Her Man Friday(34)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Leo emitted a rude sound of disgust in response, and turned his back on the men. When they realized he was approaching Miss Rigby, however—hey, they were smart guys; they recognized a man in heat when they saw one—they all began to laugh themselves silly and offer him, oh… etiquette instruction… that was dubious at best.

Suddenly, he felt as if he were back in sixth grade, and all the boys in school knew about his crush on Marianne Gianelli, and how he was leaving the football field to go over to where the girls were playing Josie and the Pussycats, just so he might get a whiff of her Love’s Baby Soft cologne.

It was humiliating, he thought, that a thirty-eight-year-old man could be reduced to hormone-driven prepubescence by the simple sight of a woman in hiking boots. Man. He was a disgrace to his gender. Even if they were really sexy hiking boots.

As he drew nearer to Lily Rigby, however, his humiliation vanished, because there was something about the look on her face as she rapidly, rabidly, turned the page of her book and continued to read. Seeing that expression made him feel much better about the potential for what might lay ahead.

In the time it took her to finally notice him, he had dropped down onto the grass beside her, had leaned on one elbow and stretched his legs out before him, feigning an idleness he was nowhere close to feeling. And even after she did look up, it still took a moment for her eyes to focus, a moment he used to drink in the sight of her.

If she’d put on makeup that morning, it had long ago vanished. And somehow, the absence of cosmetic enhancement only made her that much more attractive. Her eyes were clearer somehow, her mouth more luscious. The cool wind had stained her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink, giving her the appearance of an innocence he suspected wasn’t quite an illusion. For all her businesslike efficiency, there was still something very human and approachable about Lily Rigby. And even though he couldn’t quite define what that something was, Leo decided that he liked it. In fact, he liked it a lot.

Her hair was tucked up under a knit cap, save the long bangs brushing her forehead, bangs that she’d always combed to the side before. The fringe of black only added to the suggestion of youthful innocence about her, and for the first time, he wondered if she was younger than he had originally guessed. Thanks to her air of command at Ashling, he had assumed that she was in her early thirties. Now, however, he wondered if she had yet to even see thirty at all.

He told himself to say hello, but as he opened his mouth to do so, she seemed to suddenly recognize her surroundings. Her eyes widened in surprise when she realized who he was, and she hastily sat up, shoving her book behind her back. It was, to say the least, an incriminating gesture. He could only imagine what she didn’t want to get caught reading. Probably some gruesome true crime thing about relentless slaughter, he guessed. That was about the only thing he could think of that would be unlike her.

"Mr. Freiberger," she said. But there was little welcome in her voice when she said it. "Where did you come from?"

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, to where his friends were still gathered. There was no sense denying he knew them, seeing as how they were all pointing at him and doubled over with laughter. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of speculating they were doing back there. "I’m here chaperoning a bunch of slackers who wanted to play football today," he said. "How about you? What brings you into the big city?"

"I… I decided to take the day off."

"It’s Saturday," he pointed out unnecessarily. "Everybody should be taking a day off today."

"Yes, well, I imagine there are a lot of restaurant and retail and hospital workers who would agree with you, but I don’t see them out here running around the park."

"Touché," he said. "But you’re not a retail or restaurant or hospital worker, are you? Doesn’t Mr. Kimball give you weekends off?"

Her gaze darted away as she said, "It depends on what’s going on with Mr. Kimball and Kimball Technologies."

Leo shrugged, using the gesture to try and see what book she was hiding behind her back. But what he said was, "The stuff going on with Kimball Technologies doesn’t seem like it should affect a social secretary’s duties." He tried to hide the smile he felt threatening as he returned his attention to her face, but knew he didn’t quite succeed. "I mean, come on, Miss Rigby, just how much of Mr. Kimball’s business do you actually handle, anyway?"

She smiled, too, not quite benevolently. "Why do I get the feeling, Mr. Freiberger, that you don’t think I’m particularly bright?"

He arched his eyebrows in surprise and had no idea what to say in response to her charge. So he said nothing.

"Because that’s exactly the feeling I get from you sometimes," she added. "That you don’t think I do much… thinking. That you believe my job for Mr. Kimball doesn’t require much… thinking. That most of my time is spent doing things other than… thinking."

"You think so?" he asked evasively.

She nodded. "Yes. I do."

"Well, gosh, Miss Rigby, I never meant to give you that impression," he said, still scrambling for an honest explanation that wouldn’t insult her. Unfortunately, he thought, being honest about something like this would definitely insult her. Because truth be told, she told the truth.

"No, I’m sure you never meant to give me the impression that you don’t think I’m very bright," she said. "Nevertheless, you don’t think I’m very bright, do you?"

"I never said—"

"No, and I don’t suppose you ever would," she interjected. "Not that it’s really very important what you think of me anyway."

It wasn’t?

"And in spite of your miscalculations, Mr. Freiberger—or perhaps in light of them," she amended easily, "you might be surprised how much weekend work I have to do for Mr. Kimball."

Yeah, he probably would be surprised, he thought. Especially if that weekend work actually involved work. Well, work that couldn’t be performed in a horizontal position, anyway. Although there was a lot to be said for doing it standing up…

Deciding he really didn’t want to think about something like that right now, he asked impulsively, "What are you reading?" Then, before she had a chance to answer, he reached behind her in an effort to snag the book from her hand.

"Nothing," she said, angling her body to hinder his progress. "I’m not reading anything."

"Oh, come on," he cajoled as he reached for it again. "I know you have a book back there. I saw you reading it. You were really interested in whatever it said, too. Just what kind of book is it?"