“Ms. Dawson?” The pale-faced elderly woman who answered the door must have been prepped on Andy’s arrival. “Mr. Donovan is expecting you. He’s upstairs in his office.”
“And you’re…?” Andy suspected she was facing an employee of Blake’s, but something about her grandmotherly air made Andy question her assumption.
“His housekeeper, Ellen.”
So her first guess had been right. She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ellen. You can call me Andy.”
The housekeeper’s gentle features crinkled into confusion. “Oh, I thought he said it was Drea.” Andy swallowed back a curse as Ellen turned and called over her shoulder. “This way.”
Ellen led her through the foyer past a large living area toward a sweeping staircase.
“Do you mind if I just…?” Andy didn’t finish the question, afraid that permission to look around would be denied if she asked, and instead peeked into the living room before heading to the stairs. A shiver ran down her spine. It felt as cold and industrial as the office at Donovan InfoTech. She’d hoped that was only the spirit of the front entryway, but it continued to the main room. There was no sense that anyone actually lived there. It was pristine and perfect and sterile.
And this was what she had in her arsenal to attract a bride?
Forget it. The place was like a museum. Except museums at least had gift shops with cheerful volunteers. There was no cheer here, and certainly nothing she’d like to bring home. The Donovan Mausoleum, that was more accurate.
She felt Ellen come up behind her. “Does Mr. Donovan spend much time here?” Andy gazed at the expanses between couches in the massive living room. Blake definitely didn’t entertain much. People would be shouting from one distant seat to another, too afraid to sip their wine in case a stray drop of red landed on the immaculate marble tile. The mental image made her smile. She caught the housekeeper’s eye and quickly dropped the cheer.
“Most of the time he’s in his office, though occasionally I think he reads down here after I’m gone for the day. He often leaves a book perched on the side table.”
Those boring biographies of businessmen and dead presidents seemed to fit the environment. Andy had known she’d get a better picture of her boss by seeing his house but also had hoped that it would be a prettier picture.
With the sweetest of smiles, the housekeeper asked, “Are you ready to continue up?”
“Of course.” Andy frowned as she trailed behind Ellen. Each step farther into the house felt drearier and drearier. At least Ellen was a ray of sunshine. Otherwise, Andy feared the place would collapse from the weight of the drab.
They continued up the stairs. At the top, the hallway extended in both directions. One side ended in a set of closed double doors. Andy looked the other way and found another set of double doors—this time with Blake Donovan standing in front of them.
“Drea, you made it.” His tone suggested that he’d been waiting for her, as if she were late. “Thank you, Ellen. I’ll take her from here.”
Andy nodded to the housekeeper then checked her watch before starting down the hall to meet her boss. Nope. She was totally not late. Maybe early was Blake’s preferred time of arrival. When she reached him, she opened her mouth to ask, but he spoke first.
“Here we are.” He threw open the double doors and gestured for Andy to step inside.
She sucked in a breath and immediately forgot all about her plans to harass him into opening up as she took in his inner sanctum. It, like the rest of the house, was way too freaking big, but—
“Thank God.” Oops. That was out loud.
“What does that mean?” When they’d entered the room, Blake had seemed calmer, but now he was glaring again.
She placed a hand to her chest, in somewhat dramatic fashion. “Honestly? I was wondering how I was supposed to convince any woman who saw your fortress of solitude here that you were human and not some sort of business-droid. Then I was wondering if I was actually convinced of that myself. And then you showed me your office, and—thank God.”
He looked as surprised as her at the giggle that came out of his mouth at that.
He brought the back of his hand to his mouth, recovering quickly. “You like it, then?”
Like it? She loved it. Huge windows took up the far wall of the office, filling it with soft sunlight. The desk was overlarge, but it was beautiful. An antique, Andy thought, but that was as much as she could guess. There was an actual rug on the floor, and it didn’t even look expensive. It just looked warm. There was a cushy chair by the window, and a decanter of amber liquid on the table near it. A spider plant—probably the perfect plant for a man like him—hung from the ceiling.
In short, there was some humanity in here. This she could work with.
“Yes, Blake. I like it.”
His smile held an air of satisfaction. “Good, I like to work here better than the office, so we can plan to set you up in here as well.” He was definitely relaxing now, striding over to his desk with looser limbs than had greeted her.
He sank into his office chair that creaked with the sound of long use. “So—you really think my house is like an ice palace?” Blake kept his eyes downcast, as if he were completely uninterested in the answer, but the fact that he’d asked at all meant he was in want of her opinion.
