’s business? She hadn’t thought to ask. What if he opened the agency right in the mall? She might see him all the time now. She sighed.
Sylvia came into the room, gently opened the supply cabinet and removed Jayne’s walking shoes. “What’s up, Jayne?”
“Nothing.” Jayne slipped out of her pumps and worked her feet into the sneakers. She felt her face grow warm, so she bent to tie the shoes, hoping any evidence of a blush might be hidden.
“You’re acting just like you did the other night Are you feeling okay? Have you got an audit or something this afternoon?”
“I’m fine!”
“Then...Jayne?” Sylvia nudged her arm. “Have you met somebody?” she asked in a tone that meant “Have you met a man?”
“No!” Jayne responded too quickly and too loudly. She could tell by the triumphant smirk on Sylvia’s face. Drat. Now Sylvia would worm everything out of her. Sylvia could worm anything out of anybody. She was wasted in secretarial work. Her true calling was espionage.
Jayne crossed her purse over her shoulder bandolier-style and Sylvia linked their arms. “I want you to tell me everything,” she demanded.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Jayne protested feebly.
Sylvia patted her arm. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
Sylvia had wormed everything there was to worm by the time they reached the elevator.
“That’s it?” She snorted in disgust as they exited the elevator and made their way through the crowded foyer toward the walkway.
“I told you there wasn’t anything to tell,” Jayne pointed out, secretly hoping that Sylvia might put a hopeful spin on the events of Tuesday night. But not even Sylvia could interpret rendering succor after bashing someone in the leg as flirtng.
“But I didn’t actually believe you.” Sylvia frowned, then shrugged. “No matter. We’ll find you a man yet. In fact...” She cocked her head to one side.
“No,” Jayne refused automatically. Sylvia was continually trotting out male relatives for Jayne to date.
And sure enough... “My second cousin Vincent is going to be in his roommate’s wedding in Galveston. He’ll be staying with my aunt Ida a couple of nights. Why don’t I—”
“No.” Jayne closed her eyes against the thought of dating Sylvia’s second-tier relatives.
“Then ask out the man in your class.”
Jayne swallowed her automatic “no” and mentally tested the idea of asking out Garrett Charles.
Not possible. “I probably shouldn’t date students.” She walked faster.
“He’ll only be a student for a few weeks. You’re just too wimpy,” Sylvia scolded, jogging to keep up with her.
“I know.”
“Men like assertive women.”
Jayne shot her an exasperated look. “On what planet?”
“Uh, Planet Eros?”
“See? Aliens.”
“Speaking of, how about I set you up with Vincent?”
“Sylvia!”
She shrugged. “You gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince.”
“For the last time, I do not want to go out with your alien frog second cousin!”
However... Jayne stopped abruptly and snagged Sylvia’s arm. They’d reached the end of the mall walkway and were standing right by the travel agency they’d walked past on a hundred other lunch hours.
“What? What?”
Jayne pointed to a bright poster advertising fun in the Gulf of Mexico. “I think I need a vacation. Or a change in my life. A vacation would be a change in my life.” She turned to the gaping Sylvia. “I was thinking we could book one of those four-day cruises. They’re not very expen—”
“Yes!” Sylvia had recovered from her astonishment and was pushing Jayne through the double glass doors and straight over to the brochure display. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had!” She started taking two of every brochure with a ship pictured on it, handing one to Jayne as she babbled.
“When do you want to leave? Can we wait until I lose five pounds? What if we save up and go for a seven-day cruise? We’ll have to watch which line we pick.” She stopped gabbing long enough to flip through one of the brochures. “There are even singles cruises. We should go on one of those to increase the odds. Okay. I think we’ve got one of each.” She smiled brightly at Jayne. “Let’s go eat.”
Sylvia’s enthusiasm was infectious and they window-shopped through the mall all the way to the deli. Jayne followed Sylvia inside where she was nearly overwhelmed by the pastrami and pickle smell.
Sylvia inhaled rapturously, then sighed. “This will be our last pastrami on rye until after the cruise.”
“It will?” Jayne asked, a little overwhelmed by how fast and hard Sylvia had latched onto the cruise idea.
“We’ll have to start dieting immediately.” Sylvia flashed a big smile at a group of jacketless men, who scooted down on the benches, making room for the two of them. Or more precisely, for the vibrant Sylvia, who beckoned to Jayne.
Jayne was accepted only because it was obvious Sylvia wouldn’t sit without her. She sighed, but sat down on the bench just the same.
