The Millionaire Meets His Match (2 page)

Adam checked his wristwatch again and Trish snapped back to attention. “I'm sorry, Mr. Duke, but I don't know your schedule yet. Do you need to leave for your meeting?”

“I'll be cutting it close,” Adam said distractedly. “Let me get you settled before I go.”

He led the way out to the large alcove where she would work. He pointed out the wall of file drawers behind her desk that held most of his clients' personal information and all the deals he was currently working on.

“Arranged in alphabetical order,” he added.

Remembering his comment to the HR manager, Trish smiled. “I assure you I'm familiar with the alphabet.”

He managed a rueful chuckle. “Let's hope so, Ms. James.”

Trish grabbed a pad and took fast notes as he gave her a list of names of people whose calls he would always take, along with his cell phone number.

“While I'm gone, you can get your desk arranged, then I've left a cost analysis to be typed up, as well as some other letters and documents that need revisions.
If you have time, you can start studying what's inside those file drawers. I'll need the Mansfield papers when I get back.”

Trish wrote everything down, then smiled. “I'll take care of everything, Mr. Duke. You won't be sorry.”

With a look that said he was already sorry, he said, “Call me Adam.”

“And please call me Trish,” she said.

“Right.” He looked at her for a moment, his mouth set in a skeptical scowl.

She smiled expectantly.

“Don't forget the Mansfield papers,” he said finally, then strolled out of the executive suite, leaving Trish more shaken than she wanted to admit.

 

“That went well,” Adam muttered in disgust as he pounded the elevator call button. “Knucklehead.”

As he contemplated the attractive brunette who was now assigned to be his interim assistant, three things bothered him. First, the woman had been able to sneak up on him without him even noticing, and that never happened. He attributed his lack of awareness to his angry reaction to the news that his formerly invaluable assistant had run off and left him in a bind.

It had been obvious by her sardonic smile as they shook hands that Trish James had heard every word of his tirade over Cheryl's untimely departure—and that was the second thing that bothered him. No one ever saw Adam Duke lose his cool. His control was legendary. Marjorie didn't count. He'd known the woman for almost as long as he'd known his adoptive mother.

But now Trish James had seen him ranting like an idiot and that was never a good way to begin a working relationship—not that they would have that lengthy a
working relationship, he hastened to add. He would need someone much more highly qualified to take over the position of executive assistant, not some refugee from the floater pool.

He immediately backed away from that thought. Marjorie was right, the floaters in his company were all good workers with great attitudes, willing to pitch in wherever they were needed. But Adam would need someone with top skills and experience, a self-starter and a go-getter with enthusiasm for the long work hours and a deft hand at dealing with his very demanding clients.

The third thing that bothered him was that she didn't look like the usual matronly floater his company employed. Notwithstanding that mocking little grin, her mouth was a bit too wide and her lips too lush. Her almond-shaped, dark green eyes seemed to focus a little too knowingly on him. He'd noticed the confidence in her posture and the way she held her chin high, and found himself grudgingly admiring her. She seemed determined to make this work.

She wore her shiny, chestnut-brown hair pulled back from her face in a classic style, and her black, pinstriped pantsuit fit her tall, poised figure like a glove. He generally hated pantsuits on women, but hers wasn't so bad. If his instincts were right, and they usually were, Trish James's suit covered one fantastic set of legs.

His groin tightened uncomfortably at the thought and he smacked the elevator button again. Her touch had sent something hot and wicked blasting through him and Adam wasn't about to encourage it.

But hell, every time she'd smiled up at him, Adam had felt his pulse spike. Her eyes had glittered with natural humor and her smiling lips were moist and full.

“And you hightailed it out of there like you were being chased by the town bully,” he muttered in annoyance as the elevator doors finally opened. Two tech guys exiting gave him a puzzled look, but he ignored them both as he stepped inside.

It was just as well that he'd rushed out of the office, he thought as the elevator descended to the lobby. It would've been a lot worse if he'd stuck around and she'd happened to notice the bulging evidence of his desire for her.

Adam rubbed his hand along his jaw in frustration. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't some hormone-driven kid out on a date with the prom queen. This was just lust, pure and simple, and easily conquered. He wouldn't be led around by his libido. Ever.

Shoving open the private entry door leading out to the parking lot, Adam realized what this sudden attack of lust was all about. He'd been working day and night for months in anticipation of closing the Fantasy Mountain resort deal. He just needed to get the job done, then he needed to get laid. And not by one of his own employees, he added silently. There were any number of willing women he could call for a night of casual sex. And he would. As soon as he closed the deal.

As he jumped into the driver's seat of the Ferrari, he remembered his earlier conversation with Brandon and Cameron. Something about Mom trying every trick in the book to set him up with a marriage-minded woman.

