Married to His Business (Millionaire of the Month #5)(25)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

When Matthias looked at her again, his expression was bland and unreadable, as if there had been nothing about the last few minutes that was any different from the

millions of minutes that had preceded them. As if wanting to emphasize that, he asked a question guaranteed to dispel any strange sensations that might be lingering.

"So what do you plan to do about Stephen?"

Kendall wished she had an answer for all the ques-tions—both spoken and unspoken—that had arisen this evening, but most especially for that one. Her future, at the moment, was shakier and more open than it had ever been before. And she wasn’t the sort of person who found the unknown exciting. On the contrary, she couldn’t function if she didn’t have a thorough, well-thought-out plan. The only plan she had at the moment, though, was to have another sip of her wine. Which she did.

Then, "I don’t know," she finally said. "I feel like Stephen hired me under false pretenses, and I don’t want to work for OmniTech if that’s the case. I’d like to be hired on the merit of my knowledge and potential, not because I might have juicy gossip."

"You could resign," Matthias said.

She studied him in silence for a moment, wondering why he’d made the suggestion he had. Was it because he wanted to be proven right? Or was he looking out for Kendall’s best interests? Or was it simply because he wanted to stick it to Stephen DeGallo?

Not long ago, she would have assumed it was either the first or last of those reasons. Now, however, she couldn’t help thinking maybe he really did want to help Kendall do what was best for herself.

"It will probably be a moot point," she said. "If he decides I’m not going to be beneficial to him in the way he first thought, I wouldn’t be surprised if he manufactures some excuse to let me go."

She raised a shoulder and let it drop, hoping the half shrug hid the turmoil roiling inside her. What was weird was that the turmoil was less a result of the prospect of being unemployed, and more the result of the way Matthias continued to look at her.

He dropped his gaze into his glass again, swirling the dark wine around the sides of the bowl in thoughtful concentration. "Well, if you do decide to resign," he began, "or if Stephen is stupid enough to let you go, I have a position at Barton Limited that needs filling." He glanced up at Kendall again, fixing his gaze on hers. "If you think you’d be interested. You’d be perfect for it."

For some reason, his offer of her old job back didn’t rankle her as much as it had before. Maybe because this time he wasn’t being such an arrogant jackass about it. No, this time, his tone was solicitous, his body language inquisitive. This time, it was indeed an offer, not an order. But Kendall was no more interested in accepting it now than she had been before. She still wanted—needed—more than to be Matthias Barton’s assistant. She was too smart and too ambitious, and she wanted to do more—with her life and herself.

"Matthias, I can’t be your assistant anymore," she told him. "We’ve been through this. I need something that will challenge me to be the best that I can be."

"I’m not offering you your old job back," he told her. "I’m offering you a new one."

Kendall wasn’t sure if she should be suspicious or not. Ultimately, she decided on being cautious. "What kind of position?"

He turned toward the deck railing and leaned over to

prop his arms on it, then gazed up at the moon as he spoke. "There’s no title for it yet. But I’m getting ready to acquire a technology company that’s been failing due to mismanagement and carelessness. I’m going to need someone to work side by side with me getting it whipped into shape."

Kendall told herself not to make anything of his body language—that he was looking at the moon and might be, figuratively anyway, offering her something that didn’t exist—and consider what he was saying. "Tell me more about the company," she asked carefully.

He did, describing its rise and fall and the problems that had led to its faltering. She nodded as he spoke, turning over in her mind the possibilities and potential, and the various avenues they could take to put the company back on its feet. When Matthias finished, she asked, "What’s the salary and benefits for this position?"

"Quadruple what you made as my assistant," he told her.

Her eyebrows shot up at that. That was two times more than the position at OmniTech.

"Full medical and dental," he added, "contributions to an IRA and 401(k). And, if you want, we can talk stock options."

"I want," she said readily.

By now he had straightened again and was lifting his glass to his mouth. But he stopped so abruptly when Kendall said what she did that some of the ruby wine spilled over onto his hand. Hastily, he took the glass in his other hand and tried to shake the wine from his fingers, then looked around for something to wipe the rest of it off. Kendall, always prepared, pulled a clean handkerchief from her trouser pocket and handed it to him. He set his

glass down, wiped his hand clean, then, out of habit, she guessed, deftly tucked the scrap of cotton into his own pocket.

When he looked at her again, he seemed agitated about something. But all he said was, "Then let’s talk." Kendall met his gaze levelly. "Okay. I’m listening."

Seven

The coffee shop where Stephen had scheduled their "morning meeting," which he’d deemed "unavoidable" on a Saturday because Kendall’s "orientation" had "fallen behind" this week—yeah, Stephen, since some people blew off "essential dinner meetings" to instead chase after breathtaking blondes—was located a couple of blocks away from the inn. But it was every bit as quaint and charming. Even though it was early—and also Saturday, in case Kendall hadn’t mentioned that part—there were a number of people out and about, ambling down the walkways, waiting for the shops to open and sipping their morning lattes. But, unlike Kendall, who was dressed in her usual business trousers and shirt—in this case beige for the former and cream for the latter—everyone else sported vacation clothes, mostly shorts and T-shirts or loose cotton dresses coupled with sneakers or sandals. Because they,

unlike Kendall, didn’t have to work today. On account of it was Saturday. In case she hadn’t mentioned that part.

She looked longingly down at her pointy-toed, three-inch ivory pumps, then at the beat-up Birkenstock sandals on a woman passing by, and she sighed. Someday, she thought, she was going to be the big cheese at her own successful corporation. And the first policy she planned to put in place was a Casual Friday. Then she’d add a Casual Thursday. And a Casual Wednesday, Tuesday and Monday, too. And then she’d decree that no work ever took place on the weekend.