The Millionaire And The Glass Slipper

“Martinotti’s,” Eric called, and disappeared into the supply room.

Glancing behind her to make sure she wouldn’t back into anyone else, Amy kept going. “Write down what you want and I’ll order it,” she told the women. “Right now I need to make a call.”

She got a thumbs-up from Savannah, a quick “Thanks” from Amber and hurried into the break room to deposit mug and glass in the sink. Reminding herself to wash them later, she headed to the front desk and punched out the number for Elmwood House, the facility her grandma lived in, before anyone else could delay her.

Kay Colman, the facility’s director, immediately came on the line. Just as she did, the main office door opened.

Jared Taylor walked in, six feet, two inches of long, lean masculinity in a charcoal turtleneck and a tailored black leather jacket. His quicksilver eyes flicked from his watch to the clock on the wall. With the command of a man with an agenda to keep, he kept coming, his focus shifting to where she sat at the reception desk with the phone to her ear.

Her glance had stalled on his broad chest. Realizing that, she jerked her focus to his face to acknowledge him and turned her attention back to her call. Now was not a good time to think about how he’d held her there, next to all that hard, solid muscle.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured into the phone, “would you hold for just a moment please.”

Suddenly aware of her heartbeat, she put the director on hold. She just wasn’t sure if her pulse felt uneven because of the hesitation and concern she’d just heard in the director’s voice, or because of the easy way Jared smiled at her as he walked up to her desk.

“How’s the weather?”

“The weather?”

“The black cloud that was following you around. You said bad days get better,” he reminded her, sounding as if he might have doubted her optimism somehow. “I just wondered if yours did.”

A faint smile formed. “I think you witnessed the worst of it.”

Torn between her need to get back to the woman waiting on the phone and wanting to know if he was feeling better about the venture that had brought him there, she glanced back to the telephone console. The line she’d just put on hold was blinking. Candace’s line was lit.

“You’re busy.” Sounding as if he might have had something else to say, he nodded toward the hall. “Is she in?”

“She’s on the phone.” He didn’t look any more enthused, she decided. If anything, he just looked tired. “If you want to have a seat, I’m sure she won’t be long.”

The overhead lights caught the gray silvering the dark hair at his temples as he gave her a preoccupied nod. Preoccupied herself, she pulled her attention from his broad shoulders when he turned and reconnected herself with Kay.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice hushed. “You said earlier that my grandmother is okay.” Her voice dropped another notch. “If she is, then what’s the matter?”

From the corner of one eye, J.T. saw Amy slowly rise from her chair at the curved Lucite desk. He didn’t know if she was trying to keep him from overhearing what she said, or if what she’d just heard had just caught her off guard. Either way, there was no mistaking the disbelief entering the quiet tones of her voice.

“Close? The whole facility?” She paused, listened. “But you said drastic changes aren’t good for her.”

For a long moment she said nothing else as whoever was on the other end of the line etched concern deeper into the delicate lines of her face.

She had her back to the reception area. Her hand covered her face as she rubbed two fingers against her forehead. Even turned away from anyone who might have walked through, there was no mistaking the unease she couldn’t quite mask. That disquiet was in the hushed tones of her voice when she spoke again, and in the furrows of her brow when she turned to write on a notepad.

It was feeling his own brow pinch that made J.T. aware of how blatantly he was eavesdropping on her conversation. He’d caught enough of Amy’s side of it to realize something was going on with the grandmother she was working to support. Edna, he remembered, was the woman’s name. She’d mentioned that while she was trying not to panic in the elevator.

There wasn’t much he didn’t remember about her. More, specifically, about their conversation. He just didn’t want to think about how accurate her insight had been about the new company he might—or might not—start. Or about how he was now feeling the definite need to get on his sloop and disappear for a few days, thanks to how she’d so perfectly described the freedom he felt when it was just him and the water. He would overlook the fact that he’d found no peace in the solitude of the island the last few times he’d been there, and that the challenge of fighting the wind had…lacked. Those were aberrations, he was sure. As it was, he had no spare time to indulge himself. Not for at least a month. With as much as he had to do between now and then, that month felt as if it was a year away.

Telling himself that what he’d overheard was none of his business, he turned his attention to the Blackberry he’d pulled from his pocket and started to check his messages. He’d spent the past eight days in Seattle in conferences with Gray, avoiding Harry and shuffling personnel in his department to make sure the schedule for the warehouse expansions there and in Jansen, Washington, would be met. It was a point of pride with him to come in on time with every project he undertook. The more challenging the project, the better.

