Hidden Agenda. Kara Lennox
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to her.
Maybe he’d finally found an assistant with half a brain who could get things back on track. Someone to whom he could actually delegate responsibilities.
He found her at her desk, shredding a stack of papers he’d given her permission to dispose of.
“You know, you don’t have to do that yourself. Down on the first floor, there’s a whole department devoted to managing waste and recycling. You just hand someone the papers and they’ll take it from there.”
“I prefer to do this myself,” she said, sending another stack of pages through the slot and pausing while the blades whined. “That way, I know for sure it was done. In case a question ever comes up. I assume some of these numbers, the bids and such, are confidential.”
Today she was wearing a slim black skirt and a short-sleeved, lime-green sweater that showed him more of her curves than he’d seen on her first day. Her breasts were fuller than he’d thought at first, and her waist was so narrow he could probably span it with his hands. Twenty-four inches, he’d bet money on it. He had a lot of experience sizing up the circumference of trees.
Not that Jillian’s body looked anything like a tree trunk.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to work on?”
He snapped back to his senses. He had no business thinking about Jillian’s waist, or any other part of her body for that matter.
“Where did you learn to pull together a report like that?” he asked, instead of answering her question.
“I have a business administration degree from Dartmouth,” she said. “Is it satisfactory?”
“There are some mistakes,” he said gruffly, plopping the report in front of her. “Fix them and print it out again.” He turned quickly and walked away before she could see his reaction to her.
Wow. He fell into his office chair and spun it around. Where had that come from? How long had it been since he’d reacted to a woman like that?
No one since Chandra. Chandra, with her traffic-stopping body and long black hair and eyes like cut emeralds, just as sharp, too.
She did nothing for him now, especially since he knew everything about her was fake, from the hair extensions to the augmented breasts to the acrylic nails.
But it wasn’t just her physical self that was insincere. She had lied without conscience, without a second thought, to get what she wanted. She’d perfected the fine art of saying exactly what a man wanted to hear, and he’d fallen for it.
No reason to believe Jillian wasn’t just the same. She was cut from the same cloth—rich, well educated, groomed to manipulate her way to become a rich man’s wife someday.
To be fair, she’d given no indication that she expected him to fill the role of her husband. She’d been nothing if not professional. Even a bit cool.
Which was odd.
Most women responded to him from a…hormonal perspective. The nastier he was to them, the more they tried to win him over. It was the beauty-and-the-beast syndrome. They wanted to tame him.
But not Jillian. She didn’t flutter eyelashes, or lean over so he could get an eyeful of her cleavage, or flip her hair or lick her lips. In fact, he suspected she might be sneering at him behind his back.
It shouldn’t matter. She appeared to be qualified for her job, and that was the only important thing.
She still seemed familiar to him somehow. Who did she remind him of? If she’d grown up wealthy in Houston, chances were good he’d crossed paths with her at some point—a debutante ball, a charity event, even a high school football game. But surely if he’d met her, he’d remember her. Her looks weren’t forgettable.
Pushing thoughts of his new assistant out of his mind, he focused on his email. Great, just what he needed, another screwup with harvesting in East Texas. Unfortunately, Greg Tynes was involved. Dissatisfied with Greg’s job performance abroad, Conner had brought him closer to home, but he’d continued to make mistakes. Apparently he hadn’t understood the protocol and had marked a snag that was a popular owl nesting site. Owls had to be protected not just because they were cute; they were essential to a healthy forest ecosystem.
Conner would have to go there, apologize for the actions of a dead man and smooth some feathers, perhaps literally. But he welcomed any excuse to spend time in the forest, even dealing with disasters.
He had so little time these days. He wondered briefly if he could delegate the trip, then shook his head. Who would he send? Jillian? She might be good with paperwork, but he had his doubts she could manage trees, owls and angry forest rangers.
No, he’d have to go himself. But perhaps he would take Jillian with him. If she was going to stick around for any length of time—and he had to admit, she seemed a good fit for the job—he might as well start teaching her about lumber so she could really be of service to him.
Conner exited his office and strode into Jillian’s area, standing above her desk until she looked up. She was in the process of entering the corrections for the report.
“I’ll need another twenty minutes for the revised report,” she said.
“That’s not why I’m here. Were you apprised, when you took this job, that there might be some travel involved?”
“No, actually, I wasn’t.”
Conner felt a slight sense of relief. She didn’t sound happy. If she refused to travel, he could use that as grounds for firing her.
Not that he wanted to fire her. Not yet. But having a valid reason when he did send her packing would go a long way toward avoiding a wrongful termination lawsuit. He’d made some of his previous admins very unhappy with his admittedly unreasonable demands and capricious, sudden terminations, but so far none of them had sued.
“On occasion I attend meetings in the field with forestry experts, government pencil-pushers, eco groups, landowners. I need someone to make travel arrangements and keep me organized during the trip. I might need you to pack certain documents, a computer for PowerPoint presentations, and also to take notes during the meeting—make an audio recording, too—and transcribe it later. Is that a problem?”
“No, I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Good. Set up a meeting tomorrow afternoon in Stirrup Creek. I’ll forward the email that has the pertinent information. We’ll stay overnight and drive back in the morning. Reserve a Jeep from the company fleet. Do you own a pair of hiking boots?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re physically fit enough to hike into the woods?”
“Yes.”
“Can you operate a digital camera and get decent results?”
“Yes.” She looked up expectantly, her gaze direct and slightly challenging. He simply wasn’t used to this can-do attitude. No whining? No endless questions about what to wear, what to bring, what they would be doing, where they would eat, what kind of rooms she should reserve?
Just yes?
A beautiful woman who said yes. Jillian was dangerous to his libido. Tomorrow, she would show her true colors, he was sure of it. She was probably trying hard to make an extra-good impression, it being her first week and all. But at the first sign of a mosquito she would go ballistic and prove herself inadequate for the job.
“Okay, then.” He spun on his loafers and walked away, but Jillian stopped him.
“Conner?”
“Yes?” he asked without turning to look at her. Here it comes.
“There’s an intercom between our offices. You don’t have to keep walking out the door and around the corner. That seems a waste of your valuable time.”
He returned to