by the entrance of the woman they had been discussing. The brown and beige jacket Irene Mitchell wore over a straight brown dress did little to enhance her tall, angular figure. Plastic-framed reading glasses dangled from a gold chain around her neck, neat pearl stud earrings completely hid her almost nonexistent earlobes, and a functional watch was strapped around her bony left wrist. Her long, narrow feet were encased in sensible brown pumps. The only signs of frivolity in the woman’s appearance were the color of her heavily sprayed, meticulously curled, red hair and the crimson lipstick that coated her thin lips.
Caitlin noted that Nathan automatically straightened in his chair when Irene entered. He reminded her of a student who had been goofing off while the teacher was out of the room and hoped to hide that fact upon her return. Smothering a smile, she turned her attention back to the office manager. “What can I do for you, Irene?”
The older woman set a stack of correspondence in front of her. “I need your signature on these. The mail runs in an hour, so you’ll need to sign them promptly. Mr. McCloud, your letters are on your desk awaiting your attention. Would you prefer that I bring them in here?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll get to them in a few minutes.”
Irene glanced at her watch. “Your next appointment should be arriving in fifteen minutes. You’ll want to sign your letters before then, of course.”
Nathan cleared his throat. “Of course.”
Irene continued to look at him.
“I’ll sign them,” he repeated, holding up his right hand as a pledge. “As soon as Caitlin and I are finished here.”
Seemingly appeased, Irene nodded and moved toward the door. “I’ll buzz you when your appointment arrives, Mr. McCloud. And, Ms. Briley, don’t forget about your meeting at two this afternoon.”
“I won’t forget. Thank you, Irene.” Caitlin had invited the office manager to drop the formality of surnames, but she persisted in using them, even though she preferred being addressed by her first name. Caitlin had figured out it was a waste of breath to argue with the woman’s eccentricities.
“I’ll be back to collect the signed correspondence—from both of you—shortly,” Irene added as she let herself out of Caitlin’s office.
Nathan released a gusty breath as soon as the door closed behind Irene. “See what I mean? She’s impossible. You’ve got to fire her.”
Caitlin reached for the stack of correspondence and a pen. “I’m not going to fire her. She’s much too good. And she’s actually very nice—as you would find out for yourself if you would give her half a chance.”
“I’ve given her plenty of chances. I smile every time I speak to her.”
“Ah, yes, the patented Nathan McCloud grin,” she murmured without looking up from her signatures, not surprised that Irene hadn’t fallen for such a practiced tactic.
Ignoring her, Nathan continued, “I’ve tried complimenting her appearance.”
“Plan B—fulsome flattery. That didn’t work, either, I’m sure.”
“I even brought her flowers on her first day of work. She thanked me, then put them in my office because she said they made her sneeze.”
“So none of your usual tricks worked. Have you tried just talking to her? One professional to another?”
“You think that would work?” Nathan asked doubtfully.
“It’s certainly worth a shot.”
“I still think you should fire her.”
Caitlin folded her hands on top of the now-signed correspondence and shook her head. “I hired her—on my own—because you didn’t want to be involved. If you aren’t happy with her performance, it’s up to you to fire her.”
She would have sworn his face paled at the very suggestion. “Me? No way.”
“That’s what I thought. So I suppose you’d better find a way to get along with her,” Caitlin advised sweetly.
He glared at her in return.
The speaker on Caitlin’s desk suddenly buzzed. “Mr. McCloud?”
Nathan jumped out of his chair as if the woman could see through walls. “I’m on my way to sign those letters right now.”
“Actually, you have a call on line two. It’s Mr. Alan Curtis from San Diego, California.”
Nathan looked surprised. “The attorney who handled my father’s estate,” he murmured. He motioned toward Caitlin’s phone. “Mind if I take the call in here?”
“Of course not.” She gathered her letters. “I’ll take these out to Irene.”
“Kiss-up,” Nathan murmured, reaching for the receiver.
She only smiled at him as she left him to his call.
Nathan watched Caitlin leave her office, wondering if he’d ever mentioned to her that he liked the way she walked. Smooth strides, soft sway of hips, head up and shoulders squared—very appealing. Of course, if he did tell her, she would get all gruff and flustered the way she always did when he complimented her, which was actually something else he found intriguing about her.
Did she react that way when any man flirted with her or just with him? And what would she do if he cranked it up a notch and suggested they actually go out sometime? It was a suggestion he’d been contemplating for several weeks, waiting until the time seemed right to approach her about it.
Only mildly curious about the call from his late father’s attorney, he lifted the telephone receiver to his ear. “Nathan McCloud.”
“Mr. McCloud, it’s Alan Curtis. I’m glad you were available to take my call.”
Nathan’s eyebrows rose. “You make it sound important. Is something wrong?”
Nathan’s father, along with his much younger wife, had died six months earlier in a tourist helicopter accident in Mexico, leaving a three-year-old daughter behind. The estate had been settled weeks ago, and Nathan couldn’t imagine any problems that might have arisen since. The child had been left in the custody of her maternal great-aunt in California and had inherited all her parent’s assets, since Nathan and his two adult siblings had refused any claim.
For reasons Nathan still didn’t fully understand, his father’s will had named him executor of the child’s inheritance. He’d retained Mr. Curtis’s services for the monitoring of those details. He had expected to be contacted only in cases of emergency. What sort of crisis could have arisen already?
“I’m afraid something is wrong, Mr. McCloud. Barbara Houston has been diagnosed with colon cancer.”
Barbara Houston was the woman who had taken in Nathan’s orphaned half sister. He’d met her only once, at the joint funeral service for Stuart and Kimberly McCloud in California six months ago, but she’d made a very good impression on him. He’d felt comfortable that little Isabelle would be raised in a loving, supportive home. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is it
