A Night to Remember (3 page)

“Can I get you some dry clothes?” Joshua offered, feeling an urgent need to do something for this soggy woman even though she had refused all his other offers of assistance.

“No thanks.” She attempted a smile. “I think I'll head home.”

The man with the glasses moved closer, putting a supporting arm around her shoulder. She looked down at the ground and twirled the toe of her soggy sneaker in the grass. The little boy clutching the boat came up and patted her knee reassuringly. She reached out and ruffled his hair affectionately.

Belatedly, Joshua realized he was staring, almost rudely. It suddenly made him feel ridiculously guilty for having such carnal thoughts about this woman. Another man's wife. A little boy's mother.

Joshua cleared his throat. Not wanting to embarrass this poor woman any further, he turned and walked away, wondering why he felt such a sharp pang of envy.

“Mrs. Jackson just called. She and Mr. Barton are on their way down here right now. She said they want to talk to you, Eleanor.
Pronto.
Eleanor? Eleanor? Are you in here?”

The bulky copy-machine door wobbled, then swung wide open. A disheveled mass of curly brown hair appeared first, followed by a plain, unsmiling face.

“That is not amusing, Jeanne.” Eleanor shifted her aching knees and glared across the hot, stuffy room at her coworker. “I've been wrestling with this blasted machine for the past forty-five minutes and I'm in no mood for jokes.”

“I'm not kidding, Eleanor,” Jeanne insisted anxiously. “I was working on the quarterly reports you gave me this morning when your phone rang. Since I knew you were trying to fix the copier, I answered it. It was Mrs. Jackson.”

“Uh-huh,” Eleanor mumbled in a disbelieving tone. She crammed her head inside the copier and continued yanking on the accordion-mashed section of paper jammed into the inner workings of the machine.

Distracted, she listened with half an ear to Jeanne's rambling account of the phone call, certain that Jeanne had managed to bungle the message. As usual.

There was no earthly reason for Mrs. Jackson, executive assistant to the firm's managing partner, to contact her. Eleanor was a lowly financial analyst, one of thirty individuals who held that position in the company. In matters of business, she had never dealt directly with Mr. Joshua Barton, aforementioned managing partner, either. It had to be a mistake.

A mistake that nicely reflected the overall tone of this frustrating day, Eleanor decided. Her morning had started with an uncharacteristically late arrival at the office thanks to a stalled commuter train. Two members of her staff had called in sick, the already pressing deadline for her latest report had been moved forward a full week, she had missed lunch, and a small snag on her pantyhose was now a gargantuan run down the center of her leg.

Best of all, if she couldn't get the darn copy machine to function properly, she was going to be stuck at the office until late into the evening. Again.

Of course it wasn't as if she had any special plans or any special someone who would care that she spent the better part of the night at work, but toiling away at the prestigious financial offices of Hamilton, Barton and Jones rated a minus five on a scale of one to ten in Eleanor's humble opinion.

“Mrs. Jackson, you've found us,” Jeanne squeaked. “Oh, my. Hel ... lo ... hello, Mr. Barton.”

Eleanor ceased pulling on the jammed paper in midtug and instantly became alert.
Joshua Barton? Here? Now? Was it possible?

Eleanor sunk a bit lower behind the large copier, thankful she was completely hidden from view. Her eyes darted frantically about the room, searching for a nonexistent back exit. There was no escape! She took several deep breaths, then slowly, cautiously lifted her head and risked a quick glance over the top of the machine.

Eleanor caught a fleeting glimpse of the stylishly attired, gray-haired Mrs. Jackson, then gasped aloud.
Oh-migosh!
He was really
here!

Eleanor ducked down instantly. The subtle vibration that seemed to reach deep inside her anytime she was within five feet of him began, warming her insides, causing her pulse to quicken and her skin to tingle.

She hadn't even caught a glance at the back of his head since the company picnic four weeks ago. How she longed now to feast her eyes on those incredible features that would have been labeled pretty if they weren't so masculine. Thick, luxurious dark hair. Bold, straight nose. High cheekbones. Even a slight cleft in his chin.

In the six years she had worked for his company, Eleanor had spoken to him precisely fifteen times. Sixteen, if you counted the incident at the company picnic, but Eleanor stubbornly refused to think about that encounter.