An image of Trish James flashed through his mind and Adam frowned. Okay, that was ridiculous. There was no way his mother had anything to do with Trish being hired. Yes, the timing was a bit coincidental, and
Adam didn't believe in coincidences. But the idea was ludicrous.

He turned the key and listened to the finely tuned, high-performance engine roar to life. It was beyond ridiculous to imagine his mother going to that much trouble. He realized that he was buying into Brandon's paranoia and he shook it off.

But, meanwhile, he would do everything he could to avoid spending too much time with the gorgeous brunette who seemed destined, through no fault of her own, to make his calm and ordered life a living hell.

 

After a quick glass of water and a few cleansing breaths, Trish was ready to get to work. After all, she was being paid well and her work ethic was strong, so just because she was out to ruin the man didn't mean she wouldn't do a good job for him while she was here.

She started by exploring her new workspace. It was bright and spacious, just outside the doors to Adam Duke's palatial office. Everything was big and impressive, befitting the executive assistant to the president and CEO of Duke Development International.

The cherrywood desk was almost as big as her apartment's actual living room. And while it wasn't quite as dramatic as the floor-to-ceiling view of the coast from Adam's office, Trish actually had a view of the ocean from the window directly across from her desk. If she wasn't careful, she could get used to all this extravagance. “But you
will
be careful,” she admonished herself. She wasn't here to get comfortable, to enjoy any perks of the job. Just as she wasn't here to sigh over Adam Duke like some starstruck teenager.

But really, why couldn't the guy look like a troll?

“Let it go, Trish,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just get to work.”

Forty minutes later, after she'd finished revising Adam's letters and documents and completed the cost analysis he'd left, Trish faced the file drawers. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, but the faster she found something incriminating inside these drawers, the faster she'd be able to give up this sham job and be on her way. Maybe she would find what she needed today. That would certainly save her from weeks of turmoil, working side by side with the most delectable man on the planet.

“He even smells good,” she groused, recalling his subtle scent that reminded her of green forests and autumn rain. “You weren't going to dwell on that, remember?”

Resolutely she opened the first drawer and began to sort through the files. An hour later, after memorizing every client name from A to M, Trish came to the Mansfield file, the one Adam had requested. He still wasn't back from his meeting so she looked through the file, studied the issues involved in the deal, then laid the thick folder on Adam's desk.

Finished with the tasks he'd assigned her, Trish checked her e-mail, printed her list of job priorities. She vowed to be on time every day and to do her job to the best of her ability while creating a pleasant work environment for everyone around her. She would make herself an invaluable member of Adam's team.

And then she would destroy him.

“I'
m telling you, the woman's gone off the deep end with this marriage thing.” Brandon Duke paced in front of the Dunsmuir Bay Yacht Club's wide bay window, ignoring the picture-perfect view of sailboats and blue skies lying beyond the glass. “She's obsessed.”

“Why is that a surprise?” Adam grinned, then took a quick sip of strong coffee. “And why are you so freaked out? It's not like this is the first time Mom's tried to talk us into getting married. She wants grandkids and we're not cooperating.”

“That's right,” his brother, Cameron, said, sitting back in the comfortable captain's chair. Despite the thousand-dollar business suit and silk designer necktie, Cameron looked completely relaxed. But Adam knew he never relaxed. A former Marine, Cameron was more driven, possibly more ruthless, than anyone Adam had ever known. Except himself.

“Remember when she forced us all to watch videos of her wedding day?” Cameron asked, shaking his head. “She thought it would soften us up or something.”

“That was gruesome,” Brandon agreed. “But the wedding cake looked good.” He stretched his wide shoulders, glanced around the busy dining room, then sat down at the table and studied the yacht club breakfast menu. “Are we eating or what?”

“Are we breathing?” Adam said with a laugh.

“You're always eating,” Cameron said to Brandon as he picked up the menu.

Brandon ignored his older brothers and signaled the waitress over. “I'll have pancakes, eggs and bacon. And toast. Better make it a double order of toast.”

“I'll have the Denver omelet,” Cameron said, and set the menu down. “And throw in a short stack, will you, Janie?”

“You bet, Mr. Duke,” Janie, the waitress, said. She turned to Adam. “How about you, Mr. Duke?”

“I'll stick with coffee,” Adam said. He needed the jolt to snap him out of the knee-jerk reaction he'd had to his new temporary assistant earlier. If he'd been more awake, she never would've caught him so off guard.

Janie poured more coffee, then scurried off.

Brandon said solemnly, “Look, guys, about Mom. This time it's different. She's serious. You should've heard her on the phone with her pal, Beatrice. She's lined up a whole squadron of friends to work on this thing. They've already got women lined up for each of us.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cameron said with a leer. “I'm always on the lookout for new women. Remind me to thank her when I see her this weekend.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “If you really want to
date someone Mom picked out, there's always Susie Walton.”

