one’s mind off her waspish sting. But the real kicker was the unsettling amount of attraction he felt for her. It had landed like a prizefighter’s punch to the midsection the moment he’d walked through her door. He was still struggling to regain his footing.
Fifteen minutes into their meeting, she glanced at her watch—though he didn’t doubt for a moment that she already knew the exact time—and said, “I have to be going, but I’ll be in touch tomorrow morning.”
“Hot date?” he asked, just to see if he could rile her. No one should be that composed. And, okay, he was curious, too.
She didn’t look the least bit ruffled. In fact, the smile she sent him was relaxed and filled with humor. “Of a fashion.”
What in the heck did that mean?
A couple of pictures were propped on her desk, but from his position, Alec couldn’t make out their subject matter. Were they of her husband? No. He hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger, and he’d made a point of looking. A lover, then?
Irked by his own curiosity more than by her evasive response, Alec said, “Isn’t it a little early to be knocking off for the day. It’s not even five o’clock.”
Still standing, she bent and logged off the computer, but not before clicking on a file. On the credenza behind her, the printer fired to life and began spitting out pages.
As she turned around to collect them, she asked, “How late do you work?”
“Until six at least, seven on occasion.” In truth, he’d been known to stay past eight and was on a first-name basis with his building’s cleaning crew and the night security detail.
“For a total of how many hours a week?”
“Usually fifty to sixty.” Or, as had been the case the previous week, seventy-five.
She shook her head. Her expression said, I thought so.
“Well, I put in forty hours at my office. Never more than forty. I start my day early so that I can be out of here early.” She glanced at her watch again. “In fact, today I’ve stayed five minutes late. To accommodate you.”
She tapped the papers she’d gathered into a neat pile and reached for the stapler. Her efficient movements were the perfect complement to her words.
“Don’t you ever clock some overtime? I would think, given the urgency of my situation and what you are being paid to address it, that you would be happy to log a few extra hours here and there.”
He’d hoped that would get a rise out of her, but he wasn’t successful. Not completely, anyway, although he did detect a slight edge to her tone when she told him, “I believe in balance. I have a life. In fact, my personal life has been known to take precedence over pulling in a paycheck when that’s what I feel is warranted.”
“The perk of being your own boss?”
“That’s right. I made a decision a long time ago that my children would come first.”
“You have children?” he blurted out, immediately aware of how the question came across. Sure enough, Julia’s expression tightened.
“Two, but don’t worry. They’ve had all their shots.” She turned the photographs on her desk around. A pair of elementary school-age kids smiled back, one of each sex, both sporting their mother’s deep dimples.
“Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
She nodded. “You’ve had to do a lot of apologizing lately where children are concerned.”
“I’ve got nothing against kids.” God help him. He was starting to sound like a broken record.
She nodded again. “Here’s a tip. Free of charge. My job here is what I do. It’s not who I am, which is why I choose not to spend every waking hour at it. There’s more to life than work, Alec.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Julia replied.
He hadn’t intended it as one. Her wry expression told him she suspected as much. Alec’s parents lived extravagantly and well beyond their means. Even before he had graduated from college, they had burned through his mother’s substantial inheritance. If not for his paternal grandfather’s interference, they would have wound up homeless and penniless, and Alec would have been forced to drop out of his Ivy League school before receiving his degree.
Granddad was gone now, but before he’d died he’d made sure to put the money he left in a trust, one that Alec administered. As such, his parents had to come to him for everything. Neither party was particularly happy about it.
Indeed, that was why Alec had arrived late to his appointment with Julia. Just prior to leaving his office, his mother had phoned him in a panic. Even though they were only a week into June, she and Alec’s father needed more money. They’d used up their generous monthly stipend to purchase airline tickets—first class, of course—and book a two-week stay with friends at an exclusive resort on a small, private island in the Caribbean. They didn’t leave for another week and now they had nothing left to buy groceries. Nor did they have any spending money for their trip.
He’d put down his foot. Or he’d tried to. Finally, to get his crying mother off the phone, Alec had agreed to transfer an additional seven grand into his parents’ bank account. He’d held firm on the amount, even when she’d insisted they needed at least ten thousand.
“Be reasonable, Alec. How can your father and I have a proper vacation with so little to spend?” she’d demanded.
“Order a glass of wine with dinner instead of a magnum of champagne,” he’d suggested. “And don’t buy a round of drinks for the entire nightclub.”
“You’re such a stick in the mud, Alec. All you do is work. You don’t know how to have fun,” Brooke had sighed before relenting and hanging up.
His parents would have their vacation, and he would have a little peace and quiet—a reprieve of sorts until the next phone call reporting a crisis. And there would be another one, Alec knew. They came as regularly as gusts of wind in Chicago.
Thinking of the conversation now, he assured Julia, “I know how to enjoy myself away from the office.”
“Yes. That came through in the article,” Julia replied dryly. “Your ex-girlfriend mentioned that the pair of you enjoyed first-class travel, fine dining, golf.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” He might not take vacations as often as his parents or for as long as they did, but when he took one, he enjoyed himself.
The corners of her mouth turned down in consideration. Julia had nice lips. Soft. Full. They were one of her most inviting facial features...even when she was frowning at him. “On the surface, not a thing. Except that her children weren’t involved.”
His voice rose and, despite his best efforts, his tone turned defensive. “Laurel didn’t want them involved. That was her call. It was her decision.”
At nine and eleven, Laurel’s two daughters were miniature versions of their mother, and as
