I’m from Accounting and just—” The woman jabbed at the telephone and gave Madalyn a less than warm look, as if the new call was her fault. “Reception. No, please hold.” Jab. “What do you need?”
“I’m here to apply for a position with—”
Jab. “Reception. Please hold.”
“—Mr. Ambercroft?”
“Mr. Ambercroft is on the twenty-first floor.”
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood—”
The ersatz receptionist held the receiver away from her ear and pinned Madalyn with a glare. “I said twenty-first floor.”
Recoiling from the angry, haughty look, and in no mood to argue, Madalyn headed for the bank of elevators nestled in granite. Maybe someone on the twenty-first floor could direct her to the personnel office with a bit more tact and grace.
It was at times like these that Madalyn wished she could take the risk and open her own nursery. At least roses and ficuses didn’t glare at you and get snippy. But that old dream was out of reach. She needed a steady paycheck and benefits now that she had more than just herself to think of.
The elevator ride up was smooth and quick, but then again, she was in the Ambercroft building, and machinery didn’t dare perform less than perfectly. When the doors slid open, she stepped out onto a sea of mint-green carpet that felt as though it had a mile of padding underneath. She allowed herself an entire minute of slack-jawed awe. A vacant secretary’s desk sat in front of her, bigger than any executive’s desk she’d ever seen, and state-of-the-art everything was neatly arranged on the exquisitely grained wood. The guest couch and chairs whispered upholstered elegance and the door off to the left fairly bellowed that this was the entrance to the inner sanctum.
Madalyn stifled a giggle when she envisioned a sleekly polished Miss Moneypenny type sitting behind that desk. But no Miss Moneypenny sat there now, and Madalyn was fairly certain this wasn’t the personnel department.
She was about to turn around and head back to the first floor to try again, when the door to the inner sanctum opened. Somehow, the way this day had gone, it didn’t surprise her in the least that Philip Ambercroft came out with a harried expression on his face, engrossed in something on the page he was holding.
He was so much more striking in person than in print, or oil and canvas for that matter, that Madalyn was startled. She’d heard the expression chiseled to define someone’s features before, but he was the first person she’d met who truly fit the description. European royalty was all she could think of to conceptualize the thoughts whirring through her head, but from what she knew through her extensive reading, she doubted such fiercely proud Americans as the Ambercrofks would appreciate the analogy. In fact, they were just as fiercely Texan.
He was almost on top of her before he pulled up short. He gave her a quick glance and turned toward the desk, his jaw snapping shut when he didn’t find the person he so obviously expected to be there.
“Just have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, he entered the elevator and punched a button, leaving Madalyn with the lingering trace of his crisp, clean cologne.
When she finally remembered to breathe, she took a seat as instructed. She didn’t have much choice. Her knees had just given out.
Not five inches from her. Philip Ambercroft had been not five inches from her. She’d been close enough to see the light-colored flecks in his blue eyes. She could have reached out and touched the lock of midnight-black hair that had fallen rakishly over his forehead and discovered if it was as velvety soft as it looked. Her fingertip could have traced the slight bow of his strong, upper lip—
“Get a grip, Madalyn!” She said the words aloud to give them more impact. The fact that her fingers trembled as she swiped them across her forehead didn’t give her much confidence. She had to get herself together before she blew it completely.
Praying Mr. Ambercroft would stay gone for a few minutes, she worked on composing herself. The open position was with Gene Ambercroft, not Philip, so that was two mistakes she could thank the pseudo-receptionist for—me wrong floor and the wrong Ambercroft, but there was no sense in getting frustrated. She could just chalk it up to a day full of frustrations.
Now that she’d seen him, in the flesh, she couldn’t get her mind off Philip Ambercroft. She could admit in the privacy of her own mind that she—along with about ten million other Americans—had an intense curiosity about the Ambercrofts. They were American royalty, and the press treated them accordingly.
Unlike the female population of America, though, she was fascinated by the business tycoon Philip, not his playboy brother. She wouldn’t mind working for Gene, but it was the oldest Ambercroft brother who had captured her imagination from the first article she’d ever read on the famous family.
There was something about him, something intriguing, that was so much more interesting than mere sex appeal. While definitely as sexy as his baby brother, Philip was the one who exuded confidence and grace, not mere raw testosterone—at least in her opinion. She decided that wasn’t really fair to Gene. It was the reporters who concentrated on his dating life. She doubted anyone really wanted their every move cataloged in a magazine, although Gene knew how to play the paparazzi and keep them among his adoring throng. They didn’t seem to bother him here at home, but loved to follow him abroad.
Reporters did their fair share of cataloging Philip’s dates, but Philip didn’t have the patience Gene seemed to have. He considered it an infringement on his privacy and often said so. While Madalyn admitted that she envied the tall beauties pictured on his arm, she had the feeling an evening with Philip would be as absorbing intellectually as it was stimulating, and would be worth a hassle with the press.
Reminding herself she needed to get out of there before Philip returned, she picked up her purse and folder and prepared to find the personnel office. This was a chance of a lifetime, and she didn’t intend to blow it. If she had the choice, she’d work for Price Manufacturing forever, but that wasn’t possible so the issue was moot. Mr. and Mrs. Price were like surrogate parents to her, and surrogate grandparents to Erin, and her concern for them was just one more reason she wanted this job. She didn’t want the Prices worrying about her when they had enough troubles these days. The Prices had a whole company of loyal employees they were about to have to let go, while she only had Erin to worry about.
Just thinking about Erin made Madalyn smile. She still wasn’t sure how just three years ago she’d been positive she never wanted children. Now, of course, she couldn’t imagine life without her precious daughter.
But now was not the time to be reflecting on the not-quite-two-year-old pixie who took up her every spare moment. Now was the time to be concentrating on getting a job that would provide the little pixie with a home and day care and clothes and food....
Just as Madalyn reached for the elevator button, the bell chimed and the doors opened. She stepped back with renewed aplomb.
“Mr. Ambercroft,” she said, acknowledging him as she prepared to slip by. “Excuse me.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Where are you going?”
“Going?”
“Yes. Isn’t that file for me?” he asked, nodding toward her arm.
She knew from her contact at the employment agency that Philip would be making the final decision on the applicants, which seemed a bit odd to her, but maybe it was because Gene was out of the country. In the end, it wasn’t something to worry about. Yet she hadn’t expected Philip to be quite so involved at this stage.
“Well, I...suppose it is, in a way....”
He reached for the file, his fingers brushing her arm as he took it from her grasp. The sensation flustered her, making her forget what she was going to say.
She watched, speechless, as he opened the folder and read for a moment. Another frown crossed his forehead.