hauled the box into the next room and found a large photocopying machine and an entire bank of filing cabinets, just as Rick had promised. Hope momentarily raised its head as she gazed at the gleaming oak cabinets—they looked fairly innocuous—but then she opened the drawers. They were filled to bursting with hanging folders that weren’t even in alphabetical order. And the papers inside them might as well have been written in Russian for all Jaclyn understood about what they were and why they belonged where they did.
What made her think she could do this job? she wondered, her insecurities returning full force. Rick had asked her to file, to file, for Pete’s sake—which was supposed to be the easiest job in the world—and she couldn’t even do that.
Feeling a little like the poor girl in “Rumpelstiltskin,” who was locked in a chamber and expected to spin straw into gold, Jaclyn eyed the clock on the wall. She had three hours until Rick was expected back. She had to have something to show for them.
Tears of frustration brimmed as Jaclyn turned to the cabinet on her left and opened the top drawer, but she blinked them back. She’d wanted an opportunity, and Cole had given her one. She’d figure the filing system out somehow, even if it meant she had to read every piece of paper in the whole darn office.
IT WAS WELL AFTER SEVEN in the evening when Cole finally rolled into the driveway of Oak Ranch. He’d had a legitimately busy day meeting with engineers and architects and commercial real-estate agents, but he’d thrown himself even more wholeheartedly into his business than usual, hoping to forget that Jackie Wentworth started work today. After he’d left her place last night, he’d decided, for his own piece of mind, to ignore her as much as possible and let Rick deal with her. But it didn’t look as though he was going to make it through the day without some sort of interaction. Her car was still in front of the office—and Rick’s was gone.
What was she doing here so late?
Heaving a tired sigh, Cole toted his satchel-style briefcase and day-planner to the door and let himself in to find the desks empty, the place quiet. Where was Jackie? Had Rick taken her out to dinner or something?
It was certainly plausible. They were both single and attractive. But Rick and Jackie had nothing in common. And his kid brother was too young for her, anyway. There had to be—what?—three years between them?
Cole swallowed hard. Three years was nothing, certainly not the stretch it had been in high school.
Slinging his suit coat over the water cooler and loosening his tie, he sat behind his brother’s desk, propped up his feet and dialed Rick’s mobile. Cole hadn’t checked in with the office today as he normally did, but Rick had given him an update on his voice-mail, so there hadn’t been any real need to.
“’Lo,” Rick answered.
“Hey, what’s up?” Cole asked.
“Not a whole lot.”
“Where you at?”
A pause. “Nowhere special, why?”
Cole could hear a dominant male voice and other conversation going on in the background. Was it a mall? More likely a restaurant. “You eating?”
“No.”
“Jackie with you?”
“Who?”
“Jackie Ras—Wentworth, our new employee.”
“You mean Jaclyn? Why would she be with me?”
“Because her car is here, but she’s gone.”
“Did you check the copier room?” Just as Rick spoke, someone near him said something about Lady Chatterley’s Lover. At least, that was what Cole thought he heard. Where the heck was Rick?
“The what?”
“She was still in the copier room when I left,” Rick shouted as the noise around him escalated. “I gotta go.”
“Wait—” Cole said, but Rick had already hung up.
Puzzled, Cole stared at the phone. His brother used to stay at the office until ten or eleven almost every night. Lately he’d been coming in early but leaving promptly at five. He claimed he wasn’t seeing anyone regularly but never mentioned how he spent his nights….
Something was up, Cole was certain. But what?
He shook his head. His brother was an adult now. Whatever it was, Rick could handle it—
“Who’s here? Cole, is that you?” Jaclyn’s voice resonated from somewhere down the hall, interrupting his thoughts.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Shoving to his feet, Cole went to see why his new employee was still at work. Didn’t she understand that having a salary meant she wasn’t being paid by the hour?
He found her in the copier room, just as Rick had suggested, sitting in the middle of a sea of file folders. Her shoes and jacket had been discarded by the door. Her hair was falling from a clip in back and, as he watched, she stretched her neck as though she had a kink in it. All in all, she looked like an overwrought librarian.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, glancing nervously at the empty file drawer standing open above her head.
A proud smile curved her generous mouth. “I’m getting us organized.”
Us? Cole felt his muscles tense. He’d never be able to find anything again! What had Rick been thinking, turning her loose on the files on her first day? “Did Rick tell you to overhaul the whole filing system?” he asked, grappling for patience.
She indicated an empty cardboard box not far from her jacket and shoes. “No, he told me to file what was in that box until he had the time to train me. But when he was in the office, he was on the phone, so I kept myself busy in here. Once I got started, I realized this place needed some serious housecleaning.”
Housecleaning? Housecleaning? This was his business, for God’s sake, his sweat and hard work, and now…He gazed helplessly at the paper mess. “But you said you’ve never worked in an office before.”
“I haven’t.” Her smile brightened even more. “It took me a long time to figure out how it should go, but once I started recognizing common elements, the sorting went much faster.”
“I see.” He hated the condescending tone that entered his voice, but he’d been up most of the night before, working on a proposal designed to interest private investors in his first out-of-town housing tract; he was too tired and irritable to deal with such an unexpected calamity. Obviously Jackie meant well and was trying hard to prove herself, but if she didn’t go home soon, she’d learn just how unhappy he was with her little project.
He cleared his throat. “Do you know it’s nearly eight o’clock?”
“Yeah. My kids are with Terry, so there’s no real reason to go home. I’d like to finish here, as long as you don’t mind.”
He did mind. That was the problem. “But finishing could take all night, and then some,” he said.
She followed his gaze over the cluttered room. “Actually, I’m