By the time the men left a couple of minutes later, Sylvia had collected three business cards.
Jayne leafed through her brochures and tried not to feel envious.
“So which ships look good?” Sylvia asked as she tossed two business cards into the ashtray and wrote a note to herself on the back of the third.
“I want to stick to the one that leaves out of Houston,” Jayne said. “It’s more convenient.” She found the cruise line’s brochure in Sylvia’s stack.
They paged through it until their sandwiches arrived. Just as Sylvia closed the brochure, Jayne caught a glimpse of compelling blue eyes. Blue eyes she’d sworn she’d seen before.
This was sick. She was obsessing about Garrett, imagining she saw him everywhere. Nevertheless, her heart picked up speed as she opened her own copy. She’d either find those eyes or she’d better start looking for a therapist.
Paying no attention at all to Sylvia’s chatter, Jayne searched the brochure, locating him immediately.
Garrett Charles was one of the people posing as passengers for the cruise line. Several of the group were in one of the deck lounges holding drinks with pineapple spears and tiny umbrellas. Garrett and another man stood at the railing nearby. He wore an open neck knit shirt that exposed his throat and just enough chest hair to send Jayne into a near swoon. And that was before she noticed his muscle definition. Once she saw those pecs, Jayne was a goner. Khaki shorts revealed his legs. Or his legs as they’d appeared before Jayne had bashed one with the book cart.
And then she found the picture of Garrett by the pool.
“So what do you say, Jayne?” Sylvia asked.
“Yes, sure,” Jayne mumbled, intent on getting back to the office as soon as possible so she could spend the rest of the afternoon staring at a shirtless Garrett. Maybe if she stared long enough, she’d get over him. He was only a man, for heaven’s sake.
But it didn’t work, probably because Garrett was no ordinary man. All staring at his pictures accomplished, other than making her fall behind in her project schedule, was to make her nervous about that evening’s class.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t chance another disaster. She’d find somebody else to teach the rest of Accounting for Small Businesses. Somebody who wouldn’t turn into a bundle of lusting nerves at the sight of Garrett Charles. Somebody like...
“Bill, think of this as an opportunity to acquire new accounts.” Jayne spoke in her most mentorlike voice. “I’ve been analyzing your performance during the first half of this fiscal year, and I believe you’re ready to handle one of the recruitment classes.”
“You think so?” The expression of doubt Bill had worn since Jayne first broached the subject of teaching her classes faded.
Jayne leaned a well-padded hip against his desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “People equate age with experience—”
“That’s why you dress the way you do,” Bill interrupted, nodding his understanding.
“What do you mean?” Jayne straightened and looked down at herself. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”
“Nothing. It’s very effective. Isn’t that what I said?”
“Effective for what?”
“Jayne.” Bill grimaced with impatience. “Clients look at you and see that you’re all business.” He gestured with his hand. “Suit, shirt and tie equals business.”
“Oh.” Jayne was placated—
“Nobody would ever guess you’re as young as you are.”
—until that crack. She gritted her teeth.
“So you think these classes are a way I can nab some new accounts?” asked the oblivious Bill.
“Yes,” Jayne assured him with less enthusiasm than before. “Since you’re young and inexperienced,” she enjoyed pointing out, “this is a way to demonstrate your competence to potential clients.”
“Could be cool.” Bill nodded to himself then announced, “Okay, I’ll do it, but I can’t tonight—”
Jayne panicked. “You have to! I mean, I have plans.”
“Oh?” He drew out the syllable and eyed her speculatively. “What sort of plans?”
“Private plans,” she said with an edge of desperation.
Bill raised an eyebrow and Jayne felt herself flush. “So it wasn’t strictly my stellar performance that prompted this burst of generosity?”
“I...” Jayne gave up. “Not entirely, no, but I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t thought you were ready,” she said in a version of the truth she hoped he’d accept.
But Bill had already figured out that he had the upper hand in the negotiations. Jayne had trained him too well. “Sorry, but no can do tonight, Jayne. And next Tuesday is iffy. The Magruder report, you know.”
Jayne knew. All fledgling accountants filled out the tedious and much-loathed monthly Magruder report, biding their time until they could palm it off onto someone with less seniority.
“You’re welcome to find somebody else to finish your session if that’ll be a problem.”
There was a gleam in Bill’s eyes that Jayne didn’t like. She drew a deep breath. “No, I’ll teach tonight and research the raw data for the Magruder. This was short notice for you anyway.”
