The American Earl. Kathryn Jensen

come to your office as soon as possible. If not, I’ll let you know when I can make it.”

      Matt hung up the phone and sat staring at it, considering the conversation he had just had. Abby had never actually said she was taking the job. She simply informed him she would come if and when she could. It was almost as if she was still wrestling with him for control. Control over what, though? He’d always thought that employer–employee relationships were pretty clear-cut. He was the one who was supposed to be the boss!

      After Paula left the room, he slid lower in the high-backed Scandinavian chair, clunked his heels on the polished teak desktop and thought about all of this before remembering a scene he’d witnessed recently while jogging through Lake Shore Park. He had been running his usual five miles when he spotted a toddler in a bathing suit, standing at the water’s edge. She was testing the temperature with the toes of one bare foot, giggling and running back from the lapping wavelets, then touching them again, and again—until she finally worked up the courage to wade in up to her ankles, then her knees, then finally to her waist. At which point she had turned and grinned triumphantly at her parents who were watching with amusement from the shore.

      Abby was eager to succeed, and bright, he had no doubt of that, but eternally wary.

      Caution was a foreign concept to him. Matt supposed his lack of fear came from never having to worry about failing. His family’s money had always provided an excellent safety net. No doubt his brothers felt it, too. When several million sat snugly in a London bank account with your name on it, you didn’t worry about making mistakes. What was the worst that could happen? Your latest business venture would flop. Then you’d have to try something different. But you’d bloody well still have a roof over your head and a meal on your plate the next day.

      What mattered most to him wasn’t making more money. Matt could take or leave that. He supposed the drive to succeed that had spurred him on had more to do with showing his father that he didn’t need him, his aristocratic fortune or the estate in the South of England that came with his title. Just as the earl of Suffolk had demonstrated time and again to his sons that he didn’t need them. Matt had come to America the first chance he got and made it on his own—totally on his own—leaving money, valuable social and business connections, and land behind.

      But Abby didn’t have scratch.

      He knew the type because Paula had been much like her—although somewhat older and with two sons—before she’d come to work for him. Paula used to buy groceries for a month at a time then squirrel them away, making the food last as long as possible. She paid her rent not a day early, keeping it in a savings account to capture those few extra pennies of interest. Nearly all of every paycheck was spent on bills and necessities. Paula had once confided in him that she had maxed out her credit cards months before he hired her.

      The idea of Abby ever being able to scrape up enough cash from her old job to start a business was ludicrous.

      There were thousands of single people like Paula and Abby—living on the edge but still cherishing their dreams of being out of debt, maybe even owning their own home someday. He didn’t think of himself as a philanthropist, but he liked to believe he was giving the men and women he hired a chance to turn their lives around. Some did. Others failed to take advantage of all he was offering them.

      Which would it be for Abby?

      Matt tossed two files into his briefcase, ordered his car to be brought around, then returned two important calls. As he strode through the reception area, Paula looked up from her desk.

      “Your new gal-Friday called. You were on your line so I took the message. She said she’d be here around two o’clock.”

      “Good. You’ll brief her as we discussed?”

      Paula nodded, but gave him a strange look. “You won’t be here when she arrives?”

      “I have no idea when I’ll be back from my appointments. You can do the honors.”

      He hesitated before stepping into the hallway. “Thank you, Paula, for coming in on a Saturday. Will you still have some time to spend with your boys this weekend?”

      She laughed at him. “Saturdays, young men have their own agendas. Or don’t you remember the other side of twenty? Tomorrow, though, they’ll take me out for brunch. We splurge on double-yolk omelets once a month.”

      Matt smiled, glad to see her beaming with pride. Before too many years, the boys would be applying to colleges. He’d have to look into scholarship possibilities then, or maybe a private grant.

      “Have fun tomorrow then. You can leave as soon as you’ve given Abby the lowdown. Tell her to wait for me. She can keep herself busy reading clients’ files until I get here.”

      As Matt waited for the elevator, he thought again about Abby. Or maybe it was just a continuation of one long thought that had extended over nearly two days. He would probably be back in the office by five o’clock. By then he would have to come up with a safe method of relating to her. Last night, as he had drifted off to sleep, she had come to him. Those lovely limbs, mocha eyes, the tumble of red hair curling down over her shoulders…amazing.

      Now he firmly assured himself that, once they buckled down to a regular work schedule, he would discover enough irritating things about her to shut down his rogue hormones. Then he’d have no more of those thoughts.

      Abby was a little surprised that Wanda Evans, her boss at the Cup and Saucer, took her sudden resignation as calmly as she did. “Don’t you worry, dear, I have everything covered here. This sounds like a wonderful opportunity. Good luck.” And that was that.

      Her arrival at Smythe International was unremarkable, too. She was met by Paula Shapiro, the woman she’d seen with Matt the day before. Paula introduced herself, with a twinkle in her eyes. “My official title is executive assistant. Plain old secretary would be fine by me. My real job is to keep the man from killing himself and the rest of us with work.”

      Abby laughed a little nervously. “He does seem to like getting things done fast…and his own way.”

      “Oh, he knows his own mind, that’s for sure. And there’s both heaven and hell to pay when he doesn’t get it. But let me tell you,” Paula whispered confidentially as she took Abby’s arm and guided her past two empty offices then into a quiet conference room, “the best way to handle the man is not to let him think you’re afraid of him. He knows enough not to mess with me, but he scared off his last four hostesses without even realizing he was doing it. Before that, one fell in love with him and, of course, that was the kiss of death as far as Matt is concerned. He keeps business strictly separate from his social life. And the one before that, she got herself engaged to one of his clients and flew off to Paris with him.”

      Abby shook her head. This didn’t sound encouraging at all. “I’m curious…how long has each of his hostesses before me lasted?”

      “The longest was a year. The shortest, two weeks. I’m hoping you’ll hang in with us a while.” Paula squeezed her arm and waved toward a seat at the long mahogany table piled with tabbed folders. “We could use some stability around here. It’s hard having to work with new people all the time.”