Come Up and See Me Sometime Read online

  Giving up on trying to fix her hair without a mirror and with hands that shook for no apparent reason, she finger-combed the strands and let it fall in its customary blunt cut to her shoulders. Obviously, he wasn't going to leave immediately, so she sat back down.

  "I've had employers threaten me, call me names, and throw temper tantrums right here in my office. The worst as far as I'm concerned, though, are the ones that come by and offer me money to not have contact with their employees."

  Alex brought his hands together in a loose grip in front of him. "Why does that bother you? It seems like good business sense. You still get what amounts to a commission and the employer keeps his employee. It's a win-win situation."

  He clearly didn't get it. "Win-win for whom? The employee is stuck with a boss who would rather pay what amounts to protection money than improve the quality of life at work. Believe it or not, I'm not interested in earning my commissions that way. I'm a career guidance specialist, not the mafia, for heaven's sake."

  Surprise and something else flickered in his dark brown eyes. If she didn't know better, she would have thought it was desire. She must be mistaken. For goodness' sake, she had just met the man. Besides, he couldn't be attracted to her. He didn't like her.

  "So you only called Marcus this morning because you wanted to provide him with a better job opportunity than working for me? Your client's needs had nothing to do with it." The sarcastic disbelief in his voice grated against her nerves.

  She didn't know why she'd given in to the urge to try to convince this man to see her differently. It was obviously a wasted effort.

  "I called Mr. Danvers because my client specifically asked me to. I had other potential candidates for the job on my books with qualifications I thought were a better match, but I always try to please my clients, whether employer or employee. I had no personal desire to lure your assistant away from a job he enjoys. Once I discovered that he wasn't interested, I congratulated him on finding a good position, told him to call if he ever felt the need for a change, and hung up."

  "That still doesn't tell me who hired you to go gunning for my assistant."

  Really. The way this guy thought. "I didn't go gunning for anyone and as I mentioned, confidentiality prevents me from telling you who my client is."

  Alex nodded and stood. He extended his hand in an unexpected show of courtesy. "Thank you for your time, Isabel. I apologize if my comments or attitude have offended you. I can see that you take your responsibility to your clients, both the employer and the employee, very seriously."

  She shook his hand, nonplussed at the abrupt change in his demeanor. She was pretty sure he had meant to offend her. So, why the apology?

  "I can understand your concerns." So many employers truly had something to worry about in this situation. However, Alex didn't. "In your case, I believe they are unfounded. Mr. Danvers is obviously content to stay where he is."

  Alex let his hand linger on hers for just a second longer than a formal business handshake required and then let her go.

  As he left her office she couldn't help wondering how he would do against the requirements on her list.

  * * *

  Alex walked through the anteroom to his office and tossed instructions at his secretary as he passed her. "I don't want to be disturbed for thirty minutes, Miss Richards."

  Veronica Richards looked up from her meticulously organized desk and smiled a cool, professional smile. "Very well, Mr. Trahern. I've updated your task manager with this morning's messages. When you get a moment you might wish to review them."

  He nodded and headed into his office. How did she manage to make a politely worded request sound like an order? No doubt about it, he might be the boss, but Veronica ran the office. Not that he would call her Veronica to her face. His young but very proper secretary would never countenance such familiarity, though she'd worked for him practically since he'd opened CIS.

  Sitting down at his desk a few seconds later, Alex emptied his mind of all thoughts related to his zealously efficient secretary and concentrated instead on the information matrix he was building around Isabel Harrison.

  The image of her running her fingers through her honey-brown hair kept superimposing itself over the data he was trying to compile. He finally gave up and allowed himself to focus on the woman, not the facts surrounding her. Isabel in person had not met any of his preconceived notions of what John Harrison's daughter would be like. In fact, she had been the living, breathing embodiment of everything a two-year-old, black-and-white photo had implied: innocent, trusting, and somewhat naive.

  He had expected a calculating businesswoman, not a self-proclaimed career guidance specialist.

  And he had not expected to be physically attracted to her, but why the hell he hadn't realized that his reaction to her in person would outshine his reaction to a photo, he didn't know. He was usually a lot less self-delusional than that.

  From the moment he'd walked into her office, he'd found it difficult to keep his concentration on the task at hand. Isabel kept getting in the way. Her hand had felt delicate in his own, and her guileless green eyes had spoken of warmth and gentleness rather than calculation and greed.

  Then, it had been the little wisps of hair falling from her sleek twist behind her head and flirting around her face. He'd wanted to touch them, a completely uncharacteristic response for him when he was in an information-gathering mode. Hormones had no place in business.

  When she had pulled her hair down completely, he'd felt his heartbeat accelerate while his hands actually itched to reach out and touch her. From the matter-of-fact way she had finger-combed the silky strands, it was obvious she had no clue how sexy the gesture was.

  It had only compounded the reaction he'd had when she stood up from her desk. Her tailored jacket and trousers had emphasized all-too-tempting feminine curves.

  He wanted her and the knowledge rattled him.

  He could not afford to let things get complicated at this juncture. He needed a clear head. He needed to know who had hired Isabel to approach Marcus.