“You’re sure?”
Anything to get out of this class. “Definitely. I’ll have the course materials on your desk by noon tomorrow.” The little weasel.
Just knowing that tonight was the last time she’d have to struggle to compose herself in front of Garrett Charles was enough for Jayne to settle down and do some actual work. Her confidence restored, she planned to lecture on bookkeeping, her favorite subject. She’d give the most detailed, information-laden lecture in the history of Pace Waterman seminars. She’d leave Garrett Charles overwhelmed by her brilliance.
But when Jayne strode confidently into the conference room, Garrett was conspicuously absent.
Deflated, she waited as long as she could before reluctantly beginning her lecture. Her best subject and he was going to miss it. He’d forever remember her as the bumbling, frizzy-headed—though that was entirely Sylvia’s fault—Pace Waterman accountant.
At seven-fifteen, Garrett slipped into the room Or tried to. Dressed in a severe charcoal suit, with white shirt and dark tie, he looked utterly stunning. As one, the female students sighed audibly.
“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured. “I had a prior engagement.”
Jayne’s hormones leaped at the word “engagement.” No! You can’t have him! they shouted. We want him! We want him! and she had to calm them down by telling them that engagement didn’t mean approaching marriage in this sense.
Of course while she conversed with her hormones, she was staring at him again. And realizing this triggered the hyperventilation and sweaty palms with which she was becoming so regrettably familiar.
Nevertheless, she sucked in her stomach, wiped her palms, held her breath and launched into the fabulous bookkeeping lecture she’d prepared. “I recommend the double entry method of keeping track of your income and expenses. Here’s why...”
“Sylvia, I was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Jayne hugged herself the next morning, then snatched the chocolate doughnut out of Sylvia’s hand and whirled around her office.
“You’re always brilliant.” Sylvia sat on Jayne’s couch and peeled the plastic cover off her coffee cup. “That’s why I hang around you. I keep hoping some of your smarts will rub off on me.”
“But you don’t understand.” Jayne bit into and hurriedly swallowed some of the doughnut. “This time I was brilliant brilliant. You should have seen their faces. The class hung on every word. There wasn’t a sound out of them, not even when I forgot the eight o’clock break.”
“You talked for two solid hours?”
“Yes! I was fantastic.” Jayne returned to her desk, opened her coffee and emptied it into her favorite thermal mug. “When they left, everybody was real quiet and thoughtful.”
“Are you sure they were awake?”
Jayne frowned. “Of course. They were digesting everything I’d told them.”
Sylvia picked the walnuts out of her whole wheat apple muffin and dropped them into the ashtray. “You think maybe you gave them too much to eat?”
“Hardly. I could have gone on for another two hours.” Jayne sipped her coffee to keep from running over and whisking the ashtray out of Sylvia’s reach.
“Then why aren’t you?” Sylvia asked and bit into her muffin.
“Why aren’t I what?” Jayne asked crossly. If Sylvia didn’t like nuts, why did she always get the same muffin? Why not blueberry? Why leave nuts in Jayne’s ashtray all the time?
“Teaching two more hours. Why’d you get Bill to finish your classes?”
“He’s got to learn sometime.”
Sylvia popped the last of her muffin into her mouth and brushed her hands together. Jayne could see little brown crumbs dotting the forest-green leather of the sofa.
“But why this time?” Sylvia stood. “Honestly, Jayne. Here, according to you, was a gorgeous man sitting right in your class and you didn’t even invite him for coffee afterward.”
“Oh, please. He wouldn’t go for coffee with me.”
“Did you ask?”
“No,” Jayne mumbled and took a huge bite of her doughnut so she wouldn’t have to discuss the matter with Sylvia anymore.
“And now, in a move guaranteed to squelch any possibility that you two could get together—” Jayne nearly choked “—you’ve quit the class.” Sylvia left, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re reconsidering my cousin Vincent I understand he’s filled out some.”
Sylvia was wrong, wrong, wrong—and not just about reconsidering Vincent Jayne had done the right thing. It was pointless to wish for what one couldn’t have, wasn’t it? Especially if the wishing was interfering with the pursuit of what one could obtain, which was, in Jayne’s case, a measure of corporate and financial security. If she achieved success in the business world now, then when the young men of her generation decided it was time to settle down and look around for suitable life mates, there would be nice, solid Jayne and her little nest egg, ready to hatch.
