Tempting Eden Read Online Free

bottle of Jack stashed in his desk. “Moody? Sharp? She give you an inquisition?”
    “You could say that.”
    “That’s her way. She works hard. She expects everyone else around her to do the same. And she can be mighty temperamental, but she doesn’t mean anything by it.” He took a swig from his coffee cup. “That’s one of the reasons why I hired you, you know. You seem so calm. Like everything just rolls off. She needs that, needs someone to even her out a bit. You’ll do just fine.”
    He gave me a reassuring pat on the back before striding down the hallway toward the accounting offices.
    I fired up my computer, ready to start ticking off calendar entries for the hectic day ahead. She’d been gone for a week, but her work and appointments had piled up the entire time until it was an avalanche of to-dos. Daunting was an understatement. How could one person be so busy?
    As soon as my email was open, a reminder pinged that Ms. Rochester had a meeting with Gray Poole, a developer on several of her projects.
    Showtime.
    I rose and knocked on her door.
    “What?” Her tone was sharp, no-nonsense.
    I pushed through the glass and into her office. She had composed herself a bit more. Her light auburn hair was less messy than it had been on her way in. I liked it better before, not that my opinion mattered. She’d added some lipstick, too.
    “You have an appointment with Mr. Poole in five minutes. Main conference room.”
    “Fine.” She stood. If her ankle pained her, and I was certain it did, she didn’t show it. “Get your notepad and meet me. I’ll be there in a moment. Make sure he has a cup of black coffee ready for him, two packets of sugar on the side.”
    I did as she asked, hitting the light switch in the wood-paneled conference room and preparing the coffee. After setting out the cup and sugar as instructed, I settled into one of the leather chairs. I ignored the luxuriousness of everything in the room, pretending it was commonplace so that I could continue to pass as one of them. I arranged my notepad and the spreadsheet of her projects, including Mr. Poole’s expenditures and other data on each one, on the table in front of me.
    She walked in, her face pinched. Her injury was taking its toll.
    “I could have brought Mr. Poole to your office for you.”
    She glared at me, as if I’d crossed some line I didn’t even know was there. “No, I’d rather not have him in my office. We always meet him in here.”
    She took the chair at the head of the table. “Mr. Poole is a very important client. His money keeps my projects going, keeps me selling real estate, keeps me—and now you—employed. Just keep that in mind when you speak with him.”
    “Got it.” I didn’t intend on speaking at all if I could help it. Being a listener was one of my hardest-won traits, especially because it didn’t come naturally to me. But it always served me well.
    There was a brief rap at the door, and then who I assumed was Mr. Poole entered. He looked in his early forties, fit, blond hair and tanned skin, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. Ms. Rochester rose. I did the same. He took her hand in a familiar shake.
    “Rochester.”
    “Good to see you, Gray. Did you have a smooth trip back from Atlanta?”
    He took the seat opposite me, at Ms. Rochester’s right hand. I sat along with them, ignoring him ignoring me.
    “I always do. The private jet helps; turns the trip into a taxi ride. I was only sorry that you left too early to share the flight back with me.” His tone was familiar, as if he knew more about her than he should.
    He smiled, his teeth white and even, too even to be natural. He turned to me. “And who is this?”
    “Jack England. He’s my new assistant.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Jack. Don’t let her run you off too quick. She has a habit of doing that.” He had the sort of Southern accent that seemed fake. The one from old movies. Or the one from new movies where the Southerners were played