Promoted: Secretary to Bride!. Jennie Adams
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It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?’ Molly tried to sound as though she did this kind of thing all the time.
The man smiled a little. She wasn’t sure quite what he was thinking. The women didn’t.
Jarrod introduced each person by name. For the next few minutes her boss discussed a variety of generalities. It was all about subtle probing, assertion of his confident stance, assurances given and offers made without a direct word being spoken.
Molly listened, and watched and waited for her turn. She didn’t have a lot to say about the cost of importing ancient jade artefacts from a private dealer in Asia, which was where the conversation had drifted at the moment.
‘My Aunt Izzy works at a courier’s office’ didn’t seem quite appropriate, nor did describing her own brief stint after high school in a company that sold fertiliser, nor any of her other jobs before she’d landed the one with Jarrod.
When the conversation turned to her boss’s work more directly at last, she tried not to sag with relief. He discussed some of his hottest recent investment efforts. Molly inserted statistical facts and figures where appropriate.
This she could do, and his bent head and, ‘Good work, Molly,’ whispered against her ear helped allay some of her unease. For a moment, at least, though that brush of his breath made it hard to think!
Her boss released her arm, only to lay a hand against her back between her shoulder blades. Though she knew he did it as an act of solidarity, and perhaps to silently commend her contribution to the conversation, her skin burned beneath his touch. She forced herself to stand still, to focus. And couldn’t see any hint as to whether these people had heard rumours. The highly polished social veneer was just too blinding for her to tell.
Jarrod wound things up at just the right moment. ‘The thing is to keep sharp. I’m sure the world of finance will change many times before I hit retirement age, for example—if I decide to give up my work even then.’
That was his statement: I’m here to stay.
‘I might give you a call.’ The man he had introduced as Phillip Yates smiled through his moustache. ‘Must admit, I’d wondered how things were going, but I can see— Well, a fellow can never have too much good advice about investment, and what you’ve just said backs up everything I’ve heard about the best side of it. Interesting statistics, too.’
That was quite positive! Molly made a mental note to put those results in the PDA. She caught herself smiling a little, and caught a snide glance from one of the women as a sharp gaze raked over her clothing and back up again.
Molly’s smile faded, though she told herself to buck up. She didn’t belong here, with them in their designer originals and her in her modest dress and borrowed shoes and bag. She could have spent Jarrod’s money on something very expensive, either, and they’d still have seen she was a fraud. It didn’t matter what people thought of her, provided she and Jarrod achieved their goals.
Molly’s fingers tightened involuntarily around Jarrod’s arm and he glanced down at her. Smiled. Patted her hand.
‘Give Molly a call at work. She’ll sort out an appointment for you.’ With that he propelled her away from the group.
Molly hauled out the PDA and started to key as though her life depended on it.
Jarrod let her for just a few moments, and then he drew her into a quiet nook beneath an enormous fig tree.
‘What’s the matter? I thought you paled just now. Are you unwell?’
‘No. No, I’m fine.’ She tipped up her chin. ‘Can we keep going? I want us to cover as much ground as possible tonight.’
He frowned and seemed about to press the matter, but she tugged at his arm and he gave in, for the moment, at least.
They moved on, and got back into the thick of things. Molly watched her P’s and Q’s with everyone and tried not to dwell on her awareness of her boss. Tried to remember she really didn’t belong here. Yet every time she told herself this her boss would cast a glance her way, or his hand would linger that little bit longer than necessary at her back, and finally she admitted it to herself.
Maybe it was only the dress—no doubt it was only the dress—but Jarrod was noticing her tonight. As a man noticed a woman. And, the more she thought about that, the more her heart thundered with all sorts of wild and nefarious thoughts. Dream on. Mum and the others would be proud, which should be enough to stop her thoughts right there.
‘Champagne, wine or juice?’ Jarrod’s words broke through her reverie.
A drink waiter stood before them, tray held deftly aloft. Molly stared at the beverages. Juice might be the smartest choice. ‘Champagne, please,’ she blurted, because she’d never had it, and why not? And it would only be one glass.
‘I’ll have a Chardonnay.’ Jarrod took their drinks and handed Molly’s to her.
She had the good sense at least not to get the bubbles up her nose.
They visited one group after another for the next three hours. Jarrod nursed his wine.
Molly somehow ended up with a second glass of champagne, but that was okay, as it helped settle her nerves. She wasn’t doing too badly at all, really.
‘There’s a display of smaller works in the ballroom of the house.’ Jarrod leaned down to speak the words near her ear as they headed in that direction. ‘We’ve covered about two thirds of our client base, plus some others. We’ll speak to what people we can inside. You’re not tired, Molly? Your feet aren’t sore from all the standing about?’
Her ear tingled. She drew a breath that was too short and sharp, and took care to ease it out again unobtrusively. As for the shoes? ‘The sandals fit as though they were made for me. I haven’t felt a pinch or a painful twinge all night.’ She frowned.
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ He sounded confused.
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