At least that had been the plan until now. Jayne wasn’t going to be passively waiting around anymore. She may not be Garrett Charles material, but he’d shaken up her life in a good way, she told herself. After all, wasn’t she planning a cruise with Sylvia?
So, on Tuesday night, just about the time Garrett Charles was entering the conference room at Pace Waterman, Jayne, attired in her velour robe with the threadbare elbows, was parked in front of her television set while dining on her favorite feel-good meal—canned ravioli, M&M’s and diet cola. She’d swathed her head in a towel while her hair soaked in a deep conditioner, which promised to counteract the effects of Sylvia’s recent home perm. The movie playing on her video recorder was How to Marry a Millioieaire, from which Jayne hoped to pick up tips, both financial and matrimonial.
She picked up neither, but after consuming the ravioli and the M&M’s—and adding rum to her diet cola—didn’t really care.
She cared the next morning, though. A lot. However, there was a bonus to falling asleep on the couch with her head soaking in conditioner. Her hair, which had resembled a pale brown dandelion, now lay in greasy kinks reminiscent of corkscrew pasta. Jayne felt this was an improvement.
But her face was too pale. Color. She needed color. Eventually she folded one of her scarves into a headband and tied her hair back. In the bathroom mirror, a bare face stared back at her. Jayne wasn’t used to seeing that much of her face at one time. She pulled out a few wisps of bangs, though they didn’t want to wisp anymore and began a desperate search for the pearl earrings that her grandparents had given her for graduation and she hadn’t worn since. Why bother with earrings when her hair usually covered her ears?
Friday was not shaping up into the best of days. She had doubts about her appearance when she caught regulars on her Park & Ride bus giving her second looks. Or, it could be the sunglasses she wore, but didn’t everyone notice how blindingly bright the lights were? Had all the lightbulbs been changed for ones with a higher wattage? What a waste of taxpayer dollars.
Hoping to clear her head, she forced herself to walk at a brisker pace from the Galleria stop to the Transco Tower. Entering the air-conditioned foyer, she realized she’d left her business pumps at her apartment and would either have to wear the battered rain pair she kept in her office, or her tennis shoes all day.
“Hey, Jaynie!” hooted the delivery courier when Jayne tried to sneak past the reception area. She detested the name Jaynie. “Ooh, look who tied one on last night!” He grinned.
Jayne didn’t grin back, her attention caught by the expression on Beth, the receptionist’s face. Gad, I must look awful. The scarf apparently wasn’t providing the pick-me-up to her appearance that she’d hoped.
“Weeeell,” said Bill when she slunk by his cubicle. “Still waters run deep.”
Jayne ignored his crack. “How was class last night?”
“You mean the class I’m teaching so your evenings would be free?” Bill grinned wolfishly and leaned back in his chair.
Jayne stared him down, hoping he’d tip over.
“Not talking, are you?”
“Not unless it’s about class.”
“Okay. I wanted to talk to you about that, too.” Bill straightened in an abrupt shift from obnoxious to businesslike. “Mr. Waterman says he’s had six calls from people in the class wanting to sign accounting agreements with us. That’s twenty-five percent of the enrollment. There’ve only been three classes—what did you do to them? And more important, can you teach me how to do it?”
The only explanation Jayne could think of was that the people in her class missed her and didn’t want to continue the course without her. Personally gratifying, but that wasn’t going to encourage Bill, was it? And she wanted him to continue teaching, didn’t she? So she shrugged. “No secret. I just followed the curriculum.”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “There were comments about bookkeeping being too complicated.”
Jayne wished she hadn’t been quite so considerate of his feelings. “Then they weren’t paying attention,” she mumbled and edged away from Bill’s cubicle.
“When I tried to review bookkeeping to see where you’d left off, it appeared that you didn’t leave off anywhere.” He leaned back in his chair so his head stuck out of the cubicle. “Did you really cover the whole section in one night?”
“I was on a roll.” Jayne escaped, feeling defensive. Treat people like they’ve got brains and see what happens. On the other hand, the company had six new accounts, so Mr. Waterman should be happy.
But...didn’t any of those six people request Jayne as their accountant?
Feeling sorry for herself, she shut her office door and sank onto the small sofa she’d inherited from the office’s previous occupant. Opening the cruise brochure, she stared at Garrett Charles and sighed. So handsome. So out of reach.
So get over him. Closing the book on that part of her life, Jayne put on her reading glasses, and got to work on the stupid Magruder report for Bill.
