Married to His Business / Six-Month Mistress: Married to His Business. Elizabeth Bevarly

the way I do, then maybe you wouldn’t have lost her in the first place.”

      Kendall started to smile at that, then stopped. Something about the way Stephen had said it made it sound kind of unprofessional. Just what had he meant by possibilities? That was kind of a strange word to use. Why not abilities? Or talents? Or expertise? Possibilities made it sound as though he considered her a blank slate or unformed mass that he could turn into whatever he wanted.

      “I assure you, DeGallo,” Matthias replied, “that Kendall was one of my most prized possessions at Barton Limited. I hope you realize what an asset she’ll be to OmniTech.”

      All right, Kendall thought. That did it. Forget about blank slates and unformed masses. Matthias had just made her sound like a new computer system. Possession? Asset? Just who did he think he was?

      “Prized possession?” she echoed indignantly.

      Matthias looked down at her and must have realized immediately from both her voice and her expression—and, most likely, the quick drop in temperature among the small group—what a colossal gaffe he’d just made. “Uh…” he began eloquently.

      “If that’s the case,” she continued while he was still off balance, “then you better go over my operating instructions while you’re here. I wouldn’t want Stephen to think he acquired a defective machine.”

      The look Matthias gave her then was almost convincingly distressed. Almost. “Kendall, that’s not—”

      This time his words were cut off by Stephen’s light, good-natured laughter. “Sounds to me like she works just fine,” he said. “In fact, this particular model is promising to work better than I initially hoped.”

      Matthias’s lips thinned at that. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work, all right,” he muttered.

      She smiled sweetly. “And now I’m working for someone else.”

      Matthias opened his mouth to respond, but this time was prevented by the arrival of their server, who placed tall sweaty glasses of mineral water in front of Kendall and Stephen. Then the waiter looked at Matthias and asked, “Will you be joining this party?”

      Even Matthias, Kendall thought, wouldn’t be crass enough to crash her meeting with Stephen. And he didn’t. Instead, he told their server that no, he was on his own and didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s dinner, so would just take a seat at a table by himself. Then, even though there were at least a dozen empty tables in the restaurant, he pulled out a chair from the table immediately beside Kendall’s and Stephen’s, and seated himself without a care.

      Unbelievable, Kendall thought. Evidently, Matthias was that crass, after all. If not in blatantly joining them, then certainly in doing his best to destroy any chance the two of them might have for speaking freely about her new obligations as vice president. There was no way Stephen would discuss the policies of his company in the presence of one of his competitors, even superficially. He confirmed that by shrugging philosophically when Kendall looked at him—not that she needed any confirmation.

      So instead of talking about her new job over the course of dinner, Kendall and Stephen instead discussed superficialities like the weather, books, current events and a favorite TV show they had in common…with Matthias throwing in his own commentaries here and there, completely uninvited.

      It was going to be a long orientation.

      Four

      The temp Matthias ordered from a Tahoe City agency—once he found the phone book after thirty minutes of looking for it—arrived promptly at eight o’clock the morning after his arrival. Unfortunately, he’d done something wrong when he tried to set his alarm clock the night before—no, the alarm clock was defective, that was the problem—because it was the ringing of the front doorbell that alerted him to the arrival of his early-morning appointment. Not Kendall, who would have normally alerted Matthias to that. Kendall, too, would have been infinitely less intrusive about her reminder than the doorbell was.

      Damn, he thought as he looked groggily at the clock and realized it had stopped working completely. He lifted his watch from the nightstand and grimaced when he saw the time. He never slept this late. And he’d never been unprepared for an appointment. Shoving off the covers, he jackknifed into a sitting position and scrubbed both hands briskly over his face to rouse himself. He grabbed a plain white T-shirt from the bag he hadn’t even begun to unpack, shook it out quickly and thrust it over his head as he descended the stairs. And he thought dryly how lucky he was that it matched his sweatpants so well, otherwise he might have to be embarrassed about his attire. It was only as he was reaching for the doorknob that he realized he’d forgotten to put on shoes, so would be greeting his temporary employee barefoot. Somehow, though, he couldn’t quite rouse the wherewithal to care.

      The young man on the other side of the door looked surprised by Matthias’s sudden appearance—and, doubtless, by his slovenly appearance—but quickly schooled his features into indifference. He obviously hadn’t overslept, because he was well-groomed and dressed impeccably in a pale gray suit and white dress shirt, his necktie the only spot of color on his person—if you could consider pale yellow a color. He was young, early twenties at most, his blond hair cut short, his gray eyes nearly the same color as his suit. He looked to Matthias like something from a middle school poster advertising Junior Achievement.

      “Mr. Barton?” he said.

      Matthias ran a quick hand through his dark hair to tame it as best he could. “Yeah, that’s me,” he replied. Quickly, he amended, “I mean, yes. I’m Matthias Barton.”

      “William Denton,” he said, extending his hand. “From DayTimers. I’m your new temp.”

      “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Matthias said, holding up a hand. “I haven’t hired you yet.”

      This was clearly news to young William. “But they said you need an assistant for the month you’ll be spending here in Hunter’s Landing,” he said.

      “I do need an assistant for the month,” Matthias told him. “But I’m not going to take any Tom, Dick or William they send my way. I need to make sure you have all the qualifications I need for an assistant.”

      Young William smiled confidently. “No worries there, Mr. Barton. Temping is just my summer job. I earned my BS from the Haas School of Business at UC Berkeley in May, and I’ll be returning in the fall to start work on my MBA. I’m more than qualified to take on this position.”

      Matthias’s back went up at the kid’s presumption. “Are you?” he asked coolly.

      William Denton’s confidence seemed to waver a bit. Nevertheless, he replied, “Yes. I am.” As an afterthought, he added, “Sir.”

      Matthias nodded, settling his hands on his hips in challenge. They’d just see about that. Without even inviting William Denton into the lodge, he barked, “What are the major managerial and organizational challenges posed by electronic commerce?”

      William Denton blinked as if a too-bright flash had gone off right in front of his eyes. “I…what?”

      Matthias shook his head, sighed with much gusto, and asked, “All right, if that one’s too tough, then how about this. True or false. In the simple Ricardian model, trade between similar economies is unlikely to generate large gains from that trade.”

      William Denton’s lips parted in response to that one, but no words emerged to answer the question. Until, finally, he said, “I…what?”

      Man, Matthias thought, this guy was never going to amount to anything if he couldn’t answer the most obvious question in the world. “All right, here’s an easy one,” he said. “Multiple choice. The current ratio and quick ratio are the best indicators of a company’s what? A. liquidity, B. efficiency, C. profitability or D. growth rate.”

      William Denton’s mouth began to work over that one—kind of—but his brain didn’t seem to be cooperating.

      Matthias