Jill Shalvis - Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger - Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger

“Okay…but you asked for it.”

Breathing a sigh of relief when she was gone, Joe looked at his screen with anticipation. Now he’d get some work done.

He’d simply kill the next person who interrupted him, he decided, and promptly forgot about everything except what he was doing.

In the back of his mind whirled the vision of his program up and running. And for once, thanks to Edmund, that dream was obtainable.

“Ahem.”

Not again! He needed a weapon. Yeah, that was it. A squirt gun, maybe, or a—“Excuse me.”

“If the place isn’t burning down,” he growled, “then I don’t—” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her; words vanished from his brain. She was petite, luscious and one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She smiled and his tongue actually went dry.

“Hi,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him.

Trailing behind her, gawking with their collective mouths hanging open, were Vince, Andy and Tim, his three techs. At the moment, they resembled Larry, Curly and Moe. He sent them looks loaded with daggers, and they slunk back, closing the door behind him.

“I’m looking for Mr. Brownley,” the exotic creature said in a sweet, musical voice. “I’m Caitlin Taylor.”

Caitlin Taylor. Professional socialite. Ditzy, spoiled princess…his new assistant.

An imaginary noose settled around his neck. He liked gorgeous women as much as the next guy—maybe even more—but no way could he work with one, especially one with the lifestyle and attitude this one was reputed to have. He couldn’t respect someone who didn’t know what tough work meant, or the value of a hard-earned dollar, and Joe never worked with anyone he didn’t one hundred percent respect. Never.

“This is CompuSoft, Inc., isn’t it?” Her voice could arouse the dead, and Joe wasn’t, unfortunately, dead. “I checked the suite number downstairs,” she said. “You must be the receptionist.”

He groaned inwardly and stood up from the front desk. Never again, he promised himself. He’d work from the seclusion of his own office from now on.

She flashed another dazzling smile, leveling him with a pair of warm, dreamy brown eyes so deep he felt like swimming. “My father—”

Shit. Her father. His own mentor, beloved friend, father figure. Edmund Taylor had meant everything to him, and Joe had made him a promise. The noose tightened. “Your father told me about you,” he managed to say around the month-old lump in his throat.

“He did?” She seemed surprised. “So you know I’ll be working here?”

Joe nodded, wondering what to do. He’d never broken a promise and he didn’t want to start now, especially not when it came to Edmund, but he had absolutely no use for this woman in his company. None at all.

“Maybe you can tell me something about this place. About the boss,” she added with another sweet smile as she moved gracefully into the room. Her skirt flowed around her ankles, clung to her thighs. The light blazer she wore parted in the middle, revealing her sweater, snugged tight over her soft, perfect curves.

In any other situation, Joe knew he’d be flashing his most charming smile and already be deeply into flirt mode. This sort of woman was made for seduction, and while he didn’t want to employ one, he loved the interplay.

But playing with her would be pleasure, and this was serious business. His business. His pride and joy. Dread filled him at the thought. With this woman around, none of the guys, all of whom drooled at anything in a skirt, would get an ounce of productive work done.

“Is he nice?” she wondered with a slight frown. “Patient?”

“Who?”

A little laugh escaped her. “The boss, silly. You know, Mr. Brownley.”

“Uh…nice? No,” he said decisively, standing. The top of her head didn’t quite meet his chin. She was petite, feminine, beautiful. And he didn’t want her here. “He’s really…awful. Hard to work for. Ugly,” he added desperately.

Caitlin’s brow puckered as she considered this. “That really doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“You should leave. Now.” The idea sprouted from nowhere. He wouldn’t be breaking his promise if she left, right? It wouldn’t be his fault. “You should go before he sees you.”

Caitlin cocked her head to one side and studied him sympathetically. “He makes you nervous, doesn’t he?” She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention downward. Dangerously downward, causing his hormones to do a quick, instinctive dance.

“Don’t worry,” she told him with a confidence he could see was more bravado than anything else. “Maybe now that he has me to help him, he’ll be nicer.”

Guilt stabbed him. “Uh…yes…well…”

“Things will work out,” she soothed, her face open and clear of anything but genuine emotion, which only deepened his guilt. “You’ll see. I’ll fawn over him a bit. You know, mother him.”

Joe had never been mothered, and maybe because of that he tended to have a low opinion of anyone who relied heavily on those family-type affections. “That probably won’t help much,” he admitted.

“Everyone needs mothering.”

“Not everyone.” Not Joseph Brownley. He didn’t need anyone. Period. Never would. But she seemed so optimistic, while at the same time so touchingly full of nerves, that he lost his desire to continue the farce, even if she were just a gorgeous piece of fluff. “Look—”

“It’s all right,” she said gently, nodding her head. Wild blond hair flew around her face, cupping her rosy cheeks, framing huge eyes that were surprisingly sharp and self-aware. “I’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“Yes, I do. You’re trying to be kind.”

Kind. Joe might have laughed. He’d certainly never been accused of kindness before. “No,” he assured her with a tight smile. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to tell me how bad of a monster he is.” She swallowed hard, making Joe feel like a first-class jerk. “I really can handle it. Just…point me in the right direction.” Her voice was a whisper now. “And I’ll find out for myself.”

Hell. “You already have.” Apology softened his voice, and he sighed with regret.

“What do you mean?”

Oh, he was going to have to face this, whether he wanted to or not, but on the other hand, so was she. This was no place for her, and the sooner she realized it, the better for the both of them. “I mean you probably should have left while you had the chance.”

Her eyes reflected her confusion, and he didn’t blame her. “I’m the monster,” he said. “Joe Brownley.”

“YOU’RE JOE BROWNLEY?” Caitlin tripped over her tongue, but she couldn’t help it.

She was shocked, to say the least.

“I’m afraid so.”

“But…” Good Lord. Well over six feet of rangy, powerful male stared back at her. His ice-blue eyes narrowed, cloudy with thoughts he hid with ease. Although with that square, unforgiving jawline, she could guess he wasn’t especially thrilled. His sun-tipped light brown hair curled carelessly over his collar, as if he couldn’t be bothered with it. Wide, huge hands rested on his hips, his feet placed firmly apart. He looked utterly poised and self-assured. He wore a plain white T-shirt that bulged over impressive biceps, and faded, snug jeans that fit the man all too well.

He looked like a ruffian. A hood. A gorgeous, temperamental hood.

What happened to her old, pencil-laden, calculator-carrying geek? This man was young—early thirties at the most—sharp and, judging by his scowl, tough as nails.

At first he’d seemed sweet and friendly, but no longer. Now he was the complete opposite. And to think she’d been worried about him, and his fear of the wrath of the “boss”!