But Not for Me
Auteur
Annette Broadrick
Lezers
15,6K
Hoofdstukken
12
Chapter One
Where is she?
Brad Phillips slammed the phone back in its cradle. There had been no answer at Rachel Wood’s home. Instead, all he’d heard was her cheerful recording inviting him to leave his name and number. She already knew his name and number. He was her boss and she should have been at work hours ago.
Impatient and more than a little unnerved by her continued absence, Brad shoved his chair away from his desk, stood and began to pace. He couldn’t remember a time in the eight years she’d worked for him when Rachel hadn’t called if she was running late.
So what is going on?
He glanced at his watch. Since she was generally at her desk working hard by the time he arrived each morning around seven-thirty, that meant that she was more than two hours late.
The only scenario that made sense—and the thought scared the hell out of him—was that she’d been in an accident on her way to the office and was lying unconscious somewhere, unable to call him. Twice this morning he’d picked up the phone to call the various hospitals that served the metropolitan area of Dallas, Texas, to see if she had been taken to any of their emergency rooms.
So far, he’d managed to talk himself out of that move, at least for the time being. His head told him that it was too soon to panic. No doubt there was a perfectly logical explanation why she hadn’t gotten in touch with him. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he’d been unable to come up with one.
Brad continued to pace, wondering how long a person had to be missing before you could call the police. Probably more than two hours, which meant there was nothing he could do but wait, not his favorite form of activity. Or inactivity, which was why he’d never considered patience a virtue. He considered patience a complete waste of time.
His intercom rang and Brad almost leaped across the room to reach his desk.
“Yes?”
His secretary, Janelle, said, “I wanted to remind you of your ten o’clock meeting with Arthur Simmons.”
“Thanks,” he replied. He turned away from his desk and walked over to the window. Just what he needed, he thought, his irritation and apprehension climbing another notch—a meeting with Arthur Simmons without Rachel to run interference.
The man was a genius with numbers and financial strategy. He’d saved Brad all kinds of money since he’d become the head of Phillips Construction Company’s accounting department. Brad considered himself blessed to have the guy.
However, he dreaded each meeting that he was forced to sit through. Simmons had to be one of the most boring men Brad had ever encountered. Brad needed Rachel at the meeting as a buffer. She knew when he’d had enough of long-winded recitations delivered in an annoying monotone. She had a knack for bringing meetings to a close without offending anyone.
If Rachel didn’t show up in the next fifteen minutes, Brad would be left on his own to suffer through Simmons’s long-winded explanations of the latest reports from his department.
The numbers were essential to Brad and he would be the last person to deny their importance, but he would much prefer to look over the figures himself without having them explained to him in excruciating detail.
Maybe it was Simmons’s attitude that bugged him. He came from a wealthy, upper-crust family somewhere back east. Arthur had made it clear during his interviews for the position that despite his moneyed background, he felt called to share his knowledge and expertise with humanity.
In Arthur’s case, humanity appeared to be Phillips Construction Company, but Brad didn’t care as long as Arthur continued to save—and therefore help to make—the company a great deal of money.
Although the two of them were close in age, he and Simmons couldn’t be more different. Brad had come up the hard way. He was a street kid who had eventually built a multimillion-dollar construction business from little more than his back, his bare hands and encouragement from a man who had believed he had potential.
Simmons, on the other hand, had probably never worked up a sweat in his life. Instead, he had attended all the right private schools and graduated with honors from a prestigious eastern university.
Brad was in no way envious of the man. The gulf between their backgrounds just underlined the fact that they had nothing in common…except the mutual goal to make the company a success.
The way Brad saw it, he was a physical person. Simmons was a card-carrying intellectual. His carefully manicured hands made it obvious that Simmons had never picked up anything heavier than a pencil.
Brad turned away from the window, running his hand through his hair in agitation. He needed his invaluable administrative assistant and he needed her now.
He forced himself to return to his desk, almost hearing Rachel’s voice telling him to relax and use his time practicing patience.