  She had said it was someone who would have done better with one of her other employee clients. That implied either Isabel was ignorant of her father's plans or that it hadn't been John Harrison who got her to contact Marcus.

  Or Isabel had been lying.

  She could be a consummate actress. The little routine with her hair could have been planned. The air of innocence and naïveté put on for his benefit

  Adept at reading people, Alex didn't like the fact that after this brief meeting he had more questions than answers.

  The only solution was to see her again.

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Alex Trahern had a dimple.

  That fact kept flitting in and out of Isabel's thoughts the morning after the devastating male had visited her office.

  She was supposed to be calling recently placed clients and checking on their job satisfaction. However, each break between calls grew longer and longer as her mind insisted on going back to the meeting she'd had with Marcus Danvers's employer the day before.

  If she didn't get herself together soon, she'd mess up her morning schedule and have to shift the calls to another spot on her busy calendar.

  A short knock, followed quickly by her office door opening, came as a relief. Bettina, Isabel's dearest friend, walked in carrying two steaming, brightly colored mugs.

  Isabel smiled in welcome as the rich aroma of coffee teased her. The other woman set one of the cups in front of Isabel before gracefully sliding into the same chair Alex had sat in the day before.

  One long leg crossed over the other and Bettina cocked her head to the side. "Ready for some coffee and girl-chat?"

  "Yes." More than ready. "I'm having a lousy time concentrating this morning. Maybe a short break will help me get my focus back."

  Bettina's rich laugh filled Isabel's office. "Girlfriend, don't lie to yourself. After a visit from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangero
us yesterday, a coffee break isn't going to get you back on track. You might as well give up the game and go shoe shopping." She pretended to wipe perspiration off her forehead with one chocolate-brown hand. "Man, that dude was hot!"

  Isabel gave her friend a mock frown. "Bettina, you are a married woman with three children. You aren't supposed to notice hot men."

  Bettina's black eyes widened in amazement. "I may be married, but I'd have to be dead not to notice that dude."

  Isabel laughed.

  Far from dead, Bettina was one of the most vibrantly alive people Isabel had ever met. The same age as Isabel, Bettina had been married for six years and had three adorable children, not to mention one adoring husband.

  It was easy to understand Tyrone's affection for his wife. Bettina was gorgeous. She could easily be mistaken for a teenager, had a figure that even looked good in biking shorts, and hair that Isabel would kill for.

  They'd spent their first meeting laughing over PMS and had been fast friends ever since.

  "He's not that good looking."

  Bettina, serious for once, nodded. "He's not handsome like my Tyrone, but he's got presence in spades. I saw the way you watched him leave, girlfriend."

  So what if she'd watched the guy walk out? A woman had to have a sense of self-preservation in situations like this. It meant nothing. "He was just another disgruntled employer, offended that I would have the temerity to contact one of his 'assets' with a competitive job offer."

  Bettina groaned. "Aw, nuts, I was sure he stayed in your office so long because you were finally going to get lucky."

  "I don't need to get lucky, Bet. I'm not looking for someone hot and dangerous to share a wild night of sex with." Though just thinking of what such a night might be like with Alex had her temperature spiking. "I'm looking for father-and-husband material."

  "The two do not have to be mutually exclusive, you know."

  "Right. If a man is good looking, nine times out of ten, he's gay or a player. The other one is usually married."

  "Well, my Tyrone is married…"

  Isabel took a sip of her coffee. Bettina had added hazelnut syrup and cream. It was divine and slid over her tongue like a warm wake-up call to her senses.

  "There is only one Tyrone Fry, my dear friend, and you've got him. The rest of us poor souls will have to make do with what's left."

  Bettina complacently nodded her head—long, curling braids that looked like ringlets swaying against her shoulders as she did so. "That's right, but that doesn't mean you've got to give up all hope."

  "I haven't. That's why I've got my list. I'm hopeful, not hopeless."

  Her friend looked unconvinced, which was no surprise. Bettina thought Isabel's approach to her problems was worse than unorthodox, it was a recipe for disaster.

  "Bet, let's not get into that again right now."

  Bettina sighed and nodded. "Was it awful, your meeting with Mr. T, D D? I feel terrible. I thought you were in here having fun, or I would have interrupted with some dire emergency you had to see to that very minute."

  "His name is Alex Trahern. He's the president of CIS. And no, it wasn't awful. He was really pretty decent there at the end."

  "Meaning he put you through the wringer first," Bettina surmised after taking a sip of her coffee.

  "I guess. A little." She'd certainly experienced something. "But it wasn't awful, so don't worry about it."

  Her friend's intense scrutiny made Isabel squirm.

  A slow smile spread across Bettina's face and her eyes lit with knowing amusement. "So, you do have the hots for him. I knew it."

  Rather than deny the ridiculous accusation, Isabel said, "You know I don't mix business with my personal life. It's too messy. Besides, now that I have my list of requirements, I'm not going to date just any man that comes along. He's going to have to pass muster."

  Bettina's face softened in understanding. "Honey, don't let that unfaithful lecher turn you off good men."

