Brenda Hammond - At Your Service, Jack

That was when Tabby had suggested he hire a butler, a person who would know all about manners, and could take some of the pressure off his ultrabusy life. Generally, keep him in line. If he paid a higher fee, both roles could be combined, and she had just the right candidate.

After mulling over the idea, he’d decided to go for it. His mind went back to the closing dialogue of that fateful phone call.

“There’s only one person available, Jack. The only snag—”

“Great. Just e-mail me the details—employment conditions, name and time and date of arrival.”

“I just want to mention one thing—”

“No, no. If you have someone who fits the bill, I’m happy.”

“Are you positive, Jack?” Tabitha had asked.

“Sure I am.”

“Right. Then I’ll fax the contract over for you to sign.”

Now he understood the unmentioned detail, the snag, the meaning of that one thing. The man who would help ensure his future was a woman. And Tabitha, when she had faxed the contract, had spelled the name “Freddy,” leading him to believe his butler was male.

He supposed it might be polite to offer her a drink, seeing as she hadn’t yet officially assumed her duties. He scratched up a handful of peanuts from another small dish he’d set out on the frosted-glass bar counter in anticipation of company coming, and chewed on them.

The other part of Uncle Avery’s stipulations had also caused problems finding a proper woman. Because of working more than full-time for Quaxel, the branch of the family corporation that his father had founded in Canada, as well as putting in hours on his own innovative product at night, Jack was out of circulation. During university days he’d played the field, but shortly after, settled into a relationship that had lasted for three years, until Clare was offered a job on the West Coast. By then they had both realized that, while they were comfortable with each other, there was no passion in their relationship.

His sister had fixed him up with a few of her friends, and the results had been awkward and embarrassing.

Eventually, he’d decided to consult the experts. That’s what his dad had always done. So Jack contacted the most exclusive dating agency in town, and was hoping they’d come up with a woman who could please both him and Uncle Avery. Number one, the pick of the crop, was due to arrive at any minute.

Strange that Ms. Elliott hadn’t said anything since she’d sat down. She’d been mouthy enough before that.

Jack turned to her and asked, “How soon could you leave, do—”

He broke off. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get an answer. Freddi had keeled over sideways on his couch. Her Mad Hatter’s tea party hat had fallen off and was now settled neatly in the center of the Persian carpet. Its owner lay dead to the world. Either she’d drunk too much on the plane or she was flat-out exhausted.

Gingerly, Jack crept toward the couch and stood looking down at her. Why hadn’t he seized the opportunity when she’d offered it and sent her right back where she came from? But she’d looked so pathetic standing there in that ridiculous hat, all pale face and large chocolate-brown eyes. Now what was he supposed to do? Lying curled up on his couch she seemed vulnerable, yet somehow trusting. Little did poor Ms. Freddi Elliott know that she’d stepped right into the lion’s den.

THE BELL CHIMED. Jack went to open the front door and found a man in uniform, standing on the top step.

“Sorry, mister. I can’t wait any longer,” implored the limo driver.

“She asked you to wait?”

“Yeah, but there’s cars backed up behind me, and one of the drivers is threatening to call the police.” The man brushed at his cap, looking at him as if he was nuts not to have noticed. “Didn’t you hear the honking?”

“No.” Leaning forward, Jack stretched his neck out and saw the limo double-parked, blocking the narrow side street. Stuck behind a black BMW, a cheeky blue Beetle flashed its headlights at him.

“Okay. Let me pay you and then you can go. How much?”

He named his price. Jack shoved a hand into the back pocket of his sweatpants and drew out his wallet. He added a good tip.

“Thank you very much.” The driver folded the bills. “I put the bags on the sidewalk.”

“Cool. I’ll come down and get them.”

Jack slid his feet into his running shoes. He heard the limo’s trunk slam closed and revving noises as the line of cars moved off.

Outside, the sidewalk had taken on the appearance of garbage day. Near the base of a slim, bare maple tree waited a suitcase nearly as big as his refrigerator. Next to that were huddled two other shapeless bundles. It looked as if Freddi Elliott intended to stay for a very long time.

He gripped the handle of the suitcase and lifted. What on earth? Was the woman smuggling gold bricks? No way was he going to haul this lot up to the room on the second floor. He’d already done a punishing session with weights at the gym earlier. Better to leave the whole pile in the entrance, handy for the morning. It was enough that he had to decide what to do with her.

Casting a glance toward Freddi, Jack retrieved his drink and sat down again. She looked pretty comfortable lying there, one small hand tucked under her pale cheek, a stray lock of almost-black hair caressing her forehead. He’d never seen a hairstyle quite like that. It looked as if someone had chopped off random chunks with the shearing scissors. The effect might be appealing, but she was as far away from his notion of Jeeves as it was possible to get.

What to do? He had definitely hired a butler, one F. I. Elliott. If only he could unhire her immediately and get a replacement. But he’d signed the contract. His only option was to make things impossible for her so that she’d quit.

The doorbell rang. Jack leaped to his feet. The first of his dates had arrived! With any luck he was about to remedy the sexual famine of the last while. And then he remembered the snag on the couch.

Impossible to make any moves with Elliott sleeping by the fire. She’d put a definite crimp in his plans for the evening. He’d have to get her upstairs. Pronto.

Stooping down, he edged his hands under her shoulders and hips, and heaved her up. She was a lot heavier than she looked. Maybe she had the muscle to carry a loaded tray after all. Unbidden, an image of the waif dressed up as a French maid, flitting around his living room, popped into his mind. Stop it, Jack. Already he felt she was intruding on him.

He managed to get her halfway up the curving staircase when the doorbell rang again. He froze. Damn. But he couldn’t just drop his burden and head back down again. The blonde would have to wait.

Jack carried Freddi past the door leading to his own room and into the next one. He’d had the guest room specially decorated for a butler, all in masculine beiges and browns. The designer had said a Brit would surely appreciate living in various shades of tea.

Freddi showed no signs of waking, not even when he tugged those ridiculous boots off her feet. She was as floppy as a black nylon stocking. Thoroughly distracted, he came to the conclusion there was only one other person he knew who slept as soundly as she did, and that was the magnificent, muscular and intelligent Mr. Jack Carlisle.

The doorbell rang yet again.

He was about to answer it when he paused. Surely he needed to cover her. Her coat would have to do for now—he had no time to fumble with the duvet. He grabbed an arm and began to tug at the sleeve. If he maneuvered her a little to one side, lifted up her spine, then he’d be able to pull the coat out from under her. He remembered seeing his sister do that to her kid once. The only difference, as Jack found soon enough, was that little Kim didn’t have boobs and Freddi most definitely did. As he lifted her, she arched her back. He froze. Not five inches below his chin the outline of her breasts showed clearly beneath her thin, clingy sweater. How easy it would be to lower his head…Dammit, he was as horny as a rabbit! Never mind the duvet, he had to get out of there, fast.