Andy was flattered.
She quickly attempted to talk herself out of that. Don’t make too much of it, you’re probably the only girl he knows who ever gave him an honest opinion. The vacant-eyed models in his office sure wouldn’t tell him what they thought he wouldn’t want to hear.
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she said, “Firstly, I’m impressed that you actually got that reference, Mr. I-Only-Read-Biographies-and-Watch-Documentaries. Second of all—yes, yes I do.”
“Now, Drea, what sort of business tycoon would I be if I hadn’t studied Lex Luthor?” Blake’s eyes actually twinkled a bit.
“Well, what a surprise.” A delightful one at that.
“I contain multitudes.” Was that a hint of a smile? If it was, he quickly hid it away. His jaw tightened. “Is this … problem … with my home something you feel capable of fixing?” His words came out strained, as if they were hard for him to say.
“I’ll have an easier time with your house than with your arrogance.” Had she really said that? It wasn’t quite fair to be in the man’s own house and insulting him. She quickly redirected. “We can start with just a few touches to make it seem more lived-in. Maybe more plants, some throw pillows.”
Blake’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Why would I throw my pillows?”
She started to roll her eyes until she realized he was serious. “That’s just their name, Blake. You throw them on the couch, so people feel like they are welcome to sit there. Right now your living room is incredibly uninviting.”
“It was professionally designed.”
“That in no way translates to lived-in.”
“It was expensive.” He was getting defensive.
But she wasn’t backing down. “Obviously. Still not inviting.”
“I don’t like knickknacks.”
She threw her hands in the air. “For Pete’s sake! You asked me if I could fix it and I’m telling you how. Why do you have to argue with every single thing I say?”
“I don’t argue with everything you say. Just the ridiculous things.”
Why did it seem like the tables had been turned, and it was now Andy that was being wound up?
Manipulative. Even the throw pillows can’t hide that.
“Case in point. Why don’t you go about your work and I’ll just settle in with my notebook and jot down some thoughts.” She was already drifting toward the chair by the window.
As she sat, a closed door behind his desk caught her eye. It was in an odd spot to be a closet. “What’s in there?”
“What’s in where?” His gaze was shifty, his hands fidgeting.
Andy nodded to the door. “There. Behind you.”
Blake paled. “Nothing. Storage. A copy room. Closet, I mean.”
“If you say so.” Obviously he didn’t want to tell her what was really behind that door, which only piqued her interest. What could Blake Donovan be hiding? A vault? A private washroom? A sex dungeon?
She giggled to herself at that last one. Hardly likely. Knowing Blake, it was probably something lame that only rich people had—like a safe room. He was paranoid enough. That had to be exactly what it was.
With the matter settled in her mind, she let the thought go and concentrated on her job. Several minutes later, she’d decided the situation wasn’t all that bad, despite giving up her Saturday. The beginning had been rocky, but now, sitting in a patch of sunlight, taking notes on a guy who was incredibly sexy as long as his mouth was closed, it was more than tolerable. Her mind wandered to the interior design—I bet his budget for that is hefty. I’m going to all the little boutiques I’ve ever window-shopped in Cambridge. I’ll channel every HGTV show I’ve ever seen and transform this place into the envy of every woman in Boston. There’ll be an accent wall. Unusual details. All Anthro everything.
Blake’s voice nudged into her fantasy. “I’m going to have to think about the house thing for a little bit. I like modern lines. My wife should, too. Besides, they’re easier for her to clean.”
Andy crashed back to earth.
She wrote her bitter thoughts in broad strokes across her notepad so as not to say them aloud. Stupidest job ever. Worst boss ever. He was certainly unmatchable. Could she muzzle him on dates?
She took a cleansing breath and put on a grin. “Maybe we can revisit the subject when you’re beginning to feel closer to inviting a date home.” She was rather pleased with the calmness of her reply. See, I’m not as easy to wind up as you thought I’d be.
He stared at her for a moment longer than was necessary. Though it was also true that she hadn’t looked away, either. Why did Andy keep getting that nervous read from him? This dude probably didn’t know the definition of nervous. He’s just acting weird because I’m invading his personal space. He obviously doesn’t really “do” personal.
“Perhaps a drink?” Blake rushed over to the decanter and poured a splash into two crystal glasses before she even agreed.
That’s totally what it is. I’m cramping his style, and it was his idea and he doesn’t know how to deal. She beamed internally as he handed her a glass, satisfied with her conclusion.
