Kathryn Jensen - The American Earl

Abby rolled her eyes, at a loss for words to explain her tangled emotions. “Because I don’t trust him. And I don’t trust myself to make the right decision.”

Dee came and sat on the bed beside her. “Tell Mama.”

Abby accepted a sip from her friend’s mug then rolled her eyes with the effort of putting her feelings into words. “He’s…I don’t know…overpowering. You’d have to see him to understand. Matthew Smythe walks into a room, and you just know he’s going to waltz out of there with anything he wants. I’ll bet he signs deals next week with all three of the bigwigs he was entertaining last night. And when he drove me home in his limo—”

“His li-mo-o-o-o?” Dee arched an ebony brow at her.

“Yes, his limo. When he drove me home after his guests had left, he told me he wanted me to come work for him. When I didn’t say yes right away, he kept upping the ante. He swore it was strictly business, no fooling around.”

“They all do,” Dee mused, but didn’t look too unhappy at the thought.

“It sounded as if he meant it. That’s what bothered me.”

“You mean, you wanted him to proposition you?”

“Of course not…at least, I don’t think I did. But when he didn’t I felt kind of…disappointed.” Abby agitatedly fluttered her fingers in the air. “It’s hard to explain. I just don’t trust myself around him. I’m like a spaceship in one of those intergalactic sci-fi flicks. My shields go down.”

Dee laughed. “You’ve really got it bad, girl.”

“The irritating thing is, I know the job is absolutely perfect. It would put me miles ahead in my master plan to open my own place. I’d only have to work for Smythe two, maybe three years…and I’d have all my start-up money plus the experience I’d need to run my own business.”

“But?”

“But I’d have to keep my shields up.”

“And after all this time, you don’t really want to, is that it?”

The all this time brought a painful twinge of remorse to her heart, for the words didn’t refer to the few hours she’d known Lord Matthew Smythe. Dee was referring to the other men who had come into Abby’s life, only to be told that she intended to wait for marriage to sleep with anyone. Richad Wooten, the last one, had nearly made it to the altar. Nearly being the operative word.

Abby nodded slowly, only now admitting to herself what she’d felt all the night before. “I can’t begin to tell you how handsome he is and what he does to my insides.” She hesitated. “And there’s something else.”

“I’m listening.” Dee sipped her coffee, her eyes never leaving Abby’s.

“I’m not sure I believe his promise that it will always be only business between us. And I know that sounds as if I’m contradicting myself—because of what I said about being attracted to him. But I keep asking myself, if he’s lying to me about our getting involved, how can I trust him not to lie about other things—like not firing me after just a few months?”

Dee shrugged. “Good point. You’d be working here in Chicago?”

“Some of the time.” Abby pursed her lips and looked across the bedroom at her collection of tiny crystal animals on the bureau. She’d had some of them since she was in seventh grade, and her parents still added a new one every birthday and Christmas. No matter where she’d lived, even in the dorm at school, they’d been with her. “He travels a lot, keeps offices on the West Coast, in New York, and entertains at his villa in Bermuda.”

“No way.”

“I swear. I’m supposed to accompany him, set up his receptions and parties, play hostess wherever he goes.”

Dee solemnly shook her head. “Definitely a tough life…”

Glaring at her roommate, Abby raised a warning finger. “You’re laughing at me.”

Dee winked. “Now would I do that?”

The phone rang before Abby could heave a pillow at her. Reaching across her rumpled sheets, she picked up the receiver.

Before Abby could answer, a voice boomed through the line. “I want your answer now.”

“Lord Smythe!” Self-consciously, Abby yanked the sheets up over the front of her thin nightdress…then felt silly when Dee laughed at her knee-jerk gesture of modesty. “I haven’t really had a chance to thi—”

“You’ve slept on my proposal,” he stated. “If you don’t know your own mind by now, you won’t know it any better twenty-four hours from now.”

Abby shot a desperate look at Dee, who blinked, looked amused, and was no help at all.

Abby cleared her throat. “Working for you would mean a lot of changes for me. I told you, I’ve never considered leaving Chicago and—”

“Do you have family here?” he asked.

Was she imagining a gentling of his voice? “Not in the city. But my parents live thirty miles away. I have no brothers or sisters.”

“Your parents are in good health?”

“Yes.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No,” she answered automatically, although she would have told any other person interviewing her for a job that such information was none of their business.

“No one serious in your life,” he murmured. “And you have no personal commitments. I see.”

What does “I see” mean? she thought frantically.

“Then tell me, Abby,” he asked in a rich baritone that sent curls of warmth through her center, “what is keeping you cemented to this city?”

What indeed? she asked herself. Perhaps it was just that she’d never considered living elsewhere. She felt safe here, comfortable within familiar surroundings. Chicago had never seemed a big city to her, even though she’d grown up on a dairy farm. She loved the distinct neighborhoods of the windy city. She had friends in Greektown, shopped the Arab fruit markets and Jewish bakeries and ate in Polish restaurants. She had never considered needing a larger canvas on which to paint her life. Everything she needed to be happy was right here.

Or so she’d always thought.

“Nothing,” she whispered into the phone. “Nothing keeps me here. It’s just my home.”

He was silent on the other end, and she could tell this was a silence calculated to let her think about what she’d just said. She did think. She considered the advantages he was offering her…and the dangers. Far more risk was involved in working for Matthew Smythe than she’d ever dreamed of taking. Her stomach felt tied in a knot.

Dee nudged her, hard. When Abby looked up, her friend was mouthing the words—Take it! Take it! Take it!

Abby drew a long, deep breath, then let it out very slowly. “I need to give my boss notice.”

“I want you to start today.”

“But I—”

“Monday morning we’ll leave for New York. You’ll need the weekend to familiarize yourself with the company’s products and the accounts we’ll be working on. I’ll want you in my office by noon today.”

Abby covered the receiver and whispered, “I’m negotiating with Attila the Hun!”

Dee chuckled. “Honey, aggression’s bred into ’em.”

Not into every man, Abby thought. They weren’t all as arrogant and bent on having their own way as the entrepreneur aristocrat. Every instinct told her to say no. Just to spite the man. But by doing so she would hurt only herself. There were hundreds…thousands of young women who would leap at the chance to work for Smythe, travel the world and be paid far more than they were worth.

Through the line she thought she could hear another voice. A woman’s. Abby’s ears perked up, but she couldn’t make out the exact words.

Then Matt was back on the phone, his tone noticeably gentler. “If you accept the terms of our agreement and the salary suits you, Paula will be here at the office to brief you. She says just to let her know a convenient time, and she’ll make sure she’s available.” He sounded like a schoolboy who’d been taken to task by his teacher. So there was someone who had found a way to muffle his bark. Interesting, Abby thought.