At Your Service, Jack. Brenda Hammond
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hiss and crackle of the logs burning cozily in the open fireplace. To her relief, Jack got up and walked over to the curved corner bar.
Soon the warmth, the gradual relaxation of her tense mood and equally tense muscles began to make her sleepy. Maybe, if she hadn’t been so exhausted it would never have happened. Whatever, she could feel her eyelids growing heavier and heavier until she no longer had the will to prevent them from closing.
Meanwhile, Jack stood leaning on the corner bar. He drummed his fingers on the glass top. From the row of glasses arrayed on the shelf above, he selected a heavy-based tumbler. He unscrewed the top off a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a decent shot, then grabbed a couple of ice blocks from the small bar fridge. Lifting the glass in a toast to himself, he took a sip. The distinctive, woodsy taste filled his mouth, and slid in a fiery stream down his throat. What a situation. This was not at all what he’d been expecting.
His cousin, Tabitha James, had started the ball rolling. On the phone, he’d told her about needing more capital.
“What for?” she asked.
“There’s this new method of bonding metals that I’ve discovered. I have to develop further applications for it.”
“What happened to your other investors?”
“Everyone’s skittish because of the downturn in the economy.”
“Have you approached Uncle Avery?”
“Sure.” Jack sighed. “But the old fart says he’s got reservations. He’s holding off on final approval.”
Apparently Simon, Tabitha’s brother, had voiced his own biased opinion of Jack’s lack of proper manners, uncultivated ways and inability to settle down. He’d reminded Uncle Avery of that fiasco when Jack was twenty-three, freshly graduated from college. The time he accidentally hit the prime minister on the back of the head with an escargot.
Simon had their uncle’s ear. Not only was he on the spot, but recently he’d been appointed international marketing manager for the family corporation, which manufactured hard-rock mining machinery and equipment. Uncle Avery would visit soon to check up for himself, and in the meantime had advised Jack to find a suitable woman of good breeding. The right spouse was a tremendous advantage in life. So it was vital to Jack’s future that he play along with old Avery, get someone to help smarten him up, coach him in etiquette and bring an element of class and organization into his life. Otherwise, he could kiss any chance of money goodbye.
That was when Tabby had suggested he hire a butler, a person who would know all about manners, and could take some of the pressure off his ultrabusy life. Generally, keep him in line. If he paid a higher fee, both roles could be combined, and she had just the right candidate.
After mulling over the idea, he’d decided to go for it. His mind went back to the closing dialogue of that fateful phone call.
“There’s only one person available, Jack. The only snag—”
“Great. Just e-mail me the details—employment conditions, name and time and date of arrival.”
“I just want to mention one thing—”
“No, no. If you have someone who fits the bill, I’m happy.”
“Are you positive, Jack?” Tabitha had asked.
“Sure I am.”
“Right. Then I’ll fax the contract over for you to sign.”
Now he understood the unmentioned detail, the snag, the meaning of that one thing. The man who would help ensure his future was a woman. And Tabitha, when she had faxed the contract, had spelled the name “Freddy,” leading him to believe his butler was male.
He supposed it might be polite to offer her a drink, seeing as she hadn’t yet officially assumed her duties. He scratched up a handful of peanuts from another small dish he’d set out on the frosted-glass bar counter in anticipation of company coming, and chewed on them.
The other part of Uncle Avery’s stipulations had also caused problems finding a proper woman. Because of working more than full-time for Quaxel, the branch of the family corporation that his father had founded in Canada, as well as putting in hours on his own innovative product at night, Jack was out of circulation. During university days he’d played the field, but shortly after, settled into a relationship that had lasted for three years, until Clare was offered a job on the West Coast. By then they had both realized that, while they were comfortable with each other, there was no passion in their relationship.
His sister had fixed him up with a few of her friends, and the results had been awkward and embarrassing.
Eventually, he’d decided to consult the experts. That’s what his dad had always done. So Jack contacted the most exclusive dating agency in town, and was hoping they’d come up with a woman who could please both him and Uncle Avery. Number one, the pick of the crop, was due to arrive at any minute.
Strange that Ms. Elliott hadn’t said anything since she’d sat down. She’d been mouthy enough before that.
Jack turned to her and asked, “How soon could you leave, do—”
He broke off. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get an answer. Freddi had keeled over sideways on his couch. Her Mad Hatter’s tea party hat had fallen off and was now settled neatly in the center of the Persian carpet. Its owner lay dead to the world. Either she’d drunk too much on the plane or she was flat-out exhausted.
Gingerly, Jack crept toward the couch and stood looking down at her. Why hadn’t he seized the opportunity when she’d offered it and sent her right back where she came from? But she’d looked so pathetic standing there in that ridiculous hat, all pale face and large chocolate-brown eyes. Now what was he supposed to do? Lying curled up on his couch she seemed vulnerable, yet somehow trusting. Little did poor Ms. Freddi Elliott know that she’d stepped right into the lion’s den.
2
THE BELL CHIMED. Jack went to open the front door and found a man in uniform, standing on the top step.
“Sorry, mister. I can’t wait any longer,” implored the limo driver.
“She asked you to wait?”
“Yeah, but there’s cars backed up behind me, and one of the drivers is threatening to call the police.” The man brushed at his cap, looking at him as if he was nuts not to have noticed. “Didn’t you hear the honking?”
“No.” Leaning forward, Jack stretched his neck out and saw the limo double-parked, blocking the narrow side street. Stuck behind a black BMW, a cheeky blue Beetle flashed its headlights at him.
“Okay. Let me pay you and then you can go. How much?”
He named his price. Jack shoved a hand into the back pocket of his sweatpants and drew out his wallet. He added a good tip.
“Thank you very much.” The driver folded the bills. “I put the bags on the sidewalk.”
“Cool. I’ll come down and get them.”
Jack slid his feet into his running shoes. He heard the limo’s trunk slam closed and revving noises as the line of cars moved off.
Outside, the sidewalk had taken on the appearance of garbage day. Near the base of a slim, bare maple tree waited a suitcase nearly as big as his refrigerator. Next to that were huddled two other shapeless bundles. It looked as if Freddi Elliott intended to stay for a very long time.
He gripped the handle of the suitcase and lifted. What on earth? Was the woman smuggling gold bricks? No way was he going to haul this lot up to the room on the second floor. He’d already done a punishing session with weights at the gym earlier. Better to leave the whole pile in the entrance, handy for the morning. It was enough that he had to decide what to do with her.
Casting a glance toward Freddi, Jack retrieved his drink