Unable to resist, Eleanor lifted her chin and risked another peek. Joshua looked fabulous. With his hip braced against the edge of a small filing cabinet and one hand resting comfortably in the pocket of his navy pin-striped suit, he was the embodiment of a successful, sophisticated, wealthy businessman.

But that alone could not account for Eleanor's reaction. There was a quiet intensity about Joshua that drew her toward his deeply set dark eyes, an edge to his polished civility that touched her heart and called to her soul.

The problem was Joshua barely knew she existed. Except if he remembered her as the nut who fell in the water at the picnic. Hopefully he had forgotten that humiliating incident. Yet even if he hadn't, it wouldn't matter, wouldn't change anything.

Men like him were never interested in women like her. It was a difficult, distressing fact to accept, but Eleanor firmly believed she had ... until she came in contact with him. Then the woman she was—the woman who possessed a head filled with common sense, not romantic dreams—vanished, and visions of impossible fantasies captured her imagination.

From her cocoon of safety Eleanor heard Mrs. Jackson's cultured voice ask, “Is Ms. Graham here?”

Now was the perfect time to make her presence known, but Eleanor felt paralyzed with dread and incapable of moving. There was a long, silent pause and in her mind she pictured a speechless Jeanne pointing toward the copy machine, revealing her outlandish location.

“Ms. Graham, may we have a word, please? I'm on a rather tight schedule this afternoon.”

The deep, dark tones of Joshua's husky voice sent a delicious shimmer down Eleanor's back.
He must think I'm some sort of lunatic,
she reasoned as a small bubble of nervous laughter escaped her clenched lips. Hiding inside a copy machine. That was almost as good as falling into a pond. Talk about making a memorable impression!

Eleanor glanced down at herself and groaned softly. Her skirt was rumpled, her blouse untucked, the tips of her fingers were coated with black toner, and her suit jacket was back at her desk. She pressed her hands to her hot face, wishing she could crawl completely inside the machine and shut the door behind her. But retreat wasn't an option.

Eleanor pulled her head out of the machine, squared her shoulders, and stood on her feet, vowing not to make a total fool of herself. Somehow.

“Hello, Mrs. Jackson, Mr. Barton.” Eleanor nodded her head politely, deliberately keeping her ink-stained fingers behind her back. “How may I help you?”

Staring at her, neither Mrs. Jackson nor Joshua could completely hide their shocked reactions to her sudden materialization. Eleanor swallowed hard and moved an unruly clump of dark curly hair off her face.
I must look a lot worse than I thought.

Eleanor glanced nervously about the room, noting that Jeanne had vanished. Coward.

The seconds ticked away and the silence created a knot of tension in Eleanor's empty stomach. Just when Eleanor was beginning to doubt she would ever be able to breathe normally again, Joshua spoke.

“Don't we have repair people to handle this sort of problem?”

“hug?”

Eleanor bit her tongue, scarcely believing she had just uttered that inane sound. Striving for a quick recovery, she launched into a hasty explanation.

“Actually we do have a service contract with the copy machine's manufacturer and for the most part the individuals they send to work on the machines are very competent. Not always punctual, however. I mean, we'll call the company and explain that our machine isn't functioning and that we need service ASAP but that doesn't always guarantee that a repair person will be here on the same day.

“Once we waited nearly two full business days before someone finally appeared. So when the machine jammed today, I decided instead of wasting more time waiting for a repair person that might or might not show up, I'd try to remove the paper jam myself. And I have. Almost.”

Eleanor drew in a deep breath and stared triumphantly across the room. Mrs. Jackson's eyes widened in astonishment while Joshua's eyes narrowed in confusion. Terrific. Now she was babbling like an incoherent idiot. She should have stopped talking after her eloquent, opening
huh.

“We have not come here to discuss
copy
machines, Ms. Graham,” Mrs. Jackson said in a frosty tone. “Mr. Barton has a very delicate situation that I thought you would be able to help him with, however I'm not sure my assumption was correct.”

“I'll handle this, Edna,” Joshua interrupted.

Mrs. Jackson bristled, but quickly deferred to her boss. Joshua flashed an utterly devastating smile at Eleanor, and she fought hard to keep her excessive eagerness to please from showing in her expression. After all, she did possess some pride.

“This is actually a personal matter, not a business situation,” Joshua began. “I want it understood from the beginning, Ms. Graham, that you are under no obligation to help me. Okay?”

