was working. At least she hoped.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been sent out for a job such as this that didn’t pan out past the interview stage.
But a moment later, the door swung open to reveal a dour-faced woman with gray hair.
Ella smiled brightly. “I’m Ella Thomas. I was sent by Spare Parts Temporary Agency.”
The woman stepped back, opening the door wider. “You’re late.”
Dismayed, Ella quickly glanced at her watch that told her she was right on time. But she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, either. “I’m so sorry. My watch must have stopped,” she lied, considering the second hand was ticking right along as usual.
“The Mister likes people to be prompt.”
The client was a man? “I agree wholeheartedly.” The woman had turned and Ella could either stand in the doorway or follow.
She followed, quickly closing the door behind her. The second she did, all sounds of the traffic outside disappeared.
“He’s waiting for you in his study.”
Trying not to gape at her surroundings, Ella followed the woman out of a foyer that was bigger than Ella’s bedroom and around a slanted wall of smoky glass that would have obscured the luxurious living area on the other side from outside view, even if the frosted windows hadn’t. She didn’t know where to look first. At the amazing collection of art hanging on the roughly textured ivory walls, the stylishly modern furnishings, or the metal staircase hugging one wall that the woman had begun ascending. To Ella, it looked like the stairs were suspended in midair.
Failing miserably on the gaping score, she quickened her step and was glad to realize that while it appeared the steps had no banister, there was one of nearly invisible glass.
“Mister has parking below the building. If you have a car, he’ll give you the code to enter.” The woman—Ella had no clue if she was a housekeeper or even “Mister’s” wife—had reached the top of the stairs and paused long enough for Ella to catch up, before walking past a dining room table that sat ten and heading up another staircase. It was a twin to the first one directly below it; only this time, there were solid walls on both sides.
“I don’t have a car,” Ella admitted. “I got here by the bus.”
The woman gave her a deadpan stare over her shoulder. “No doubt the reason you are late.”
Ella’s smile slipped a hair, though she managed to keep it in place. “I’ll take an earlier bus next time.” If there was a next time. Despite the woman’s apparent assumption that Ella would get the job, she wasn’t going to count her chickens just yet.
Seeming satisfied, though, the other woman nodded her gray head and continued up the stairs. At the top, she turned to her left and gestured toward an opened doorway Ella could see at the far end of the floor. This floor was more casual, but no less luxuriously appointed than the main floor. There was still an eye-popping collection of paintings hanging on the walls—everything from landscapes and seascapes to still life—but the leather furniture looked more comfortable and lived-in.
“Mister’s study?”
The woman nodded and immediately began descending the stairs once more.
Feeling a fresh surge of nervousness, Ella moistened her lips and crossed the thick area rug that covered a good portion of the gleaming wood floor. She stopped in the wide doorway, prepared to knock on the thick doorjamb.
But there was no need.
“Mister” had already spotted her.
“Come on in, Ella,” Ben Robinson greeted from behind the desk situated opposite the doorway.
“You!” Had she thought about him so often over the past three days—since that party—that she’d imagined him now?
“Yes, me.” He lifted a hand, indicating the leather barrel chair in front of the massive desk. “Have a seat.”
The strap of her purse slipped off her shoulder and she grabbed her bag before it fell...and was reminded of the copy of her résumé she’d brought.
Shaking off her sense of surrealism, she entered the study, awkwardly pulling the sheet out of the protective folder she’d crammed inside her purse. The only items on top of his desk were a computer monitor and a small lamp. She set the résumé between them, then twisted her purse strap between her fists and sat in the chair.
He didn’t so much as glance at the paper. Instead, he continued watching her with the same blue-eyed intensity that had so unnerved her at the party three nights ago.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said for lack of anything better.
He had an ancient-looking clock hanging on the wall behind him. It reflected the same time as her watch. “You’re not late.”
“The woman who let me in—” definitely not his wife “—said I was late.”
“Mrs. Stone.”
Appropriate, Ella thought.
“My housekeeper. She thinks everyone is late unless they arrive fifteen minutes early.”
He was still watching her steadily and she had to work hard not to squirm. Instead, she crossed her ankles demurely and twisted the purse strap even tighter. “That explains it, then,” she murmured, feeling inane. “I, um, I suppose I’m the last person you expected to see from Spare Parts.”
“I specifically asked for you.”
She moved her lips, but nothing came out at first. She cleared her throat. “Well...here I am.” Warmth started climbing up her throat.
His lips twitched a little. “Yes. Here you are.”
She shifted, angling her ankles to the opposite side of the chair. “We barely said two words the other night. Why would you ask for me?”
“More than two words, I think.” He turned his chair to one side, but angled his dark head, keeping his gaze on hers. “You told me you’d done all sorts of things for your temp agency. And I need someone who can do all sorts of things.”
Ben Robinson was an intensely handsome man. She couldn’t be held responsible if her mind sort of short-circuited a little bit at that, could she?
She swallowed hard. “Like what?” She made herself envision walking his dog—if he had one—or picking up his dry cleaning. Simple, prosaic tasks, that even six-foot-plus men with wavy black-brown hair and laser-blue eyes needed.
“Being discreet, for starters.”
Her mouth went dry all over again. “About?”
“About what I want you to do for me.”
She realized her fingertips were turning blue from the tourniquet her purse strap had become around her hand. “I think maybe you need to be more specific,” she said faintly.
“What
