his interviews for the position that despite his moneyed background, he felt called to share his knowledge and expertise with humanity.
In Arthur’s case, humanity appeared to be Phillips Construction Company, but Brad didn’t care as long as Arthur continued to save—and therefore help to make—the company a great deal of money.
Although the two of them were close in age, he and Simmons couldn’t be more different. Brad had come up the hard way. He was a street kid who had eventually built a multimillion-dollar construction business from little more than his back, his bare hands and encouragement from a man who had believed he had potential.
Simmons, on the other hand, had probably never worked up a sweat in his life. Instead, he had attended all the right private schools and graduated with honors from a prestigious eastern university.
Brad was in no way envious of the man. The gulf between their backgrounds just underlined the fact that they had nothing in common…except the mutual goal to make the company a success.
The way Brad saw it, he was a physical person. Simmons was a card-carrying intellectual. His carefully manicured hands made it obvious that Simmons had never picked up anything heavier than a pencil.
Brad turned away from the window, running his hand through his hair in agitation. He needed his invaluable administrative assistant and he needed her now.
He forced himself to return to his desk, almost hearing Rachel’s voice telling him to relax and use his time practicing patience.
Brad threw himself into his chair with a long-suffering sigh. Rachel’s voice often echoed in his head. He figured she’d taken him on as some kind of project.
He would never forget the day he had hired her. He’d had no idea at the time that it was the smartest decision he’d ever make.
He’d been twenty-five, carefully tending a fledgling company by working long hours and generally sleeping in the construction trailer at his current building site.
He had a construction crew but no one who knew anything about the paperwork involved, including himself.
He’d been awarded the contract to build a multiplex theatre in north Dallas, the biggest job of his career. After the elation wore off, Brad had realized that he could no longer operate his growing business out of his apartment and a construction trailer.
He needed a bona fide office…with real office workers. He found the thought terrifying. An office would mean hiring—at the very least—a receptionist, a secretary and a bookkeeper. The latter job took up entirely too much of his time already.
The problem was that he couldn’t afford to hire that many people. Not yet. But once he finished the multiplex, he felt that more business would come his way. He knew he provided quality structures. He’d worked hard to build a reputation for honesty, integrity and fair dealing.
Yes, there would be more work down the road, but until then he still worked on a shoestring budget.
Brad faced the reality of his situation and advertised for what he could afford—a receptionist—in the hope that whoever applied for the position might be able to do more than answer the phone.
His first step had been to lease office space. He’d negotiated the price with the owner by agreeing to do repair jobs on the building whenever needed. He’d worked on the new space every night and weekend.
When he placed the help-wanted ad in the paper, the office space was still a mess, which meant he had to figure out where to hold interviews. He couldn’t expect a woman to show up at the project location and pick her way around building supplies, equipment and construction debris to get to his trailer. He eventually settled on a corner coffee shop near the site.
His phone rang repeatedly the day the ad first appeared. Brad was excited by the response. Surely he would find someone qualified within days.
A week later he was less excited. By then, he knew he was in deep trouble. Either the applicant wanted too much money or she didn’t appear to know how to handle business calls or keep messages straight. By the third week, he was desperate.
Then Rachel Wood called.
“Phillips Construction,” he yelled over the drilling noise going on outside.
In a cool, refined voice, she said, “Mr. Phillips, please.”
Man, she sounded so professional that it never occurred to him she was anything but some CEO’s administrative assistant.
“You’ve got him,” he said grinning. He was already fantasizing about what the woman with the crisp—yet husky—voice might look like.
“I understand you’re seeking a receptionist. Is the position still available?”
He’d been leaning back in his chair reading some reports when she called. At her words, he almost flipped over the chair. Struggling to maintain his balance, Brad triumphed over gravity enough to place his feet on the floor before saying, “Uh, yeah, uh, the position is open if you’re interested.” He heard the doubt in his voice and hoped she didn’t notice.
She gave a quiet sigh that he could have sworn sounded like relief. But when she spoke her voice was perfectly composed.
“When may I set up an appointment to be interviewed?”
He almost told her the job was already hers if she wanted it, but managed to restrain himself. This must be some kind of mistake, but at least he’d get to see her in person and have his curiosity satisfied. With a person like her answering his phone, his office would immediately appear financially sound, stable, and trustworthy.
He was already lamenting the fact that he would never be able to afford to hire her.
He glanced at his watch. “Is it too late to meet today?” he asked and held his breath.
“Not at all. That would be fine. If you could give me your address and a time that would be convenient, I’ll be there.”
Now came the sticky part. “Well, the thing is, my office space won’t be ready for occupancy until next week, but there’s a coffee shop near my present project where we could meet, if that’s okay with you—say around five o’clock?”
“Certainly,” she replied with a crispness that he found attractive and calming.
He gave her the address and directions. After he hung up, he sat staring at the wall. Don’t get too excited, he warned himself. Once she finds out what a tiny operation this is and all the paperwork that keeping it running entails, a woman like her will laugh at the pittance of salary I have to offer.
Brad forced his attention back to the reports before he returned to work with his crew. As the day progressed, he kept an eye on the clock to be certain he’d arrive at the interview on time.
By the time he walked into the coffee shop, Brad had washed up, but what he wore—faded jeans, a shirt with the sleeves ripped out and battered work boots covered with dust and grime—marked him for what he was: a construction worker. He might be the boss, but he knew he was too rough around the edges to mingle socially with the clientele he hoped to impress with his company’s performance.
He glanced around the small café, realizing too late that he’d neglected to get a description of Rachel Wood. He’d been more rattled at the time than he’d thought.
He rubbed his hand over his face, frowning. All right. Process of elimination. How many women were there? Alone?
Unfortunately, at least five.
Were any of them looking at him?
He dropped his head in disgust and stared at his boots. All of them watched him, and two of them wore predatory expressions.
A strong sense of relief coursed through him when a familiar voice from behind him said, “Pardon me, but are you Mr. Phillips?”
He turned and met the cool green gaze of a very attractive young woman who