Her Man Friday(39)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Oh, yeah. Now he remembered.

He remembered Charlton Heston Man nearly busting a blood vessel before Leo had finally concluded his business with the board of directors for Kimball Technologies. And he remembered Halston Man leaving in a remarkably well choreographed huff. He recalled Thesaurus Man labeling him a cretinous, low-browed stupe, and Cohiba Man, through a haze of blue smoke, ordering him back to Ashling, pronto, where he would remain banished until he broke open those files and found out what was inside, or died trying. Leo only hoped he could do it without Schuyler Kimball looking over his shoulder and breathing down his neck.

Of course, Lily Rigby would be doing that, too, but for some reason that didn’t bother Leo quite so much as having an eccentric billionaire—or billionaire eccentric; he still hadn’t decided which—breathing down his neck. In fact, Miss Rigby breathing down his neck—or on any other body part she might want to respire upon—was actually something Leo found himself rather looking forward to.

Then he remembered that he was going to have to infiltrate her room and violate her personal space at some point in the near future, and a wave of guilt lapped at the edge of his brain. He reminded himself that he had no choice, that he had a job to do, and only two weeks left to do it. Still, invading a woman’s personal things—without her knowledge or consent, at any rate—didn’t set well at all with Leo.

Even if, at some point while trying to infiltrate her computer files, he might accidentally happen upon the drawer where she kept her underwear. And even if then, maybe, by accident, an article of lingerie might, oh… leap into his pocket or something. He still felt a little guilty about the whole endeavor.

"I think I may have missed something in my original investigation," he told Miss Rigby, pushing his errant thoughts aside for now. "My superiors thought it would be a good idea for me to have one more look. Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything."

Like, for example, he thought further to himself, what Schuyler Kimball’s social secretary wore underneath those not-quite-businesslike suits of hers.

"I see," she said. "Well, if there’s anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to ask."

Leo smiled. Oh, he wouldn’t.

For a moment, they only stood there gazing at each other, both of them obviously thinking about something totally different from what they were talking about. Finally, Miss Rigby seemed to remember that it was up to her to invite Leo inside. Deftly, professionally, she did just that, stepping aside and sweeping an arm inward in a silent indication that he should enter. As he passed her, Leo inhaled deeply, enjoying again that singular scent of hers, the one that just opened up so many possibilities.

And he was suddenly very grateful to the board of directors who were timing his every move. Because, hey, without them, Leo would have to be an honest man. And honest men just didn’t enjoy their thoughts nearly as much as guys like him did. Nevertheless, he was going to have to come clean with Lily Rigby someday.

Someday, he reiterated to himself. But not today.

Chapter Eleven

Leo’s gratitude to Kimball’s board of directors grew by leaps and bounds the following day, even as he was slaving away, sitting at Schuyler Kimball’s desk, staring at Schuyler Kimball’s computer screen, trying to get past one of Schuyler Kimball’s allegedly brilliant booby traps, so he could break into one of Schuyler Kimball’s personal files. He hadn’t yet found an opportunity to take advantage of Miss Rigby… uh, Miss Rigby’s lap… uh, Miss Rigby’s laptop, so he was trying instead, one more time, to access those last few files of Kimball’s.

But instead of focusing on the task at hand, Leo was lost in a fantasy of his own making, one that involved Miss Rigby—naturally—and today’s choice of lingerie—red—and the kitchen pantry he’d visited once, to help her retrieve a box of tea from the shelf where it was stored—on top.

And even though he told himself he should instead be fantasizing about a way to get into Miss Rigby’s bedroom—to find her computer, naturally—there had just been something about that darkened pantry… The isolation, the close confines, the lack of light, the mingling aromas of cinnamon and coffee and chocolate chip cookies. Yeah, maybe if he could find an excuse to go to the kitchen for something… And maybe if he could lure Miss Rigby there in the process… And maybe if he could figure out some way to get her to follow him into the pantry… Then maybe, just maybe…

"Mr. Freiberger?"

Leo snapped guiltily to attention at the sound of her voice, certain she must have deduced exactly what he’d been thinking about all morning. But when he turned toward the office entry, there she stood as cool and professional as ever, wearing a straight, tobacco-colored skirt that rode a good two inches above her knees, and a cognac-colored sweater cropped right at her waist. Both garments fit her like a second skin, and for a moment, all Leo could do was stare at her, his thoughts neither cool nor professional. Interestingly, she only stared back at him, and said nothing more about why she’d come.

"Uh… yes, Miss Rigby?" he finally managed to get out, proud of himself for not drooling even once when he uttered the question.

She lifted a hand to her hair, smoothing it lightly over the sweep of black that was twisted up the back of her head in that Kim Novak way again. In spite of the casualness of the gesture—well, casual for her, Leo thought, seeing as how she couldn’t possibly know how her sweater rode up to reveal a brief glimpse of creamy flesh when she did that—she was clearly nervous about whatever she had to say to him. But, hey, nervous was good, Leo decided. Because that meant the two of them were in sync.

"I…" she began. "That is… Would you… I mean…" She sighed fitfully, gazed upon him fully for a moment, then averted her eyes anxiously again. "I could use your help," she said softly. "If you have a moment to spare."

A moment? he thought. A moment? Oh, he could probably spare a moment. Or two. Or ten. Or the rest of his life. Whatever.

Immediately, he stood, ready to climb whatever mountains, and swim whatever seas, and cross whatever deserts, and slay whatever dragons she asked him to. Then he remembered that he was pretending to be someone he was not, and that he had been about to break and enter into one of Kimball’s private files, so he seated himself down again to mask his treachery before taking off on his heroic journey.

Some epic hero, he chastised himself as he rose once again. Leonard Freiberger, he thought further with disgust. What a ratfink that guy was turning out to be.