First You Kiss 100 Men.... Carolyn GreeneЧитать онлайн книгу.
lurked inside the TV cabinet.’’
‘‘You knew?’’ She seemed truly amazed, as if he were some kind of genius for having detected her whereabouts.
‘‘Of course. You always took off your shoes, and your stinky feet gave you away.’’
Julie slid off the desk and slipped her shoes back on. ‘‘My feet didn’t stink!’’
To her chagrin, his only response was an amused chuckle, and then he launched into describing her job duties. Secretarial duties.
She interrupted his litany about filing procedures and telephone protocol. ‘‘Perhaps, as you said, my spying technique could have used some work, but I was only a kid then. With a little coaching, I’m sure I could do much better now.’’
‘‘Forget it. Now, over here is the information on how to do Internet searches and—’’
‘‘Maybe I’ll ask Mr. Oltmeier about letting me track down the bad guys.’’ As a teen, Hunter had lorded his seniority over her, telling her what to do as if she had no choice in the matter. But she had quickly learned that going over his head to Gran or his mother had often garnered the results she wanted. Such as permission to accompany him and her sister to the ice-cream parlor for a sundae. ‘‘His name is first in Oltmeier-Matthews, you know.’’
There, let him deny that.
Without speaking a word, Hunter merely raised an eyebrow. The gesture told her in no uncertain terms that such one-upmanship tactics wouldn’t work here.
‘‘All right, I’ll do the stupid desk work. But I don’t have to like it.’’
He flashed her a smug smile. ‘‘Good girl.’’
‘‘But I have a few terms of my own.’’
If she didn’t set firm limits right from the start, he might get the idea she was still a little kid that he could order around at will. And she wasn’t about to let that happen. He tried the raised eyebrow thing again, but she didn’t let it get to her this time.
‘‘First, I don’t want you talking to me like I’m still a child. I’m an adult now, with a college education, and I expect to be treated accordingly.’’ She neglected to mention that her degree was in theater costuming. No need to undermine herself by offering too much information.
‘‘Fair enough,’’ he agreed.
‘‘And don’t call me Julie Beth. It’s just Julie now.’’
‘‘Done.’’ He extended his hand and gripped her fingers in his warm grasp. Julie felt a tingle surge all the way to her toes. ‘‘Welcome to Oltmeier-Matthews.’’
He released her hand much too soon. She stood there feeling awkward, wishing she had pockets in which to thrust her hands, the right one of which seemed to still burn from Hunter’s touch.
‘‘Now I suggest you take some time to go through the files and familiarize yourself with the cases. The information in them and the way they’re organized will give you a good idea of what we do around here.’’
‘‘Files,’’ she grumbled. ‘‘Spying would be more people-oriented.’’
Hunter picked up a few of the client folders from the open drawer and dropped them on her desk. ‘‘These are people. I suggest you treat them with care.’’
Julie released a disappointed sigh. How on earth, she wondered, would she ever meet any kissable men while stuck at this desk?
After transcribing the final sentence of the letter, Julie took off the headphones, typed in the signature lines and turned up the volume on the radio that crowded her desk. If she couldn’t enjoy the work, she’d at least entertain herself by listening to the prank call of the day. She blew a bored sigh when Hunter brought her another cassette tape jammed with dictated letters, memos and instructions.
‘‘Everything going okay?’’ he asked.
‘‘Hunky-dory,’’ Julie replied with more than a hint of sarcasm, and stuck a report on the stack of papers to go to Spencer in accounting. Truthfully, mundane was a more fitting description of how things were going. ‘‘You know, I really would do fine on stakeout. All this nitpicky paperwork is a waste of my talents.’’
Hunter reached over and transferred the report from Spencer’s pile to Priscilla’s. ‘‘If you can’t keep a proper handle on this ‘nitpicky paperwork,’ how can you expect to handle a delicate matter like surveillance, which requires so much attention to detail?’’
It would be different if the paperwork was relevant to something Julie liked doing. Like reporting. But spending all day shuffling papers for someone else’s projects seemed pointless.
Hunter gave her a smug wink and returned to his office.
Julie bit her tongue to keep from hurling a scathing comment at his retreating form. Instead, she turned her fury on the keyboard, jabbing the keys as she punched in the command to print the letter she’d just typed.
‘‘I’ll show him,’’ she vowed. If he wanted attention to details, then that was what she’d give him. Julie Beth Fasano would be so meticulous, so methodical and so, well, mundane that he would have no excuse for refusing to allow her on his surveillance outings. She would be so perfect, so particular and so persnickety that—
The printer jammed.
Unwilling to risk gobbing up the machine with paper, she went to the computer and hit a key to cancel the print job. The letter disappeared from the screen.
Julie stifled a scream of frustration.
‘‘Is that letter to Mrs. Huffnagle ready yet?’’ Hunter called from his office.
‘‘It’s coming along.’’ There was no telling when, but she’d get it to him eventually.
‘‘Great. How about turning that radio down a bit.’’
The last wasn’t a request, but an order. She lowered the volume and slid her shoes on in preparation to go look for Mr. Oltmeier’s secretary, who might be able to help her unjam the printer and retrieve her lost document. Spencer chose that moment to pick up the papers she’d been intending to deliver to him. He gave her an assessing smile.
In return, Julie pushed a jar of toffees toward him. ‘‘How much candy would it take to persuade you to help me with this stupid computer?’’
Spencer shook his head. ‘‘I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. But there is something much more appetizing that you could bribe me with.’’
One corner of his mouth lifted in anticipation.
Julie automatically assessed the accountant’s kissing potential. In the looks department, he was okay, despite the fact that he used a tad too much gel on his artfully styled, dark-blond hair. His face was handsome in a slightly better than average way, and his slate-blue suit gave an impression of good taste while carefully concealing the beginnings of a paunch. From what little she knew about him, Spencer seemed nice enough, but she wasn’t interested in him as dating material. Even so, he’d probably stolen his share of kisses and might be willing to enlighten her with the benefit of his experience. And give her something to write about in her column.
She smiled and self-consciously straightened the turtleneck collar at her throat. ‘‘I suppose that’s something we’ll have to negotiate.’’
He graciously let the subject drop as he moved behind her desk and hunched beside her to maneuver the computer mouse. While he worked to retrieve the document, the radio deejay chattered on about how many calls he’d received that morning.
‘‘I just don’t understand all the commotion over a silly newspaper column,’’ the deejay continued. ‘‘It seems like everyone in Richmond is asking who this mystery kisser is. And they’re all calling us, as if we