My Man Pendleton (20 page)

"I was
not
running my fingers through your hair," he said, more to beat back the panic threatening to overtake him at being so late for work than to actually deny what even he had to admit was a valid argument.

"Well, at any rate, you'd better hurry if you have any hope of getting to work before nine," Kit pointed out as she snuggled back down into the covers and closed her eyes. "Boy," she added in a sleepy murmur, "it must be a drag to be a working stiff."

In spite of running inexcusably late for work, Pendleton could only lie there for a moment on his side and watch Kit McClellan in utter disbelief as she slipped effortlessly back into a nice, steady slumber. Only a person with no conscience could possibly fall asleep that quickly. Of course, his realization of that only compounded his discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, silently. What on earth was he supposed to do with her?

Unfortunately, way too many ideas popped into his head in response to that question, few of them in any way polite. Or legal. For now, he was just going to have to worry about it later. Because he had only fifteen minutes to shave, shower, dress, and make the seven-minute drive to work. So, keeping an eye trained carefully on the woman sleeping in his bed, he threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. Then, because he knew better than to trust her, he picked up his pillow and, as he stood, placed it strategically over his lower torso before he began backing toward the bedroom door.

He was as quiet as he could possibly be as he eased shut the door behind him. In spite of that, he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Kit mumble something in her sleep just before the latch clicked. And although he tried to tell himself her remark must have been some incoherent observation about a half-forgotten dream, he couldn't help but think instead that it sounded a whole lot like, "Nice tushie, Pendleton."

And that, even more than being egregiously late for work, was what made him dash for the bathroom posthaste.

* * *

"You've made me a very happy man, Pendleton."

Pendleton clenched his hands into fists behind his back and silently willed his employer to spontaneously combust. Holt McClellan, Sr. sat on the business side of a massive mahogany desk, the worn leather chair beneath him creaking under his weight as he leaned back with
much
satisfaction. On the dark-paneled wall behind him, stuffed in various poses of literally glassy-eyed terror, was a disturbingly large collection of hunting trophies. But what really bothered Pendleton the most—aside from the obvious fact that his boss enjoyed killing things—was that each of the prizes had been wrested from completely passive animals like deer, raccoons and large-mouth bass.

Boy, you'd think the least McClellan, Sr. could do was go after something that had big, pointy teeth and razor-sharp claws. Even things out a bit, for God's sake.

"Yepper," the CEO continued happily, scattering Pendleton's thoughts. "Very,
very
happy.
"

"I assume, sir, that would be because of my report on priority enhancement to promote productivity," Pendleton stated, feigning ignorance. "I'm glad you approve. I—"

"Screw the report," McClellan, Sr. interrupted with a smile. "You're sleeping with my daughter. I see great things in your future, Pendleton. Great things indeed."

Pendleton swallowed hard, torn between denying the allegation, even though it was technically true, and ruining his boss's good mood, or conceding that he had, in fact, shared more than just a mattress with his employer's daughter, and thereby perpetuating a lie, to keep the man very,
very
happy.

Ultimately, the decision was taken out of his hands when McClellan, Sr. asked, "So, when are you going to marry her?"

That, at least, was a question to which Pendleton
definitely
knew the answer. With all the vigor and insistence he could muster, he stated quite forcibly, "Sir?"

"Marry her," his employer repeated. "When's the wedding? She's quite a catch, you know."

Pendleton swallowed hard. "A … catch, sir?"

The CEO waved a hand impatiently through the air. "Well, all right. Maybe not a catch. But you do have to admit that she's one of a kind."

Finally, an observation with which Pendleton could unequivocally agree. "Oh, yes, sir. I will admit that. Your daughter is nothing if not … unique."

The moment Pendleton had arrived at work, Beatrice had told him Mr. McClellan, Sr. was demanding his presence in his office. Naturally, he'd assumed his employer had commanded this performance because he wanted a rundown of Pendleton's Pirates of the
Caribbean
adventure with the old man's daughter. The last thing he had expected upon walking into his boss's office was for McClellan, Sr. to slap him soundly on the back and say with heartfelt delight, "Welcome back, son!"

But that was precisely what his boss had done. And nothing in Pendleton's entire life had terrified him more than those words. Or at least, that one word. That last word. Son. Because the way McClellan, Sr. had voiced that word…

All Pendleton could do was remember Kit's assertion at dinner that night in
Veranda
Bay
, that he
was currently at the top of the McClellan men's
sap du jour
list. That list of eligible bachelors who might be gullible enough, greedy enough or misguided enough to marry the madcap McClellan heiress, thereby securing the family fortune for the family.

When it appeared that his employer was going to say nothing more, Pendleton ventured, "May I speak frankly, sir?"

"By all means."

With some trepidation, he began, "Although your daughter is certainly a lovely person
…"

McClellan's eyebrows arrowed downward in concern. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that, Pendleton."

"Uh…"
he tried again. "It's just that, um…"

"Ye-es?" his boss asked, stringing the single syllable out over several time zones.

"Well, sir, although I think Miss McClellan is, um…
"

"Is what?"

"Is a, uh
…"

With his free hand, McClellan, Sr. made a slow, gyrating motion, a silent indication that Pendleton should just please, for the love of God, get on with it.

"Well, she has a great personality, sir," he said lamely.

McClellan, Sr. frowned. "Uh-oh."

The softly uttered observation halted Pendleton's thoughts faster than an electrode to the groin would have. "Uh-oh, sir?"