After swallowing and refilling his own glass, Blake’s swagger was starting to creep back in. He plopped down behind his desk and promptly began to work as if Andy were invisible. She took a sip of the strong amber liquid, curled her feet under her, and began to take notes, narrowing her perceptions of him to single words.
Confident. That was a good trait. Condescending. Not so good.
Persuasive. She’d call that another good one. Manipulative. Domineering. Stubborn. Closed-off.
She sighed.
Letting her pen fall to her lap, she sat back in the chair and watched him work. For a man sitting behind a desk, he was in constant motion. He balanced a cell phone and a landline, and alternated between two computer screens and a tablet. It was pretty cool to watch him go, she had to admit. This was the tireless energy that had built his company from the ground up, into the beast it was today.
The sunlight glinted off his olive skin as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. Even in his home office on a Saturday, the man looked like an Armani commercial. He was barking into the office phone but grinning at a text that had come through. Sexy.
She almost added that to the list.
Then she reminded herself that he was not some sort of Greek god, but a jerkface that earlier talked about how his wife should clean his house.
Chauvinist, she wrote instead.
Well, that wasn’t helpful. If she wanted to frame him in an attractive light, she’d have to concentrate on his better attributes. She crossed out Chauvinist. And Manipulative. And Domineering. And all the other less-than-delightful words she’d given to him.
Then she added, Sexy.
When she looked up their eyes caught again, and he gave her the full benefits of that wicked grin. Maybe she better make that Sexy as Hell.
She definitely did not want to be as aroused as she was by that smile. Definitely not.
* * *
Blake had completely forgotten that Drea was in the room. Between the relaxation from the scotch and the normal adrenaline of a day filled with meetings and decisions and the other thousand little details he liked to personally oversee, he’d forgotten the little detail of her. Until he glanced up from a text and saw the way the sun was highlighting her auburn hair as she gazed at him. If he didn’t know for a fact that he infuriated her, that look on her face could almost have been misconstrued as desire.
Her lips slowly curved and he realized he was still grinning like a demented person. Well, so what. He was allowed to have a positive emotion, at least once a week. As long as no one else saw. The matchmaker hardly counted. Only, she did look awfully nice in his chair.
Of course, it was a great chair. The windows looked out over the pool and the manicured garden. There was a freaking gazebo in the background. The sun was perfect and summery. She had worn a nice dress-thing. Anyway, that was probably the niceness.
Not the memory of holding her pressed against him while the sounds of her sister’s guitar floated past.
That was nice in a cringe-y sort of way. Like the hung-over memories of a party that was fun until the host found you in the coatroom with his girlfriend. Actually, it was the girlfriend that had spoiled that one. All that buildup, and she was pretty blah in bed. In coat?
He digressed.
He was still grinning at Drea. This was getting uncomfortable. “Do you need anything?” That should cover it.
“Thanks, but I’m fine observing.”
And what exactly was she observing? Blake considered demanding her notebook to review but immediately decided she would fight him. Perhaps she’d use the restroom and he could peek at it then. He should refill her drink. It wasn’t even lunchtime, though, and forcing scotch on an employee, even an annoying one, even when it was really good scotch, was still bad form before noon.
She was still staring at him. Okay, perhaps she was in love with him. He had been told he was an excellent kisser.
“Blake, we have to find a way to make you look less arrogant.”
Oh. Maybe not love, then.
He straightened his collar. It was a Saturday so he’d gone sans tie, leaving the top button of his dress shirt undone. He’d given himself a good glance in the mirror before she’d arrived, and had been pleased with his appearance. “I look good, thank you.”
“No, you don’t. I mean, you literally look good.” Her eyes clouded momentarily. “Really good.” Then she shook her head. “I mean, you know, or whatever.”
Finally, he’d flustered her. Fun.
She placed a hand on her forehead, eyes closed. “It isn’t your physical presence that is the issue, Blake.” Her lids popped open, her gaze missing the fog from a moment before. “It’s your general attitude that I’m troubled by. It doesn’t matter how dumb, submissive, and bland a girl I find for you—you are scary. I think I can make you a human. Or—maybe that’s harsh?”
It was harsh.
She blew out a stream of air. “I’ll think more on it.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out an iPad mini. “Meanwhile, what’s your Internet password? I need to get online.”
He returned his focus to his computer screen and, without thinking, answered, “PinballWizard. Capital P, capital W, no spaces.”
He felt her eyes on him, heavy and questioning.
“What?” Her expression was incredulous. “PinballWizard?”
Dammit. He should have offered to enter it in for her. “Yes. It was set up by someone else. My IT guy.” That didn’t sound like fumbling, did it?
