of lists. Where he needed to focus his efforts, how he wanted to solicit clients, specific steps for growing the business in a sensible, feasible manner and at a reasonable, sustainable pace. Perhaps he should approach his marriage plan in a similar vein.
He visualized a mental list of the type of woman he thought would suit him best. It should be someone organized and efficient, much like himself. Practical—the kind of woman who would understand he was never going to be a smooth-talking Romeo, but that he would be loyal, generous, committed, dependable. That was the type of husband and father his dad was, and that his brothers had become. Maybe they had married for more emotional reasons, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make his own future partnership just as successful. Middle kid that he was, he’d always had his own way of doing things, as his mother had pointed out on many occasions. His way had turned out well for him in business, so why not in marriage?
His wife didn’t have to be model beautiful, as his ex-fiancée had been, but it would be best, of course, if he was attracted to her. He’d always been drawn to kind eyes and a warm smile, and he had an admitted weakness for dimples...
He heard Tess moving around in the other room. She had nice eyes, he thought, along with a generous smile with occasional flashes of dimples in the corners. She never wore much makeup, but he’d noted some time ago—just in passing—that her skin was creamy and flawless without it. He supposed she would be considered girl-next-door attractive rather than strikingly beautiful—but then again, there was nothing he’d have changed about her appearance. On more than one occasion, especially during the past year or so, he’d found himself admiring her attributes in a manner that had made him immediately redirect his thoughts, chiding himself that it was inappropriate to even notice those things.
A muffled thud and a disgruntled mutter drifted in from the lobby. Curious, he stood and walked around his desk to stand in the open doorway. “What are you doing?”
Tess was on the floor beneath the big artificial tree, propped on one arm as she stretched to reach something he couldn’t see. “I knocked off an ornament when I was trying to straighten a branch. Oh, here it is.”
Holding a sparkling gold orb in her hand, she swiveled so that she was sitting cross-legged on the floor looking thoughtfully up at the tree. After a moment, she leaned forward and hooked the ornament to a branch, then leaned back on her hands to gaze upward. Tiny white lights glittered among the thick green branches, their reflection gleaming in the dark red highlights in her hair.
“How does that look?” she asked.
“Looks good,” he murmured slowly, his eyes on her. “Really good.”
She pushed herself to her feet and brushed absently at her slacks. “Do you think a candle in a snowflake-shaped holder on the reception desk would be too much?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. What?”
When she realized he was staring at her, she cocked her head to eye him with a frown. “Scott? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just...absorbed with a dilemma.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said encouragingly. “You always do.”
Her steadfast confidence in him had bolstered him through some of his most challenging periods during the past six years. Her absolute dedication to the company had been instrumental in its success. She understood why it was so important to him in a way that perhaps no one else did, because it seemed almost equally valuable to her. In some ways, he thought she knew him better than anyone outside his immediate family. Even some of his longtime friends were unable to read him as well as Tess. She was more than an employee, more than a professional associate. Not exactly a personal friend—but whose fault was that? His or hers? Both?
Tess had often teased him about being “blessed with strokes of inspiration,” in her words. Solutions to thorny problems tended to occur to him in sudden, compelling flashes, and he had learned to respect his own instincts. They had let him down only on very rare occasions.
He had just been staggered by another one of those brilliant moments of insight. In a near-blinding flash of awareness, he’d realized suddenly that the woman he’d mentally described as his perfect mate had just been sitting under the Christmas tree.
Tess wasn’t particularly concerned about Scott’s sudden distraction. This was an expression she knew very well, the way he always looked when he’d been struck with a possibly brilliant solution to a troublesome dilemma. She would wait patiently for him to share what he was thinking—or not. Sometimes he had to mull over details for days before he enlightened anyone else about his latest inspired idea.
Glancing around the reception area, she decided she’d finished decorating. The offices looked festive and welcoming but not over the top. “I’m calling it done,” she said, more to herself than Scott, who probably wasn’t listening anyway. “Any more would be too much.”
He gave a little start in response to her voice—honestly, had he forgotten she was even there?—then cleared his throat. “Um, Tess?”
Picking up an empty ornament box to stow away in a supply closet, she responded absently, “Yes?”
When he didn’t immediately reply, she glanced around to find him studying her with a frown. The way he was staring took her aback. Did she have something on her face? Glitter in her hair? She thought he might look just this way at finding a stranger in his reception room.
“Scott?”
He blinked, then glanced quickly around them. “Not here,” he muttered, apparently to himself, then addressed her again. “Have you eaten?”
“I was going to stop for takeout on my way home.”
“Want to share a pizza at Giulia’s? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
It wasn’t unusual for them to share a meal after working late, and the nearby casual Italian place was one of their customary destinations. Because she had no other plans for the evening, she nodded. “Sure. I’ll just grab a notebook.”
“You won’t need to take notes. We’re just going to talk.”
That was odd, too. They’d worked through shared meals but never just talked.
He was still acting peculiarly when they were seated in a back booth in the restaurant.
Sipping her soda while waiting for their pizza, Tess studied Scott over the rim of the glass. He was visibly preoccupied, but she knew occasionally it was possible to sidetrack him from his musings, at least briefly. She gave it a try. “Tell me a funny story about your nieces,” she suggested, leaning back in her seat. “I could use a good laugh this evening.”
He blinked a couple of times before focusing on her from across the table. Candlelight gleamed in his dark blue eyes. His hair, the color of strong, rich coffee and a bit mussed from the winter evening breeze, was brushed back casually from a shallow widow’s peak. A few strands of premature silver glittered in the dark depths. There was no denying that her boss was a fine-looking man, trim and tanned with a firm, square jaw, nicely chiseled features and a smile that could melt glaciers when he turned on the charm.
Sometimes