High-stakes anything had always attracted him. It didn’t matter if it was sports, cards or real estate. He worked as hard as he played, and much to the bafflement of his infinitely more cerebral father, he freely admitted being drawn to just about anything legal that involved a risk. His reputation for being a player worked well for him in business. Anyone who knew him, knew him as the master of the deal, the man who never flinched. They also knew that where his professional obligations were concerned, he was ruthless in seeing they were met. As for personal obligations, he simply didn’t allow them. He’d felt let down too many times himself to want to disappoint anyone counting on him to be there for them.

With the Seattle project on track, his main focus now was the HuntCom campus outside New Delhi. The expansion there was scheduled for completion next year. Not that falling behind schedule might even matter. With his future hanging on him and his brothers finding brides, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t see that or any other HuntCom project to completion.

Which was all the more reason he should have called Candace for dinner, he mentally muttered. He just hadn’t had the time to come back to Portland until now.

“There’s nothing you can do to get the funds?”

His focus sharpened on the distress in Amy’s furtive tones as she asked how much the person on the other end of her line was talking about. He just couldn’t hear what else she said in the moments before he realized he was eavesdropping again.

Giving up on his messages, he saw her nod as she murmured something into the phone. Her short hair feathered around her face. From what he could see of her profile, her dark eyes looked huge and worried. But it was the strain in her voice that truly betrayed her concern. She seemed more worried now than she had stuck ten floors up in an elevator.

Or so he was thinking when he heard her tell her caller that there had to be something they could do, that she would get back to her when she thought of it, then punched a button on the console to say, “Mr. Taylor is here. Would you like me to bring him back?”

With a quiet, “Okay,” she hung up the phone and took a deep breath. As if totally accustomed to burying her concerns in the time it took most people to blink, she turned a calm smile in his direction.

“Candace will be right out.”

He couldn’t help wonder how often she was required to make that sort of emotional transition. Suspecting from its ease that she’d had considerable practice, he hitched at the knees of his slacks.

“No hurry,” he said, when he usually hated waiting.

He’d never been a man to sit and speculate when an answer was available. He wanted to know what was going on with her; what it was putting the strain in her pretty smile. Figuring the time they’d spent stumbling upon bits of each other’s respective baggage in the elevator allowed him a little license, he was about to ask.

He’d barely approached her desk when Candace emerged in the hallway.

“Jared, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. It’s good to see you again.”

His intent interrupted, he offered Amy a distracted smile of his own and moved toward her stepsister. The ad exec in the black designer suit moved with the long, leggy grace of a model. She had everything going for her. Beauty. Hair. Dazzling smile. Being male, he couldn’t help but notice it all. Still vaguely preoccupied with her younger stepsister behind him at the desk, that was as far as his thoughts strayed.

“You, too,” he replied, mentally shuffling priorities back to his plan. “You have my preview ready?”

“We have some ideas we’d like to share with you,” she confirmed. “You understand this is all preliminary.”

“Understood.”

“Amy?” Candace arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Will you have the team meet us in the conference room in five minutes, please?”

What J.T. figured would take ten minutes took twenty. The concept and design team presented him with options for logos, all of which were projected on a screen accompanied by an impressive power-point presentation of how each had been designed to make a different statement about him and his own designs. He was offered catch phrases, all incorporating variations of the buzzwords he’d liked when Candace had asked him if he had a mission statement.

He was asked if he would supply photos of buildings he’d designed and executed. Their Web master wanted to catalog them on the Web site he’d mocked up. The art director felt that taking a particularly unusual or impressive element from one of his structures would make a nice background for print copy.

There was more. All of it well done, considering how little he’d given them to work with, a point that was raised ever so tactfully by the quick, decidedly enthusiastic Candace. The woman was clearly a motivating force with her team. The collective effort of that team for the success of the client seemed to be what counted to her. It was also what impressed him most about her right then. He just found himself too distracted through much of the presentation to feel more than polite interest in the offerings. First by the way she dangled one high-heeled shoe from her toes. But mostly by the curiosity and the odd concern he felt for the young woman who was again on the phone when Candace finally escorted him back to the reception area.

On the desk in front of her, Amy had the Yellow Pages open to Realtors. From what he could hear her saying about needing to “get it on the market as soon as possible,” it seemed she was arranging to sell a house.

Candace was talking, too. With his attention divided, he nearly missed the blonde’s question about how long he would be in town.

“I know you have to return to the project you’re working on in Singapore,” she said, trying to catch his eye. “But I can have my assistant make the contract changes we discussed and have the amendment ready for you to sign first thing in the morning. If you’ll still be here,” she added, hinting.

Singapore. She had pressed, politely, to know where he was now working. Since he’d had to come up with a place, he’d mentioned the location everyone at HuntCom thought would be the next logical place to develop a presence. He’d been to that thriving city and he would, hopefully, start checking out potential real estate soon. So he’d let her and the team think he was working on a complex there for a client who didn’t wish to be identified until the project was complete.