Elizabeth Harbison - Plain Jane Marries The Boss

He blew air into his cheeks, then sighed it away. Jane. She wasn’t always prim and proper. In fact, there were aspects of her that were undeniably…sexy. For example, there was the subtle sway of her slender hips as she’d walked away. He hadn’t been able to ignore that. Of course, it had caught his eye because he rarely saw a woman who wasn’t consciously doing it and he knew Jane wasn’t. It was interesting, that was all. It wasn’t really what you would call lust or anything.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to shake the thought out of his head. Jane would be horrified if she had any idea he was thinking this way. She’d probably even quit. He could picture it now, Jane sitting before him, in her high-necked blouse, hands folded in her lap.

I’m sorry, Trey, but I’m unable to work with you under the circumstances. I’m sure you’ll understand why I feel…What would she say? Probably something delicate and old-fashioned. I feel we must part.

He shook his head again. What was he doing, wasting his time thinking about this? He had much more important things to worry about now that the problem of tonight’s dinner was patched up.

He looked at the door to make sure it was closed all the way, then took a key ring out of his pocket and opened the side drawer of his desk. What he needed was right on top. It was a composition notebook he’d picked up at the drug store for a buck. Something about the informality of the book was comforting to him, like its contents weren’t necessarily serious.

He opened to the first page and it hit him full force. The contents were serious all right. It was a list of employees’ names, beginning with those who were most expendable, if such a word could really be used for people. He trailed his finger down the list looking for…For what? For young, single, independently wealthy people whose lives wouldn’t be devastated by the loss of their job? There weren’t any. Most of the names were familiar. Good, reliable, loyal workers who had worked for the company for over ten years. He’d hate to lay any of them off.

After several long minutes, he put the composition book back and took out the spreadsheet his accountant had done. There was a dip in November two years ago, right about the time Trey’s father had voted against bidding on a job for a company he felt was too commercial. He said the company “didn’t nurture the community spirit that Breckenridge Construction had built its good name upon.”

That had been Trey’s first real clash with his father. Up to that point, they had lived in peaceful estrangement. They were acquaintances, little more. All that changed that November, though. Trey had first tried reasoning with his father, pointing out that the company had to grow in order to justify retaining the existing employees. That had been met with blame for “overspending” by “overemploying.” So Trey had changed his tactic, insisting that limiting the company that way would endanger its very existence.

He believed the word his father had responded with was, “Hogwash.”

Finally Trey had demanded that they go forward with the bid. His father had called an emergency Board meeting and vote. His shares had easily won the vote, as he knew they would.

Trey looked back at the spreadsheet and saw where something similar had happened in February the next year, and May after that. In July his father had finally relented and they’d gotten a semi-large contract for an undeniably commercial health club. The renovation work was up for an award. Trey shook his head. You’d think that would persuade the old man this was the right direction but, no, he was still dragging his feet.

He moved the spreadsheet aside and looked at the company assets and liabilities. He scanned down the numbers to the bottom of the page. The bottom line. When he saw it, he winced. Breckenridge Construction was in trouble. Big trouble.

If Trey didn’t get control of the company in time to take the Davenport job, not only would the people listed in the composition book be without jobs, but most likely Trey, himself, would be too. And Jane. There was no way he could let that happen. He’d do whatever it took to save their jobs for them, and the company for himself.

After all, it was really all he had.

“This is your chance,” Jane told her reflection in the rearview mirror on the way home. “Tonight you’re going to be his fiancée. It’s up to you to make it real.” She looked at her reflection an extra moment, then turned her eyes back to the road with a laugh. “Right. Not unless I have a fairy godmother that I don’t know about.”

A small, red convertible zipped into the lane in front of Jane, and she had to slam on the brakes of her own sensible American-made compact to avoid a crash. She pulled over to the side of the road and sat, waiting for her pulse to calm down and watching the convertible speed off. All she saw of the driver was long blonde hair flowing in the wind, and a red-nailed hand waving back at Jane.

“Well if that isn’t symbolic, I don’t know what is,” she said to herself and sighed. “I can’t keep up in a red convertible world. Why am I trying?”

There wasn’t even the lightest of winds to answer. Not that she expected one. She already had more answers than she cared to acknowledge.

“You know darn well what you should do,” she said to her reflection again. “You should quit working for Trey and leave. It’s the only way to get him out of your system.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, now looking inward instead of at the mirror. “But I can’t,” she said softly. “I care too much to leave.”

After a moment of quiet, she put her car into gear and pulled back onto the road.

As soon as she walked in the front door of her apartment ten minutes later, her roommate, Peatie, shouted to her from the bathroom.

“Your boss called.” Peatie’s New York accent was uncharacteristically sing-songy. She walked into the hallway, with huge sections of her bleached-blond hair wrapped in aluminum foil. “Said he wasn’t sure whether you had something you wanted to wear to this fancy schmancy place tonight, so he’s having some things sent over from Neiman-Marcus.” She looked at Jane expectantly. “Neiman-Marcus. So what the heck’s going on?”

“It’s no big deal,” Jane said, a flush of anticipation warming her cheeks. She dropped her purse on the hall table and shrugged. “I just have to go out with Trey tonight and pose as his fiancée.”

“You what?”

“No big deal. All in a day’s work.” She tried to keep a straight face but when she saw her roommate’s astounded expression, she burst into laughter.

Peatie put a hand on her hip. “Okay, okay, you had me going for a minute. Now what are you really up to?”

Jane crossed her finger over her chest. “Honest to goodness, that’s what I’m doing. I can’t quite believe it either. But Trey wants his father to believe he’s engaged, and when the woman who was supposed to play the role canceled, he asked me. Me.”

“You’re serious?”

Jane nodded. “Unless I’m dreaming.”

Peatie frowned, obviously still not convinced. “Why does he want his father to think he’s engaged?”

Jane took her sweater off and hung it on the coat rack. “It’s a long story, but he’s got noble reasons, don’t worry.”

Peatie shook her foiled head, then gasped. “Oh! He said he wanted you to call him if you got in before five-thirty. You’ve got like a minute.”

Jane glanced at her watch. It was five twenty-five. “Thanks,” she said, running to the phone in the kitchen. Was he canceling? No, he wouldn’t be sending clothes over if he was. As she rounded the corner, she slipped and her shoe went flying off, but didn’t bother retrieving it as she was already reaching for the phone.