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

“This is no longer the huge corporation it was under your father. We’ve been siphoned off, separated from all his other various businesses. We’re on our own, just a few of us designing and supporting software.” He gave her that impenetrable stare again. “You didn’t get a copy of the will?”

Caitlin noticed that whenever he mentioned her father, he watched her carefully. But she could hear his thick disapproval, and her stomach tightened in response to the unfamiliar stress purling through her.

If he only knew how she’d pored over that darn will, wondering what had happened to her nice, cozy life.

If only he had a clue as to how lost she felt in this new, unsafe world, or how much resentment for her father she harbored deep down in her heart.

“Yes,” she managed to answer with her usual cheekiness, refusing to let him get to her. “I got it.”

“If the terms were too difficult to comprehend,” he said slowly, finally succeeding in stirring her rare temper, “you should have asked someone to explain it to you.”

“Contrary to what you must believe about me, I do understand the written word.”

“All of your father’s companies were divested. CompuSoft was half-mine to start with, so he simply willed me the other half.”

Her father could give this man half a company, just hand it over, and he couldn’t leave her a penny. Couldn’t leave her anything but a measly job with a man who couldn’t abide her. It took every ounce of common courtesy she had not to resent Joe Brownley for this.

Well, okay, that was a big fat lie. She did resent him. A lot. “Nice of him.”

“Nice?” He missed the sarcasm and let out a short laugh that seemed harsh. “It was incredible. The most generous thing anyone’s ever done for me—” He stopped abruptly, stared at her. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”

She didn’t, either. It hurt unbelievably to know her father had thought so little of his own flesh and blood that he’d left this man more than he had his only child. “Where do I start?”

“So you’re staying, then?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Fine. This is the reception desk.” He gestured behind him to a wide desk facing the entrance. At least, she assumed it was a desk; all she could see were stacks and stacks of paperwork, files, various computer parts and what looked like an old, forgotten take-out food bag.

“All you have to do is come in on time, which around here is eight o’clock, and answer the occasional phone.” He sent her a long look. “Can you do that?”

“Hmm. I think I can manage.” She was really going to have to teach him a thing or two about manners. As for the ungodly hour, she’d have to work on it. “Surely you have more needs than just answering your phone.”

His light eyes darkened. His mouth curved, making her blink in surprise. Sullen, the man had been beyond handsome. Smiling, he was stunningly gorgeous.

“I don’t think you want to hear about my needs.”

No. No, she didn’t, Caitlin decided as her heart took off running. “Probably not.”

Slowly, he ran his gaze down the length of her, then back up. When he met her eyes with his, an unmistakable heat radiated from them. Caitlin had been on the receiving end of looks like that ever since she’d grown breasts, so she’d long ago learned to tune them out. Yet now, under Joe Brownley’s suddenly hot gaze, as unbelievable as it seemed, she felt herself blush. “Something wrong with my attire?”

“Yeah,” he said in that low, disturbingly sexy voice. “In this office, you’ll need something a little…more.”

She’d known it! Her clothes were all wrong. “More?”

“Shapeless. Like a potato sack.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a potato sack.”

“You’re distracting.”

“Your techs were refreshing and charming. I don’t think I’ll have a problem here with them.”

He turned and started back down the hall, his long legs churning up the distance in just a few strides. “I wasn’t talking about the Three Stooges, princess,” he called back.

Oh.

Oh.

THE BUILDING THAT housed CompuSoft was small for downtown, Caitlin thought. But it was brick and glass and strangely cozy.

There was a small coffee stand on the lobby floor, complete with doughnuts, croissants and mouthwatering pastries. Caitlin couldn’t resist stopping there before getting on the elevator, if only to drool.

After all, if she had to suffer mornings, then she needed junk food.

A lovely brunette woman, about Caitlin’s age, wearing an apron and a harassed smile came up to her. “Can I help you?”

Caitlin thought of her last dollar drowning in the bottom of her purse. “How much is that chocolate thingie over there, last one on the row?”

“In calories or cents?”

Caitlin laughed. “Either way, I’m sure it’s too expensive. Besides, I shouldn’t. Oh, man, I really shouldn’t.” Ruefully, she tapped her curvy hips.

The woman let out a reluctant smile, which softened her entire face. Her green eyes sparkled with life that hadn’t been there before. “This is what I tell myself every morning.”

Caitlin eyed her spectacular figure—all willowy and slim. “How many do you eat?” she asked doubtfully.

She shrugged. “Depends on how rude the customers are, which varies. The more annoying jerks I serve, the more I eat.”

Caitlin sighed and thought of Joe. “I’m afraid if I stopped here every time my boss annoyed me, I’d be busting out of my clothes in a week.”

The woman laughed now, and gave Caitlin a much more genuine smile. “You’re new here. I’m Amy.”

“I’m Caitlin.” She dug into her purse to appease her rumbling stomach, and accepted the huge chocolate pastry.

Amy grinned, removed her apron and grabbed a pastry for herself. “Just in case the crowd gets crazy later, I’ll take my break now.”

They pigged out together.

* * *

BY THE TIME he got to his office the next morning, Joe was high on adrenaline, his mind racing ahead, thinking about his software program.

With a little luck, he figured he could make real headway today, if he got in the good ten to twelve hours he needed.

As previously arranged, he had first stopped at one of the local banks to meet with a loan officer, hoping to start the preapproval process. He wanted to be prepared when his program was complete, so he could properly promote and sell it. To do that, he’d need money—a lot of it.

Despite the hassles ahead, he grinned and silently thanked Edmund for the thousandth time. Without the old man’s generosity in deeding him CompuSoft, Joe wouldn’t even be thinking about this for himself. Edmund had provided the means for Joe to spend the time needed to work on his program. With Edmund’s death, that could have all ended for Joe, but it hadn’t.

It was a dream come true.

Whether it was just his own bad luck or his unique ability to actually forget absolutely everything but his work, he entered his office and, completely unprepared, stared stupefied at the front desk.

It had been cleaned off, or rather cleared off—everything was on the floor. Amazing piles of important-looking stuff surrounded the base of the desk.

As he took a step into the chaotic room, he tripped and nearly fell flat on his face—over a pair of ruby-red four-inch pumps.

Empty pumps, he noted.

Which would explain the barefoot woman on all fours, facing away from him, affording him the best view he’d seen all morning. Apparently, both Tim and Andy felt the same way, because the two techs, who normally couldn’t be budged from their computers, were on the floor, as well, making neat little stacks of God only knew what.