Cameron shivered visibly at the high school memory. “Why'd you have to go and spoil my appetite like that?”

“That's my job.” Adam turned to Brandon. “Did you tell her you're on to her?”

“Hell, no,” Brandon said. “The woman's a runaway train and I don't feel like getting flattened.”

“Smart.” Adam stared out at a sailboat passing by under motor power until it made its way into the marina channel. He shook his head. “What makes her think I'd marry any woman she threw at me?”

“Good question,” Brandon said, stymied.

“What makes her think we'd marry
anyone,
ever?” Cameron said.

“She's Mom,” Brandon said with a shrug.

“Yeah.” Cameron sighed. “She's like a heat-seeking missile when she gets a bug up her butt.”

“Interesting mixed metaphor,” Adam said as he lifted his coffee cup. “But apropos nonetheless.”

Cameron shot Adam a look of derision. “Dude, apropos? Nonetheless?”

Brandon slugged Cameron's arm. “Leave him alone. He's using his words.”

Cameron snorted. “Right. Sorry.”

Adam disregarded them. “The bottom line is, she's not setting me up,” Adam said easily.

“That's my point,” Brandon persisted. “She's not setting anyone up. It's going to be a surprise attack this time. She told Beatrice, and I quote, ‘They won't know what hit them.'”

His two brothers shared a look of amusement, but
Brandon wasn't cowed. He shook his finger at Adam. “Ignore me at your peril, dude.”

Adam glanced at Cameron, who raised his eyebrows at his brother's adamant tone but said nothing.

Brandon saw the exchange and held up his hands. “I'm just saying, watch out. You're first on her list, Adam. And if you fall…”

“I won't,” Adam said.

“Good luck,” Brandon grumbled. “The woman's diabolical.”

Cameron took a sip of coffee, then wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “It'll be so poignant watching Adam tie the knot.”

Brandon grinned and joined in with a few fake sniffles. “Our little guy's all grown up.”

“Very funny,” Adam said tightly. “I'm not tying any thing.” He looked from Cameron to Brandon. “And neither are you two. We made a pact.”

The men grew silent as Adam's words took them back to the day when three eight-year-old boys were forced to make peace with each other. They'd been fighting all morning until their foster mother, Sally Duke, had had enough. She put sandwiches, chips and boxes of juice up in the custom tree house she'd had built for them and warned them not to come down until they could learn to live as brothers.

They were up in that tree house for hours before the dark and dirty secrets began to spill out. Cameron confessed about life on the edge with his junkie mom. Brandon talked without emotion about his father, who beat him regularly until the man was killed in a bar fight. His mother had disappeared long before that, so Brandon was put into the foster care system.

Adam had never known his parents. He'd been
abandoned outside a hospital at age two, then raised in an orphanage and a series of foster homes, one worse than the next. He'd been thrown out of four homes and was on a collision course with juvenile hall when Sally Duke found him and took him home.

All three boys were considered bad risks, but that hadn't deterred Sally, a young, wealthy woman who had recently lost her husband and had plenty of love to share. Sally's beloved husband had been a foster kid, too, and she wanted to give back to the system that had produced such a fine, self-made man as her husband, William.

Up in that tree house, having divulged their secrets, the three boys swore allegiance to each other. From that moment, they were blood brothers and nothing would split them apart. As part of their pact, they swore they would never get married or have kids because, based on their experience, married people hurt each other and parents hurt their kids. Even if Sally kicked them all out of her big house on the bluff overlooking Dunsmuir Bay, they swore they'd remain brothers forever.

But Sally was determined to make sure the boys knew that her home was their home, that they were a real family now. She was strict when she needed to be, but always warm and loving, and all three boys had thrived in her care. Eventually, she was able to adopt them and give them her last name. The Duke brothers grew up as a force to be reckoned with.

“Here you go,” Janie announced. She placed their breakfast plates down and Adam watched his brothers begin to eat with gusto.

Adam got a coffee refill and sat back in his chair to reflect on Sally Duke, his mother, the woman who'd given three boys a chance at a good life instead of them
being dragged down by a system too overburdened to care. Sally had changed the direction of their lives and made it possible for them to grow up strong and self-assured.

Adam owed her his life. But that didn't mean he would roll over and play dead just because Sally wanted to hear the pitter-patter of little rug rats around the house.

“You want some of this bacon?” Brandon asked.

“No, thanks,” Adam said. He checked his watch. “I'd better run. I've got a meeting with Jerry Mansfield in half an hour.”

“Wait, what are we going to do about Mom?” Brandon said.

“You worry too much,” Cameron said between bites. “Nothing's going to happen.”

Brandon shook his head. “We are so screwed.”

 

“Deb, I have to go,” Trish whispered. Her best friend had called to find out how the job was going but Trish couldn't concentrate, knowing Adam would be back from his meeting any minute now.

