Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger: Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger. Jill ShalvisЧитать онлайн книгу.

      6

      FOR ONE ENTIRE AFTERNOON, Caitlin didn’t see Joe. He was at meetings with the bank, with customers, with who knew whom else.

      She was thankful for the respite, which gave her the peace and quiet and nerve to do as she’d threatened. She’d reorganized all the files and now everything was clean, tidy and in its place.

      By chance, she’d intercepted the bank statement for the business checking account when it had arrived in the mail. Because numbers had always mysteriously called her, she went ahead and reconciled his statement on her break. She would have and could have easily closed out the month, but picturing Joseph’s face, she didn’t quite dare.

      Vince, Tim and Andy were thrilled with the way the office looked, and how smoothly everything was running. It was amazing how big the place seemed once the floors were clear and it wasn’t like walking through a maze just to cross the rooms. Caitlin had no idea how Joe would feel about it, but she could bet he wouldn’t offer the joy and easy acceptance she’d gotten from the techs.

      However he reacted, he couldn’t avoid her forever, or discount that strange, unaccountable attraction between them that flared up at the most annoying of times.

      Every time they looked at each other, there were sparks.

      It went deeper than the physical, far deeper, for there existed between them a bond she couldn’t deny, and it made her as wary of him as he was of her.

      Caitlin was studiously avoiding any serious relationships out of self-preservation. She knew from experience with her father and her fair-weather friends that close relationships brought only pain. Disappointment. Loneliness.

      Being on her own was better. Easier.

      Either Joe had learned that lesson, too, or he simply didn’t like her.

      That day he’d given her an advance from his own pocket, she’d come back from her lunch break to find a paycheck on her desk, handwritten by him. The gesture hadn’t surprised her. Beneath his rough and tough exterior, she had a feeling he was a big softie.

      She laughed at herself. A softie. Right.

      Well, now she had one paycheck and her pride. It was the latter that allowed her to keep a stiff upper lip in those dark moments when despair threatened, when she cried herself to sleep thinking about her father and the way he’d abandoned her.

      She knew all her father’s assets were gone, divided among his friends and associates, but she didn’t know why. For the first time, she decided she deserved answers. She called his attorney, but because he was out of town for the next week, she had to leave a message.

      Feeling marginally better, Caitlin sat on her bed and reviewed her mail. It was a particularly bad mail day, each envelope hiding a big, ugly, nasty bill, all of which were at least second notices.

      But the last one really caught her eye—a notice to vacate her condo.

      The bank was finally going to sell.

      She’d known this moment would come sooner or later, but she’d been hoping for later, much later.

      Why, she wondered for the thousandth time, hadn’t her father paid off her car or her condo? And unfortunately, at the time of his death, he hadn’t taken care of any of her credit cards, either, which left her in a position where she couldn’t even charge her way out of the mess.

      One thing was for certain—she couldn’t continue to live as she had. She plopped back on her bed and contemplated her ceiling and came to the only conclusion she could—it was time to sell off everything she had of value, before the bank came and claimed it.

      Then she could create a whole new life for herself. A lot less luxurious life, but she could handle that. Already, she’d discovered some of the joy of taking care of herself. For one thing, her new friends—Vince, Andy, Tim, even Amy—they were all real friends. They wouldn’t desert her because she wasn’t heir to a fortune. They couldn’t care less, they just liked her.

      Her.

      That was a new and welcome surprise.

      They liked her for being Caitlin, not for where Caitlin could take them.

      It was possible that way down deep, she’d been waiting for this, wishing for the chance to prove to herself she could make it on her own, without any help.

      Seemed she was about to get her wish.

      * * *

      DARN IT, BUT she was late again.

      “You had to stop to talk to that lost homeless lady,” Caitlin berated herself as she raced down the street, her purse flapping behind her. “Had to worry about her instead of yourself and your job and your undoubtedly furious boss.”

      Huffing and puffing, she dashed into the office building that housed CompuSoft. Because her lungs were threatening to explode right out of her chest, she sagged against the wall in the downstairs reception area, trying to catch her breath.

      “Close to the quarter-century mark,” she muttered out loud, “and already in pathetic shape.”

      “Caitlin? You okay?”

      Holding a hand to her chest, she turned to face a startled Vince, who had one of Amy’s scrumptious doughnuts in his hand.

      Her mouth started to water. She’d missed breakfast again.

      Amy looked concerned, too, and without a word she poured Caitlin some water, which Caitlin gratefully took. “I…will be fine…in just a…sec.”

      Vince grinned and gave her a slow once-over. “If you’re trying to get in shape, you’re too late. You already are.”

      “Well, I appreciate that,” she gasped. “But I’m not…doing this to myself on purpose, believe me. I hate exercise.” Wryly, she glanced down at her running shoes, then kicked them off. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out her high-heeled sandals. She’d been doing this every morning, changing downstairs while visiting with Amy, before going to the second floor and facing Joe.

      “Why were you running?” Vince held out his arm so that she could use it to keep her balance while she fastened her sandals.

      She grabbed on to him, feeling the bulge of muscle, the fine silk of his shirt beneath her fingers. Vince, unlike Tim, Andy and even Joe, never wore jeans to work. He was always dressed impeccably, and today was no different. The deep blue of his shirt and trousers matched his dark sapphire eyes perfectly and toned down the brilliance of his hair.

      He waited, his eyes laughing down into hers. “Was that a tough question?”

      “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, flushing when she realized he thought she’d been staring at him in frank appreciation. She did appreciate him, just not in the way he thought.

      She appreciated his