Secret Ingredient: Love. Teresa Southwick
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want to hear it. Nothing personal. This was all about business. “So you’re actively looking for work,” he concluded.
“Yes,” she agreed.
They looked at each other and said at the same time, “Definitely matchmaking.”
“With overtones of reverse psychology,” Alex added. “And just to clarify—I could get you? To work for me, that is?”
“Make me an offer.”
The first offer that came to mind had nothing to do with a job and everything to do with exploring the curve and circumference of her mouth. Hello! There it was again. That weird attraction, and it didn’t seem to want to let up. The realization rocked him. It had been a while, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t reacted so strongly to a woman, not even Beth. This was different. And it was something he didn’t want to think about.
Pushing the feelings aside, he reminded himself he was here on business. And if he knew anything about anything, it was work. He’d buried himself in it to get through every day without Beth.
He stood up. “An offer is a little premature. I’d like to see a résumé and references. Then…”
“What?”
“Well, I’m not sure. This isn’t normally my area of expertise. My brother Joe is in charge of human resources. He’s the recruiter.”
“So should I see him?” she offered, seeming relieved somehow.
Alex shook his head. “I’d like to handle this. Partly because it’s my project, but mostly because my brother is getting married soon.”
“When?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“The only day of the year set aside for lovers,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“So you believe in love. You’re just not looking for it yourself.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the significance of the day for others,” he clarified. Just not himself. “You probably have a guy to Valentine with,” he guessed.
“No. But I think it would be very romantic as a wedding day.”
He grinned. “That from the woman who would say Joe bagged a female and is in the process of dragging her—by the hair, I might add—back to his cave.”
She smiled at him. “There’s no keeping a steadfast hunter-gatherer down,” she said. “Apparently it doesn’t run in the family.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re not looking for a woman,” she reminded him.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “If I were in charge of recruiting, I would probably want to know what job experience you’ve had.”
“Okay, I’ll get you my résumé and work history.”
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed her a business card. “Here’s the address.”
“Thanks.”
Fran stood before the reception desk at Marchetti’s Inc. the following afternoon. It was late, after five, and she’d spent much of the day debating with herself. Should she play it cool and wait a week before getting Alex Marchetti her résumé? Or appear eager and needy by doing it right away? She finally reasoned that it didn’t matter. The man had seen her want ads. He knew how needy she was.
Stopping at the building’s information desk, she’d explained that she was there to see Alex. The woman had buzzed his office to announce her, and had listened to his response.
“Mr. Marchetti will see you,” she’d said. “Tenth floor,” she’d added with a polite smile.
“Thank you.”
Remembering his deep, resonant tones, Fran wondered how the woman could listen to that wonderful voice and remain impassive. On the phone, there was no distraction to mute the full power of it. Then again, the receptionist looked to be in her late fifties. Not to mention that there were a lot of offices. She probably didn’t talk to him much.
Shaking her head at her silly musing, Fran walked past the reception area to the elevator and took it to his floor. When the doors opened, she walked out and scanned the U-shaped desk and the woman behind it. Alex’s secretary.
That explained it. The information lady probably only talked to his secretary. Hence her demeanor was safe and secure.
“I’m here to see Alex Marchetti,” Fran explained to the gray-haired woman. With her cap of curls, she reminded Fran of one of the flitting fairy godmothers from the classic cartoon fairy tale.
Fran had to conclude that if Alex had had any say in hiring his secretary and the information lady, he had deliberately surrounded himself with females unavailable to him. He wasn’t kidding about not looking for a woman. Fran couldn’t help wondering why. A hunk like him could probably have anyone he wanted, but he’d taken himself out of circulation. She wasn’t the only one with a long, yet interesting story. But she recalled the sadness in his brown eyes and had a suspicion his didn’t have a happy ending.
“He’s expecting you,” the older woman said with a smile. “His office is down the hall to your left.”
“Thanks,” Fran said.
She quickly found his door, and knocked.
“Come in.”
There was the voice. She took a deep, bracing breath, then entered his office. Alex sat behind the desk. Today he had on a tie, a paisley print in shades of brown and gold complementing his tan shirt. The long sleeves were rolled up. She couldn’t suppress one small, appreciative sigh.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”
She clutched her portfolio briefcase tightly. “Here I am, as promised.”
“I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Anytime this week would have been fine.”
“I thought you were anxious to get started.”
“And I thought you were busy finishing up your current assignment.”
“Just tying up loose ends,” she explained, struggling for perky.
His words made her stomach fall like the sudden drop on a roller coaster. He didn’t want her. The thought flashed through her mind, and disappointment quickly followed. She couldn’t tell whether she was disturbed professionally or personally. That sent her to a whole different level of emotional confusion. She’d been involved with a guy who had dumped her after he got what he wanted. She hadn’t done anything for Alex yet. Her self-esteem would plummet to the basement if she were jettisoned without even being on board.
“Have a seat.” He indicated one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk.
“Thanks.” She sat down and crossed one leg over the other, hearing the whisper of her nylons. She noticed Alex glance in that direction, but was pretty sure his desk blocked his view. And she was glad about that.
On top of her debate about whether or not to show up at all, she’d had a hard time deciding what to wear. It was December in southern California, but unseasonably warm. Should she show up in a suit with a skirt that was businesslike yet feminine, or a pantsuit that was professional and didn’t draw too much attention to her as a woman? Based on their meeting the previous evening, she hadn’t been able to decide whether he was retro or progressive on that last point.
She’d finally chosen an outfit that made her feel professional and confident. Her chocolate-brown suit filled the bill nicely. Its not-too-short skirt and the fitted jacket that hugged her hips and stopped about six inches from her hem made her feel good.
He stared