Brad threw himself into his chair with a long-suffering sigh. Rachel’s voice often echoed in his head. He figured she’d taken him on as some kind of project.
He would never forget the day he had hired her. He’d had no idea at the time that it was the smartest decision he’d ever make.
He’d been twenty-five, carefully tending a fledgling company by working long hours and generally sleeping in the construction trailer at his current building site.
He had a construction crew but no one who knew anything about the paperwork involved, including himself.
He’d been awarded the contract to build a multiplex theatre in north Dallas, the biggest job of his career. After the elation wore off, Brad had realized that he could no longer operate his growing business out of his apartment and a construction trailer.
He needed a bona fide office…with real office workers. He found the thought terrifying. An office would mean hiring—at the very least—a receptionist, a secretary and a bookkeeper. The latter job took up entirely too much of his time already.
The problem was that he couldn’t afford to hire that many people. Not yet. But once he finished the multiplex, he felt that more business would come his way. He knew he provided quality structures. He’d worked hard to build a reputation for honesty, integrity and fair dealing.
Yes, there would be more work down the road, but until then he still worked on a shoestring budget.
Brad faced the reality of his situation and advertised for what he could afford—a receptionist—in the hope that whoever applied for the position might be able to do more than answer the phone.
His first step had been to lease office space. He’d negotiated the price with the owner by agreeing to do repair jobs on the building whenever needed. He’d worked on the new space every night and weekend.
When he placed the help-wanted ad in the paper, the office space was still a mess, which meant he had to figure out where to hold interviews. He couldn’t expect a woman to show up at the project location and pick her way around building supplies, equipment and construction debris to get to his trailer. He eventually settled on a corner coffee shop near the site.
His phone rang repeatedly the day the ad first appeared. Brad was excited by the response. Surely he would find someone qualified within days.
A week later he was less excited. By then, he knew he was in deep trouble. Either the applicant wanted too much money or she didn’t appear to know how to handle business calls or keep messages straight. By the third week, he was desperate.
Then Rachel Wood called.
“Phillips Construction,” he yelled over the drilling noise going on outside.
In a cool, refined voice, she said, “Mr. Phillips, please.”
Man, she sounded so professional that it never occurred to him she was anything but some CEO’s administrative assistant.
“You’ve got him,” he said grinning. He was already fantasizing about what the woman with the crisp—yet husky—voice might look like.
“I understand you’re seeking a receptionist. Is the position still available?”
He’d been leaning back in his chair reading some reports when she called. At her words, he almost flipped over the chair. Struggling to maintain his balance, Brad triumphed over gravity enough to place his feet on the floor before saying, “Uh, yeah, uh, the position is open if you’re interested.” He heard the doubt in his voice and hoped she didn’t notice.
She gave a quiet sigh that he could have sworn sounded like relief. But when she spoke her voice was perfectly composed.
“When may I set up an appointment to be interviewed?”
He almost told her the job was already hers if she wanted it, but managed to restrain himself. This must be some kind of mistake, but at least he’d get to see her in person and have his curiosity satisfied. With a person like her answering his phone, his office would immediately appear financially sound, stable, and trustworthy.
He was already lamenting the fact that he would never be able to afford to hire her.
He glanced at his watch. “Is it too late to meet today?” he asked and held his breath.
“Not at all. That would be fine. If you could give me your address and a time that would be convenient, I’ll be there.”
Now came the sticky part. “Well, the thing is, my office space won’t be ready for occupancy until next week, but there’s a coffee shop near my present project where we could meet, if that’s okay with you—say around five o’clock?”
“Certainly,” she replied with a crispness that he found attractive and calming.
He gave her the address and directions. After he hung up, he sat staring at the wall. Don’t get too excited, he warned himself. Once she finds out what a tiny operation this is and all the paperwork that keeping it running entails, a woman like her will laugh at the pittance of salary I have to offer.
Brad forced his attention back to the reports before he returned to work with his crew. As the day progressed, he kept an eye on the clock to be certain he’d arrive at the interview on time.
