Meet Mr. Prince / Once a Cowboy.... Patricia KayЧитать онлайн книгу.
work habits. Finally, when her watch read 12:30 and her stomach started telling her it needed food, she decided she might as well go to lunch.
She debated knocking on Zach’s door to tell him she was leaving, then changed her mind. The hell with him. If he wants me, he can just wait till I get back.
She told Deborah she was going to get something to eat, then walked to a small deli a few doors away from her building. Forty minutes later, revived by tuna salad, cheese and fruit, she returned to the office and found that Zach was indeed waiting for her. In fact, he was sitting on the corner of Deborah’s desk and stood when she opened the door.
“I read your report on the Carlyle Center,” he said. “I thought we could visit there this afternoon. I want to introduce you to the principals, and I think it’ll be helpful to hear in person their arguments for the grant they’ve applied for.”
“I’d like that, but in the future, if you think we’ll be visiting one of our prospective grant recipients, I wish you’d let me know the day before.” Georgie knew she sounded stiff, but dammit, if she’d known they’d be calling on the Carlyle people, she’d have worn something a bit more professional. She made a mental note to make sure to keep a suit and heels at the office so she wouldn’t be blindsided in the future.
“Oh?” Zach seemed taken aback by her tone. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I don’t feel dressed appropriately.” Today she’d worn russet wool slacks and a matching cowl-necked sweater. And flat shoes.
Zach’s gaze swept over her. “You look perfectly fine. We’re not going to some fashion house. It’s a hospital.”
“I realize that.” Men simply didn’t get it when it came to clothes. They always wore the same thing. Maybe that’s what she should do, too. Wear a suit every day and only vary the color of her blouse. But even though Georgie pretended she didn’t care about clothes or fashion, the truth was, she liked to look good. And she also liked the feeling of control wearing a professional outfit always gave her.
“You look fine,” he said again.
Georgie would have liked to say something else, but she knew if she did, she would just sound petulant. Worse, she’d sound like a silly woman. So she swallowed the smart remark and simply shrugged.
Zach, unfortunately, looked better than he had yesterday, mainly because the dark circles were gone from his eyes, and he’d obviously made an effort to tame his unruly hair. Why was it men could do the minimum in grooming and manage to look great?
“Oh, all right,” she said. “Just give me a minute, okay?” She wanted to at least brush her teeth first. Because a person’s smile was the first thing she noticed, Georgie was a fanatic when it came to her teeth—brushing after every meal, flossing nightly and making periodic visits to the dentist—usually between every assignment in the field.
Five minutes later, teeth clean and makeup freshened, she joined Zach, who again waited in the outer office.
“It’s a good two miles,” he said when they walked out of their building. “I’ll get us a cab.”
“I don’t mind walking,” Georgie said. “It’ll be good exercise.”
“The streets are messy, and I don’t want to be splattered with dirty snow when we get there.”
Georgie hated that she agreed with him. “Okay, fine.”
A typical New Yorker, Zach stepped right out into the street and stuck his arm out. Within minutes, a cab pulled up. Georgie had already figured out that when the center dome light was on, a cab was free.
When Zach climbed into the back first, Georgie was surprised. But she quickly realized that he was the one who had to slide over to the other side and that it was much easier then for her to get in. “Thanks,” she said.
“For what?” He leaned forward and gave the driver the address of the cancer center.
“For not making me slide over to where you’re sitting.”
There was that smile of his again. And dammit, it produced the same effect it had produced the day before. What was wrong with her? She didn’t even like him.
“I learned about that kind of thing a long time ago,” he said, still smiling. “I have a twin sister, and she educated me about women and skirts and heels.” He chuckled. “Among other things.”
“But I don’t have a skirt on,” Georgie retorted, just to be perverse.
The smile remained. In fact, now his eyes twinkled. “But you are a woman.”
And just the way he said it, Georgie knew he thought she was attractive, and her face heated. Thank God the cab’s interior was shaded. Oh, she hated her tendency to blush. She decided the best thing she could do was ignore the remark. “So you’re a twin,” she said instead.
“Yep.”
“Any brothers?”
“Nope. Just Sabrina. What about you?”
“I have three sisters.” She was surprised he didn’t know that. After all, all four Fairchilds had honorary seats on the HuntCom board.
“Younger? Older?” he asked.
“All younger.” Georgie didn’t intend to say more. More than ever, considering her unwanted reaction to him, she intended to keep their relationship strictly business. But he seemed so genuinely interested, she added, “But we’re stair-steps. Only one year between each of us.”
“Any brothers?”
“Unfortunately, no. And my dad wanted a boy desperately. That’s why we have the names we do.” Forgetting she didn’t like him and hadn’t intended to be friendly, she laughed and said, “My dad’s name was George.”
Zach laughed, too. “What about your sisters? Do they all have boys’ names, too?”
“Afraid so. Frankie—actually, Francesca—is named for my dad’s brother. Bobbie was going to be Robert, and Tommi would have been Thomas.” Georgie made a face. “When we were younger, we all hated our names. There I was, in class with a million Heathers and Tiffanys and Kims … and me with a name like Georgie. And, of course, being the tallest girl in my class didn’t help.”
“My sister’s tall, too. She also hated it when she was young, but now she realizes it’s an advantage.”
Just then the driver asked a question, and after Zach had answered, he said he wanted to give her a brief rundown on the two main contacts she would be working with at Carlyle during her evaluation of the cancer center. “Jonathan Pierce can be hard to deal with,” he began.
Georgie had familiarized herself with Dr. Pierce’s background that morning. A specialist, Pierce had sixteen years’ experience in pediatric oncology/hematology, had trained at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and was board certified in both specialties.
“Why is he hard to deal with?”
“He’s a sought-after doctor who is highly regarded, but he resents the fact that the foundation required the center to meet certain conditions to be eligible for one of our grants.”
“But that’s standard practice with nonprofits, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Zach said. “Yet I can understand how he feels. Pierce is passionate about what they do at Carlyle. He expected to be approved immediately. Whereas Carolyn Love, the CFO—she’s the other one you’ll meet today—is more tolerant of our position, because she understands budgetary constraints and that we have a board to answer to.”
Just then, the cab pulled up to the entrance of the center, which was a division of Carlyle Clinic, and a few minutes later they were on their way to the third floor, where the administrative offices were located.
“I