Trading Places

“There’s a rule at my agency, which I intend to honor.”

“Rules are often made to be broken.” By Sharlayne, not by Alice, who always followed the rules. Maybe it was time to change that.

“Not this one. It goes, Thou shalt not get involved with thy client. You’re my client. That’s it. You can’t be my friend or my…anything of a personal nature. It’s not that I want to seem unfriendly, but…” He was stumbling around, not nearly as decisive as he’d been earlier.

“That’s ridiculous.” Alice laughed lightly. “We can’t live across the hall from each other day after day and not be…something.” She put all kinds of subtext in that last word.

He was squirming, really uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “Yeah,” he insisted doggedly, “we can. We will. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I won’t.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that, and with Sharlayne’s familiar petulance. She softened her refusal with a smile. “We’re both hungry. Stay and have a snack with me.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Look, here’s the chicken we had for dinner tonight. Have a sandwich.”

“I don’t think that’s a good—”

“Jed,” she teased, “you’re supposed to be guarding me. You can’t spend the next month running out of the room every time I walk into it. Am I that scary?”

His face was stone. “You think you scare me?”

She shrugged, the negligee sliding artfully off one shoulder. “Something’s scaring you. I’m the only other person in the room.”

“Give me that chicken.” He took it from her hands. “You’ve totally misunderstood my position—deliberately, maybe. Whatever. If you want to run around half-naked, that’s your business. I’m just here to do a job.”

“I see.” She looked around, located a bread box and pulled out a home baked loaf. “You really are a prude, Jed. I’m covered. Hey, in the old days Greta Garbo used to wander through her garden totally nude.”

He paused, a carving knife poised over the chicken. “Great who?”

She laughed incredulously. “Not a big movie fan, I see.”

“Only of gratuitous violence and car chases.” He sliced easily and precisely through the tender chicken. “Like some of this?”

“I shouldn’t.” But she did. Suddenly, the thought of yogurt was not very appealing.

“Suit yourself.”

How annoying. He could at least try to convince her. She slammed the refrigerator closed. “I find my appetite’s suddenly gone,” she announced. “I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow, Jed.”

He mumbled something around the sandwich.

“We work out at nine.”

“Work out?”

“Shar—I’ve got a minigym and I expect you to work out with me. Whatever else happens, I don’t want it said that anyone in my employ went to pot while doing it.”

Like there was a chance of him doing that. With a last, lingering look at his beautifully muscled chest, she headed back upstairs, wondering who had gotten the best of that exchange.

JED CHEWED methodically on a chunk of chicken and watched the bewitching Ms. Kenyon sweep through the doorway in her sexy nightwear. Talk about a handful! Any man who’d get mixed up with her would have to have a death wish.

Regardless of that, she apparently found plenty of takers. Frowning, he slapped more chicken on a thick piece of bread, slathered on the mustard, topped that with cheese and another slice of bread and sat down on a stool to eat it.

She was both the same as and different from what he’d expected.

He’d expected beautiful and she was, but he’d never expected her to look so young. Even allowing for retouched photographs, she still appeared at least ten years younger in person. Maybe she’d had a face-lift, he thought; maybe she’d found the fountain of youth.

He’d expected her to be charming and she was that, too, but he hadn’t expected the vulnerability he sensed beneath the surface. One minute she seemed supremely confident and the next almost…bewildered by the situation in which she found herself.

He’d expected her to be flirtatious, but not with him. He was the hired help, after all. Didn’t she realize that if he was distracted by her attractions, he wouldn’t be able to keep his mind on business? Maybe she was the kind of woman who had to flirt with every man she met.

Which wasn’t the kind of woman who’d interest him under any circumstances.

Famished, he finished the second sandwich in a few bites. Rabbit food didn’t do it for him. He could starve on what he’d had for dinner.

On her, however, it looked good. She was both slender and curvy, strong and supple and sexy—real sexy. Obviously, she worked at it, and she expected him to work, too.

Okay, he would. He’d jog with her, swim with her, play tennis with her, eat crummy little meals with her, fetch and carry and do whatever she wanted him to do with her…except embark on any kind of personal relationship. Samantha Spade was watching. He didn’t intend to screw up this assignment.

Let Ms. Kenyon give him her best shot. He was ready.

Or would be, as soon as he took a cold shower.

ALICE QUICKLY REALIZED that this was a wonderful life indeed.

Every morning for the next several days, a maid delivered coffee and orange juice and whole wheat toast on a tray. At nine she met Jed at the gym for a hard, fast workout, the same one she’d devised for Sharlayne. Lunch on the terrace usually included Tabitha, unfortunately, but was otherwise enjoyable. In the afternoon, Alice swam, and when she swam Jed swam. He looked even better in a swimsuit than he did in the gym in shorts and T-shirt.

Intermixed with this in coming weeks would be appointments. But instead of her going out, everyone would come to her: masseuse, hairdresser, nail technician—name it and someone would be there in a flash to polish or paint.

This was easy! She could do this.

Sharlayne, Alice decided, was little more than a canvas upon which professionals worked their magic. The basic canvas was good, but what those magicians achieved was true art.

This existence was pure luxury, but nearing the end of the first week, Alice was already wondering if life in a gilded case was life at all.

Rolling over on a canvas lounge next to the pool, she opened one eye. Jed sat on a nearby chair, writing on a clipboard balanced on one bare golden thigh. In repose, his face reminded her of a statue of a Greek god. In repose was the only way she’d seen it since their kitchen encounter.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Without looking up, he said, “Working on the specifications for a new security system.”

“Oh.” Bor-ring. “Would you mind rubbing a little more sunscreen on my shoulders? I feel like I’m burning.”

He didn’t move. “You could get out of the sun.”

“Too much trouble.” She wiggled deeper into her lounge. “Please? Pretty please with sugar on it?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”