By the time he walked into the coffee shop, Brad had washed up, but what he wore—faded jeans, a shirt with the sleeves ripped out and battered work boots covered with dust and grime—marked him for what he was: a construction worker. He might be the boss, but he knew he was too rough around the edges to mingle socially with the clientele he hoped to impress with his company’s performance.
He glanced around the small café, realizing too late that he’d neglected to get a description of Rachel Wood. He’d been more rattled at the time than he’d thought.
He rubbed his hand over his face, frowning. All right. Process of elimination. How many women were there? Alone?
Unfortunately, at least five.
Were any of them looking at him?
He dropped his head in disgust and stared at his boots. All of them watched him, and two of them wore predatory expressions.
A strong sense of relief coursed through him when a familiar voice from behind him said, “Pardon me, but are you Mr. Phillips?”
He turned and met the cool green gaze of a very attractive young woman who wore a tailored dress the color of her eyes. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a knot and framed her heart-shaped face.
The top of her head was level with his chin.
“You must be Ms. Wood,” he replied, a sense of relief that they’d connected washing over him. This woman couldn’t actually save his life; it only felt that way.
She smiled and nodded. “I chose a booth toward the back, thinking it would be a little more private.”
Brad almost missed what she said, because he was so intent on listening to her voice. In person, she sounded even more well-bred than she had on the phone. Rachel Wood was one classy lady. He was a little intimidated by her beauty, her poise and her obviously expensive education.
He wished he’d taken time to go to his apartment to change clothes, but it was too late now.
Brad motioned for her to lead the way and was treated to a view of her erect posture, her confident stride and a figure that was almost—but not quite—disguised by the prim dress she wore.
They sat across from each other. The waitress immediately appeared.
“Hi Brad,” the waitress said, giving him the seductive smile that he’d seen every time she was on duty.
“Yeah, hi, Mitzi, just a cup of coffee, please.”
Mitzi glanced at Rachel and motioned to the cup in front of her. “Need a refill?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Once the waitress left, Brad faced Rachel, wondering where to begin. He’d interviewed a dozen women so far, but today he felt like an awkward teenager on a first date. Either that, or as though he was the one being interviewed for a job he desperately wanted.
“I need to tell you up front that I have very little office experience,” Rachel said, looking as though she’d confessed to a crime. “Your ad didn’t state that you required experience, but I didn’t want to mislead you.”
“How are you at learning?” he asked, smiling. She was more nervous than he was, although she’d done a great job of disguising the fact. He relaxed a little, sat back and enjoyed the view. She is one good-looking woman. Way above your league, he reminded himself.
She gave a quick nod. “Show me what you want done and I’ll do it.”
Mitzi returned with his coffee. He nodded without taking his eyes off Rachel. “Thanks,” he murmured. “You know anything about construction work?”
“No, sir.”
He flinched in mock horror. “Hey, I’m not that much older than you. You don’t need to ‘sir’ me.” He noticed her hand trembling beside the coffee mug, confirming his assessment of her. She was nervous. Of him? Or the interview?
In an attempt to help her to relax, Brad described the company. “I formed my own company a little more than three years ago. I’ve worked construction since I was old enough to wear a tool belt and balance on a girder. What I don’t know anything about is keeping up with bills and payroll and the kind of paperwork that IRS insists I file on a regular basis.”
She picked up her cup and delicately sipped before she commented. “Your ad said something about being a receptionist,” she said with a hint of question in her voice.
“Yeah, because once I have the office open, I need someone to handle calls. I lose more business than I want to think about because I’m unable to check my answering machine at home more often. I get involved in a project and forget about everything else, but I know I can’t keep doing that or I’ll lose the momentum I’ve got going for me.”
“Yes, I can understand that,” she said slowly. She paused, as though searching for words. Finally she said, “About the salary—” she began, then stopped when he waved his hand as though a salary was incidental.
