Be Your Everything [All for Love] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (2 page)

Heather was predictable. She was a dependable employee, met her design needs by decorating her apartment and helping others with theirs, stayed out of trouble, spent time with a few people she felt comfortable with and went to visit her mother. She didn’t screw around, didn’t have one-night stands, and while she noticed members of the opposite sex and appreciated masculine beauty, she rarely reacted like this. She enjoyed sex, what little she’d had, but required the emotional component of trust and respect, affection and acceptance to support it. Incredibly handsome guys tended to feast on the smorgasbord of opportunities out there, although sometimes settled for mundane fare. Heather learned that little gem in college when she and her friends were caught up in the social melee and sex was merely a part of the scene.

She once dated someone she didn’t know well and didn’t really like, although he’d been very pretty. His looks hadn’t made up for his shallowness, or his entitled attitude, particularly condescending to strange, only reasonably attractive Heather Graham, left a nasty taste. That taste was regurgitated in gossip and innuendo for weeks afterward. It was an altogether depressing, hurtful experience and one she was determined not to repeat.

Heather dated, and if things progressed and her criteria were met, she slept with the man. That’s right. Singular. One, in all those years after college. That one relationship lacked any real spark. It faded quickly, although she and Mike were still good friends, and once in a while, friends with benefits. Mike was seeing someone else now, so even that perk was unlikely. She probably had the least amount of sex of all the women she knew, and she knew a lot of women. She didn’t get to finish college. Her dad died and there was no money, a problem with policies at his workplace negating an insurance payout. Heather lacked the ambition anyhow, because she couldn’t imagine taking care of her mom, working to pay for college,
and
going to school. Instead, she found secretarial work with Jameson and Company. It suited her financially and she could care for her mom, too, although it had initially felt strange to be working for an insurance company when having her dad’s policy denied had meant considerable financial hardship. At least J and C was a different company.

But a couple of years ago her mom’s situation had changed. A review of those workplace policies by the government resulted in a considerable insurance settlement, enabling Wanda to move into a care facility perfectly meeting her needs. But Heather remained stuck. She needed to become unstuck if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a secretary. She wasn’t getting any younger. Turning thirty had, quite frankly, scared the crap out of her. Life was passing her by. And why had her recent decision to try the long term secretary career suddenly lost its appeal? Where had this restlessness come from, this desire to step outside the box? It was a puzzle, and one she didn’t care to examine too closely at the moment, because surely laying eyes on a strange man hadn’t precipitated it.

Checking the clock periodically didn’t make the minutes creep by any faster. Heather couldn’t find any further information on Matthew. He didn’t need a last name any longer. It was probably okay to have a fantasy boyfriend without a last name. She wished the company had pictures of all their staff, because then she’d be able to sneak a peak periodically.
Sad, Heather. Really sad. Juvenile, too.
She went back to her real work, the one that paid the bills. At ten minutes to twelve her line rang and she snatched it up. Moesha’s loud voice blasted her eardrum.

“Wanna get lunch? I am so done with this morning. Or did you bring yours?”

Heather didn’t cook. Not anymore. She’d cooked most of her life because her mother didn’t, and her dad liked to eat at home and she liked her dad. She ate out a lot now, keeping it simple, and didn’t eat anything that had a mother. Freudian? Hardly. She hoped.

“Heather? Are you off in your head again? C’mon, girlfriend. It’ll be nice to go out.”

Heather and Moesha worked for the same big insurance company, albeit in different departments. Moesha was the brainy type, and did the numbers thing. Whereas Heather tended to live in her head and talked to herself, Moesha put it out there and what one saw was what one got. No subterfuge, and Heather loved her for it. Moesha was her polar opposite, and Heather lived that life vicariously, her inner Moesha longing to bust out on occasion.

“Sure. Mr. G has an appointment so I’ll slip away in five unless they break before then. Meet you in the lobby regardless. Let’s go to that new health food place.”

Moesha groaned loudly. “I need beef. Rare. I’ll have it in a salad but tofu doesn’t cut it. We’re going to Alfred’s.”

Heather smiled. Could she and Moesha be any more different? “Okay. In five or so.”

