Falling for Sir (17 page)

Aha! A taxicab rolled down the street and
stopped by the steps to her building. She got out and paid the driver. Thank
god. Relief swept through him. He sat back in his seat and ran a hand through
his hair.

"Ok, Tom," he said to his driver.
"Take me home."

* * * *

Marianne saw the black sedan again across the
street. Just like last time, it started to move away as soon as she walked up
her steps. After the day and evening she'd endured, she just wasn't putting up
with this. If someone was stalking her, they weren't getting away with it. She
turned and ran back down the steps.

"Hey, come back here!" she yelled, bag
swinging. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

The car kept moving. She just caught the license
plate number, illuminated by a street lamp, before the vehicle vanished into
the rain.

Gotcha!

She hurried up to her apartment and called her
brother, Mike. He wasn't on duty until the morning, but he promised to look up
the license plate as soon as he got on shift.

* * * *

"That's what it says, lil' sis. Looks like
your own boss is staking out your apartment." Mike laughed down the phone
at her. Apparently he thought she was safe since it was "only" Jack
Marchetti sitting outside her building in his car, lurking around. Oh yeah,
safe because a man like that would never look at Mike's socially awkward little
sister, would he? In all likelihood her brother thought she was making it up,
or simply memorized the wrong number. "You want me to come down there and
give him a warning?" he chortled.

"Thanks for your concern, Officer
Miller."

"Hey, you coming with me next week?"

"Coming with you where?" She sighed,
cradling the phone under her chin as she sorted through her desk drawer,
looking for her calendar. Marianne still liked to use the old-fashioned paper
book kind. Something else old-fashioned about her that people laughed at.

"It's Thanksgiving, dippy-head."

She sank against the back of her chair. Having
been so busy, and forgetting how quickly the time crept by, she'd completely
put the obligatory family dinner out of her mind. Her fingers found the
calendar.

"Mom's expecting us for dinner at four so
it means an early start for you and me. Ben and Julie are taking the kids up
the night before, but I'm working."

Wonderful. Four hours in a car with Mike and
Ozzy Osbourne, culminating in over-cooked turkey and another family quarrel.

"I gotta go. Talk later." She hung up
without making a commitment either way. Marianne had something else to sort out
first. A certain man who was driving her crazy.

As she put her calendar back in the drawer it
occurred to her that the Blu Cantrell CD was missing. Tried to remember if
she'd taken it home with her. No, she was pretty sure she'd left it in her
office to listen to when no one else was around and she worked late. It could
be a hard CD to replace and she'd had it for eight years.

The loss of it just rounded off her anger
nicely.

On her way through the main office, she checked
Rawlings' office and saw it was empty. No surprise he was late in today, but he
still had her portfolio in his car. Sweaty Pig. Heading for the elevator she
ran into Christie. "Marianne! Oh my god, you'll never guess what happened
to me last night—"

"I'm sorry. I can't stop right now."

"But I have to tell you—"

"Later. Ok?" She plowed onward for the
elevator.

"Maybe we can meet for drinks
tonight?" Christie called out.

Marianne pushed her way onto the elevator
without replying, her mind full of things she had to get straight with her
boss. For once when someone pushed her, jostling for space, she shoved back, holding
her ground.

* * * *

He had his feet up on the window ledge and his
back to the door when he heard it fly open. Still on his phone, he swung the
chair around and saw Marianne marching toward his desk, eyes firing green and
gold sparks across the distance.

She saw his phone and slowed up, but didn't
leave.

Ms. Miller was in a bad mood it seemed. Arms
folded, foot tapping, she waited for him to get done with his call. He wondered
vaguely where Mrs. Bracknell might be as she usually headed off anyone who
tried entering his office unannounced. She was very effective security and had
been known to utilize a flying tackle.

But today Mrs. Bracknell's concern for his
privacy was curiously absent.

"Ok, Leo. That sounds great. I think so
too. We'll talk further, but I have someone waiting for me right now and I—ok.
Thanks for returning the call. You too. Bye." He ended his call and tossed
his phone onto the desk. "Ms. Miller, I'm tempted to ask, in my sternest
tones, what can be the meaning of this?" He smiled.

She looked incredibly hot when she was angry.
But then she always looked hot.

"Why are you staking out my
apartment?"

Wow. Cut to the chase again. She really did not
waste time getting to the point. "Staking out your apartment?" Jack's
mind scrambled for any possible excuse.

"I've seen your car twice now. For all I
know you could have been out there more often. Why?"

He said nothing, lost for words and excuses.

"We talked about the rules already,"
she added. "Remember?"

Jack leaned back in his chair, one ankle resting
across his knee, feigning a casual pose. He realized he was beginning to like
the way she chastised him, like a schoolmistress. He rubbed his chin with two
fingers, considering her carefully. He suspected she had no idea how sexy she
looked in those blouses. If she meant the sheer number of buttons to be a
warning, she made a mistake. For him it was merely enticement—a challenge. Same
with her long skirts and her stern pout.
 

"We did talk about the rules," he
admitted finally. Still he didn't know if she referred to The Club's rules of
no contact outside, or of her rules about not dating from work. "I just
wanted to make sure you got home alright last night. But I guess you're going
to say you can look after yourself and I'm an old man who should butt
out."

She was breathing hard. He could see her fingers
digging into her folded arms. "I did get home alright. No thanks to Mr.
Rawlings. Frankly he's a menace. I didn't want to file an official complaint,
because I haven't been here very long and I've been advised against wasting my
time, but he's making my life impossible." Abruptly she stopped and
swallowed, her eyelashes lowered. He got the sense that she hadn't meant to say
that much.