He knew this was the tricky part. He’d lose her when she heard what the job paid. He had to pitch the job as one of opportunity for greater things in the future. His con-artist dad had given Brad innumerable examples of how to convince a mark the future looked rosy.
“The thing is,” he said with what he hoped was a confident grin, “I’m getting more business than I can handle without working around the clock, which is close to what I’m doing already. The jobs are there, you see, but right now my cash flow is a little tight. If you’re willing to work for me, we can work something out now for a starting salary with a firm promise that your pay will increase steadily as we grow.”
Although her shoulders remained the same, Brad got the impression that Rachel had slumped into the bench at his explanation.
He sighed. “How much money were you looking for?” he asked, almost holding his breath for the answer.
“I don’t have a set figure. I finished college in May. I need to find work. My mother has some health problems and can no longer work. She sacrificed a comfortable life to ensure that my brother, sister and I received a good education. I don’t want her to worry about money. She’s done enough.” She sounded composed. Only the pain in her eyes revealed her emotions.
“Are you saying you’ve never worked before?” he asked, rubbing his cheek and realizing he should have shaved before the meeting.
Her lips curled into a wry smile. “Oh, I’ve worked, Mr. Phillips. Just not in an office. I began baby-sitting when I was thirteen, bused tables during high school and graduated to waitress in college. So yes, I’ve worked before,” she quietly added.
He tried not to let his astonishment show. If he’d been asked to guess, he would have said that Rachel Wood had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and had never needed to lift her hand to any sort of menial labor.
“Where did you go to school?” he asked, his curiosity aroused.
“Southern Methodist University. I wanted to stay close to home and was fortunate to receive a scholastic scholarship that helped me do so.”
“You’ve got me beat by a long shot. I managed an education of sorts, mostly by going to night school while I worked during the day.” As soon as he stopped speaking, Brad was appalled that he had mentioned his background to her. He never discussed his past. Talk about sabotaging himself! He quickly continued. “What did you major in?”
Her smile flashed once more. “You might find it strange for me to interview for a receptionist position, but I took all the business courses I could…accounting, business law, office management…”
She continued to list the subjects he knew little about. He had to pinch himself to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. When she finished her list, he said, “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Go on.”
“If you’ll come to work for me starting next Monday, you can decide your salary. Look at the books and the overhead. Pay yourself whatever’s left. How’s that?”
“You can’t be serious.” Disapproval frosted her words. He wasn’t surprised. Her reaction was proof enough he’d chosen the perfect candidate for the job.
“I need someone with your skills,” he said, wanting to convince her he wasn’t a complete loon. “Do you intend to take advantage of me?”
She looked at him with reproach. “Of course not.”
“Then I don’t see a problem.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She eyed him for the first time with suspicion.
He grinned. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but no, I don’t do drugs and outside of an occasional beer, don’t drink much, either.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked, startled.
“You have a very expressive face,” he replied, still smiling. “So, will you consider it? I can take you to the office. I still have a lot to do to have it ready by Monday, but I promise you a place to work by then.” He paused, silently pleading for her to agree.
“All right,” she eventually said, sounding a little uncertain.
“Great,” he said, immediately standing. “You want to ride with me?”
She moved more slowly and with a great deal more grace. “It would be more efficient if I followed you, wouldn’t it?”
Already thinking ahead, he thought, barely able to control the grin that kept threatening to break out. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He left a tip on the table, stopped and paid for their coffee and escorted her outside. “Where’s your car?”
She pointed to a small economy car that looked well used and equally well cared for.
“I’m over here,” he said, pointing to his beat-up truck with its faded red finish that blended well with the rust. After escorting her to her car, he strode to his truck and got in. He waited until she pulled out before he moved into traffic.
Brad was excited about being able to show off his office to someone. He’d been working out of his small apartment so long that he could barely find his way through the place, what with all the papers, files and other business-related products scattered around.
He drove to an older part of town and pulled into the parking lot of a red-brick building from the 1930s. Someday he’d have his own building or a large suite of offices in a prestigious office complex.
