Flirting With the Boss. Teresa SouthwickЧитать онлайн книгу.
compel her to tell him that. “I can’t believe he would do this.” The phone buzzed, and she picked it up. When she was told the doctor was on line two, she pressed the button and said, “Doctor Davis? Ashley Gallagher here.”
“How can I help you, Miss Gallagher?”
“It’s about Mr. Caine.” She looked up at the other Mr. Caine staring intently at her and tried to ignore the jittery feeling his gaze generated inside her.
“Yes?”
“I’ve just been told he’s no longer in the hospital.”
“That’s right. He walked out.”
“But how could you let him do that?”
“I can’t force a patient to stay. I can only make sure he understands the seriousness of his condition. Are you calling from work?”
“Yes.”
“So he’s not there?”
Her eyes widened. “I haven’t seen him, but that doesn’t mean—”
“If he is, I advise you to make him go home.”
“And what makes you think I would have more luck with him than you did?”
The chuckle on the other end of the line was tinged with dark humor. “Good point. I wish you luck anyway. He’s a stubborn old man. But I like him.”
“Me, too,” she said.
“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Can I call on you if I need some muscle?” She looked at the muscular man whose gaze had been superglued to her this whole time. But Max had disappeared from Bentley Caine’s life ten years ago. There was no reason to believe she could count on him for help now.
The doctor laughed, this time in genuine amusement. “I’ll do whatever I can, Miss Gallagher.”
“Thank you,” she said, then hung up the phone. Looking up at Max she said, “You’re right. He’s AWOL. Have you checked the house?” she asked.
“Right after the hospital. No sign of him,” he said, sliding his big hands into the pockets of his suit slacks.
Expensive slacks unless she missed her guess. The supremely masculine movement upset the sleek, perfect line of the costly matching jacket. His beige dress shirt and coordinating geometric-patterned tie were immaculate, unlike the memories he’d left behind.
“Have you checked his office?” She stood up.
Her simmering exasperation at the senior Mr. Caine escalated. If he ignored his cardiologist’s advice to rest in the hospital after a heart attack, what would prevent that stubborn old man from sneaking back to work against his doctor’s orders? Without waiting for an answer, she rounded her desk and headed out the door.
Max Caine fell into step beside her as she walked down the hall. He was tall, much taller than his grandfather, about six feet to her five feet three inches, unless she missed her guess. He was more filled out through the chest than she remembered. And his hair was different. Unlike the too-long shaggy style she’d last seen, now his sandy blond hair was short and neatly combed. But his strong, square jaw and the nose that was neither too big nor too small for his face were the same. He was still very attractive, but now instead of radiating bad boy boldness, he was too-smooth, too-GQ, too-businessman chic.
She admitted to herself that she was judging him without mercy. That couldn’t be helped. Men who left without saying goodbye didn’t deserve mercy. Granted, she’d been a fourteen-year-old with a raging crush, but his indifference had cut deep. She’d gotten over it. What she couldn’t forgive was not a single word to his grandfather in a decade. That indifference had devastated the older man who was her friend as well as her boss. Anyone who hurt him had to answer to her.
She stopped at the end of the hall in front of the receptionist. “Bernice, have you seen Mr. Caine today?”
The thirty-something brunette met her gaze, then slid an appreciative, appraising look to the man beside Ashley. “Isn’t he still in the hospital?”
Ashley glanced up at Max. “Apparently not,” she said grimly.
“He’s supposed to be.”
“I know,” Ashley admitted.
“Who’s he?” Bernice asked, nodding toward Max.
“Max Caine,” he said, extending his large hand.
The secretary’s eyes widened as she put her palm in his. “The rebel?”
“Is that what they call me?” he asked Ashley.
“Among other things,” she admitted.
“What other things?”
She felt the heat crawl up her neck. The question made her uncomfortable in spite of the fact she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to spare this man’s feelings or impress him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to stop the blush. She blew out a breath. “To everyone over thirty-five in this town you’re the ingrate.”
He glanced at Bernice who was barely concealing the fact that she thought he was hot. “And to everyone under thirty-five I’m the rebel?”
“You gotta love small towns.” Ashley decided the opinion poll regarding Max Caine was skewed because she’d pitched her tent in the over thirty-five camp. “Bernice, it’s come to my attention that Mr. Bentley Caine is unaccounted for. I’ll just take a peek in his office in case he slipped past you.”
“Be my guest,” she said.
Ashley, with Max beside her, walked to the closed door and opened it. The oak-panelled, hunter green carpeted room was empty.
“Darn.” She glanced up at Max who had easily looked over her head and came to the same conclusion she had. His grandfather wasn’t there. “Now what?” she said to no one in particular.
A muscle in Max’s jaw contracted. “Now we go look for him.”
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” she asked.
“Do you know his routine? His hangouts? His habits?”
“Yes, some, but—”
“Then I need you,” he said, encircling her upper arm in his firm grip. “We is you and me.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To join the search party.” Max frowned as he studied her, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“That’s presumptuous. You don’t know me from a rock—”
“Sure I do. You’re the one who called and got me into this. Besides, I recognized you right away.”
She knew better than to be pleased by that piece of information. But pleased she was. She reminded herself it didn’t mean anything. “I didn’t mean my looks. Besides, I haven’t changed all that much.”
“Sure you have. You’ve grown up since that summer we were friends.”
She’d thought they were friends, but she’d found out differently. Her stomach clenched, and she pushed the feelings away. “The past isn’t important.”
“You won’t get any argument from me about that. And now I’m asking for your help to find him.”
“How come you’re so concerned all of a sudden?” she demanded.
“How do you know it’s sudden?”
She shrugged. “Logical conclusion based on your actions.”
“My actions? Like coming back?”
“Your actions—as in you left and haven’t been back in ten years. Why show up now? And I don’t