Bachelor Boss

“He was a janitor until he died when I was eight”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that he was a janitor or sorry he died?”

His lips curved in an answer to her cheeky question. When he smiled, his face was transformed from godlike perfection to a boyish charm that captivated her. It took yet another stern mental warning to remind her that she didn’t need to be captivated by her new boss—even if he was just a temporary boss.

“I’m sorry that you lost your father,” he clarified with definite sincerity in his voice, despite his teasing smile. “I lost my father when I was in college, and that was hard enough. I can’t imagine being as young as eight.”

“It was rough,” she admitted without rancor. “I was a late-life surprise for my parents, so I have to confess I was fairly doted on.”

His expression turned slightly ironic. “I can see we had vastly different childhoods.”

“I’ll say,” she said with a laugh. “I’d never even seen a tennis court, except on television, until I was a teenager.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied. “I’m just trying to picture my father as doting, and the image just won’t gel.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say,” she admitted hesitantly. He’d startled her as she never expected something so personal to enter the conversation. Weren’t negative family comments a no-no in the rich person’s rule book?

Philip shook his head as if suddenly realazing what he’d said.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepishness that reached out and caught her imagination. “Didn’t mean to get maudlin on you.”

Maudlin wasn’t the word she would have chosen. Introspective, maybe, but that’s what nabbed her attention so fully. The image she was getting of him conflicted with the picture she’d already drawn in her mind. She expected someone cold and calculating, someone who never looked at the past, yet she was facing someone quite charming with an undercurrent of power and magnetism that she would do well to not underestimate.

He put his entrée on the desk before shifting to casually rest his arm on the back of his chair. The move stretched his dress shirt across his chest, his jacket now discarded, and her mouth went a little dry. Good heavens, the man was dreamy! Maybe it was her imagination, but he bore an uncanny resemblance to her favorite actor, although Mr. Brosnan might argue the presumption. Still, with the five-o’clock shadow shading his face and his dark hair just everso-slightly mussed, she’d have to say that yes, indeed, Philip Ambercroft looked rather Bond-ish at the moment

“So tell me about your favorite birthday memory,” he said, startling her out of her wayward thoughts.

Wrinkling her brow, Madalyn tried to think. Favorite birthday?

“I guess it would be my eighth, just before my father died. A carnival was in a town close to ours and where my dad got the money, I have no idea, but we all went and rode every ride, ate every kind of junk food, and I got to ride the little Shetland ponies—you know, where they walk around slowly in a circle? Real excitement for a girl who’d never even seen a horse up close and personal. What about you?”

“Easy. I was sixteen and at boarding school in Switzerland. My parents couldn’t make it over and I spent the entire weekend by myself on the slopes. No pressure, no one watching, no yardsticks.”

“Your sixteenth birthday by yourself? That sounds sad.”

“Not at all. It was the first time I felt like my birthday wasn’t some kind of litmus test about my reaching my manhood.”

He said manhood with such derision, she couldn’t begin to imagine growing up under such pressure. The image was heart-wrenching, one he’d managed to convey in a sentence, and she was once again stunned by this very personal glimpse into a very private man’s life.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Holidays are special to me. Especially Christmas and birthdays. Sounds like you could take ‘em or leave ’em.”

“Oh, not so. And forgive me for being so talkative. I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight.”

“Must be my talent at scintillating dialogue,” she said drolly.

“Must be,” he agreed, his tongue in his cheek.

“You’ll have to remember where to come when you’re depressed from now on. Just call me Dr. Madalyn.”

“Well, Doctor, I think your dinner is getting cold so we’ll have to finish the session another day.”

“Oh, dam,” she said with mock regret, digging in to her orange chicken again and taking a bite. She sighed with sheer pleasure and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

As they finished the soup and egg rolls, the conversation became light and mundane. They talked about the building, about some of Ambercroft’s diverse holdings—nothing she didn’t already know from her research. But it was fun to listen to him talk, to watch his face brighten with pride. He really did love his company, and the many philanthropic endeavors they were involved in.

He even mentioned the gala Eva Price was chairing for the Pediatric AIDS League.

“Are you going?” She couldn’t stop enthusiasm from coloring her voice. How wonderful for Eva, to grab a contributor the likes of the Ambercroft family.

“I haven’t committed yet. Are you attending?”

“Um, yes,” she said, now hesitant and unsure why. “I’m sort of on the committee. I’ve done several with Eva, and it’s wonderful to be a part of such good work.”

“Then I’ll just have to find that invitation and RSVP, won’t I?”

Not sure how she was supposed to respond, she concentrated on the last of her fried rice. The food had been great, and she’d enjoyed talking to Philip, but Madalyn was ready for the evening to be over. It had been a long day, she was tired and she wanted to snuggle her baby for a few minutes before dropping into bed. She thought about telling Philip about Erin, but she didn’t want to start another long conversation.

Philip surprised her when he began clearing the desk.

“I can do that,” she said, preparing to help.

“No. You shut down the computer and get your things. It’s time for the birthday girl to open her fortune cookie and then go home.”

Dutifully cracking the treat, she opened the little slip of paper and immediately laughed.

“Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It says, ‘A new job awaits you.”’

“You’re joshing me.”

She handed over the fortune, and he laughed with her. “Well, I’m wondering about mine, then. It says, ‘You are next in line for a promotion.”’

She cocked her head. “Can the boss get a promotion?”

“Beats me. But I’ll be sure to bring this to my next board of directors meeting.”

With another round of laughter, they were ready to call it a night. In no time, they were in the elevator and headed for the parking garage. Philip had been so polite the entire evening, it didn’t surprise her when he took the keys from her and opened her car door. Still, she stood there, trying to display the proper amount of righteous, feminist indignation. The problem was, he’d moved so confidently, with such arrogant smoothness, she forgot what she was supposed to do. All she could concentrate on was how close he was, how alone they were, how soft his lips looked. The awkwardness seemed to have vanished, and for the merest second, it seemed he was bending closer to her and she gasped. Yes, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to see if he was everything her imagination promised—

Reality snapped back into place and they both jerked away at the same time. Humiliation burned her face and she fussed with her purse strap so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. Maybe she could find a way to blame this on fatigue....

Wishing she could melt into the pavement, she managed to get in the car and strap her seat belt on.

“Good night, Madalyn,” he said, shutting her door for her. “Sleep in tomorrow. You deserve it.”

She wished she knew what he was thinking. Even more, she wished she could hide her feelings and thoughts as well as he could. She could only imagine the shade of red on her cheeks.