Beguiling the Boss(4)

"I'll up your salary by half if you'll take over the cooking in the main kitchen downstairs."

Jen extended her hand to him. "You've got yourself a cook." Her palm  tingled at the touch of his rough, callused skin against hers. It wasn't  the first time-she had felt the same sensation when they had shaken  hands before, only then she had put it down to nervousness over the  interview. Then there was that funny twist in her midsection a short  time ago.

She didn't know what it all was exactly, but she didn't like it.

Fortunately, the contact lasted only a moment. He released her hand and moved to the door, pausing again to glance back at her.

"You don't have to start your administrative duties tomorrow, as you  offered. Take the next three days to get set up in here. I'll be in my  office. If you need anything-" he nodded at the slim phone on the  countertop "-just hit number one. Any questions?"

"Yes," Jen said. "Since I assume there is no food here, where is the nearest grocery store?"

He frowned.

Jen had the distinct impression he frowned a lot.

"I thought you were going to cook in the kitchen downstairs."

Men. Squashing an urge to roll her eyes, Jen made do with a silent  sigh. "I will need a few things in here, as well. You know, coffee,  milk, other staples." Straight-faced, she admitted, "I'm a night  snacker."

A shade of a smile crossed his lips. Jen had another distinct  impression: that he didn't smile all that often. Shame. It was quite an  attractive smile.

"Look, leave the grocery shopping until tomorrow. There is stuff in the  downstairs kitchen-in the pantry, fridge and freezer. If you'll come  along now, you can take things for tonight and make a shopping list for  tomorrow."                       
       
           



       

"Okay." Jen followed him from the room. Getting to the kitchen was  simple. They walked to the end of the hallway to a large landing, where a  broad open staircase curved down to an equally broad foyer at the front  of the house.

At the bottom of the stairs, Marsh turned left and strode along another  hallway that led to the kitchen at the back of the house. By Jen's  calculations, her new living quarters were directly above the kitchen  and formal dining room. From the dining room's sliding glass doors, she  caught a glimpse of a large patio and a swimming pool.

Gorgeous property, nicer than the too-formal look of her parents' home,  she was thinking. What will it feel like to live in a place like this  as the hired help?

"Okay, the kitchen's all yours," Marsh said. "I've got work to do."

"Wait," Jen said.

He frowned again but this time, impatience flashed across his features, making them look severe. Slowly, he raised one eyebrow.

If he meant to intimidate, he succeeded.

But Jen was not about to let him know it. "Jot down a few of your food  preferences," she said, fully aware that her request sounded like an  order. "Meanwhile, I'll start a list of the things we'll need." She  raised an eyebrow right back at him. "Okay?"

He sighed, gave her a terse nod and left the room.

When he was gone, Jen exhaled. Working for Marshall Grainger was going  to be a challenge, in a number of ways, not the least of which was  remaining professional and not losing her temper right along with him.

Finding a notebook and pencils in a drawer, she began opening cabinets.  None of them contained foodstuffs; a few were completely empty. Then  she discovered the double pantry next to the fridge. Now she was getting  somewhere. There were plenty of dried foods: flour, sugar, cereals and  canned goods, except for soup. There were only two cans in an otherwise  empty area.

She stared at the shelf for a moment, wondering whether her new  employer didn't like soup, or loved it so much it was a regular for him.

Recalling his words, she shook her head. He had admitted to being a  lousy cook. Conclusion? The man had been practically living on soup.  After checking out the fridge, she added sandwiches to the list of  things he'd been living on. Other than two slices of cheese wrapped in  plastic, a nearly empty carton of eggs, a small package of bacon, a  half-empty carton of milk and a couple of slices of bread, along with  some beer and soda, the fridge was empty.

Jen opened the freezer door on the side-by-side. Now, this looked  better. The freezer was packed and everything was dated. Maybe there was  hope for Marsh Grainger after all, she thought with a smile.

Her shopping list completed, she sent a slow look around the room. The  countertop looked spotless, as if very recently cleaned. Hmm, she mused.  Had her boss given it a quick cleaning before she arrived?

Had he done that for her benefit?

Giving herself a mental get-with-it shake, she glanced at the clock.

It was eight minutes after three. Jen figured she had time enough to  clean the kitchen. But first, dinner. She rummaged around in the freezer  and grabbed a package of ground turkey and a bag of mixed veggies with  an herb sauce. Within minutes she had a turkey stew cooking in the slow  cooker on the counter.

Turkey stew would have to do. Smiling at her silly rhyme, she pulled  out some cleaning supplies, slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and got  down to the business at hand.

A couple hours later, her skin moist with perspiration from her  efforts, Jen stood in the kitchen doorway admiring the results. The room  was spotless. A sense of satisfaction brought a small smile to her  lips-Ida would be proud.

After touching the floor tiles to see if they were dry, Jen walked to the phone and hit the 1 button.

"What is it, Ms. Dunning?"

Jen didn't miss the exasperated note in Marshall's voice. Keeping her  own voice carefree and chipper, she said, "Dinner is ready whenever you  are." She paused, then deliberately added, "sir."

"Thank you. But don't call me that."

His tone had lightened a bit. Jen smirked. "You're welcome."

"I'll be there in a little while."

"Take your time, it will keep. I'm going up to my place now."

"What about you?"

She couldn't quite read his meaning. Was he worried she wanted to dine  with him? Or did he want her to? "I've eaten, thank you. What time would  you like breakfast?"

"Is six-thirty okay with you?"

Good grief, was he actually asking her instead of telling her? "Yes,"  she briskly answered, "six-thirty will be fine." She waited a heartbeat  before saying, "Good night, sir."                       
       
           



       

Without giving him a chance to respond, Jen hit the off button, leaving the room with a jaunty step.





     Two

Jen sat in a comfortable chair, sipping hot coffee while gazing around  the living room in her new quarters. Though not very large, the room was  cozy and would be even better with a bit of decorating.

She'd get at the cleaning tomorrow. Since she had the next three days  off, she could take her time, she thought. But as she tried to make a  mental list of everything she wanted to do, her mind kept drifting...to  her new employer.

What was his deal, anyway? She mused, hearing an echo of his hard voice, seeing again the sharpness of his steel-gray eyes.

Tough man, Marshall Grainger. Though she had never seen him in person  before, Jen had seen him in the paper and had heard about him. And there  was plenty to hear-good and bad, but never indifferent.

He had married young, and divorced soon after-a sticky affair from what  Jen had heard. She gathered that the young woman, a genuine beauty, had  expected Marsh to introduce her into the highest social circles in  Texas. But apparently Mr. Marshall Grainger wasn't into the social  scene, and never had been. So, goodbye wife-and goodbye to a large slice  from his money pie.

But, rumor had it, his mother had done the same deal to his father, and  Marsh was one bitter man. He disdained women, while not above using  them for his own convenience.

Luckily for her she was only here to work. She had no interest in Marsh  Grainger, and she intended to keep it that way. So what if he was as  handsome as the day was long? Jen had never had a problem keeping her  cool around good-looking men-she wasn't about to start now.

She rose from the comfy chair and walked to the kitchen to rinse her  cup. It was time to put clean sheets on the bed, have a shower and hit  the sack. Breakfast for my steely-eyed boss at six-thirty, she reminded  herself.

* * *

Jen had a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast and fresh  coffee ready when Marsh strode into the kitchen at precisely six-thirty  the next morning. Unlike most CEOs going to work, he was dressed in  faded jeans, a chambray shirt and well-worn running shoes.

He looked terrific.