The Pint-Sized Secret. Sherryl Woods
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office, see what her lifestyle was like and if there was any chance she might be spending income that outdistanced her Delacourt Oil salary.
He knew she was single. Divorced, according to the rumor mill, though no one seemed to know much about the circumstances. He also knew she’d turned down dates with half a dozen of their colleagues. Her social life—if she had one—was a mystery. He considered such discretion to be admirable, as well as wise. He also considered it a challenge.
And that was what brought him to the fourth floor at Delacourt Oil just after seven in the morning. Although he knew very little about Brianna’s habits, he did know that she was an early riser. A morning person himself, on several occasions he’d spotted her car already in the parking lot when he arrived. Obviously neither of them had the sort of exciting nightlife that others probably thought they did.
As he walked toward her office, Jeb wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Brianna’s lights on and her head bent over a huge geological map spread across her desk. Her computer was booted up, and all sorts of mysterious calculations were on the screen.
Since she was totally absorbed, he took a moment simply to stand there and appreciate the auburn highlights in her no-muss, no-fuss short hair. If her hairstyle was almost boyish, the graceful curve of her neck was contrastingly feminine. She was wearing an outfit with simple lines, in natural fabrics—linen and silk. Her short-sleeved blouse was the same deep teal shade as her eyes. Her only jewelry was a simple gold cross. From the look of it, he guessed it was an antique. A family heirloom, perhaps? At any rate, she wasn’t adorned with expensive diamonds, which might be telltale bounty from any ill-gotten gains.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked eventually, trying to tame hormones that seemed inclined to run amok at the mere sight of her.
Her head shot up, and startled blue-green eyes stared at him guiltily…or so he thought. Was she trying to pinpoint a new site she could pass on to the competition? When she made no attempt to hide the map, he told himself he was being ridiculous. Any investigator worth the title should think more rationally and behave more objectively than he was at this moment. So far, he had suspicions and coincidence and not much else, yet he’d already all but tried and convicted her.
“You,” she said, as if he were a particularly annoying interruption, despite the fact that they probably hadn’t exchanged more than a few dozen words since she’d been hired.
“Now is that any way to greet a man who’s come bearing coffee and pastry?”
“No thanks,” she said, pointedly going back to her study of the map.
Ignoring the blatant dismissal, Jeb crossed the room and perched on the corner of her desk, close enough to be impossible for her to ignore. He opened the bag he’d brought, removed two cups of coffee and two warm cheese Danishes. He wafted one, then another under her nose. Though she didn’t look up, there was no mistaking her subtle sniff of the aroma.
“Tempting, aren’t they?”
She heaved a resigned sigh, then sat back. “You’re not going to go away, are you?” Despite the exasperation in her tone, there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips.
He beamed at her. “Nope.” He held out the coffee. She accepted it with exaggerated reluctance, took a quick sip, then another slow, appreciative swallow.
“You didn’t get this here,” she said. “Not even the executive dining room makes coffee like this.”
“Nope. I made a stop at a bakery.”
She regarded him warily. “Why?”
“No special reason.”
“Of course not,” she said with blatant skepticism. “This is something you make a habit of doing for everyone around here. Sort of an executive welcoming committee, a way to let the troops know that management cares. Today just happens to be my turn.”
“Exactly.”
Her unflinching gaze met his. “Bull, Mr. Delacourt.”
Startled by the direct hit, he laughed. This was going to be more fun than he’d anticipated. “You don’t mince words, do you, Mrs. O’Ryan?”
“Not enough time in the day as it is. Why waste it searching for polite phrases when the direct approach is quicker?”
“A woman after my own heart,” Jeb concluded. “Okay, then. I’ll be direct, too. I have a charity ball to attend on Friday. It’s for a good cause. The food and wine promise to be excellent. How about going with me?”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
Vaguely insulted by the quick, unequivocal—if not unexpected—refusal, Jeb pulled out his trump card. “Max Coleman will be there,” he said innocently, watching closely for a reaction. Other than a slight narrowing of her lips, there was nothing to give away the fact that the name meant anything at all to her. He pressed harder. “Might be interesting to see how he reacts to knowing just how well you’re doing at Delacourt Oil, don’t you think?”
“Max Coleman is slime,” she said at once. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
“Sure you do, sweetheart. It wouldn’t be human not to want a little revenge against a man who fired you.” He let his gaze travel slowly over her, waited until he saw the color rise in her cheeks before adding, “You look very human to me.” He winked. “Pick you up at six-thirty.”
He headed for the door, anticipating all the way that she might contradict him, might refuse even more emphatically, though he knew he’d found her Achilles’ heel.
Instead, she said softly, “Formal?”
He turned back, feigning confusion. “What was that?”
She frowned at him. “I asked if it was formal?”
“Definitely black tie,” he said. “Wear something sexy. You’ll bring him to his knees.”
Amusement seemed to flit across her face at that. “And you, Mr. Delacourt? Will it bring you to your knees?”
“Could be. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” To his sincere regret, in the past couple of minutes he’d discovered it was definitely possible. That alone should have been warning enough to induce him to abandon his investigation before it went wildly awry. Instead, it merely increased his anticipation.
Agreeing to go to a charity ball with Jeb Delacourt was quite possibly the dumbest thing she’d ever done, Brianna told herself as she raced around with her assistant during their lunch hour on Friday trying to find an appropriate gown that wouldn’t destroy her budget for the next six months. She had waited until the last minute as if to prove to herself that the evening didn’t matter.
And of course it didn’t mean anything. How could it? She barely knew Jeb Delacourt. They’d exchanged a few polite words on occasion, but that was it. She knew he had a reputation as a charming rogue, and she’d certainly seen evidence of that when he’d shown up in her office. He’d known just what to say to entice her into breaking her rule against dating coworkers. She would have to stay on her guard constantly.
But this ball wasn’t about spending an evening with Jeb at all. Not really. As he had guessed, it was about seeing Max Coleman again, maybe even forcing him to eat crow over his cruel, unsympathetic treatment of her during the worst weeks of her life. The opportunity to slap him in the face with her new success at Delacourt Oil had been too irresistible to pass up, just as Jeb had guessed it would be.
That was her reason for accepting. It remained to be seen what Jeb’s motives had been for seeking her out and asking her to share the evening with him. She sincerely doubted it had been some altruistic inclination to help her get even with her old boss. She also couldn’t help wondering just how much Jeb knew about her firing. The dismissal itself was common knowledge. The reasons behind it were less so. Even back then, she had worked very hard to keep her private life private.
Whatever