After half an hour, she threw the pen she’d been chewing at the computer monitor in disgust Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. No wonder Bill wanted to palm off the Magruder. Standards had really fallen since Jayne had paid her dues by filing the report. She’d hoped to finish it within an hour and get to her own work, but that wasn’t going to be.
Examining back copies of the weekly report, Jayne discovered an error that had been repeated for at least three months. She didn’t have time to go back further, but some poor intern would.
She was composing a memo to Mr. Waterman about the problem, when the silver-haired gentleman knocked on her open door.
“Jayne, are you busy?” It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it.
“No,” Jayne answered, just as rhetorically. At least she hoped Mr. Waterman knew she was speaking rhetorically.
“Good. I’d like you to meet a new client.” He stood to one side and a tall, dark-haired man carrying a briefcase entered Jayne’s office. “This is Garrett Charles. He’s requested you to be his account executive.”
CHAPTER THREE
AT FIRST, Garrett wasn’t certain that the frozen woman who stared at him from behind a massive wooden desk was the same Jayne Nelson who’d taught the first two accounting sessions he’d attended. The glasses and the slicked-back hair momentarily threw him.
But the dazed look was one with which he was disagreeably familiar. Being a retired model and coming from a family of models, Garrett was well aware of his appearance and its effect on people.
Most women stared when they first encountered Garrett Charles. Since the time he’d become aware of girls and women—sometime after they’d become aware of him—Garrett had been the recipient of women’s stares. Depending on the woman, eye contact might be anything from a quick assessing survey to stolen glances accompanied by giggles to frankly admiring gazes, which he preferred to the impersonally professional studies that were a part of his business. Rarely, however, was a woman in danger of going into shock the way Jayne Nelson was.
He’d assumed they were past the staring stage, but apparently not. Pale-faced, she hadn’t blinked since Waterman had announced him. Assuming a pleasant expression, which he was prepared to hold until she recovered, Garrett advanced into the room.
“The Charles family incorporated some time ago as Venus, Inc., a modeling firm. Their executive manager has resigned and the Charleses want Pace Waterman to take over as they expand the business.”
Jayne’s eyes never left his face, Garrett noticed and doubted she’d even heard Waterman’s summary of his situation.
He sighed inwardly. Years of training allowed him to keep his face in a bland mask until staring females realized what they were doing. Embarrassing them served no purpose except to make everyone feel uncomfortable. Unfortunately Jayne’s boss didn’t have the benefit of that training.
“Jayne?” A perplexed Waterman glanced from her shocked expression to Garrett and back again.
“Yes?” Her voice sounded thin and reedy.
“Are you quite well?”
Jayne blinked and her face and throat flamed in great patchy blotches. “Yes. I... was just concentrating. You caught me off guard.” She made as if to push herself away from her desk and knocked a computer diskette to the floor. She ducked under the desk to retrieve it.
“Is now a bad time? I don’t want to disturb you.” Waterman was all solicitousness but Garrett knew he was really saying, “Get your act together, woman! An account with huge potential is on the line here!”
Jayne knew, too. Her face got even redder and Garrett battled disappointment. He’d hired Pace Waterman solely to work with Jayne. In spite of her rattled behavior around him, he enjoyed watching her as she tackled accounting, a subject she obviously liked, and wanted those in the class to like, too. He’d even enjoyed the other night when she’d gotten carried away and lectured right through the break. Imagine loving numbers that much. Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to apply the lesson to his own books and had been irritated to discover that she’d no longer be teaching the class.
George Windom, Venus’s longtime business and financial manager, had tendered his resignation and was gone before Garrett could hire a replacement. He’d hoped Jayne could be that replacement, but now, watching as she stood, he decided to request another accountant. A male. But not the one who was now teaching the class. Garrett was on the verge of suggesting he return at another time, when Waterman launched into an unnecessary introduction.
“Garrett, this is Jayne Nelson, one of our top accountants.” Waterman may have added the last bit to remind himself as well as demonstrate his support of Jayne. “But, of course, you two have already met.”
“Yes, yes, we have. Already- met. He was in my class. Or the class that was mine, but currently is Bill’s,” Jayne babbled to Waterman, who was now looking at her with real apprehension.
Visibly steeling herself, Jayne turned her head and met Garrett’s eyes, thrusting out her arm across the desk, presumably to shake his hand.
They never completed the ritual because Jayne knocked over her pencil holder scattering pencils, paper clips and pens over the surface of her desk.