“Just one more thing,” Deb said. “Ronnie's taking me out for my birthday tomorrow night.”

“Do you need me to babysit?”

“No, but thanks. My mom's coming over.”

“Oh, my God,” Trish said as realization dawned. “Is this the first time you've been out since the baby was born?”

“Yes, and I don't know what to wear,” Deb whined. “My world is elastic waistbands and maternity bras. I want to look sexy again. Help!”

Trish mentally pictured Deb's closet. She knew it as well as she knew her own. “Haven't you lost enough weight to wear your red dress?”

“Probably, except my breasts are slightly too big.”

“Gee, Ronnie will hate that,” Trish said drily. “Wear it.”

“I really want to knock his socks off.”

“Trust me,” Trish said, chuckling. “He'll never know what hit him.”

The floor creaked.

Trish jolted and whipped around. “Mr. Duke.”

He stood several feet away by his office door. “I need the Mansfield file.”

She hung up the phone. Deb would understand. Then she stood, wishing the floor could swallow her up. She couldn't believe he'd caught her on the phone. “It's on your desk, Mr. Duke.”

He looked as if he were about to say something, but then he just nodded. “Good. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Trish stood rigidly, hating that she was ready to jump at his smallest command.

But he said nothing. Instead, he stared at her, then strode slowly around her area, glancing with suspicion at her desk, the files, the window. His presence was intimidating and chilling, so why did she feel as if she were burning up?

Finally, he met her gaze again. “What have you done?”

Taken aback, she said, “I—I didn't do anything.”

He shook his head. “No, it looks different. You moved stuff around.”

Trish relaxed her shoulders slightly and exhaled. “I didn't think you'd mind. I rearranged a few things on the desk and I moved that plant. It was blocking the view.”

He raised an imperious eyebrow. “Cheryl never had time to notice the view.”

“That's a shame,” she said, glancing at the window. “It's gorgeous.”

He stared at her intently. “Yes, it is.”

Trish felt her cheeks heat up. “You don't have to worry that I'll spend all my time staring out at the ocean, Mr. Duke. I'm here to work.”

“Good to know.” He seemed reluctant to leave. Did he not trust her to do her work despite the tempting view of the world outside her window?

He cleared his throat, then walked toward his office. At the double doors, he turned. “Buzz me when Jerry Mansfield arrives, will you?”

“Of course, Mr. Duke,” she murmured.

“And call me Adam.”

“Of course.”

She almost collapsed as Adam closed the door to his office. What was wrong with her? It wasn't as if she'd never seen a good-looking man before. But for some reason, this one seemed capable of mesmerizing her. As he'd stared at her, she'd felt the electric attraction. She'd been unable to breathe, aware of his every movement. She could almost feel his touch.

How was that fair? In case she'd forgotten, Adam Duke equaled the Enemy.

She rose from her desk and stood at the window where she gazed out at the wide blue expanse of ocean. What she should do is go and dunk herself in the cold water. These feelings were utterly unacceptable and she would not give in to them.

“It's just chemistry,” she mumbled. She refused to feel anything but contempt for the man. After all the pain and loss she'd suffered because of him, she couldn't afford to lose her nerve now that she was so close to achieving her goal.

“So snap out of it, right now,” Trish lectured herself. “What would Grandma Anna say if she could see you now?”

Trish conceded that Grandma Anna would've taken one look at Adam Duke and said, “What a hunk.” Her grandmother had always had an eye for a handsome devil and her favorite line had always been, “I may be old, but I'm not dead.”

But then Grandma had suffered the heart attack that led to her death. And Trish laid the blame for her grandmother's death directly at the feet of Adam Duke and his company.

If not for his cutthroat business tactics, her grandmother would still be alive and she and Trish would still live in the spacious apartment above their lovely Victorian antiques and gift shop known as Anna's Attic.

Victorian Village, the charming row of connected three-story Victorians on Sea Cove Lane, had provided homes and livelihoods for six families over several generations. Trish had grown up there, and eight months ago, right after she obtained her MBA, she'd banded together with her neighbors to look into buying the building from the long-time landlord and applying for historic landmark designation. Then everything changed. The landlord died, and before the historic landmark paperwork could go through, a development company swept in with a better bid. The landlord's children had no sentimental attachment to Victorian Village so they sold it to the highest bidder. The development company bought the block-long building, threw out the occupants and demolished their homes and livelihoods in order to build a concrete parking structure.

That company was Duke Development Inter national.

It seemed that Adam Duke needed more parking for his expanding company, so with one sweep of his powerful hand, he had single-handedly destroyed six families' dreams. Grandma Anna's heart had literally broken after she was forced to move from the only home and business she'd known and loved since she first married her husband all those years ago.