Hidden Agenda. Kara LennoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
be able to handle more things without bothering Conner. But whether he liked it or not, she would need his help getting settled in.
That thought worried her a bit. The less interaction she had with Conner Blake, the better. Just because he hadn’t recognized her or her name yesterday didn’t mean he wouldn’t today.
“What the hell?”
Or right now. Jillian’s heart swooped as she looked up to find Conner glaring down his aristocratic nose at her.
“Good morning, Mr. Blake.” She refrained from pointing out that it was now almost nine o’clock, when he said he’d be here by seven.
“What happened to all the stuff that was here?” he demanded.
“Sorted. Filed.”
“I had a system going here. You shouldn’t have touched this stuff until you knew what it was and what I wanted done with it.”
“I can find anything you need.”
“I need a letter from Gustav Komoroski regarding a parcel of 520 hectares in northern Poland.”
He was testing her. She rolled her desk chair to the filing cabinet, opened the drawer and was riffling the folders. She plucked out the single sheet of stationery, rolled back to her desk and handed it to him.
He returned it to her with only a cursory glance. “Call him. Ask him to resend the aerial photos to my email, which is—”
“I know your email address.” She’d figured that much out. Did he think she was mentally deficient?
“Also explain to him that he’ll no longer be working with Greg Tynes, who’s left the company. I’ll be his contact until we hire a new overseas timber buyer.”
Left the company. That was an interesting way to put it.
Jillian picked up her cobalt-blue Montblanc fountain pen—a birthday gift from Daniel two years ago. As his assistant, she’d always received nice birthday gifts from him. She would miss that.
“Before you do that, though, get me some coffee,” Conner said. “Strong as you can make it, two sugars, no cream.” With that he turned on his heel, offering Jillian a sigh-worthy view of his hindquarters in a well-tailored pair of khaki pants.
For a few moments she simply stared as unwelcome memories flooded her mind. Conner had been a fixture at her family home for as long as Jillian could remember. He and her older brother, Jeff, had met at summer camp in sixth grade, then attended the same private school from seventh grade through high school. They’d become as close as brothers, their parents had socialized, and Conner had been constantly underfoot.
Jillian had considered him a major annoyance—always raiding their fridge, making noise when she wanted to read, executing killer cannonballs in the pool while she swam laps.
But in eighth grade, her hormones had kicked in, and suddenly her brother’s best friend had become infinitely interesting.
By then he’d started to look more man than boy. He was driving, his voice had changed, and the donkey laugh that had so infuriated her had mellowed into a pleasing sound that tickled her nerve endings.
All Conner had to do was walk into a room, and she would turn into a puddle of quivering insecurity. She’d seen the girlfriends he sometimes dragged around with him—long-legged cheerleaders with cleavage and sleek hair and lots of mascara—and seethed with envy.
She’d lived for the day she would outgrow her awkward adolescence. She favored her Danish mother—everyone said so—and Mona Baxter was beautiful. Jillian just knew that someday, when her teeth were straight and she grew boobs and lost her baby fat, Conner would finally notice her.
By the time she entered high school, Conner had stopped teasing her and ignored her altogether. It had broken her heart when he walked past her in the hall, looking through her as if she were invisible—he was way too cool to talk to a freshman. But she hadn’t given up hope. She’d planned their wedding, mentally decorated their future home and named their future children.
Then came that wonderful day. The day he saw her. Looked her up and down, in fact. Smiled that devilish smile of his and said, “Jillybean, I need an assistant for my science fair project. Interested?”
It embarrassed her even now to recall how pathetically grateful she’d been for his attention, how she’d fallen all over herself accepting his proposition and had decided that his use of her hated nickname was actually a term of endearment. Of course, far worse humiliation was soon to come.
Little did she know he’d been sizing her up not in terms of her womanly assets, but because of her overall size and shape—which was, to put it bluntly, short and fat. He’d required a female of certain dimensions for his science fair demonstration, and none of his long-legged bimbo girlfriends had fit the bill.
Jillian shook herself, realizing she’d been staring after empty space for some unknown number of seconds after Conner had disappeared. She absolutely could not afford to lose herself in the past, to dwell on long-ago injustices.
She had a few present-day injustices to dwell on. Like the fact Conner hadn’t even apologized for making her come in at seven when it was totally unnecessary. And scolding her like a child for doing what any well-trained assistant should do—get things organized.
Then there was the business of ordering her to bring him coffee. She used to bring Daniel coffee all the time, but it wasn’t something he expected or demanded. He’d taken her on as his assistant to make his life easier, and it was her choice to perform the more personal tasks that a lot of admins would balk at.
Then again, she’d viewed her role with Daniel as far more personal than she should have. That was one mistake she wouldn’t make again.
If she brought Conner coffee, she would be setting a precedent and earning the disapproval of secretaries everywhere. But if she drew a line in the sand now, he might fire her. She had to keep her eye on the goal: maintain her job at Mayall Lumber. Find out who killed Greg Tynes. Exonerate Stan Mayall of any wrongdoing.
So she’d bring Conner his damn coffee, and she’d do it with a smile. The bastard.
A few minutes later, she tapped on his door, a steaming mug in hand.
“Come in.”
She was about to open the door when a tall woman in a tight, stark white dress came striding down the hall. She had an elegant face with a model’s bored expression. Her tumble of jet-black hair reached nearly to her waist, and her breasts were one deep breath away from popping out of the low neckline.
Platform white suede boots completed the outfit.
Good Lord. She was beautiful—if you liked silicone, Botox and hair extensions.
The woman tried to brush right past Jillian and into Conner’s office, but Jillian turned and blocked her path. “Can I help you?”
“Who are you?” the woman asked, frowning.
“I’m Jillian, Mr. Blake’s assistant.”
“Oh. Good luck with that. The first thing you should know is, he’s always in for me. I’m Chandra Mayall.” She waited a beat for Jillian to recognize the name. “The CEO’s granddaughter?” Taking advantage of Jillian’s surprise, Chandra took the cup of coffee from her. “I’ll deliver this to him. Run along, now.”
* * *
“CHANDRA. TO WHAT DO I owe the pleasure?” Inside, Conner cringed. His ex-wife showing up in person was never good news.
She handed him a mug of hot coffee. “Just the way you like it.”
He took a sip. It was hot, strong and sweet. “You didn’t pour this for me.” Which meant his new admin had done it. Too bad her job required a bit more than an ability to pour coffee.
Chandra shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Your new girl was about