“I like the hair.”
One child-size hand came up to pat the orange frizz that made such an interesting contrast with her tanned-to-leather skin. “Do you? I was afraid Marilyn used too much Tropical Sunrise this time.”
“Very cheerful.”
She snorted and set the carafe down on his desk. “As if you cared about cheerful. You want me to call a temp agency? Cosmo’s down with a stomach bug, and I’ve got better things to do than answer your office line.”
Damn. “My new assistant should be capable of answering the phone. If she ever gets here.”
“She called. She’s on her way.”
He glanced out the window. This damned rain! “I suppose the roads are difficult.” Although Jacob’s house was built on high land, several of the roads nearby flooded when they had a heavy rain. That was one reason he preferred to have his staff live in.
“They’ve got travelers’ advisories out. Here.” She held out a fresh cup of coffee. “Maybe a little caffeine will stop your snarling.”
Jacob took the mug. He wasn’t looking forward to breaking in a new assistant. He’d always hated having strangers around him. Sonia, his regular assistant, thought highly of Ms. McGuire, but Jacob remained skeptical. “I know her name from somewhere.”
Ada gave him a pitying look. “They do say the brain is the first to go. She compiled a report for Sonia a month ago. You read the report. No doubt her name was on it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He sipped the coffee and sat down behind his desk. “It sounds like I’ve got time to put a call through to Marcos in Rome. When my new assistant finally shows up, bring her to me right away. You can fill her in on my faults later.”
“Aren’t enough hours in the day to do that,” she said, going to the door, where she paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Jacob…”
“Yes?”
“Did Maggie turn you down?”
He knew very well his expression hadn’t given him away, but apparently something had. He nodded.
“She wasn’t right for you, anyway,” she said gruffly. “You might as well get some work done. Better than brooding.” She pulled the door shut behind her,
In spite of everything, he smiled. Ada was definitely feeling better.
And that, he reminded himself, was what mattered, not who he married. Marriage was an unholy risk, no matter who he asked. Maybe, he thought, sipping his coffee, he would ask his new assistant to marry him as soon as she stepped in the door. Good morning, Ms. McGuire. I’m pleased to see you didn’t drown on the way here. You’ll need to answer the phone today, since my secretary is sick. Also, I would like to get married as soon as possible. Is Friday good for you?
Jacob chuckled and put down his mug. He was still smiling as he powered up his computer, accessed the latest market quotes—and promptly forgot his coffee, the rain and the woman who had rejected him.
It was still raining when Claire pulled up in front of the West mansion. Or castle, she thought, eyeing the massive house where she would be living for the next month or more.
Someone had already decorated for Christmas, though Thanksgiving was only a few days behind them. Lights were strung in a zigzag along the pediments topping the first floor windows, making a bright, incongruous splash of scarlet against the gray stone. Off to the left, she glimpsed a turret through the blur of rain. And could the roof really be crenelated?
Good grief. Tucking her laptop beneath her raincoat and shielding herself as much as possible with her umbrella, she climbed out of her cousin’s Bronco and dashed up the steps.
The doorbell was tucked inside a gargoyle’s snarling mouth. She grinned and pressed it, wondering who would open the door. A house like this deserved an ancient family retainer. A terrifyingly dignified butler, maybe? Or a hunchback with a scar that knit half his face into a hideous scowl? Igor, in fact.
The door didn’t creak when it opened, unfortunately. And that was definitely not Igor.
“Good God,” exclaimed the wrinkled elf in the doorway. “This is worse than I’d expected. Or maybe better.”
The woman was no bigger than a twelve-year-old child. A scrawny twelve-year-old. Frizzy hair the color of marigolds and the texture of a dandelion puff framed a face that had been browned by the sun of at least fifty Texas summers. She wore a sweatshirt, baggy olive-green slacks, an apron and a pair of diamond earrings with stones so big they should have come out of a Cracker Jack box.
But Claire was pretty sure they hadn’t. “Ah—I’m Claire McGuire.”
“Of course you are. Who else would show up in this weather, looking the way you do?” She shook her head. “You may as well come in. Sonia did warn me. She also assured me you wouldn’t try to seduce the boy, but you wouldn’t have to try very hard, would you?”
Claire stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.” The tiny woman chuckled. “Damned if I know what Sonia was thinking, but it’s going to be interesting around here. Come with me.”
Claire followed her into the foyer, dripping onto the creamy marble floor. She supposed a brilliant, eccentric recluse ought to have an unusual housekeeper, especially if he didn’t have an Igor. “You’re Ada, I take it?”
“I should have introduced myself, shouldn’t I? I figured Sonia had told you about me.”
“She said I would like you.”
“Some people do. You don’t have any luggage? Here, give me your raincoat so I can hang it up in the kitchen to dry.”
Obediently Claire slipped out of the dripping coat. “I left my suitcases in the car. If it ever stops raining, I can get them then.”
Ada accepted the coat. “There’s a powder room under the stairs if you want to mess with your hair or face.” She gave Claire another once-over, then grinned. “Not that you need it. Oh, my,” she said, turning away. “It will be interesting around here.”
Claire shook her head in amusement as the tiny woman trotted under an arched doorway, and off down the hall beyond.
The foyer was classical in style—square, marble and oversize, with a twelve-foot ceiling rimmed in ornate moldings. To her left was a closed door flanked by an enormous Christmas tree. A grand sweep of a staircase lay to her right, and directly in front of her were two arched door-ways—the one Ada had gone through, that led to a hallway, and another that opened onto a shadowy, unlit living room.
Her hair felt flat and damp to the touch, so she pulled a brush out of her purse. She didn’t bother to hunt up the powder room, though. She had her share of vanity, but she already knew what she looked like. She didn’t know nearly enough about her new employer. She hadn’t even met him yet.
Oh, she’d heard about him. Who in the Dallas financial community hadn’t heard of the Iceman? Jacob West was said to be brilliant, reclusive and eccentric. Some disliked