But instead of elaborating, McClellan, Sr. eyed Pendleton malignantly and asked, "Pendleton, how badly do you need this job?"

Oooh, low blow.
"Um, pretty badly, sir."

"And can you think of any other corporation in the country that will pay you the salary you're currently earning in the position you hold?"

Oooh, another one below the belt. McClellan, Sr. sure did fight dirty. "Um, no, sir, I can't think of another corporation in the country that will pay me what Hensley's does. And if I haven't said so already, sir, it's a very generous package, one that—"

"That's what I thought." McClellan, Sr. nodded, triumphantly if Pendleton wasn't mistaken. "Now then. You were saying? About my lovely daughter and her great personality?"

Pendleton sighed. He was really beginning to hate his new job, despite its generous benefits and pay. "I was saying, sir, that your daughter is um, lovely."

"And?"

"And she has a great personality."

"And?"

"And I find her company to be very…"

"Yes?"

Demoralizing. Uncomfortable. Maddening. Icky. "Delightful," he muttered, and somehow he managed not to choke on the word.

McClellan, Sr. couldn't contain his glee. "I knew the two of you would hit it off. The minute I laid eyes on you, Pendleton, I knew you were the man for Kit."

Oh, God. "Sir?"

"Yes, son?"

Oh, please, no. Not
son.
Anything but that. "About my report? On priority enhancement to promote productivity?"

"We'll talk about it at tomorrow's meeting. Anything else?"

Well, except for that small matter of your daughter having infested my home and, aside from spraying her
with some nasty pesticide that might potentially harm the environment, I have no idea how to remove her…

"Nothing, sir."

"Excellent."

He prepared to leave, thinking his boss would dismiss him with his usual, cursory "Now get out," but instead, McClellan, Sr. rose from his chair and moved to the front of his desk.

And then, out of nowhere, he said, "Did you know that I once paid a man a quarter of a million dollars
not
to marry my daughter?"

Pendleton blinked three times, as if a too-bright flash had gone off right in front of his eyes. This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with his boss. It had been bad enough having it with the boss's daughter. In spite of that, he was helpless to say anything but, "Now that you mention it, I believe that Miss McClellan did say something about that over dinner in
Veranda
Bay
."

McClellan, Sr. nodded. "Then I assume she also told you why it's essential that she be married within two months' time, too, didn't she? Something about one hundred million dollars?"

Pendleton pretended to search his memory for the recollection. "Seems to me she said it was ninety-nine-point-four million," he said.

His employer growled impatiently. "Whatever."

"Yes, she did mention that, as well."

McClellan, Sr. nodded. "The man I paid to not marry Kit was a prick, Pendleton. She deserved better. She deserved someone like you."

Oh, he really didn't like the sound of that.

"And now," his employer continued, "here you are." For a long time, McClellan, Sr. only studied him in silence, as if he were trying to gauge the full measure of the man. Then, evidently having ar
rived at a decision, he went on, "Seeing as how I once paid a man that much money to
leave
my daughter, when my family's fortune
wasn't
at stake, can you imagine how
grateful
I'd be to the man who
married
Kit now, thereby keeping the family fortune where it belongs—in the hands of the family?"

Pendleton swallowed hard in an effort to dispel the bitter taste that rose from the back of his throat at hearing his employer's offer. The fingers he had curled behind his back fisted tighter as he realized he'd never wanted to hit anyone as badly as he wanted to slug McClellan, Sr. at that moment. The man didn't deserve ninety-nine-point-four cents, let alone millions. To barter one's daughter like so much furniture made the man, to Pendleton's way of thinking, worse than a common pimp.

As if he hadn't already said far too much, McClellan, Sr. added, "I can be a very generous man, Pendleton. Think about it."

Oh, as if he'd be able to do anything
but
think about it. Naturally, Pendleton had no intention of lowering himself to McClellan, Sr.'s distasteful pandering. But he was too outraged at the moment to trust anything he might say aloud, so he only nodded dispassionately and said nothing. Hey, what was there to say? His employer was a slimy, heartless creep, and Pendleton was too much of a gentleman to call him on it. Either that, or Pendleton was too much of a spineless, simpering suck-up to call him on it. Whatever.

"I'm glad we understand each other," McClellan, Sr. said with a slimy, heartless smile.

Pendleton responded with a spineless, simpering one of his own.
"Yes,
sir. We do indeed understand each other."
You creep.

"Fine. Now remember what I said. And get out."

Unable to follow that last order fast enough, Pendleton pivoted on his heel and hurried out of his employer's office. As he went, he tried not to panic in the knowledge that it was barely
nine
A.M.
,
and already his house had been overtaken by Kit McClellan, his morals compromised by her father. Call him an alarmist, but it seemed to him that the day wasn't starting off well at all.

He could handle the McClellans, he assured himself as he made his way back to his office. There was no way McClellan, Sr. could expect him to marry Kit and save the family fortune, with or without a bonus for his trouble. This wasn't medieval
England
, where fathers did that kind of thing, in spite of McClellan, Sr.'s obviously antiquated thinking on the matter.

And Kit couldn't possibly be serious about being his "roomie," Pendleton told himself further. Surely, it was just her
…
unique
…
sense of humor and simple boredom with her life—and
not
a chemical imbalance in her brain—that made her do the things she did. Surely, she would tire of wreaking havoc in his life soon, and then she'd move on. Surely everything would come to rights soon.

Unfortunately, Pendleton felt sure about none of those things. Except for maybe one. He
could
handle Kit McClellan.