Much More Than a Mistress. Michelle Celmer
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Only a few minutes passed before a sharply dressed, stern-looking older woman stepped into the waiting room. “Miss Monroe?”
Jane shot to her feet. Though undercover work often meant using an assumed name, for this particular position it was decided that she would stick as closely as possible to the actual details of her life. Not that she anticipated having deep and meaningful conversations with her new boss. But the fewer fabrications, the fewer she had to remember.
The woman gave Jane a quick once-over, one brow slightly raised, then shook her hand. “Welcome to Western Oil. I’m Mrs. Brown. I’ll be showing you around. Would you follow me, please?”
Jane grabbed her coat and followed Mrs. Brown back down the hall to the elevator, her shoes pinching her toes to within an inch of their lives, making her long for a pair of her comfortable, low-heeled pumps.
“I’m assuming the temp agency gave you a copy of the office policies.”
“Of course.” In fact, she had memorized it. Other than Edwin Associates, Jane had never had a job outside of the family law practice. She’d worked there summers and after school since she was fourteen, and for five miserable years after getting her law degree before she’d had the guts to quit and follow her dream of being a P.I.
They stepped on the elevator and Mr. Brown hit the button for the top floor—the executive level—and Jane’s heart climbed up into her throat. She was so nervous she could barely breathe. Or maybe the lack of oxygen was due to the underwire push-up bra digging into her rib cage.
The elevator opened to another security station.
“This is Miss Monroe,” Mrs. Brown told the guard sitting there. “She’ll be temping for Mr. Everette.”
His badge said his name was Michael Weiss. He was twenty-something with military-short blond hair, built like a tank, and armed to the teeth.
“Welcome, Miss Monroe,” he said with a nod, glancing subtly at her legs, which in the spiked heels looked miles longer than they actually were. At five feet seven inches no one could accuse her of being short, but now she felt like an Amazon. “Can I see your badge, please?”
She unclipped it from her lapel and handed it to him. He inspected it, jotted something on his clipboard, then handed it back. “Keep this clearly displayed at all times. You won’t be allowed on the floor without it.”
Security sure was tight. Understandably so, considering the combined net worth of the men working on that floor.
“This way,” Mrs. Brown said, and as they walked through the double glass doors to the executive offices Jane could swear she felt the guard’s gaze settle on her behind. She wasn’t used to men looking at her butt, or any other part of her for that matter. Most men didn’t give her so much as a passing glance. It was as if she was invisible—so drab and boring she faded into the woodwork. In high school the other kids called her “Plain Jane.”
Not very original, but hurtful just the same. To finally be noticed was a little … exciting. Even if the woman people were noticing wasn’t really her. Out of this costume she was the same old uninteresting Jane Monroe.
They entered another lobby area and stopped at the reception desk.
“This is Miss Monroe, Mr. Everette’s temp,” Mrs. Brown told the woman sitting there, then she shot Jane a dismissive, borderline-hostile glance, and walked back out the door.
The woman behind the desk rolled her eyes and shook her head at Mrs. Brown’s retreating form and mumbled in a thick Texas drawl, “Thank you, Miss Congeniality.” She rose from her chair and smiled at Jane. She was short and cute, and on the plump side. “I’m Jen Walters. Welcome to the top floor, Miss Monroe.”
“Hi Jen.” Jane shook the hand she offered. “You can call me Jane.”
She looked Jane up and down, shook her head and said, “Oh honey, the other girls are going to hate you.”
Hate her? Her heart sank. “They hate all temps?”
“All temps who are as pretty as you are.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She didn’t have a clue what to say. It was the first time in her life anyone accused her of being too pretty. And she had no idea why they would hate her for that.
Jen laughed and patted her arm. “I’m jokin’, hon! They won’t hate you. We’re a friendly bunch up here.”
That was a relief. She wasn’t here to make friends, but it wouldn’t be much fun working in a place where no one liked her.
“I’m really not that pretty,” she told Jen.
Jen laughed again. “Do you not own a mirror? You’re gorgeous. And I would kill for your figure. I’ll bet you’re one of those naturally skinny girls.”
“If by naturally skinny you mean no bust or hips.” And what breasts she did have hadn’t come in until her senior year of high school.
She lowered her voice and said, “Take it from me, big boobs are not all they’re cracked up to be.”
Jane smiled, and realized that although she had walked onto the floor trembling with nerves, Jen had put her completely at ease.
“Why don’t I show you around and get you settled. Mr. Everette is in a meeting, but he should be out soon.”
Jen showed her where the break room and restrooms were located, introduced her to the other secretaries on the floor—all of whom seemed very nice and did not seem to hate her—then showed her to her desk.
“Tiffany left you detailed instructions of your duties and how Mr. Everette likes things done,” Jen told her, gesturing to the typed pages on the blotter next to a top-of-the-line flat-panel computer monitor. “She was hoping to be here to break in the temp, but her water broke at work two days ago. She wasn’t due for another two weeks.”
Jane looked at the chair, then back up at Jen. “Her water broke here?’’
Jen laughed. “Not here in the office. She was walking from her car to the building.”
Well, that was good. “I guess babies can be unpredictable like that,” she said, not that she had any experience with them. Though both her brothers were married they hadn’t started families yet, and like Jane, her sister was too career-oriented to even think about marriage, much less a baby. And being the baby of the family, Jane had no younger siblings.
“Mr. Everette’s calls have been rerouted to my desk. I’ll give you a couple of hours to get settled then have them sent to you.”
“Thanks for showing me around,” she said.
“Sure thing, honey. Call me if you have any questions. My number is in the office directory.”
When she was gone, Jane peeked into her boss’s office. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined two of the four sides, and overlooked the skyline of El Paso.
A corner office. Nice.
She hung her purse and coat in the closet then sat at her desk, setting her cell phone in the top drawer. She booted up the computer and unclipped the list Tiffany had typed up. It was pretty basic stuff—how Mr. Everette liked the phone answered, what he took in his coffee, who he took calls from on the spot and who was an auto callback—one being his mother, she noticed. Nothing she couldn’t handle easily. There was also a list of numbers that included his housecleaning service, his laundry service and reservation lines for a dozen of the finest restaurants in the greater El Paso area. Clearly she would be handling some of the personal aspects of his life as well as the professional, which could only work in her favor.
She considered going through the files on the computer, on the very rare possibility that there might be something there to incriminate him, but as she ran her tongue across her upper lip, she realized that in her nervousness, she’d chewed off all of her lipstick. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to freshen up before