Brad stood by his truck and waited for Ms. Wood to pull into the space next to him. Three parking spaces were marked with signs saying Reserved for Phillips Construction Company.
Here was physical proof that he had moved up in the business world. With Ms. Wood’s help, there would be no stopping the company’s growth.
Of course, the future wasn’t reflected in his account ledgers just yet, but he knew the money would be there in the next few years.
They took the elevator to the third floor without speaking. The office was on the top floor, with a nice view of downtown Dallas.
He walked to the end of the hall and unlocked the door with a frosted-glass window. With a slight bow, he stepped back and waved her through the open doorway.
She stepped into the newly renovated space and stopped. “Oh, my. I wasn’t expecting anything quite this large.”
He shrugged. “Well, I figured that since I’m going to be here for a while I’d take the space while it was available. Besides, there will be offices for my site supervisors—when I get them—and I’ll need an office, as will you. Eventually there needs to be a place for a receptionist—”
She turned and faced him with raised brows. “I thought I was going to be your receptionist?”
He nodded. “Sure, at first. But the way I see it, some day you’ll be my administrative assistant with a secretary of your own. That is, if you want to invest your time and energy into making all of this work.”
She walked to one of the windows and looked out. The two men he’d pulled off his crew to finish the place had left everything where they’d been working at quitting time, thinking no one would see the mess. Brad was so used to the clutter of renovation that he’d been oblivious to the mess until now. Seeing the place through her eyes, he could understand that she might not be quite as impressed as he’d hoped.
When she turned away from the window, she looked around at the large open space, her brows raised slightly. “Are you sure this will be finished by Monday? That’s less than a week away.”
“No problem. We’ll finish a few rooms now and leave the rest of the area for storage. Since none of my clients ever see my office, there’s no reason to get fancy.”
She nodded thoughtfully as she continued to inspect the space.
He waited, not wanting to push her. He’d given her the best pitch he could. The decision was hers. He wished there was some way he could show her his vision for the company. There were no guarantees, of course, but he knew that hard work could produce amazing results.
Brad watched while she stepped over and around the clutter and studied the layout from a drawing pinned to one of the walls. Without turning, she asked, “I’m presuming that you’ll have furniture?”
He laughed. “It’ll be delivered Monday. It’s used but in good shape.”
She continued to prowl until she’d seen everything. Rachel walked to where he stood and asked, “What time do you want me here on Monday?”
He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the company was on its way.
Since then they’d been a team. They had worked together smoothly and efficiently for eight years. He had a hunch that was due more to her diplomacy than to his communication skills. Once he got to know her, Brad discovered Rachel to be as conservative and well-bred as she had appeared to be at the interview. She had a strong work ethic, which he appreciated.
Rachel worked every day for years, through blistering heat waves, drenching downpours, occasional winter sleet storms and once when she’d had the flu.
So where was she today?
Brad didn’t want to contemplate what would happen if Rachel weren’t there to help him run the company. She’d taken on the administrative side of things, leaving him free to do what he did best, build commercial projects.
Within three years, they’d hired more people, including Janelle. Before long, Accounting needed a leader—so he’d hired Arthur. Eventually Rich Harmon took the helm as office manager.
Rachel continued to amaze him. She accompanied him to business dinners with potential clients. She rarely spoke, and if the visitors thought she was there as arm candy, their assumption gave him an advantage. Rachel had a gift—she was a wizard at interpreting expressions, body language and what was implied but not said.
Later, she gave him her impressions of the people and how best to provide what they wanted. Together they would work out proposals with the added data she’d provided. Within a couple of years, Rachel had become more of a partner in the business than a mere assistant. He brought up the idea of making her a partner on more than one occasion. She had refused to discuss the matter with him.
Their present relationship disturbed him not only because she would not accept the partnership she deserved, but because of his attraction to her.
Brad disliked the thought that he was taking advantage of her. She was his business equal, but they both knew he was nowhere near her social equal.