Andy kept her gaze pinned on him. “You are an IT guy. You have someone else handle your IT?”
He brought his hand up to fiddle with his tie before remembering he wasn’t wearing one. “Yes. Is that not okay with you?”
She shrugged. “Just strikes me as unusual. I guess I never thought about it.”
He really did have an IT guy. He had the know-how to set up the White House with a secure Internet system; it was a poor use of his time to set up his own. The password, though, had been his decision. No need to share that with nosy Andrea Dawson. “Is that all then?”
“I’m connected to the Internet, so yes. Thank you.”
Blake watched her for a few minutes as she scrolled through pages on her iPad. Then, with a bit of effort, he refocused on the matters at hand. Another IT company was trying to underbid him for a couple of contracts. The text he had allowed himself happiness over had involved his personal detective finding some discrepancies in the accounting of his rival. Time to deal with them.
He wrote a strongly worded email to the CEO of the other firm, and allowed himself another grin at its completion. One more problem off his plate. Then there was the small matter of an employee of his that he suspected of spying for the other company. Although Massachusetts was an at-will state, he felt certain the guy would fight a termination. Besides, anyone who committed treason against his company was not going to get unemployment under his watch. Surely they could come to some sort of solution. Blake began to review his employee files.
The office phone rang. A board member was planning to resign. Blake dropped everything for half an hour until he determined that it truly was for personal reasons, and nothing indicative of problems in the board. Emails rolled in, questions were answered, scotch was refilled as a quiet celebration when the other CEO withdrew his bids.
“Blake?”
Drea’s voice knocked him out of his work mode. He’d actually forgotten she was there again. Odd that he was so comfortable in her presence. “Yes?” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, is it lunchtime?”
She shook her head, her auburn hair catching the light in a way that was quite mesmerizing. “It’s a little early still for me. I wanted to go over some things with you, if you don’t mind. When you have a few minutes.”
He blinked, shifting his gaze from her locks to her eyes. She’d asked him something … what was it? Oh, yes. “Certainly. Now is fine.”
Her face lit up. “Great.” She stood and crossed to him, iPad in hand. “I put together some pictures of things I think we could do to warm up the house.” She set the tablet on the desk in front of him and pointed to the screen. “Here. I made a folder in Pinterest and pinned some things that could work.”
“Pinterest?” Whatever the application was, it was easy to use. He was already flipping through pictures of expensive houses such as his. The shots Drea had chosen were specific—close-ups of square couch pillows, lamps, rugs, several wall hangings.
Her voice fell over his shoulder. “Pinterest is social media for sharing pictures. Sort of a virtual corkboard. Don’t worry, it doesn’t have your name attached anywhere.”
He nodded, pleased that his new hire actually did have social media skills. Continuing to scroll through the images he noted that she also had good taste. His designer could have used these suggestions, though Blake had been adamant about what he wanted at the time. If his expert had even tried to show him these items, he would have refused to look. Perhaps he’d been a little too obstinate.
When he reached the bottom of the page, he clicked a button at the top that said ANDY D. This took him to a set of folders, two of which said BLAKE DONOVAN. The first seemed to contain the images he’d just seen. The other … He clicked on it to find several pictures of beautiful women with near-black hair and slight body frames.
He clicked on one of the more attractive girls, a gorgeous young woman with a sparkling smile and Asian features. “You want to put this in my living room? That certainly would warm the place up.”
Drea leaned closer, peering over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s the other board I want to show you.” She reached over and clicked the screen back to the full page of images. “I’m aware of your personality preferences, but I want to make sure I understand what you’re looking for physically. I found some pictures of models and actresses that I thought you might find attractive. If you could just tell me if I’m on the right track.”
Her hair swung to tickle against his cheek, and he caught her pleasant scent of perfume mixed with apple blossoms. Must be her shampoo.
He had to remind himself to move his eyes back to the tablet instead of letting them drift to the woman leaning over him.
Again, he scrolled through the images. Again, he had to admire Drea’s taste. The women she’d picked were absolutely gorgeous. “Hmm.” He meant that appreciatively. “Hmm.” Was it odd to be ogling attractive women with a beautiful woman looking over his shoulder?
Beautiful? Where had that adjective come from? Though, he had to admit, with each passing moment Andrea Dawson was more and more of a pleasure to look at.
He continued to scroll, landing on a particularly enticing model. A naked enticing model. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting that.” Even with her body contorted to hide her private parts, the image was quite erotic.
“Uh, yeah.” Drea shifted nervously next to him. “Those models. Sex sells, they say.”