“Oh—!”
Garrett couldn’t hear what she said, but suspected it wasn’t anything profane. Jayne didn’t look like the swearing type.
Grabbing for the pens that rolled toward the edge, Garrett deliberately knocked into her stacking file baskets, collapsing them on one corner and sending the files over the side.
Jayne sent him a stunned look—a different stunned look.
“I’m sorry. And here I was trying to help.” he announced cheerfully, including Waterman in his smile.
Mr. Waterman’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.
Jayne scrambled around her desk, banging her shin. Garrett winced at the sound.
“My, dear!” exclaimed Waterman ineffectually.
“I’m fine!” Jayne squeaked, grabbed her leg and hobbled a few steps before sinking to the floor at their feet.
Setting his briefcase well out of the way, Garrett stooped to help her gather the files.
“Let me help—”
“I’ll just get these—”
They both reached for the same folder and their fingers brushed together.
Jayne jerked back as though she’d touched a live coal and quickly sprang to her feet—too quickly. On the way up, she banged her head on the desktop overhang.
Gasping, she rubbed her temple, smearing herself with blue ink and dislodging her glasses, which clattered to the desk.
A flabbergasted Waterman stared at her. “Jayne?”
“Are you all right?” Garrett asked.
Jayne stopped rubbing her head, leaving a patriotic red and blue against her white skin. “In spite of evidence to the contrary, I’m fine.”
Garrett was caught by her naked brown eyes. He’d seen those eyes alight with her passion for numbers, sparkling when someone in the class would involuntarily exclaim, “Now I get it!” He also remembered her embarrassed sympathy when she bashed him with the cart. And of course the mesmerized stare with which she’d greeted his entrances to the conference room.
But he’d never seen her eyes dark with selfcontempt the way they were now.
Garrett knew that if he asked for another accountant after what had just happened, Jayne would suffer, maybe even lose her job. After only a few minutes of conversation, Garrett knew Waterman was of the old school of businessmen who resisted the influx of women. Jayne probably was their best accountant, male or female. She’d have to be to have progressed as far as she had with the company.
And so Garrett smiled reassuringly at Jayne, earning a melted chocolate look in response. He turned to Waterman and offered his hand with more success than Jayne. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Waterman. I’d like to coordinate my calendar with Jayne’s and then I’ll stop by your office before I leave.”
“Yes, do stop by.” Waterman looked as though he didn’t think it was a good idea to leave a new client with the self-destructive Ms. Nelson, but couldn’t argue in the face of an obvious dismissal. To Jayne he said, “You have ink on your face.”
Jayne mewled in distress, grabbed a tissue and rubbed at her temple, so Garrett followed Waterman to the door and closed it behind him.
With huge eyes, Jayne watched his progress back to where she stood in front of her desk.
Contemplating his next move—and he had no doubt the next move was up to him—Garrett stopped in front of her. Perhaps the direct approach would be best. “Ms. Nelson...Jayne, do I frighten you?”
“N-no.” Jayne supposed it had been too much to hope that Garrett would ignore her peculiar behavior or attribute it to a momentary, and uncharacteristic, clumsiness. No, he had that darned book cart incident for reference. She fit the leg of the file basket back into the holder. At least he had his clumsy moments, too.
While she repaired her baskets, Garrett had stooped to gather the scattered files. “I don’t frighten you?” he asked, standing and giving them to her.
“No.” Jayne spoke more firmly this time. Fascinate, yes, frighten, no. She plopped the papers into the basket, determined to treat Garrett just as she would any other client.
Garrett studied her a moment then contorted his face and took a sudden step toward her.
Jayne yelped.
“Time for you to switch to decaf.” He grinned.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, her heart still racing.
“If you’re going to be so jumpy, you ought to have a real reason.”
“That’s not a real reason,” Jayne grumbled returning to her chair.
“Sure it is,” he said cheerfully. “You never know when I’m going to do it again.”
“You’d deliberately scare me again?”
“Maybe.” He looked at her, flinched, and Jayne started. Garrett laughed. “And maybe not.”
Jayne held her hand over her heart. “Okay, you’ve made your point.” An unorthodox method, but surprisingly effective. Jayne presumed it was because her body had used its entire store of adrenaline during the past five minutes.
Garrett pulled over one of the tweed club chairs from the conversation area by the sofa. “Are you always this nervous, or just when you’re around me?”
“Just around you,” she admitted, surprising herself and apparently Garrett. as well.

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