He had never acted on his initial attraction to her. The fear that she might leave the company if he suggested they date had kept him from doing or saying anything that might offend her.
Several weeks ago, they had dinner together to celebrate another first for Phillips Construction Company—their first out-of-state job.
Not only was the new project not in Texas, it wasn’t a commercial building—another first. One of his clients had asked him to bid on a second home for him and his wife to be built in the mountains near Asheville, North Carolina.
Brad ignored the dire predictions of Carl Jackson, his senior supervisor and project manager. Carl pointed out to Brad that constructing a residence was considerably different from building commercial projects. Generally speaking, the project manager had to deal with a wife, which could be a real pain.
Brad had laughed and told him that he had the experience to cope. Carl had not been amused, but he’d taken the assignment, as Brad had known he would.
Carl had been invited to join the dinner celebration but had declined, saying the time to celebrate would be after the project was completed.
Brad and Rachel didn’t see it that way. They were too excited about another avenue opening up for the company. They’d reminisced over their salads, entrées, desserts and coffee about the years they’d worked together, recounting stories to each other. The evening lingered in his memory. He’d been lighthearted and filled with a buoyancy that occurred when he was around Rachel.
Rachel Wood was his best friend. Actually, she was his only friend. He didn’t have time to socialize. He felt comfortable with her. In addition, he trusted her. He trusted few people.
Where was she this morning?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the intercom. He blinked, wondering how long he’d been daydreaming.
“Yes?” he asked. Then he knew exactly how long he’d been lost in his thoughts when Janelle said, “Mr. Simmons is here.”
“Thanks,” he said, heroically not groaning in her ear. “Have him come in.”
Brad straightened in his chair and prepared himself for another boring meeting.
Simmons stepped silently into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He looked around the room.
“Isn’t Ms. Wood going to be here?” he asked, not bothering to hide his dismay at the prospect of dealing with Brad on his own.
Brad could certainly sympathize with Arthur’s obvious discomfort. “She’s been detained for some reason,” he replied briskly. “I’m certain we can manage to struggle through your reports without her.”
Simmons sat in one of the padded chairs in front of Brad’s desk. He placed a stack of folders precisely in front of him and pushed his wire-rimmed eyeglasses to the bridge of his nose, where they promptly slid to their original resting place.
He cleared his throat unhappily. “I was hoping that Ms. Wood would be able to—” he began before Brad interrupted.
“So was I, but she’s not here. So let’s get on with it.”
Simmons flinched and Brad silently cursed. Rachel, he thought, you’d better have a darned good reason for leaving me alone with Arthur. Otherwise I’ll make you pay for this—big time.
Forty-five minutes later, just as Brad’s eyes had begun to roll to the back of his head, his prayers were answered. Rachel opened the door to his office, looking as she always did, impeccably dressed and carrying a briefcase—the epitome of the modern businesswoman.
It was all Brad could do not to throw himself at her feet and beg her never to desert him like this again.
Now that he knew she was safe, he felt the beginnings of irritation seep into his consciousness. Couldn’t she have called? If she hadn’t intended to be here at the usual time, was there any reason why she couldn’t have shown him the courtesy of advising him of that fact?
He met her eyes and realized that whatever had delayed her wasn’t good. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her look so fragile. She had the same stricken look she’d worn when she’d gotten the news that her mother was terminally ill.
What in the world had happened?
Rachel walked to the desk, took the chair next to Arthur and gracefully seated herself.
“I apologize for my tardiness, gentlemen,” she said calmly. “Now then, where are we?” she asked, picking up the stack of papers that Simmons had placed in front of her chair earlier.
By the time the meeting was finally over, Brad’s jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. Rachel walked Simmons to the door, spoke a few—no doubt kind—words to him and smiled at his almost inaudible response.
She closed the door behind him and turned to Brad. “I apologize for coming into work so late and for not calling to let you know.” She walked back to her chair and sat before she continued. “I need to take a leave of absence, Brad. If that’s not convenient for you, I certainly can understand that you might wish to replace me.”