Pulling out her purse, she locked her desk drawer and shut down the computer. It was password protected and cycled every few minutes if left unattended, but Mr. G was paranoid. And with good reason. People’s lives were on her hard drive, coded or not. Taking one last look at Mr. Grayson’s door, savoring the memory of Matthew’s total package, Heather grabbed her purse and a sweater against the chill of Alfred’s. The last hour of her morning had made her entire day, although she reflected the experience opened a door inside of her, too.

* * * *

“So Grayguts has somebody from head office looking over his shoulder!” Moesha’s voice carried over the hubbub of Alfred’s. The bistro served tasty, quick fare because the menu was short and sweet. It was a big favourite among the people who worked in the area, and was jam-packed as usual.

“Shhh! God, Moesha! There’re other people from J and C here!”

“Shoot. Sorry. You hardly ever talk about work. In fact, you never talk about it. Other than to roll your eyes when I mention your boss’s name. And that doesn’t qualify. So what’s different?”

“Nothing.” Heather’s urgent whisper had Moesha’s attention, evidenced by the thinning of the other woman’s lips. “I shouldn’t have said anything! And Matthew’s here to liaise with Grayg—with my boss. Not look over his shoulder!”

“So then it’s this Matthew.” Moesha said it quietly and thus had a far greater impact.

Heather froze. Oh. My. God. Blame it on all those romance novels she consumed lately, a steady diet of love at first sight, or maybe lust at first sight and all those happily ever afters. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from her friend. Heather was horrified and realized she had no ability to hide it. Mooning after a man she’d likely never see again? Not just high on her reaction to him?

“Girlfriend. Heather my bestie.” Moesha needed to quit with the down home crap. Her tall, slender body and Nefertiti face belied the bizarre stuff sometimes falling out of her mouth, although it was part of her charm. Sometimes.

Pasting on a smile, Heather shook her head. “He’s hot. I’ll give you that. He must be, to explain how my brain cells just shorted out. Crap. I’m like one of those little nerdy girls in high school drooling over the big, bad jock. I found myself thinking about blowing the secretary deal off this morning and kicking over the traces. All because I met Prince Charming. C’mon.”

Heather’s sense of
humor
asserted itself and Moesha smiled back, teeth flashing white against her warm, cocoa skin. Heather practised some recovery breathing and took a gulp of green tea.

“When’ll he be back?” Moesha cut right to the chase.

“I don’t know that he will, Eesh. He and Mr. G were still closeted when I left for lunch. And I don’t know that I want him to come back. I don’t like this feeling. Seriously. It’s like I want to turn in my keyboard and live my life differently. How can that be?”

“Honey, you worry too much. This Matthew Bourke just turned your crank and helped you see there’s a life out there, is all. Chemistry or something. We’ve all heard about it. If he comes back, then you look your fill. No harm in that. And who knows? You’re a pretty little thing.”

“Right. And I’d want him to go slumming.”

“Shut up with the bullshit, Heather. You’re as good as every other woman on the face of the earth and
that
should be your freaking mantra. Like yourself a little!”

Heather had the absurd feeling she might cry. She rarely cried.
Crying doesn’t get you anywhere, Heather. It only makes you look weak.
Thanks, Mom. You should know. Weepy Wanda. Holy crap. Squaring her shoulders Heather smiled again, a real smile. Moesha squinted at her and smiled back. Whatever. This day had been just chock-f of surprises and Heather gave herself permission to pleasantly anticipate the afternoon. If Matthew came back, she’d look her fill again, advice taken. If not, she’d work on her college application. The opportunity to do both was mind-boggling. Excitement churned in her belly. From tears to joy. Insane. Like her mom. No, never like her mom.

Her thoughts flashed back to Moesha admonishing her, insisting she was as good as every other woman. “But not as good as every
man
, Eesh?” She teased her liberated friend.

“Honey, you don’t compare apples and oranges.”

They finished their meal quickly. Heather averted her eyes from the blued steak Moesha inhaled with obvious relish and worked on her goat cheese spinach salad. She’d need to brush her teeth before returning to her desk. If Matthew was still liaising, she didn’t want to smile at him with green, leafy material stuck in her teeth.

