Leigh Michaels - The Tycoon's Baby

He looked just a little shocked, and she wondered if it was her implied agreement or the brusque question that had startled him. Or was he just surprised that she needed to ask?

“If you say my job’s hanging on whether I cooperate—” she began suspiciously.

“Of course not. That would be sexual harassment.”

“Well, it’s good to know somebody in this company knows the definition,” Janey muttered. “So what are you offering?”

He countered, “What do you have in mind?”

She slowly finished her coffee while she thought it over, and then she set her cup down and said, “Money, of course.”

Suddenly his eyes were as chilly as storm clouds.

What on earth did he expect? Janey thought, half-amused. He’d already classified her as ignorant, uneducated and socially inept—so why shouldn’t she be a fortune hunter, too?

“And rather a lot of it.” She told him exactly how much.

He swallowed hard. “Well, you’re right about it being a lot.”

Janey relented. Being paid for her work was one thing, but the figure she’d quoted was closer to blackmail—and she’d never intended for him to give it to her outright, anyway. She might not be able to borrow money from standard sources, but with her cooperation as collateral...why not? He could afford it. “We’ll call it an interest-free loan, and—let me think—in about three years I can start paying it back.”

“Of course you will.” There was only a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but it rasped on her like tree bark against tender skin. “And why are we waiting three years? What’s this loan intended for?”

Janey shrugged. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business how I spend it. If you’re worried about me paying it off, you’ll just have to rely on my character.” She smiled sweetly and added, “Of course, if you’re not happy with the arrangements, we don’t have to continue this discussion at all.”

He let the subject hang in the silent office until Janey concluded that she’d pushed him too far. Oh, well, she thought. It was a great opportunity while it lasted. She’d gambled and lost, and there was no sense in feeling disappointed. She wasn’t any worse off than she’d been before she walked into his office.

He said, “It’s a deal.”

Janey could hardly believe she’d heard him right. Relief and satisfaction—and a bit of fear at the job she’d taken on—surged through her.

His voice was brisk. “I want to get started right away. I’ll break the news to Gran tonight, and you can come for dinner tomorrow to meet her. Seven-thirty—”

Janey shook her head. “Can’t. Remember? I work the swing shift.”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “I assumed, with all that cash coming in, you’d be quitting your job.”

She could, of course. With the assurance of that money—enough, she’d carefully calculated, to pay her tuition and support her adequately, though not luxuriously, through the rest of her education—she didn’t need to work another day. She didn’t need to face her fellow employees again, or crush her skull with those horrible electronic earmuffs, or ride the bus across town in the middle of the night...

On the other hand, there was as yet no guarantee that she’d actually be laying her hands on Webb Copeland’s cash. That would depend on the success of this con, so she didn’t dare let go of the security her paycheck offered quite yet—and with the hope that the end was near, she could put up with it for a while longer, anyway.

“I think I’ll keep working for now,” she said.

He took a deep breath, but he didn’t argue the point. “All right. Lunch, then.”

Janey consulted her internal calendar. Tomorrow was Wednesday, the day before the Thanksgiving holiday, so all afternoon classes had been canceled. “It’ll have to be on the late side—like one o’clock.”

“That’ll work. I’ll pick you up.” He stood, obviously dismissing her.

Janey stayed firmly in her chair. “How does one dress to meet your grandmother?”

His gaze drifted slowly down the length of her body. “How about your work clothes, and after lunch I’ll drop you off here in time for your shift?”

“Don’t you think that would be just a little obvious? I thought I’d settle for painting my face like a clown and stuffing all the tissue I can find down the front of a strapless sequined dress.”

Webb smiled. It was, Janey thought, the first time she’d seen him display honest humor, and it looked good on him. The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled and his eyes glowed...

And that’s enough of that, she told herself. He was the boss, he had hired her to do a job and she wasn’t getting paid in smiles.

* * *

AFTER SHE WAS GONE, Webb called his secretary in. “You can send this back to personnel,” he said, pushing Janey’s file across the desk. “And call my grandmother, please, and tell her I want to talk to her alone tonight, so she’d better kick all the wannabe brides out of my house.”

Louise’s lips twitched. “I’ll rephrase that, if I may?” she murmured, and left without waiting for an answer.

Webb pushed his chair back, put his feet up on the corner of his desk and stared out the window. The whole thing had gone very well, he thought. If he’d constructed her himself, he couldn’t have come up with a more delightful combination for this job than Janey Griffin. Not only was she smart-mouthed, hard-edged, and entirely lacking in tact—qualities guaranteed to send Camilla Copeland straight up the nearest wall—but she was very nicely packaged as well. Janey was not beautiful, of course; in that department she couldn’t begin to compete with the women Camilla had been throwing at him. But even in her work clothes Janey was attractive enough—tall, slender, straight-backed, with curves in the right places and huge hazel eyes and well-shaped little ears and a firm if stubborn small chin and pleasant, ordinary brown hair—that his grandmother wouldn’t have to ponder the question of how she’d initially captured Webb’s attention.

There were some women, he told himself, that Gran simply wouldn’t believe he could fall for, no matter how convincing a story she heard. Janey Griffin wasn’t one of them. And yet, as soon as Camilla ran up against the smart mouth, the hard edges and the complete lack of tact...

And Janey was going to keep her job, too—just as he’d hoped she would. The idea of a prospective granddaughter-in-law who worked the swing shift on a manufacturing line—moving, carving and bending steel—was guaranteed to make Camilla turn purple. He’d been right. Janey couldn’t be more perfect.

He took his feet off his desk and got his trench coat from the closet. Louise would have made that call by now—so he might as well go home, play with his baby daughter and shock the hell out of his grandmother.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

NOT ONLY THE supervisor but every worker on the line knew that Janey was late because she’d been summoned by the boss. And since Janey could hardly tell them what that conversation had been about, she could only pretend not to hear the comments that rippled across the factory floor.

Eventually, when she didn’t respond, the remarks settled back into a more normal pattern—still suggestive and annoying, but at least not actively cruel. And she’d been right in thinking that with an end in sight it would be easier to ignore the tasteless talk. Instead of two more years of this nonsense, she only had...weeks, perhaps?

She’d forgotten to ask how long he expected this masquerade to run, but she knew it wouldn’t be two years; the fairy tale Webb Copeland intended to spin for his grandmother couldn’t possibly hold up that long.