plush office, suit jacket open, hands in his pockets, radiating masculine appeal. He was observing her closely, seriously doubting her perfection, she was sure.
He was even more handsome than she remembered; older, more mature, his face all hard angles, his body lean and muscled under the expensive suit. He’d briefly taken her hand and smiled politely when she’d come in. “Well, hello, Kim,” he’d said. “What a pleasant surprise to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you, too,” she’d replied, her heart about to jump out of her chest. She was grateful he hadn’t mentioned how she was all grown-up now and not the little girl he remembered.
“She’s absolutely perfect,” Marcus emphasized.
Kim felt like a piece of merchandise and suppressed a grin. She tried to look serious and dignified, which wasn’t easy. Being serious and dignified did not come to her naturally. She wished she hadn’t worn the purple dress she had on, even though it was one of her favorites; it was too frivolous and too short and now that she sat there in Marcus’s sumptuous office, facing the sophisticated Sam she wondered what had possessed her to wear it.
“I am,” she said, summoning confidence, looking right into Sam’s eyes. “Absolutely perfect.” Her heart was doing a little dance of excitement. She wanted the job. She wanted to go to the Far East again. She wanted…
“She speaks Indonesian,” Marcus went on. “How perfect can you get?”
“That’s certainly an important asset,” Sam acknowledged calmly. He looked so cool and composed, everything she was not. She pushed a curl behind her ear, wishing she had twisted her hair up in some elegant style instead of having it hanging loose in all its wild and untamed glory.
“And she’s very good with people,” Marcus continued. “She can even cook! Imagine a nineties’ woman who can actually cook real food.”
“Impressive, indeed.” Sam’s mouth quirked up at the corners as he met Kim’s eyes. “Do you do windows?”
“No, but I can type,” she said with mock seriousness.
“She’s being modest,” Marcus commented. “She knows computers, word processing, how to find her way in cyber space, all that stuff. Very useful in case of an emergency.”
Sam’s left eyebrow arched up slightly. “Really?”
Kim nodded. “Really.” He must be finding it hard to believe that the dizzy little blond thing he had known eleven years ago was capable of anything so complicated as operating a computer.
Marcus leaned back in his leather chair. He was enjoying himself. “And she knows how to entertain. She gives fabulous parties,” he boasted. “People even pay her sometimes to throw parties for them.”
“And I can fix things around the house,” she supplied. “Leaky faucets, electrical plugs, that sort of thing. I’m a handy person.”
“She’s not afraid of snakes and cockroaches, either,” Marcus added.
“I’m a true Renaissance woman.” She smiled brightly into Sam’s face.
Sam was smiling now, and Kim’s heart turned a somersault, much to her annoyance. Why was she reacting this way? He wasn’t her type. She liked the more casual, easygoing type of man, the kind of man who wore jeans and sweaters.
But here he was, in his impeccable suit, his dark eyes mesmerizing her, and she felt fifteen again. She was an idiot.
“I’m impressed,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, a wonderful voice, that would wrap itself around your heart and give you warm fuzzy feelings. Actually maybe even more than warm fuzzy feelings. Oh, shut up, she said silently to herself. He’s not your type. He’s too cool, too self-contained.
“And she comes cheap,” her brother was saying, as if he were selling her off like a slave trader, he a graduate of Harvard Business School.
Kim glared at him. “I am not cheap,” she countered. “I insist on being paid fairly for my services.” She groaned inwardly as she heard her own words. She sounded like a call girl. This whole exchange was beginning to have farcical overtones, which was not a good omen. She needed to present herself as serious, efficient and competent if she wanted to have any chance with the imposing Sam, the successful international business executive.
The problem was that, although she was perfectly efficient and competent, she simply didn’t look it. Curly blond hair, big baby blue eyes and dimples just didn’t add up to a serious appearance. She had trouble sitting still and she laughed too much. And nature had given her full breasts that were hard to hide. The truth was that efficiency and competency weren’t qualities that came to men’s minds when they first met her. It was a cross to bear sometimes.
Sam glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to think about this,” he said noncommittally.
He was not a man of many words, obviously; he hadn’t been eleven years ago. Whatever he was really thinking now, he wasn’t telling. Kim was annoyed. She liked people who were easy to read, easy to know. People who were not afraid of saying what they meant or felt. Sam was not one of these people.
What had she expected? That he’d say, Excellent! You’re exactly the person I’ve been looking for! I’ll have someone get your tickets tomorrow, and let’s talk, you and I, over dinner tomorrow.
No, he was still the same introverted, reticent person, with those same eyes that often seemed impenetrably black, but sometimes glowed with sparks of secret amusement. He did have a sense of humor; he was just so…quiet about it. Often his face gave nothing away. You’d just have to guess what went on in his mind. She didn’t like all that still, deep water stuff.
But when he smiled at her—not the most exuberant smile she’d ever seen, but a smile nonetheless—her heart flipped.
“I have to go now,” he said. “It was a pleasure seeing you again after all these years, Kim.” It sounded sincere enough.
Two days later Kim still hadn’t heard from him. All she had thought of for the last forty-eight hours was Indonesia, the job, feeling suddenly hungry for adventure. Ah, to eat nasi-goreng again, to hear gamelan music, to see the emerald rice paddies!
And she’d thought about Sam.
This was a mistake, of course, she was well aware. In spite of her teenage crush, in spite of the fact that he was stunningly handsome, not to speak of successful and well-manicured, he was not her type. He was too serious, too formal. And it took him much too long to get back to her with an answer. She was beginning to feel nervous and irritable. How long did it take to make a simple decision?
She decided to call him, which was easier said than done, but eventually, after verbally wrestling herself past a series of receptionists, secretaries and assistants, she got the busy man on the phone.
Her heart was beating fast. “Good morning, Sam,” she said, trying to sound businesslike. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you’d had time to consider giving me the job. You’re leaving soon and it would be good to get started on some preliminary work as soon as possible.”
A silence ensued. A short but noticeable one.
“Good God,”
