The Tycoon's Baby. Leigh Michaels
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she take it? My job, I mean.”
“I didn’t tell her exactly where you worked. I figured tomorrow was time enough for that.”
“How about if I just leave all the oil on my hands till then and you won’t have to tell her anything at all?”
He looked at her almost sadly. “And you thought I was overdoing it with the work clothes? Anyway, I thought I should leave you as much leeway as possible. Stick to the truth as much as you can, though—I’ve found it’s always safest. I’ll just follow your lead.”
“And pick up the pieces?” Janey said dryly. As Webb stopped the car in front of her apartment, she added, “Thanks for the ride home. It gives me just enough extra time to bleach my hair and paint my fingernails lime green.”
* * *
THE APARTMENT HAD no doorbell, so Webb rapped on the door and watched in fascination as several chunks of paint vibrated loose and floated to the ground.
When she opened the door, Janey was already wearing a coat, and Webb felt a tiny tinge of anxiety. She had been joking about wearing a strapless sequined dress, hadn’t she? But she hadn’t bleached her hair, though it seemed more gold today than the plain brown he’d thought it was. And even though it was once more pulled back in a French braid, it looked softer somehow than it had at the factory.
“I’d have been waiting outside,” she said, “but I’m afraid this ring and this neighborhood are not a good combination.” She waved her left hand; even in the shadowed basement stairway the diamond stood out like a searchlight.
“No lime green polish?” he asked, and was ashamed of himself for feeling relieved.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but my roommate used the last of the bottle just before I got home last night. She loaned me a dress to make up for it, though.”
The tinge of anxiety grew stronger, but before he could say anything, Janey stepped outside and pulled the door shut.
“I’m surprised,” she said as he slid behind the wheel, “that you didn’t bring your grandmother along just so she could see the neighborhood. Or are you reserving that in case you need a knockout punch for later?”
She sounded a little testy, Webb thought. But of course she’d be nervous; even someone who knew what to expect would no doubt feel edgy about meeting Camilla Copeland for the first time. “Why do you live here, anyway? I know I’m not paying you a fortune—not yet, at any rate—but you make decent money.”
She didn’t look at him. “Because both Lakeshore Towers and the Marina were full when I was looking for a place to live.”
Which meant she didn’t want to tell him. Well, she obviously wasn’t proud of the place—so maybe it just meant she’d gotten over her head in debt somehow and was ashamed of it. Of course, that didn’t bode well for her promise to repay the phenomenal amount of money he’d agreed to give her when this was over. Not that he’d taken her seriously in the first place.
Considering the differences in the neighborhoods, it seemed an incredibly short distance from Janey’s basement apartment to the Greek Revival mansion which the Copelands had handed down from generation to generation for more than a hundred years. Webb parked the car directly in front of the main door, in the elegant curve of the driveway, and turned to see Janey’s reaction to his house.
All he could see was the back of her French braid. She was staring out the window, and he thought he heard her gulp.
He followed her gaze, wondering which feature had made the strongest impression on her. The half-dozen thirty-foot-tall Doric columns that framed the front portico? The classic egg-and-dart cornice just under the roof line? More likely it was the sheer size of the place that had awed her so.
He walked around the car to open her door. “It is a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? I forget that myself sometimes, until I’ve been away from it awhile.”
For a long moment he thought she hadn’t heard him, and even when she pulled her gaze away from the house she seemed to have trouble focusing on his face. “This is incredible,” she said. Her voice was shaky and little more than a breath.
He was beginning to feel a bit nervous himself, not so much over facing his grandmother as for fear of what Janey might do. The last thing he’d expected was that the impertinent and brazen young woman he’d hired for this job would fall apart at the first challenge.
He took her arm and shook her just a little—gently, in case his grandmother might happen to be looking out a window. “Don’t go to pieces on me now. You don’t have to put on a show, after all. Just be yourself.”
Janey stood her ground. “I wish I thought you meant that as a compliment.” Her voice had once more taken on the acid edge he’d already come to expect from her.
Webb grinned. It’d be all right—she was back.
The butler opened the front door as they approached, and with a tiny bow he offered to take their coats. Janey didn’t seem to notice; she stopped three steps inside the foyer, tipped her head back and stared up two full stories at the ceiling. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “But I’d never in my life have expected to see this.”
Webb wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to him or the butler, and he wasn’t about to ask. He took hold of her coat collar and whispered, “Don’t overdo it, all right?”
She let him slip her coat off, but Webb wasn’t sure she’d heard him; she was gawking at the winding staircase when Camilla Copeland appeared in the door of the big parlor.
“Come on, darling,” he said in a deliberate stage whisper.
Finally Janey blinked and seemed to return to earth.
Camilla had come forward with a hand outstretched. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Janey.”
Webb thought her voice sounded a little strained, and he felt a momentary pang of conscience. But it was only momentary; after all, if it hadn’t been for Camilla’s less-than-subtle matchmaking efforts he’d never have dreamed of bringing Janey Griffin home to meet her. And it wasn’t as if this state of affairs was going to last forever, anyway—just long enough for Camilla to get the message that if she tried to manipulate him, she wasn’t going to like the results.
For the moment, he was simply pleased that they were off to a good beginning. Now if Janey carried through with her part...
“What a beautiful suit,” Camilla said, and for the first time Webb dared to take a good look at what Janey was wearing.
It wasn’t strapless, and it wasn’t covered with sequins. In fact, her gray tweed skirt and jacket could have passed muster almost anywhere.
And yet it wasn’t quite right, somehow. The skirt was shorter than fashion dictated, which probably meant that it was at least two years old. Camilla would notice that in a flash. And he was sure his grandmother hadn’t missed the white camisole that peeked out from under the jacket, any more than he had. Lots of women were wearing them—but this one stood out from the crowd. Not only wasn’t there much of it, but the silky fabric draped and the lace trim teased, and the combination made it quite obvious that it hadn’t taken tissue paper to fill out Janey’s figure. It was a wonder Camilla hadn’t had apoplexy.
As far as the skirt was concerned, though, he had to admit that any woman with legs like Janey’s would be foolish to keep them hidden—whether or not it was fashionable.
Janey smoothed a hand down over her skirt. “Thank you. I’ll tell my roommate. I borrowed the whole outfit from her, because I didn’t have anything nearly like it of my own.”
Camilla’s smile froze.
Webb wanted to applaud. Instead he decided to capitalize on the situation. “I’ll bet you don’t even own a dress, do you, Janey? I’ve never seen you wearing one. And you should have watched her practicing how to walk in heels,