  "He hasn't." Isabel wrapped her hands around her mug, enjoying the warmth. "Didn't you hear me? I've got my list. I'll be able to tell a good man when I meet him."

  "And Alex Trahern? How does he stack up against your job description?" Bettina asked slyly, for once not arguing the merits of Isabel's list.

  There were definite drawbacks to working with your best friend. "It doesn't matter. He's a business associate."

  "Not technically." Bettina drew the words out.

  "What do you mean?"

  The ringing of Isabel's phone prevented her friend from answering. Giving Bettina an apologetic smile, Isabel picked the headset off the cradle and fit it to her head, then pressed the talk button. This is Isabel Harrison."

  "Isabel. Alex here."

  Giving Bettina a warning glance, she said, "Hi, Alex. Was there something I could do for you?"

  Bettina mouthed, "I told you so," her brows raising in a parody of lecherous intentions.

  "Yes. You could have dinner with me tonight."

  It took a moment for Isabel to comprehend what Alex had just said and when she did, it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. "I, uh, I have a policy."

  "I hope it's to say yes to dinner invitations."

  "Uh, no. Not exactly. My policy has to do with not dating business associates. I'm sorry, Alex."

  Bettina glared at her and made a show of pretending to hang herself. Isabel spun her chair so her back was to her friend.

  "Isabel?" Alex asked.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm not your business associate. I've never hired you to work for me, and I assume I'd know if someone had hired you to offer me a job."

  "Well, yes."

  "So, what time can I pick you up?"

  He certainly had no problems with self-esteem.

  "I didn't say that I'd go."

  "Will you?" His voice came right across the fiberoptic phone line and took hold of her feminine instincts with a seductive grip that did not let go.

  She tried to weigh the pros and cons of saying yes, but all she could think of was that darn dimple.

  "Yes."

  A whoop of delight sounded from behind her and Isabel gripped the phone receiver closer to her ear.

  "I'll pick you up at seven. We can have dinner downtown."

  The phone clicked in her ear. He hadn't said goodbye.

  She had not told him her address or how to find her condo. For a man with his business background, that would be an easy detail to attend to, she supposed.

  Still, he could have said good-bye.

  * * *

  Isabel applied her makeup, all the while running through the requirements on her list. If she was going out with Alex, she wasn't going to make her usual interpersonal relationship mistakes. Not this time.

  Too much was at stake.

  Her entire future and the future of her yet-to-be-conceived children.

  Children she wanted desperately.

  Her friends told her that at twenty-eight, she was still too young to be hearing her biological clock. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to get the darn thing to stop chiming so loudly. She found her gaze following women with strollers in the mall, and these days she actually spent as much time in baby apparel and accessory stores as she did in shoe stores.

  She watched the birthing channel on television and had even cried over one successful delivery. Her obsession with babies might not be normal for a twenty-eight-year-old woman with a well-established career, but it wasn't going away.

  She wanted her own baby to love.

  The fact that in some ways she was quite old-fashioned necessitated that the man who fathered that baby be her husband as well, a man who would be involved in the life of his children. Not like her father.

  Staring blindly at the vanity mirror, she thought about how she couldn't remember much about her own mother. But she did remember how it felt to have a much-absent father and the string of nannies, the host of strangers who tucked Isabel in at night instead of her one surviving p
arent.

  She wanted something different for her baby.

  Only she hadn't had any more success in her dating than she'd had in creating a bond with her father. After her last relationship had ended in disaster, she decided to take a more pragmatic approach to finding what she sought.

  Clearly, going on instincts wasn't working.

  Brad had looked so perfect on the surface. Handsome. Charming. Urbane. A successful businessman. But those characteristics had been mere camouflage. Underneath had lurked a deceitful wretch. Not good father material at all.

  Once she'd gotten over the trauma of their breakup and of making a hash of yet another personal relationship, she acknowledged that she'd ever done only one thing really well. She was unparalleled in her ability to match employees with the appropriate employment opportunity.

  It was only natural that she would decide to apply her skills in that area to her current dilemma and treat it much as she would filling a job vacancy for a client.

  She had set about creating a list of requirements for a potential mate with the same focus and attention she gave to writing up a comprehensive job description.

  She mentally ticked off the items on her list so far. The first level was superficial, like her ex-boyfriend Brad. She didn't leave it off, however, because she'd discovered that the superficial elements in a job environment could make or break a working relationship. So, she had carefully detailed her desires regarding outward appearances and the sorts of things he and she needed to have in common.

  The second level was more complicated and a lot harder to judge. She wanted to find a man who had his priorities straight. She looked down at her list. Number six was "good work habits."

  Brad had had terrible work habits. She should have paid attention to that telling fact, but she'd overlooked the many times he dealt with pages and cell phone calls during their dates.

  She'd told herself that unlike her father, her ex had at least taken time away from the company to go out to dinner and the theater. He rarely cut a date short to handle a business emergency. Not like her father, who had frequently ended up leaving the table halfway through dinner on the rare nights he had made it home to eat the meal at all.