Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger: Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger

“You should leave. Now.” The idea sprouted from nowhere. He wouldn’t be breaking his promise if she left, right? It wouldn’t be his fault. “You should go before he sees you.”

Caitlin cocked her head to one side and studied him sympathetically. “He makes you nervous, doesn’t he?” She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention downward. Dangerously downward, causing his hormones to do a quick, instinctive dance.

“Don’t worry,” she told him with a confidence he could see was more bravado than anything else. “Maybe now that he has me to help him, he’ll be nicer.”

Guilt stabbed him. “Uh…yes…well…”

“Things will work out,” she soothed, her face open and clear of anything but genuine emotion, which only deepened his guilt. “You’ll see. I’ll fawn over him a bit. You know, mother him.”

Joe had never been mothered, and maybe because of that he tended to have a low opinion of anyone who relied heavily on those family-type affections. “That probably won’t help much,” he admitted.

“Everyone needs mothering.”

“Not everyone.” Not Joseph Brownley. He didn’t need anyone. Period. Never would. But she seemed so optimistic, while at the same time so touchingly full of nerves, that he lost his desire to continue the farce, even if she were just a gorgeous piece of fluff. “Look—”

“It’s all right,” she said gently, nodding her head. Wild blond hair flew around her face, cupping her rosy cheeks, framing huge eyes that were surprisingly sharp and self-aware. “I’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“Yes, I do. You’re trying to be kind.”

Kind. Joe might have laughed. He’d certainly never been accused of kindness before. “No,” he assured her with a tight smile. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to tell me how bad of a monster he is.” She swallowed hard, making Joe feel like a first-class jerk. “I really can handle it. Just…point me in the right direction.” Her voice was a whisper now. “And I’ll find out for myself.”

Hell. “You already have.” Apology softened his voice, and he sighed with regret.

“What do you mean?”

Oh, he was going to have to face this, whether he wanted to or not, but on the other hand, so was she. This was no place for her, and the sooner she realized it, the better for the both of them. “I mean you probably should have left while you had the chance.”

Her eyes reflected her confusion, and he didn’t blame her. “I’m the monster,” he said. “Joe Brownley.”

2

“YOU’RE JOE BROWNLEY?” Caitlin tripped over her tongue, but she couldn’t help it.

She was shocked, to say the least.

“I’m afraid so.”

“But…” Good Lord. Well over six feet of rangy, powerful male stared back at her. His ice-blue eyes narrowed, cloudy with thoughts he hid with ease. Although with that square, unforgiving jawline, she could guess he wasn’t especially thrilled. His sun-tipped light brown hair curled carelessly over his collar, as if he couldn’t be bothered with it. Wide, huge hands rested on his hips, his feet placed firmly apart. He looked utterly poised and self-assured. He wore a plain white T-shirt that bulged over impressive biceps, and faded, snug jeans that fit the man all too well.

He looked like a ruffian. A hood. A gorgeous, temperamental hood.

What happened to her old, pencil-laden, calculator-carrying geek? This man was young—early thirties at the most—sharp and, judging by his scowl, tough as nails.

At first he’d seemed sweet and friendly, but no longer. Now he was the complete opposite. And to think she’d been worried about him, and his fear of the wrath of the “boss”!

“Oh, dear,” she whispered. “This isn’t going to work out at all.”

Relief flooded his features, softening them. “Really?”

An audible groan came from the other side of the wall. In a flash, Joseph’s scowl was back. He reached around her with one long arm and yanked open the door. Three guys—at least two of whom fit her computer-geek image to the last microinch—nearly fell into the room.

They recovered quickly, especially with the glare they received from Joe, and mumbling assorted apologies, slunk back down the hallway.

“Sorry,” Joe told Caitlin. “We’re short on excitement around here. You were saying this wasn’t going to work out?”

She nodded, wondering how a computer nerd could possibly have such a low, husky voice, like fine-aged whiskey. “Yes. I’m sorry. But…well, in my experience, I don’t work well with men like you.”

He blinked. “Men like me?”

A sound came from behind the once again shut door. It sounded like a…snicker. Three snickers.

Joe inhaled deeply and ignored them.

Caitlin pictured the three men once again pressed against the closed door, listening with their ears glued to the wood. She might have smiled, were it not for the frown on Joseph’s face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he wanted to know, straightening his wide shoulders. “That you don’t work well with men like me?”

It meant that she was tired of pushing away roaming hands and groping fingers from the kind of man who took her at face value. Tired of being patted on the head as if she were a toy, a pretty, empty shell of a human being.

It had been happening to her ever since puberty, which had come unfortunately early. In her experience, the kind of man most likely to treat her that way stood right in front of her. Cool, collected, knowing, cocky.

“It simply means I’m sorry, Mr. Brownley,” she said. “But this won’t work out at all. It’s clear that you’re a man who needs no one. Certainly not me.” Caitlin turned, got to the door before she remembered something horrifying.

She needed this job desperately.

Without it, she was headed for the poorhouse. It’d been so easy for her to forget that little detail, being a woman completely unused to stress.

Could she find another job?

The idea almost made her laugh. With her qualifications, she’d be lucky to land the front-counter job at Del Taco. Her hand stilled on the doorknob, and she grappled with pride and fear and something even newer…annoyance.

Why hadn’t he wanted her?

“Did you forget where you parked your car?” Joe inquired politely from behind her.

Great. The sexy thug was a smart-ass to boot. “No.” Plastering her friendliest smile in place, Caitlin turned back to face the sternest-looking cute guy she’d ever seen. “I just thought that maybe…” Oh, how she hated to eat crow. “Maybe I judged you too quickly.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his cool eyes giving nothing of himself away. They both ignored the multiple sharp intakes of breath from the other side of the door. “Does this mean you’re not leaving?” he asked finally.

She winced at the unmistakable regret in his tone. “That’s what it means,” she admitted. “Unless I’m fired.”

“From what I know of you, you have absolutely no experience in much of anything, except maybe social studies.”

She stiffened in automatic defense at the disapproval and disgust. “I can do this job.”