sighed, clearly losing patience with his persistence. “I arrived yesterday,” she finally admitted.
Mitch wasn’t through yet. “From where? Philadelphia?”
She gave him a level look, as if taking his measure. Mitch felt that tingly sensation again, this time throughout his entire system. He liked it. Once more, he merely smiled and waited, returning her measuring look.
“No.” She didn’t smile; she met his look with green fire. “I left Philly months ago, on an extended vacation tour of the country. I arrived here via a small town in Nebraska, where I had stopped for lunch.”
“But you were originally headed for Deadwood?” Mitch thought it a reasonable question. Evidently, Ms. Maggie Reynolds did not, if her fleeting expression of exasperation was anything to go by.
“No.” She shook her head, setting the red strands swirling once more.
Mitch’s fingers itched to delve into the fiery mass, just to see if it burned him. When she didn’t continue on with an explanation, he raised a nudging eyebrow, determined now to hear the whole of her story.
Silence stretched between them for several seconds, then she capitulated with a the-hell-with-it shrug. “While waiting for my lunch, I checked my finances,” she said grittily. “The bottom-line balance indicated that it was time for me to go back to work—” she shrugged “—and here I am.”
She had managed to surprise him, a rare accomplishment for anyone; he had long since been surprised by much of anything. Mitch glanced down at the bona fides on her application. A frown creased his brow when he looked up at her. “I don’t get it,” he admitted. “With your credentials, you could have secured an excellent-paying position in any major city.” He refrained from adding that he was glad she hadn’t. “Why Deadwood?”
She shifted in her chair, revealing her mounting impatience. “I think I’ve already explained that.”
He agreed with a slight nod. “Been there, done that, tired of the grind. Right?”
“Yes.” Her smile had a hint of smugness.
“But, if you’re running out of money…” Mitch let his voice trail off, not yet ready to let her off the hook by quoting the salary he was prepared to offer her, for he definitely was going to hire her.
“I’m not running out of money,” she corrected him. “I’m running a bit low. There is a difference.”
“Point taken,” he admitted, deciding he liked this woman’s style. “But…why Deadwood?” he repeated, now merely curious about her choice.
She smiled.
His stomach muscles constricted.
“Believe it or not,” she said, “I overheard the men seated in the booth behind me talking about it.” She shrugged. “So, I figured…why not?”
Guts, style and insouciance. Some combination, and, thankfully, not in the least similar to Natalie, Mitch thought, tamping down an urge to laugh. He was looking forward to working with, matching wits with and, hopefully, gaining a more intimate relationship with this woman. But he didn’t want to appear too eager or show his hand too soon.
“As I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice, my assistant is in her third trimester of pregnancy,” he said.
“It is pretty hard to miss,” she responded dryly.
“Yes.” He paused, allowed his concern for Karla to show on his expression. “I’m growing anxious about finding someone to replace her, she needs to rest more.” He paused again, pursed his lips, just for effect.
She didn’t betray knowledge of his “effect.” She held his steady gaze with cool green eyes.
His admiration for her expanding, Mitch silently applauded her display of composure. “That being the case, the position is yours…if you still want it.”
“I do.” She nodded. “Thank you.”
Then he quoted a salary figure.
That got a reaction from her. It was quick, but there, in the slight flicker of surprise in her eyes, her expression. She controlled it just as quickly.
“That’s more than generous,” she said. “When would you like me to start?”
Immediately, he thought. “As soon as possible,” he said.
“It’s Thursday.” She raised a perfectly arched, dark red eyebrow. “Will Monday suit?”
“Fine,” he agreed, somehow certain it would be a very long weekend.
Although she had endured the actual torture rather than allow her consternation to show, Maggie exited Grainger’s office feeling as if she had been grilled to a turn by the Spanish Inquisition. She recalled the conversation she had overheard last night in a nearby restaurant. A woman who had interviewed for this position had stated a very adept description of Mitch Grainger. That young woman in the restaurant hadn’t exaggerated; he was every bit as hard as bedrock, maybe harder, hard and tough, intelligent and probing, and physically attractive…devastatingly so.
After that nerve-jangling interview, Maggie felt as if his image was imprinted on her mind, never to be erased. And the image was more than a little disturbing.
The first thing Maggie had noticed about Mitch Grainger, even as he sat behind his desk, was his height. He was tall, at least six two, possibly three. He had the lean, well-toned body of a top-notch, worth-a-bizillion-dollars quarterback. His hair was dark, his eyes a piercing gray. His skin was sun-burnished. His clothes were expensive, impeccably tailored to his broad-shouldered, long-muscled frame.
Yes, indeedy, Mitch Grainger was sexy and good-looking…if one were susceptible to sharply defined features, cool reserve, an air of absolute command, blatant sensuality and quick, intelligent wit with attitude.
Fortunately, for Maggie’s peace of mind, she was not so inclined. Within seconds of entering his office, she had labeled him an arrogant, chauvinistic ram, hiding inside the trappings of civilized clothing.
And she had just signed on to work for the man. The emotional side of Maggie urged her to run for the nearest exit. Her practical side reminded her that she needed the money, or she wouldn’t be running very far for very long.
“How did it go?” Karla asked, equal measures of anxiety and hope in her tones.
Jarred from her less-than-encouraging introspection, Maggie dredged up a smile. “He hired me. I start Monday.”
As if she had been holding it, Karla’s breath came out in a whooshing sound. “Oh, good,” she said, a bright smile lighting her pretty face. “He was driving me crazy.”
Great. Just what she needed to hear, Maggie thought, sinking onto the chair Karla indicated with a wave of her hand. Convinced her initial concern about Karla’s obvious anxiety over finding her replacement was because the man was an absolute tyrant, she was almost afraid to ask “Why?”
“He thinks I should rest more.”
“So
