and Kimmerman.”
Oh, no. Working for Hugh Brannon’s employer? No, no, nooo.
Wyatt must have sensed her—bone-deep hatred of the idea—reluctance. “Joss, you’re a talented young lady with a great career ahead of you. With your drive and ambition, you should be at a company like Kimmerman. They’ve got the resources to take you places.”
“Mitman was a top company with prestige and national recognition, too.” That had been one of the things that had drawn her to the position—even Vivian had been impressed. Until the slightly less impressive criminal suit.
Wyatt shook his head. “I know Rob Kimmerman and his son, and they’re running an honest ship over there. Of course, I can’t make you accept a job with them, but they’ll need someone like you to ease the clients through the transitional period. And it’ll be something of a transition for your colleagues, too.”
Joss bit her lip. She didn’t think Wyatt was trying to emotionally manipulate her, but she came preprogrammed with a sense of obligation to others’ expectations. She didn’t want to fail him. Besides, smart women didn’t voluntarily chunk their incomes when the ink on their mortgage papers wasn’t quite dry.
A raise would certainly make it easier to refit her kitchen with a stove not off by sixty degrees and wallpaper that didn’t say “hourly charge includes condoms.” Then there was the new water heater she needed, the sink that needed to be replaced in the laundry room so that she wasn’t in danger of a small domestic flood every time she ran a load of darks, her bedroom floor upstairs that dipped ominously if you stepped beneath the ceiling fan…
“When are you telling everyone else?” she asked, trying to get her bearings.
“Staff meeting first thing this morning. I hope you don’t think me too selfish, Joss, but Penelope and I can’t pass up this opportunity. And I really think it’s what’s best for all of you, too.”
She forced a smile for the man who had taken her under his wing when she joined the firm. “I’ve always trusted your judgment.”
His shoulders sagged with relief. “Then you’ll help me get everyone else excited about the idea?”
What? “Oh. Of course.” That should be quite the pep talk.
Still, if she’d somehow been able to convince herself she truly wanted to live in a house that would make Bob Vila turn and run screaming into the street, then surely she could convince a handful of people they wanted to work with Hu—er, Kimmerman and Kimmerman.
HUGH STEPPED INSIDE Kimmerman Sr.’s office, a spacious suite that overlooked a putting green and boasted its own executive washroom. On the other side of the mahogany desk, Robert Kimmerman held up a finger to signal his almost being finished with an e-mail, and Hugh sat down to wait. When he’d arrived that morning, his phone had already been blinking with voice mail from the company’s president. Hugh doubted the older man wanted to see him “immediately” to congratulate him again on the ADster win. Was this a status check on Patone Power Tools?
Until yesterday, Hugh would have bet money on his sitting here now with a contract signed by Stanley Patone…and Hugh almost never lost a bet. But he hadn’t factored in Joss McBride as an obstacle. Her appearance at the restaurant yesterday morning had completely blindsided him. He told himself the surprise he’d felt was why he’d been so off-kilter throughout the brunch—not because he was preoccupied with thoughts of courting her instead of the prospective client.
Watching her walk toward him in the familiar setting, catching the spicy fragrance of her tantalizing perfume, battling her for an account…it had been just like old times, except without the hot sex. Which was like braving the traffic to reach the stadium, getting all revved up during the pregame activities and then leaving before the kickoff. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her once he finally climbed into bed that night and tried to sleep. He didn’t actually mind the dreams she’d inspired, but he wondered if she’d thought about him, too. Missed him?
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