Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger: Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger. Jill Shalvis

our respective business schedules. And don’t,” she said quickly, raising a hand. “Don’t make some crack about poor little socialite me. If you’re thinking I had it pretty good, you’re right. I did. I never had to live on the streets, fighting for my life, and I certainly never went hungry or without clothes. But I also never had what I really wanted, which was someone to tell me they loved me.”

      Joe hadn’t thought, hadn’t wondered…all those times he and Edmund spent together, he had never thought to ask about Edmund’s daughter, or where she was. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, well aware of the inadequacy of those words.

      “Don’t be sorry for me.” She tucked a loose wave of hair behind her ear and gave him a look from beneath lowered lashes that he couldn’t quite read. “I’m just glad I still have a job.”

      He looked at the woman who had cheerfully and without complaint thrown herself wholeheartedly into a job that had been forced on her. She’d genuinely tried hard, even when out of her element. She’d given it her all.

      Damn. He pulled his thoughts up short. He’d done it again. Just one bright, open smile and he’d folded. One bat of those long lashes and he was willing to forget that he could hardly tolerate her. Purposefully, he hardened himself. “All I need you to do is answer the phones, Caitlin. Nothing else. Just the phones,” he said, leaning forward to make his point, grabbing her hand when she ignored him. He thought of how his office looked once she’d started to organize it. “Promise me.”

      Her voice filled with wounded pride, she countered, “I can do more, far more, if you’d teach me.”

      The waitress saved him from replying, and he was grateful. She tactfully set down their bill almost in the center of the table, but slightly closer to Joe.

      He picked up the slip, reaching for his wallet and scanning the balance at the same time. “Eighteen-fifty,” he muttered to himself. “With a tip that’s—”

      “Two dollars and seventy-eight cents,” Caitlin whispered politely, leaning forward discreetly. “But leave three-seventy instead.”

      “What?”

      “Twenty percent.” Caitlin was leaning close enough to daze him with that light, sexy scent she wore. “You should leave twenty percent since we got such great service.” She opened her purse and he put a hand over hers, halting her.

      “Wait a minute.” He shook his head to clear it, then gazed back into guileless eyes the color of milk chocolate. “Are you telling me you can multiply in your head like that, instantly?”

      Caitlin flashed him a self-conscious smile. “Uh…yes. I’m sorta good with numbers. Big ones.” She shrugged. “It’s a semi-useless talent.”

      “Are you kidding?”

      “Well, it does come in handy when I’m shopping in Mexico City and trying to figure out the exchange rate.”

      Again he shook his head, counting out bills.

      “Twenty-two dollars and twenty cents,” she said helpfully.

      “Amazing,” he said, dropping the cash in the tray and handing it up to the waiting server.

      Caitlin was staring solemnly at him.

      “What now? You thinking about calculating the national debt?”

      She shook her head. “I’ve never had to support myself before, Joseph. And I realize I’m spoiled. But that’s going to change.” She let out a little laugh. “It has to, actually. I don’t have any money.”

      “Maybe a loan,” he said desperately. “They have them everywhere now. All the banks…”

      “I want to work.”

      “There are other jobs, other things you could do that would suit you better.”

      “I’m not a quitter, Joe.” Determination and pure grit shimmered off her, and her voice was soft yet strong and even, completely without rancor. “I just need a little time to prove myself. And if you don’t have the inclination to give me the time I need, then I’m sure Andy and Tim and Vince will.”

      She had that right, he thought as he glanced at the three cohorts, all staring across the room directly at Caitlin, stars sparkling in their eyes.

      Caitlin scooted back from the table and rose with wounded dignity. Every male eye in the place was instantly on her. Every eye but Joe’s.

      He was lost in thoughts of her determination and grit—two of his favorite qualities. He almost liked her, he realized with some surprise.

      How many people could he say that about?

      5

      CAITLIN GOT UP the next morning and discovered two unpleasant things. One, if she wanted to eat again in the near future, she was going to have to ask Joe how often she got paid. Weekly, she hoped as she stared with dismay into her nearly empty refrigerator thinking that, given a sorry choice of expired cottage cheese or a mustard sandwich on stale bread, payday couldn’t be soon enough.

      Two, and even more important, her car was gone. Missing. Vanished from the face of the earth.

      Just the thought had her hyperventilating. Her BMW, her pride and joy, the one thing her father had given her that she knew he’d bought with her in mind… Well, he hadn’t actually paid for it outright, but up until his death, he’d given her the money for the lease and insurance.

      She’d already called the police when it occurred to her that she might have missed a few payments.

      It wasn’t her fault, really. She’d been so busy. First in Paris with a girlfriend for holiday shopping. Then in Mexico at another friend’s resort for Christmas. She’d come home in time for New Year’s Eve at the Comedy Club.

      Then her father had died, and both her so-called friends and her money had disappeared.

      Well, at least she hadn’t been kicked out of her condo yet. That was something, wasn’t it?

      * * *

      CAITLIN HAD NEVER in her life had to rely on public transportation. It was every bit the adventure she’d thought it would be and more. And so, of course, she was late.

      She dashed through the foyer, waved to Amy, leaped on the elevator and stumbled into the office at ten o’clock to face a not-so-happy-looking Joe Brownley.

      “How nice of you to grace us with your presence,” he said overly politely.

      Usually, nothing flattened her faster than disapproval, but she wasn’t in the mood. Not today. She thought about telling him so, but stopped when she realized that, given how he’d grown up, he might not be exactly sympathetic to her losing the BMW she hadn’t paid for in the first place.

      “I’m sorry I’m a little late—”

      “A little?” He let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Princess, there are going to have to be rules in this…this…”

      “Relationship?” she suggested sweetly, making him scowl even deeper.

      “Office. This is not a relationship,” he said stiffly. “It’s a job. You come in at eight like the rest of us. In the morning,” he added with emphasis.

      He wore black jeans today. And a black polo shirt, untucked as usual. It stretched tight across his broad shoulders and snugged his hard, lean chest. With his hands on his hips and that scowl on his handsome face, he looked like a modern-day pirate, capable of pillaging along with the best of them.

      She definitely should not have stayed up late reading that fantastic lusty historical romance. The pirate hero had tossed the heroine over his shoulder and stalked with her into his private cabin, where he’d tossed the passionate but virginal redhead on his berth and—“What is that?” her pirate demanded, pointing to her outfit.