looking for nuances. There were plenty, but none of them worried him. Per his research, she was coming off a divorce. Her previous employer had done his best to keep her from leaving.
“You have to know this is a dream job,” she said. “You’re offering complete creative control of Internet development, with more than a million-dollar budget. How could anyone resist that? It’s my idea of heaven.”
“Good. It’s my idea of hell.”
She smiled. Her full mouth curved and he felt himself responding. Subtle tension filled his body.
“You always did hate a blank page,” she said, her smile widening to a grin.
“You always did hate rules,” he told her.
“Me?” She raised her eyebrows. “You were happy enough to break them when it suited your purpose.”
He shrugged. “Whatever it takes to get what I want. What I want now is a great staff and the company running smoothly. Let’s get down to specifics.”
He passed her information on several current Internet campaigns. After she’d flipped through the material, they discussed possible directions for growth.
Samantha became more animated as the conversation progressed. “Children,” she told him. “There’s so much we could do for kids. After-school programs on the Web. Not just the usual help with homework, but interactive programs linking kids all over the country.”
As she spoke, she leaned toward him, gesturing with her hands to make her point. “We can also cosponsor events with popular movies or TV shows.”
“Cross-advertising,” he said.
“Yes. The potential is huge. And that’s just younger kids. I have even more ideas for teens.”
“They’re the ones with the disposable income and the time to spend it,” he said. When she raised her eyebrows in surprise, he added, “I’ve been doing my research.”
“Apparently. It’s true. With more single-parent families and more families with both parents working, teens are often a real source of information on what items to purchase. They actually influence adults’ decisions on everything from breakfast cereal to cars. Plus they’re computer savvy, which means they’re comfortable downloading information. To them, the Internet is as much a part of their lives as phones were for us.”
“So you’re interested in the job,” he said.
“I distinctly recall the word heaven coming up in the conversation. I wasn’t kidding. I’d love the chance to grow this part of the company.”
Her excitement was tangible energy in the office. He liked that. She’d always thrown herself into whatever it was she was doing and he doubted that had changed.
He’d been surprised to see her name on the short list of candidates, but pleasantly so. He and Samantha had worked well together at grad school. They’d been a good team. Just as important, she was someone he could trust.
“The job is yours, if you want it,” he told her. “The formal offer would come from my human-resources person in the morning.”
Her green eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Why are you shocked? You’re talented, qualified and someone I’m comfortable working with.”
“You make me sound like a rescue dog.”
He grinned. “If I could find one that could work a computer …”
She laughed. “Okay, yes. I’m interested. But I have to warn you, I’m very much the creative type. I’ll want control of my staff.”
“Agreed.”
“We’re not going to be wearing three-piece suits.”
“I don’t care if you wear frog costumes, as long as you do the job.”
She didn’t look convinced. “This isn’t like the law, Jack. You can’t always find an answer in a book.”
“Can I get disapproving and difficult before you give me the lecture?” he asked, mildly amused by her concern. “I get it—creative people are different. Not a problem.”
“Okay. Point taken.”
She rose. He stood as well. In heels she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. He walked around the table and held out his hand.
“Leave your number with Mrs. Wycliff. You’ll be hearing from my HR office first thing in the morning.”
She placed her palm against his. As he had when they’d touched a few minutes ago, he felt a slight sizzle, followed by a definite sensation of warmth somewhere south of his belt.
Ten years after the fact and Samantha Edwards still had the ability to drop him to his knees. Sexually speaking. Not that he would act on the information or let her know how she got to him. They were going to work together, nothing more.
He released her hand and walked her to the door. “How soon can you start?” he asked.
“The first part of next week,” she said.
“Good. I hold a staff meeting every Tuesday morning. I look forward to seeing you there.”
She hesitated before opening the door. “I’m excited about this opportunity, Jack. I want to make a difference.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d consider me. Because of our past.”
He pretended not to know what she was talking about. He wanted to make her say it. “Why would knowing you in business school make a difference?”
“Not that.”
He waited.
Color flared on her cheeks, but she continued to hold his gaze. “Because of what happened that night. When we …” She cleared her throat. “You know. Were intimate.”
“Water under the bridge,” he said easily, mostly because it was true. He’d never been one to dwell on the past. Not even on a night that had made him believe in miracles. Probably because in the bright light of day, he’d learned that dreams were for fools and miracles didn’t really happen.
Promptly at four in the afternoon, Mrs. Wycliff knocked on Jack’s office door.
“Come in,” he said as he saved the work on his computer, then looked up at his father’s former assistant.
“Here are the daily reports,” she said, placing several folders on his desk.
“Thank you.”
He frowned as he looked at the thick stack that would make up his evening reading. In theory, he knew plenty about running a company. He had the MBA to prove it. But theory and reality often had little in common and this was one of those times. If one of the employees was accused of homicide—that he could handle. Right now, a charge of first-degree murder seemed simple when compared with the day-to-day ups and downs of a publicly traded corporation.
“How is the staff holding up?” he asked the older woman. Although he was confident Mrs. Wycliff hadn’t been born into her position, he couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t worked for his father.
She clutched the back of the chair and shook her head in refusal when he invited her to take a seat.
“They miss him, of course. Your father was well liked in the company. Of course he would be. He was a good man.”
Jack was careful to keep his expression neutral. George Hanson had been a man of business. He had lived and breathed his company, while his children had grown up on the fringes of his life. That wasn’t Jack’s definition of good.
“Several people have stopped by to tell me how much they miss him,”