"Do you want me to fire him?"

Up flicked her lashes and her eyes widened.
"I don't think that's necessary, but he could benefit from some sort of
reprimand. I'm sure I'm not the first woman he's pestered."

"No." He groaned, linking his hands
behind his head. "I'm sure."

"I don't want him to lose his job, but I
don't want to lose mine either."

Jack nodded slowly. "You like it here at
Marchetti's?"

She took a breath. "Yes." Again with
the eyelids lowered, pensive, hiding. "I do."

He had to do something about Rawlings, he
realized. No putting it off any longer. No more hoping it would resolve itself
somehow, or just stop. Rawlings may have worked under his father for years and
done great things once in his life. But he was a shadow of the man he used to
be. Ignoring that fact wasn't helping Bob, or any of his employees. Or,
ultimately, the store.

She was biting her lip. "You were just on
the phone with Leo Peterson, weren't you? My old boss."

"Yes. Great guy."

"Why?"

"Checking up on your references," he
admitted. "Actually I wondered if you might want to go back to Grant
Peterson. If they offered you a better position and a higher salary. I
understand we stole you away. Leo would love to have you back."

Her eyes were bright, wondering. Her mouth
twitched. "Why would I want to go back there? You just asked me if I liked
it here."

Jack got out of his chair and walked around the
desk, unable to keep his distance from her. "But if you don't work for me
anymore I don't have to abide by your damn rules do I?"

She colored, licked her lips, took a step back.
"What?"

"If I send you back to Grant Peterson, I
can take you out to dinner. Can’t I?"

For a long moment she was silent, just staring
at him. Then she muttered, "They don't even have a branch in New York
city. I'd have to go to Boston or Philadelphia."

As if distance mattered to him. He laughed
softly. "I'd go anywhere you needed me to be, if you said yes."

* * * *

She'd lost the feeling in her arms and hands
because they were folded so tightly, her fingers gripping too hard, like claws.
"Yes to what?"

"A date. Dinner. A movie. Theater. Boat
ride, petting zoo, apple picking. Rollerblading. Heck, even a pottery
class." He gave her a rueful smile that made him look boyish.
"Anything."

At first she'd thought he meant to get rid of
her, chase her out of New York. Now she understood what he was trying to do.
But she wasn't leaving the city. It wasn't going to beat her into submission.

Although he just might. She felt a shy smile
tugging on her lips, but she struggled, fighting it back. "I like New
York. I'm staying."

A low moan rolled out of him and he swept one
hand back through his hair, long fingers splayed. "Fine. Make it harder on
me."

"Oh, I don't mean to cause you any trouble,
Mr. Marchetti," she replied innocently. "Sir."

His eyes narrowed. "If you stay in New York
I can't possibly let anyone else here hire you, but if you work for me I can't
ask you out. That's not fair. It's a Catch 22."

"True. It must be very trying to find you
can't have everything you want. Welcome to how the other half lives."

Shaking his head he laughed again, bewildered.
"So..." He cleared his throat. "I'm seeing my new apartment take
shape. You do good work, Ms. Miller."

"Thanks. As soon as I tell vendors and
craftsmen who I'm working for they're pretty quick to get back to me." In
fact she was expecting to be finished much sooner than expected. It was a
thought that didn't make her very
 
happy,
although it should, of course. "It's just down to a few finishing
touches."

Her voice was calm now, betraying nothing of the
turmoil inside, where a feeling of panic and yet, at the same time, a childish
sort of excitement soared through her. It almost lifted her off her feet. She
wanted to lean over, reach up and kiss him. Then she wanted to ask him why he
went to The Club, but of course she couldn't. That was another rule. By raising
the subject now she would shatter that make believe world. They'd never be able
to play those roles again if she brought Claudia out of that fantasy realm and
into this real one.

There was also the not-so little matter of Alana
Shepherd. While he spent time with Alana as his official, photo-ready date, did
he expect her to be his plaything on the side, hidden in the shadows? He'd met
her at a sex club, she thought grimly. What else did she expect him to think of
her?

She almost wished she'd never gone to The Club.
Almost.

He was too handsome standing there before her in
rolled up shirt sleeves, with his tie loose, collar open. She swallowed hard.
Why were so many people scared of him? He was just a pussycat. Well, maybe a
tiger.

"I'm going out of town tomorrow
morning," he said suddenly, walking back to his desk. "So you'll have
the run of the place to finish while I'm gone. I'll be back on Thursday next
week. I'd like to meet with you then and take a walk through of the place
before I give you the final payment. Is that possible?"

This was the moment when Marianne discovered if
Jack Marchetti asked whether something was possible in that deep, all-business
voice, you simply said 'yes'. You didn't think about it. So she said,
"Yes" and she didn't think. For one of the view times in her life she
didn't let her thoughts complicate her words. His dark blue eyes surveyed her
with enough warmth to melt the lace on her panties.

"Good. Can you make it to my apartment by
nine in the morning?"

"Sure."

He smiled wide. "Perfect. I'll see you when
I get back on Thursday. Ms. Miller."

She backed up toward his door.

"By the way, your little blonde friend on
the sixteenth has been singing your praises to me."

"Really?"

"She thinks you're great. Likes you a
lot."

"Well, I like
her
too." When was Christie talking to Jack Marchetti?