Marry Me, Kate. Judy ChristenberryЧитать онлайн книгу.
they wouldn’t offer her much without better collateral.
She’d been desperate when an article in the newspaper had caught her attention. The CEO of Hardison Enterprises had begun a sponsoring program for small businesses.
Without waiting for second thoughts, she’d dressed in her only business suit, a bright blue, Parisiandesigned outfit that showed off her curves, and had come to see Mr. Hardison at once. It turned out she needn’t have called at all since she couldn’t see him with an appointment until next month.
The door behind her opened and she heard the snooty secretary say, “I’ll have it for you in fifteen minutes, Mr. Hardison.”
Then, as the door closed, Kate watched the back of the woman as she hurried down the hall away from her.
Leaving the CEO unguarded.
I know you always warned me about being impulsive, Pop, but I’ve got to go for it.
She quietly opened the door and slipped back into the outer office. Staring at the door to the forbidden sanctum across the room, she briefly wondered if she had the nerve to just walk in.
She grinned. Pop always said she had more nerve than sense. She’d never proved him wrong. It wouldn’t happen now. She pushed away from the wall, charged across the room and opened the inner office door.
Her first surprise when she caught sight of the man behind the desk was his age. If pressed, she’d guess him to be thirty, give or take a couple of years. Had she gotten the wrong office? This man appeared too young to be the head of Hardison Enterprises. And somehow she hadn’t pictured Mr. Hardison as being so...sexy.
Then he stood. His tall, lean frame only increased the intimidation she felt as she looked at him. On a lesser man, she would’ve called his expression a glare. On him, the look threatened bodily harm to anyone who bothered him.
“Mr. Hardison?”
“Who are you?” he snapped.
Bingo. She had the right office.
“My name is Kathryn O’Connor. I need to talk to you about the sponsor program.”
“Are you a reporter?” His voice was harsh.
What was it with these people? Were their lives so exciting that they were constantly pursued by the press?
“No. But I—”
“Then get out.” He sat back down and turned his attention to a pile of papers on his desk.
Kate stood there, wondering what her next move should be. She wasn’t about to give up but—
“I told you to leave.” He didn’t even look up.
“Not before I talk to you. I want to be considered for the sponsor program.”
He covered his handsome face with one hand before looking at her. “That’s what you want? Forget it.”
“Wait a minute. I’d be a good risk,” she protested, moving closer to his desk.
“Then go to a bank.” He turned his attention back to his paperwork.
“They won’t loan me enough money.”
“Lady, there are no free rides, even for someone who looks like you.” His gaze roved over her and she felt her cheeks heat up.
“I’m not asking for a free ride,” she returned, her voice reflecting her anger at his accusation.
“That’s what they all say.”
She moved over next to the desk, as irritated by the way he ignored her as she was by his words.
“At least listen to me,” she pleaded.
“Out,” he replied calmly, making notes on a letter.
Something snapped in Kate, to be treated this way after the struggle she’d had. She smashed her hand down on top of the letter. “You have to listen to me.”
Slowly William Hardison lifted his gaze from the letter to stare at hazel eyes, their luminous quality enhanced by her anger.
It wasn’t her beauty that caught his attention. He was constantly in the company of beautiful women.
No, it was her firm little chin, the determined glint in her eyes. He sighed. He’d already faced a determined woman this morning.
His mother.
She’d been on his case again, wanting him to promise to attend the reception this evening for society’s finest. And to escort her newest candidate for the role of Mrs. William Hardison. His mother never stopped trying to manipulate, cajole or force him into doing what she wanted. Just as she had his father.
James Hardison had married later than most men. Almost forty, he’d fallen head over heels for Miriam Esters. After finally agreeing to marry the wealthy businessman, she’d led him around by the nose for the rest of his life.
It wouldn’t have bothered Will so much if she’d made his dad happy. But she’d never let him believe she loved him, and she’d never been satisfied with the gifts he’d showered on her.
As much as he’d loved his father, Will had despised James’s weakness for his mother.
After a few unfortunate forays into the romance arena himself, Will had come to the conclusion that most women were like his mother. Best left alone.
Now, as the attractive young lady smashed her hand down on the letter he was reading, he realized that, like his mother, she wasn’t going to go away without a fight.
He noticed her nails: clean, neatly trimmed, instead of the long red claws his mother and all her friends sported. Probably meant she wouldn’t try to scratch his eyes out. At least he hoped not.
“Miss...whatever your name is, I believe I asked you to leave.” He spoke in measured tones, hoping to defuse the situation.
“I suppose people always do exactly what you ask?” she demanded.
“Well,” he said consideringly, a faint smile on his lips, “it is my office.”
“All I’m asking is for you to hear me out! I’m a perfect candidate for your sponsorship.” In her agitation, her hair was escaping from its pins, curly strands framing her face.
“How would you know the perfect candidate?”
“I read about Paul Jones in the paper.”
“And you want to be the next Paul Jones?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharp edge as he looked at her more closely. Did she realize Paul Jones had been a con artist? Was she one, also?
“Yes!”
“No way in hell, lady. Now, get out of my office or I’ll call security.” He wasn’t about to get himself in another mess like the one with Paul Jones. The man had lied and cheated and threatened blackmail. So much for Will’s philanthropical efforts.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” she cried out. “Is it because I’m a woman? Are you one of those men who believe women are incapable of counting above ten?”
He gave her his most cynical smile. “The women I know are quite capable of counting millions, especially if it’s someone else’s millions.”
Her chin thrust forward and her eyes narrowed. “I’m only asking to be heard. I’m not trying to steal from you.”
“Look, our sponsorship program has been suspended pending evaluation, so you’re wasting your time.”
“No!” she snapped, as if it were her decision. “No, no, no!”
He grinned. How his mother would hate this woman, so demanding, argumentative, determined. She was exactly the opposite of those sweet-smelling, soft creatures whose hearts were made of iron.
In fact, if he chose