The Boss and the Plain Jayne Bride

“Garrett, this is Jayne Nelson, one of our top accountants.” Waterman may have added the last bit to remind himself as well as demonstrate his support of Jayne. “But, of course, you two have already met.”

“Yes, yes, we have. Already- met. He was in my class. Or the class that was mine, but currently is Bill’s,” Jayne babbled to Waterman, who was now looking at her with real apprehension.

Visibly steeling herself, Jayne turned her head and met Garrett’s eyes, thrusting out her arm across the desk, presumably to shake his hand.

They never completed the ritual because Jayne knocked over her pencil holder scattering pencils, paper clips and pens over the surface of her desk.

“Oh—!”

Garrett couldn’t hear what she said, but suspected it wasn’t anything profane. Jayne didn’t look like the swearing type.

Grabbing for the pens that rolled toward the edge, Garrett deliberately knocked into her stacking file baskets, collapsing them on one corner and sending the files over the side.

Jayne sent him a stunned look—a different stunned look.

“I’m sorry. And here I was trying to help.” he announced cheerfully, including Waterman in his smile.

Mr. Waterman’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.

Jayne scrambled around her desk, banging her shin. Garrett winced at the sound.

“My, dear!” exclaimed Waterman ineffectually.

“I’m fine!” Jayne squeaked, grabbed her leg and hobbled a few steps before sinking to the floor at their feet.

Setting his briefcase well out of the way, Garrett stooped to help her gather the files.

“Let me help—”

“I’ll just get these—”

They both reached for the same folder and their fingers brushed together.

Jayne jerked back as though she’d touched a live coal and quickly sprang to her feet—too quickly. On the way up, she banged her head on the desktop overhang.

Gasping, she rubbed her temple, smearing herself with blue ink and dislodging her glasses, which clattered to the desk.

A flabbergasted Waterman stared at her. “Jayne?”

“Are you all right?” Garrett asked.

Jayne stopped rubbing her head, leaving a patriotic red and blue against her white skin. “In spite of evidence to the contrary, I’m fine.”

Garrett was caught by her naked brown eyes. He’d seen those eyes alight with her passion for numbers, sparkling when someone in the class would involuntarily exclaim, “Now I get it!” He also remembered her embarrassed sympathy when she bashed him with the cart. And of course the mesmerized stare with which she’d greeted his entrances to the conference room.

But he’d never seen her eyes dark with selfcontempt the way they were now.

Garrett knew that if he asked for another accountant after what had just happened, Jayne would suffer, maybe even lose her job. After only a few minutes of conversation, Garrett knew Waterman was of the old school of businessmen who resisted the influx of women. Jayne probably was their best accountant, male or female. She’d have to be to have progressed as far as she had with the company.

And so Garrett smiled reassuringly at Jayne, earning a melted chocolate look in response. He turned to Waterman and offered his hand with more success than Jayne. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Waterman. I’d like to coordinate my calendar with Jayne’s and then I’ll stop by your office before I leave.”

“Yes, do stop by.” Waterman looked as though he didn’t think it was a good idea to leave a new client with the self-destructive Ms. Nelson, but couldn’t argue in the face of an obvious dismissal. To Jayne he said, “You have ink on your face.”

Jayne mewled in distress, grabbed a tissue and rubbed at her temple, so Garrett followed Waterman to the door and closed it behind him.

With huge eyes, Jayne watched his progress back to where she stood in front of her desk.

Contemplating his next move—and he had no doubt the next move was up to him—Garrett stopped in front of her. Perhaps the direct approach would be best. “Ms. Nelson...Jayne, do I frighten you?”

“N-no.” Jayne supposed it had been too much to hope that Garrett would ignore her peculiar behavior or attribute it to a momentary, and uncharacteristic, clumsiness. No, he had that darned book cart incident for reference. She fit the leg of the file basket back into the holder. At least he had his clumsy moments, too.

While she repaired her baskets, Garrett had stooped to gather the scattered files. “I don’t frighten you?” he asked, standing and giving them to her.

“No.” Jayne spoke more firmly this time. Fascinate, yes, frighten, no. She plopped the papers into the basket, determined to treat Garrett just as she would any other client.

Garrett studied her a moment then contorted his face and took a sudden step toward her.

Jayne yelped.

“Time for you to switch to decaf.” He grinned.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded, her heart still racing.

“If you’re going to be so jumpy, you ought to have a real reason.”

“That’s not a real reason,” Jayne grumbled returning to her chair.

“Sure it is,” he said cheerfully. “You never know when I’m going to do it again.”

“You’d deliberately scare me again?”

“Maybe.” He looked at her, flinched, and Jayne started. Garrett laughed. “And maybe not.”

Jayne held her hand over her heart. “Okay, you’ve made your point.” An unorthodox method, but surprisingly effective. Jayne presumed it was because her body had used its entire store of adrenaline during the past five minutes.

Garrett pulled over one of the tweed club chairs from the conversation area by the sofa. “Are you always this nervous, or just when you’re around me?”

“Just around you,” she admitted, surprising herself and apparently Garrett. as well.