“O-okay,” Eleanor stammered.

“My father has recently remarried. Mrs. Jackson thought you might be familiar with his new wife. Rosemary Phillips?”

“The children's author?”

“Yes.” A faint suggestion of color brushed Joshua's strong cheekbones. “Apparently she is quite famous. Unfortunately I've never heard of her, nor have I read any of her books.”

“They're wonderful!” Eleanor exclaimed. Her mind unfroze as she spoke on a subject near and dear to her heart: children's literature. “Rosemary is so gifted. I'm constantly amazed by her talent. She's written over fifty books and she illustrates as well as writes the text for each of her stories. Her characters are enchanting. They're funny and endearing and utterly charming. She's brought hours of reading enjoyment to children and adults all over the world. I adore her books.”

“It's nice to know that Rosemary has such loyal fans,” Joshua said diplomatically. “Do your children enjoy her stories as much as you?”

“I don't have any children,” Eleanor said quietly, hoping the color of her face was merely beet and not fire-engine red. “I'm single.”

“Single?” A muscle ticked in Joshua's cheek. “Actually that might make things a bit easier.”

Eleanor's heart gave a thud that shook her entire body. She stared intently at Joshua, somehow managing to hold his gaze for one breathless moment before looking away. Unbelievably she felt his eyes still on her face, so she glanced back. He sent her an encouraging smile.

It suddenly became difficult to breathe. Maybe it was the fumes from the copier ink she had inhaled earlier? Eleanor told herself it was ridiculous for a twenty-eight-year-old woman to have such intense adolescent feelings for a man who had never and would never look at her as anything more than an employee.

Yet somehow that didn't matter. Apparently her heart didn't possess any common sense when it came to Joshua Barton.

“Easier?” Eleanor squeaked. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I'm going to be meeting Rosemary for the first time this weekend and I feel at a great disadvantage since I know so little about her and her work.” Joshua shrugged his broad shoulders. “Do you think you could spare the time to give me a crash course on Rosemary Phillips's ... um ... literature?”

“Certainly,” Eleanor said in her most professional voice, hoping to cover the sharp pang of disappointment that swept though her.
Well, what did I expect? A dinner invitation, a marriage of convenience proposal, a plea to bear his child? If I continue acting like a hopeless romantic around Joshua, then I fully deserve to be disappointed.

“I appreciate the help, Ms. Graham,” Joshua said formally.

“I'm glad to be of service, Mr. Barton,” Eleanor replied with a forced smile, annoyed with herself for feeling an almost desperate need to prove her worth. Why did it matter so much?

Her smile eased away and she mentally pulled herself together. “I recently read an advance copy of Rosemary Phillips's latest book. It's sure to be another hit. She's introduced a new character, Pinkerton Pig. He's a riot.”

“Pigs?” Joshua regarded Eleanor with a dubious expression. “Rosemary writes books about pigs?”

“No, not really,” Eleanor quickly replied. “I believe Pinkerton is Rosemary's first pig. Her most famous characters are brother and sister rabbits, Alex and Allyson. Of course my personal favorite has always been Owen. He's a dog ... well, a puppy actually.”

“Fifty books filled with puppies? Pigs? Rabbits? I'm never going to be able to keep all this straight,” Joshua muttered in a distracted tone. “I'm flying down to D.C. tonight for a bipartisan fund-raising dinner. I'll be staying in the capital for the rest of the week for congressional hearings on the current economic conditions of the Third World. These are very important meetings. I need to keep focused on that agenda.”

“You're pushing yourself too hard, Joshua,” Mrs. Jackson scolded. “You haven't left the office until after midnight for the past week and a half. You should really try to reschedule this weekend trip.”

Joshua waved aside Mrs. Jackson's suggestions. “I've already accepted my father's invitation. I cannot cancel at this late date.”

“Perhaps Ms. Graham can accompany you on the plane down to your father's on Friday night,” Mrs. Jackson suggested. “The corporate jet can leave here with Ms. Graham at three o'clock, make a quick stop at the airport to pick you up, then continue south. The flight from D.C. to North Carolina is nearly an hour. Ms. Graham can brief you on the plane.”

“I suppose that might work,” Joshua said. “Congress tends to wrap things up early in the day on Friday.”

“I can't possibly leave on Friday afternoon,” Eleanor interrupted.