âHey, boss, the barracudaâ¦excuse me, your fiancée is on line two,â Ginger Drake announced from the doorway.
Jordan glowered at his impudent secretary. âIâve told you not to call her that.â
Undaunted, Ginger merely strolled into his office and perched on the corner of his desk, an act that hiked her skirt to midthigh. Jordan shook his head. If she werenât the most efficient, most incredibly loyal young woman whoâd ever worked for him, he would have fired her months ago for her tart remarks and her unrepentant intrusion into his personal life.
âYouâve also told me to be honest and truthful, no matter how much it hurts,â she informed him now. âThatâs my job around here.â
âYour job is taking dictation and typing.â
âAnd keeping you happy,â she reminded him. She gestured at the blinking phone line. âShe does not make you happy. She is a bââ
âDonât say it,â he warned, reaching for the phone.
Ginger shrugged. âWell, she is, which you could see for yourself, if you werenât blinded by the size of herââ
âGinger!â He pointed toward the door. âOut!â
âJust doing my job,â she said, and sashayed from the room with a provocative sway of her hips.
Unable to resist, Jordan watched that motion with an appreciative eye. If he hadnât known that she was blissfully married to a linebacker for the Houston Oilers, he would have assumed that Ginger was trying to get his attention. Instead, he knew perfectly well that feminine provocation came as naturally and unselfconsciously to her as flirting with the opposite sex did to him. The difference was, he had tired of it.
Being named one of the cityâs most eligible bachelors the past five years in a row had lost its charm. He was ready to settle down. The woman on the phone was the candidate heâd chosen six months ago from the string of female acquaintances who accompanied him to the various charity functions that made up the bulk of his social life.
âHey, darlinâ, how are you?â he said to Rexanne Marshall once Ginger was out of hearing range with the office door firmly shut behind her. âHow was the convention?â
âInteresting,â Rexanne said in that deliberately smoky voice that oozed sensuality and, as she well knew, sent goose bumps dancing down his spine.
He settled back in his chair and asked, âDid you make any big deals?â Rexanne really got turned on by her deal making. He could practically envision their passionate reunion.
âYou could say that.â
Jordan thought he heard something odd in her tone, a hint of strain that was rare for the supremely confident, highly successful owner of a small but thriving Texas cosmetics company. It was a company poised to make a major move into the national marketplace with his financial backing.
âRexanne, is everything okay?â
âJordanâ¦â
He could hear her swallowing and suddenly his body went absolutely still. She had bad news. He could tell from that increasingly evident note of uncertainty in her voice. He sat up a little straighter.
âWhatever it is, just tell me,â he instructed. Heâd meant to sound patient and concerned, but even he recognized the drill-sergeant command in his voice.
âActually, it was the most amazing thing,â she began with a nervous little giggle.
Rexanne was quite possibly the most sophisticated woman heâd ever met. She never giggled. His suspicions tripled as he waited for her to go on.
âI ran into this man, an old friend, actually, from high school, as a matter of fact.â
Now the woman who never wasted a word was babbling. Jordanâs sense of dread kicked in. He stood and began to pace, phone in hand. âAnd?â
âWell, the truth of it isâ¦Jordan, Iâm really sorry about this, butâ¦â
âJust spit it out, Rexanne.â
âRandall and I got married,â she blurted at last. âIn Vegas.â
Rexanne and Randall? How alliterative, he thought with an uncharacteristic edge of sarcasm. Married? How considerate of her to give him fair warning. The same society page columnists whoâd been gushing about their engagement would be gossiping about this turn of events for weeks. It was only one step short of being left at the altar. He didnât like the prospect of being the subject of speculation and innuendo. He didnât like it one damned bit.