Her Man Friday(38)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

For some reason, Leo was suddenly inclined to agree with the man. Not just because Cohiba Man had uttered his assurance with such conviction, but because Leo was getting the impression that the board of directors knew something that he didn’t know himself. Like, for example, lots of other boards of directors, all across the country. Other boards of directors who might be persuaded to hire somebody other than Leo Friday for any future investigative needs they might have. Because, frankly, Leo was beginning to doubt that he was, in fact, the best in the business.

And for that, as much as anything else, he vowed to find the thief. "Two weeks," he repeated. "Fine. In two weeks, gentlemen, I promise you… you’ll have your culprit."

Lily was already having a bad day when the doorbell rang downstairs and nearly shattered what fragile grip on her sanity she had left. A lack of sleep the night before had caused her to awaken with a terrible headache and a volatile disposition, and nothing—absolutely nothing—had gone right since. Chloe hadn’t shown up at school—again—and Mrs. Puddleduck was complaining about her salary—again—and Miranda was wandering through the garden with Claude Rains—again—and Janey was in a snit—again. And Schuyler…

Ooh, Schuyler. Lily gritted her teeth hard. Well, suffice it to say that Lily was this close to throttling the life right out of him. Again.

And now the numbers on her laptop computer screen were making no sense whatsoever. And no matter how hard she tried to make them do what she needed them to do, they simply and adamantly would not cooperate. And that, she decided, was going to present a bit of a problem for a bank deposit she desperately needed to make.

The bellow of the doorbell downstairs again precluded her from fixing that problem anytime soon. With a final, longing look at the tea that sat cooling near her laptop, she rose from her writing desk and hastened from the room, to respond to the summons that was seemingly acres away from her present position. And as she hurried down the gallery, it occurred to her, not for the first time, that they really should hire someone to see to the more simple aspects of running Ashling—like, say, answering the door, for example.

But they so seldom had visitors at the estate, particularly unannounced visitors, that she supposed it did seem rather unnecessary. Still, as she strove to catch her breath before opening the door, Lily decided that it might be nice to have such a luxury anyway.

And speaking of luxuries…

She bit back a wistful sigh after she opened the door. Because, as if conjured by magic, Leonard Freiberger stood on the other side.

She was still trying to catch her breath from the marathon she had just run, but somehow, Lily was fairly certain that wasn’t the only reason for her lightheadedness. Mr. Freiberger looked much as he had that first day he’d come to Ashling—round wire-framed glasses, rumpled suit, slouchy demeanor. Except that this time, there seemed to be a steeliness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. There was also, she noted as a slow curl of heat wound up tight in her belly, a familiarity to his smile that hadn’t been there before.

"Mr. Freiberger," she greeted him, battling the warmth that radiated from her midsection, spreading to parts of her that scarcely warranted warming in broad daylight like this. "How nice to see you again."

Oh, lame, lame, lame, Lily, she chastised herself. But what was she supposed to do, say what was on her mind? The last thing Mr. Freiberger needed to hear was her breaking into a rousing chorus of, You’re just a hunka hunka burnin’ love. She’d never been able to carry a tune, after all.

"Miss Rigby," he replied easily. Somehow, though, she got the feeling that he’d wanted to say something else in greeting.

She told herself she must be imagining the—what?… affection? Oh, no, surely not—that she sensed in his voice, but she didn’t try to convince herself too hard. She did try hard, however, to convince herself that that wasn’t suspicion in his eyes. Unfortunately, he seemed to be very suspicious of something indeed.

But she decided not to think about that right now. Instead she only absorbed the sight of him as he stood there in the pale yellow light of mid-morning, and wondered what he would do if she leaned forward and licked him from head to foot.

"Ah…" she began eloquently. "What are you doing back? I thought you said you wouldn’t find the problem here? That your work at Ashling was finished? That you should doubtless direct your search at company headquarters?" And why was she suddenly speaking exclusively in the inquisitive tense? Was that really necessary?

Leo was inclined to tell Miss Rigby that he had thought all that, too. But all he did was stand there staring at her, letting his gaze rove hungrily all over the not-quite-forgotten terrain of Lily Rigby. Wow. She looked even better than he’d remembered. And he’d remembered her as looking pretty damned good.

She still hadn’t let down her hair, though, he noted, disgruntled. Someday, he was going to have to do something about that. But not today, unfortunately. Because today he had other things that commanded his attention. He couldn’t just stand here looking at Lily Rigby and wondering what she had on under that stark, conservative gray suit that did absolutely nothing to make her look either stark or conservative.

Probably something lacy and sexy, he thought. He’d read somewhere that women who were required to wear suits and such to work often enjoyed wearing impossibly frilly underthings beneath. Peach, he’d bet. Something lacy and sexy and peach colored. One of those little half-thing bras that a woman’s br**sts fairly spilled free from, and skimpy little bikini panties. With a garter belt. Yeah.

But he couldn’t think about that right now, he reminded himself, because he had other really, really important matters that he needed to concentrate on instead. So he shoved aside the image of Lily Rigby in all her decadent lingerie glory and tried to remember what, exactly, it was that he was supposed to be concentrating on.

Or maybe black, he thought. Lily Rigby in black underthings, to go with her gray suit. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Black satin. Oh, yes. He could definitely see her as the black satin type. Especially with those smoky stockings hugging her long, lean legs. Black would suit her to a—

But then, he had other things to think about today, he reminded himself yet again, this time with a brutal shove to his libido. Still his eyes lingered on Lily Rigby’s face and form, however, and still his thoughts lingered on her underwear. Now, what was it he was supposed to be thinking about again? Something about a billionaire or somebody. Schuyler Whatzizname… Kimball. Yeah, that was it. Kimball Technologies and… What? Some missing money? To the tune of like… fifty million dollars… ?