Without realizing what he was doing, Blake clicked on the image, making it bigger. Then again he clicked and suddenly he was on another website.
Drea put her hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging nicely into his muscle. “Oh, don’t do that. That takes you off the Pinterest site to—” Her voice cut off as the screen filled with another image of the same naked model, this one not so modest. “Oh, my.”
Blake swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Wow.” The image changed again, apparently part of a slideshow. This time the model was wrapped around a naked man, her head thrown back in pleasure with his mouth anchored on her bare breast.
Drea gasped behind him. Blake felt that he should do something, get off the website they were on, but he was frozen in place.
The next picture came up. It featured the same man and woman now curved around each other in a position that seemed near impossible to get into. That had to be listed in the advanced version of the Kama Sutra.
“How do they—?” Drea leaned in to examine the image further.
The pressure of her body on his arm, her overwhelming scent, her auburn curls swinging against the bare skin at his collar, all while looking at what could only be called erotica—it wasn’t any surprise that Blake’s pants suddenly felt tight.
“That’s … wow.” But he wasn’t looking at the tablet anymore. He was looking at the real live in-the-flesh woman next to him.
As if sensing his gaze was on her, Drea’s eyes flicked to his. They were warm and hazy and alluring. Had he noticed that before? He couldn’t remember. And her lips—they were full and plump and rosy, close enough that he could kiss her if he just moved in …
“Uh, maybe we should get back to the photos I selected.” Drea took the iPad from his hands.
“Yes.” Blake cleared his throat, hoping that would clear his mind from whatever it was he was just thinking. Because the thoughts that had been filling his mind were of Andrea in the place of that female model, and him in the place of the male. So wrong and yet so …
No, they were simply wrong. That’s all. He needed some fresh air. Needed some space. Needed to be done with looking at near-pornographic pictures with his employee. “I mean, no. You don’t need to get back to your photos. I’ve seen enough.” He rolled his chair back and to the left, distancing himself from Andrea. And he definitely didn’t meet her eyes. “Those women fit my tastes to a T. The ones you picked. Not the other…” He waved his hand, not able to voice what the other pictures had been. “Well, you know.”
Drea seemed to need the same distance. She was already halfway back to the armchair. “Good. Then I’ll start finding some dates and setting things up.”
“Perfect.” It was perfect. Funny that he had to tell himself that. “And the home items—order whatever you wish. I added you to my business account.” He stood and walked to her again, wishing he’d remembered to give her this when she’d been near him. He stopped at a long arm’s length away. “Here’s a card. You can use this to buy items for the house or to make reservations at restaurants when necessary. Or hotels.”
Why had he said hotels? Was he trying to make this more awkward than necessary?
“Right. Hotels.” Her tone was curt as she took the card and placed it in her purse.
God, she had to think he was a complete man-whore. “Later, of course. Not yet. Anyway, good job.” Everything he said seemed to increase the uneasiness. And there was still the matter of his semi pressing in his pants. Had she noticed? It was eye level from where she sat in the chair.
Maybe complete man-whore was an accurate label.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you’d like, you may spend the rest of the day working on this from your home. You obviously have the information you need from me. No need to keep you here longer than necessary.”
“No need at all.”
He tried to read her tone—was she eager to be leaving? Or disappointed to be dismissed? He couldn’t tell. He wished he could.
But why does it matter? The question flooded his mind as he watched her gather her things. “I’ll see you to the door.”
She waved him off. “I can find my way. I may stop and look around your front room a bit more before I leave, if you don’t mind. Take some pictures for reference.”
“Go ahead.”
He stared at the empty doorway long after she’d left, her scent wrapping around him as if she were still there. Finally, he shook himself from his trance and returned to his desk.
What was it about the woman, anyway? Time and again she seemed to affect him in ridiculous ways. Maybe her perfume was one of those pheromone scents—the type meant to attract a man at a primal level. Yes, that had to be it. Tricksy woman. Simple enough to deal with. She was gone now. He would find some Lysol from his housekeeper to cover any traces of her. Next week he’d make sure to have the janitor put an automatic air freshener in the room. That ought to take care of things.
He emailed the janitor immediately with his request. But he didn’t end up asking Ellen for Lysol. He tried to tell himself it was because he was too focused on his work, but he couldn’t lie anymore—he liked the smell of Andrea Dawson. Whatever that was about, he didn’t know, and he was sure he didn’t want to dwell on the matter. For one day, though, he could live with her scent in his office. He’d even let himself enjoy it.