them now, since they were glaring at him with the kind of fury that might have made a lesser man quiver in his boots.
‘I expect you to have that door fixed as soon as possible,’ Vivienne demanded.
‘I’ll get right on to it today,’ he agreed.
‘I can’t imagine why you thought I was actually in there topping myself,’ she went on heatedly. ‘The very idea is ludicrous!’
Jack wished he’d trusted his instinct that Vivienne wasn’t the suicidal type. But it was too late now.
‘Marion said you’d been in there a very long time,’ he explained, hoping his calm tone would soothe her temper. ‘And then, of course, there was what Nigel told me earlier this morning.’
‘Oh yes?’ she said, crossing her arms and giving him a very droll look. ‘And just what did Nigel say about me?’
Jack decided sarcasm was a definite improvement on white-hot rage. ‘He said that I couldn’t hire you for a job because you’d quit.’
‘Hmph!’ Vivienne snorted. ‘I’ll bet that’s not all he said.’
‘No. He told me what had happened with Daryl and the Ellison girl.’
‘Indeed,’ Vivienne said, her chin suddenly beginning to quiver as it did when a girl was about to cry.
Jack was very familiar with the symptom. He held his breath, not sure what he would do if she started weeping. He didn’t like the thought of having to comfort her physically. Hugging crying sisters and mothers was rather different from hugging a woman he was finding terribly sexy all of a sudden. And there was something provocative about Vivienne spitting fire at him just now. He had an awful feeling that if he took her in his arms at this moment he might do something really stupid. Like kiss her. Which would put a swift end to his plan to get her to redecorate Francesco’s Folly. Vivienne would no doubt slap his face then tell him in no uncertain terms to get lost. As it was, Jack knew he would still have the devil of a time persuading her to take the job.
Luckily, she didn’t dissolve into tears, her jaw firming and her eyes flashing with a defiant glitter.
‘Well, that was yesterday!’ she stated with the kind of spirit Jack could not help but admire. ‘Today is another day. So, Jack,’ she went on, sitting down in the chair opposite him, ‘what is this job you wanted to hire me for?’
CHAPTER THREE
VIVIENNE FOUND THE surprised expression on Jack Stone’s normally stone-like face somewhat satisfying. So, he was not a machine after all! Okay, so he had stared at her breasts in the bathroom just now. But not the way most men would have stared. There’d been no lust in his piercing blue eyes. There’d been nothing but shock. Possibly because she wasn’t dead, as he’d imagined.
It had shaken Vivienne when Marion had explained that was what they’d both been thinking, making her see how her very uncharacteristic behaviour—especially her rather hysterical quitting of her job—would worry the people who truly cared about her. Not Jack, of course. Vivienne wasn’t silly enough to think Jack Stone cared about her. She knew him better than that. His showing up here and bringing her flowers was just a ploy to get her to do what he wanted. He didn’t give a damn if her heart was broken, as long as she agreed to what he had in mind work-wise.
And her heart was broken.
It was bad enough to be told that the man she loved no longer loved her. Worse was finally finding out who it was he’d left her for. Even worse was seeing the size of Courtney Ellison’s baby bump.
The realisation that Daryl had been cheating on her for months had been devastating. Mostly because she’d believed him when he’d insisted he hadn’t slept with his new love as yet.
God, she couldn’t bear to think about how stupid and gullible she’d been where that man was concerned.
She would not think about it any more, she vowed staunchly. Instead, she steeled her spine and eyed Jack with what she hoped was a steadfast gaze. The last thing she wanted to do was break down in front of the likes of him.
‘Well?’ she said sharply. ‘Out with it.’
His blue eyes darkened, his thick dark brows bunching together in a puzzled frown.
Another first, Vivienne thought with perverse triumph. First surprise and now confusion.
‘Are you saying you’ll actually consider my proposal?’ he asked.
Vivienne laughed. ‘Not if it’s a proposal of marriage. But I’m prepared to consider a work proposal. It’s occurred to me that I was foolish to quit my job, especially if it’s going to make people think I’m about to top myself. So yes, Jack, tell me what you want me to do, and if I like the idea I’ll do it.’
Once again, Jack gave her a look unlike any he’d ever given her. He also did something else: he smiled, a slow almost amused smile which was annoyingly unreadable.
Vivienne wondered what she’d said that had tickled his fancy. Possibly her crack about a marriage proposal. It was well known around the building world that Jack Stone was a confirmed bachelor. No surprise there. How could he be anything else? The man was a workaholic. He wouldn’t have time for a wife and a family. She’d never seen him with a girlfriend in tow, either. Not on site at any of his building projects, or even at last year’s Christmas party.
Vivienne suspected, however, that he didn’t live the life of a monk. He was too male for that. ‘Testosterone on legs’ was the way one of her female colleagues at Classic Design had once described him.
Vivienne knew what she meant. Well over six feet tall, Jack possessed the same broad-shouldered, powerful body that you saw on wood-chopping champions. Just look what he’d done to her bathroom door! His face was all male as well, with a high forehead, strong nose, granite jaw and a wide, uncompromising mouth. Short dark hair and thick dark brows completed the macho picture.
There was no doubt a lot of women would find him quite attractive, despite his lack of warmth and charm. He did have nice blue eyes, Vivienne conceded, but they were usually hard and cold. They rarely twinkled with humour as they had a moment ago. Not that that made any difference to her. Jack was not her type and never would be.
For some reason, however, she couldn’t help wondering just who his type of woman was. Who did he sleep with? When he could find the time, that was. It occurred to Vivienne that maybe he had a mistress stashed away somewhere who made herself available to him just for sex without expecting anything else. Except money, of course. Which Jack had plenty of.
Vivienne looked deep into his eyes, trying to see if he was that kind of man. His eyes didn’t waver, boring back into hers, their expression no longer amused. A strangely erotic shiver ran down Vivienne’s spine as she realised that, yes, he probably would have a mistress. How odd, she thought, that she would find such an arrangement rather titillating. She should have been disgusted. But she wasn’t. Not even remotely.
‘You’ve gone very quiet all of a sudden,’ Jack said, breaking into her somewhat shocked silence.
‘Sorry. Just thinking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today. That was what I was doing in the bath all that time—thinking.’ After which she’d listened to music, some very loud, mind-numbing music. Hence her not hearing anyone knocking on the bathroom door.
‘Not much to be gained by too much thinking,’ Jack said. ‘Doing is the solution to most of life’s problems. You need to keep busy, Vivienne. Whether it’s working for me or someone else is immaterial. But you need to do something, not just sit around, not eating and not sleeping whilst your mind torments you with depressing thoughts. Next thing you know you’ll be stuffing yourself with pills every day, weeks will go by and before you know it you’ll be unemployable.’
‘Oh dear... From the sounds of things, it wasn’t just Nigel telling tales but Marion as well.’
‘They