After a quick walk back to their building to catch the first available elevator, Moesha got off at her floor and Heather rode in silence with a few other employees to the fourteenth floor. She practised elevator etiquette with the best of them, peering at the numbers as they clicked off on the display, avoiding inadvertent eye contact. The door whooshed open and she stepped off, turning left to hurry to the ladies’ room. She didn’t dare be late. Mr. G wasn’t always on time, but she
had
left a few minutes early for lunch. Best to be back a few minutes early.

After using the facilities Heather checked her teeth before locating the travel toothbrush she kept in her makeup bag. Her hair needed a little arranging and lipstick freshened. The woman staring back at her from the mirror didn’t look any different than the one she saw every day. But she felt different. Good grief. Romance novels. They’d softened her brain, and she was thinking seriously about college, moving on, and living her dream. And she might just dream about one Matthew Bourke, the night time kind of dreams. Heather already had the daytime one aced. She again felt as though she was on the cusp of something.

“Please tell Mr. Topp I appreciate him sending you. And of course you are welcome at any time to examine the system. We owe it to our clients to make any improvements. I’ll have Heather give you what you’ll need.” Irritation laced Grayson’s tone.

Manny, he reminded himself that he was
Matthew Bourke
in this role, might need more from Heather Graham than the other man would ever know. The file on Grayson’s secretary painted a typical secretarial type, working for Grayson only this past year or so, and unlikely to be aware of the situation. The fraud had been perpetuated over a longer time period, carefully and cautiously. If that young woman hadn’t been murdered…well, Grayson’s perfidy might never have been picked up on until he was on the run.

Meeting Heather Graham in person once again demonstrated how file data rarely told the whole story. The black and white grainy photo hadn’t done her justice, either. Heather Graham looked immature, unformed in the picture, hesitant and shy. Manny Baker, aka Matthew Bourke, had dismissed her, or at least banished her to the back of the investigation. He never dismissed anyone totally.

And after meeting her today, well, his senses pricked. If that sexy little siren with the so-at-odds innocent baby blues hadn’t come across that way in her paperwork, then she might just be more to Grayson than they thought. Him and Bryce. Manny and his partner had made some preliminary assumptions. Heather didn’t have any connection to Meredith Fox they could determine, not even a casual friendship outside or inside the office, but one never knew. He decided to test the waters.

“Heather is your secretary? Has she worked for you for long?”

Grayson checked his watch and immediately appeared distracted. “It’s nearly lunch time. I have a few things to tend to. Heather? She filled in for my other secretary and when she retired I had Heather come back full-time. She’s competent, if disinterested, and level-headed, which I approve of. And she follows my rules.”

Disinterested. Really. The last thing Manny would call Heather Graham was disinterested. A little odd perhaps, but not disinterested. That woman paid attention. Despite how subtle her observations were, he had no doubt she’d know him again, just as he’d know her. Her faint lavender fragrance piqued his senses once he’d placed it. Heather wasn’t beautiful at first glance and maybe not at the second, but he’d watched her work and catalogued every visible inch of her. And not just because he was trained to do it. She was intriguing, and that went deeper than beauty.

Pale, nearly translucent skin, finely grained like porcelain first caught the eye. Those dark-blue eyes tilted upward at the corners and danced with mirth, belying her sedate appearance and something he couldn’t yet label. A mass of dark blonde hair was casually clipped on top of her head toward the back of her crown, and wispy tendrils drifted around her cheeks, drawing attention to the sweet curve of her nape. He experienced an absurd urge to press a kiss right there.

Heather had a short little nose above a full upper lip, a duck mouth, Manny thought it was called. The faint impression of an overbite poked his libido, and when her little white teeth worried at her slender bottom lip he’d itched to soothe the mark with his tongue and maybe some other body part best unnamed.
Shit. Focus.
He wasn’t going to think about the apple-size breasts covered by a soft blue sweater, or the rounded ass beneath the modest black skirt. Or the way her calves flexed and flowed into the tidiness of her ankles above slender feet tucked into shiny black pumps with peep toes.
Nuts.