Her Man Friday (19 page)

"I… I decided to take the day off."

"It's Saturday," he pointed out unnecessarily. "Everybody should be taking a day off today."

"Yes, well, I imagine there are a lot of restaurant and retail and hospital workers who would agree with you, but I don't see them out here running around the park."

"Touché," he said. "But you're not a retail or restaurant or hospital worker, are you? Doesn't Mr. Kimball give you weekends off?"

Her gaze darted away as she said, "It depends on what's going on with Mr. Kimball and Kimball Technologies."

Leo shrugged, using the gesture to try and see what book she was hiding behind her back. But what he said was, "The stuff going on with Kimball Technologies doesn't seem like it should affect a social secretary's duties." He tried to hide the smile he felt threatening as he returned his attention to her face, but knew he didn't quite succeed. "I mean, come on, Miss Rigby, just how much of Mr. Kimball's business do you actually handle, anyway?"

She smiled, too, not quite benevolently. "Why do I get the feeling, Mr. Freiberger, that you don't think I'm particularly bright?"

He arched his eyebrows in surprise and had no idea what to say in response to her charge. So he said nothing.

"Because that's exactly the feeling I get from you sometimes," she added. "That you don't think I do much… thinking. That you believe my job for Mr. Kimball doesn't require much… thinking. That most of my time is spent doing things other than… thinking."

"You think so?" he asked evasively.

She nodded. "Yes. I do."

"Well, gosh, Miss Rigby, I never meant to give you that impression," he said, still scrambling for an honest explanation that wouldn't insult her. Unfortunately, he thought, being honest about something like this would definitely insult her. Because truth be told, she told the truth.

"No, I'm sure you never meant to give me the impression that you don't think I'm very bright," she said. "Nevertheless, you don't think I'm very bright, do you?"

"I never said—"

"No, and I don't suppose you ever would," she interjected. "Not that it's really very important what you think of me anyway."

It wasn't?

"And in spite of your miscalculations, Mr. Freiberger—or perhaps in light of them," she amended easily, "you might be surprised how much weekend work I have to do for Mr. Kimball."

Yeah, he probably would be surprised, he thought. Especially if that weekend work actually involved work. Well, work that couldn't be performed in a horizontal position, anyway. Although there was a lot to be said for doing it standing up…

Deciding he really didn't want to think about something like that right now, he asked impulsively, "What are you reading?" Then, before she had a chance to answer, he reached behind her in an effort to snag the book from her hand.

"Nothing," she said, angling her body to hinder his progress. "I'm not reading anything."

"Oh, come on," he cajoled as he reached for it again. "I know you have a book back there. I saw you reading it. You were really interested in whatever it said, too. Just what kind of book is it?"

She grinned, turning her body more resolutely to prevent him from locating his quarry. "Oh, all right, if you must know, it's Heidegger," she told him. "
Being and Time
. I find it absolutely riveting."

Heidegger? he thought. She'd heard of Heidegger? But… but that was impossible. She wasn't particularly bright. Okay, he conceded, so maybe she'd enrolled in Philosophy 101 in college for a humanities credit. That would make sense. Assuming, of course, that she'd gone to college. Did they offer programs for social secretaryism at any of the universities?

"Don't give me that," he said, pushing his thoughts aside. He reached for the book again, lurching forward to rope his arm around her shoulder, hoping that might facilitate his hunt. "Nobody ever found Heidegger riveting. Not even Mrs. Heidegger. And you were definitely interested in whatever this is."

"It's
nothing
," she repeated more adamantly this time, turning her body even more to thwart him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've read a few books like that myself. Come on," he echoed. " 'Fess up."

With one final lurch forward, he felt the book in his hands. Unfortunately, his final push sent him right into Miss Rigby, who lost her balance and landed backward. Leo snaked out his other arm to catch her, but the result was that Miss Rigby was on her back and Leo was on top of her.

For a moment, he forgot all about the book that he had managed to free from her grasp and held firmly in his own. All he registered was the way her face was barely an inch away from his, how her pupils expanded to nearly eclipse the green of her irises, and the way her lips parted in surprise at their landing. Then, gradually, a few other things registered. He noted the way her lush breasts felt pressed against his chest, and the way her legs, tangled with his, were such an incredibly comfortable fit. And then he felt the rapid-fire pounding of her heart that perfectly mirrored his own.

Then he heard the sound of faint, masculine laughter from behind them, and it was Marianne Gianelli all over again. Quickly, he scrambled off of Miss Rigby and parked his butt firmly on the grass. She, too, wasted no time righting herself, scuttling backward to settle herself against the tree trunk, and well away from Leo.

"Uh, sorry about that," he said.

She nodded quickly. "No problem. Can I have my book back? Please?"

Only then did he remember what had started this whole thing, and, remembering all the trouble he'd gone to to get it—not to mention the wonderful reward he'd received as a result—he held up the book to inspect it. He frowned when he noted the flowers and girlie stuff on the front cover and realized it wasn't what he'd thought it was. Instead of grisly, bloody, true crime, it looked like Miss Rigby's reading preferences were as dainty and innocent as she appeared to be herself.

"Looks good," he lied halfheartedly. Then he flipped open the cover and saw the colorful illustration inside that included two semi-clad people with a raging ocean and stampeding army off in the distance. The man's face was nuzzled against the woman's ample breasts, and she appeared to be
this
close to having a shattering orgasm. "Whoa. Looks
really
good," he amended as he began to flip through the pages.

"Mr. Freiberger," she said with clear objection, reaching for the book.

But in his quick perusal, Leo's attention had lit on the word
nipple
, and there was no way he was going to give the book back just yet. Scanning the rest of the paragraph, he realized that
innocent
and
dainty
were the last words he'd use to describe Miss Rigby's reading preferences.
Raging fever of desire
was a more accurate description. Especially since it was right there in print, in the paragraph that followed the nipple business. And after that…

Good God. It was page seventy-two of
How to Leave a Man Groaning with Satisfaction Every Time
.

"Can I borrow this when you're done with it?" he asked, still not looking up from the highly erotic prose. He wondered if there were many men who realized the kinds of things women were learning from romance novels, then thought maybe he should start a campaign to enlighten his gender. It could only benefit everyone.

"Are you serious?" she asked, punctuating the question with a soft laugh.

"Hell, yes, I'm serious," he assured her, turning the page to read more. He wanted to see if Melinda would achieve… satisfaction from her lover, Beauregard.
Whoa
. Yes, she did. Several times, in fact. Way to go, Beauregard. Leo made a mental note to try that trick himself next time he—

"It's even better if you start from the beginning and do it a little more slowly."

He glanced up from the book to find Miss Rigby smiling at him. So he smiled back, hoping that in that single gesture, he managed to convey everything he was feeling at the moment—all the heat, all the hunger, all the lust, all the longing, all the fire, all the fury, all the—

"Reading, I mean," she qualified.

Reading
? Just like that, his thoughts fizzled. He nodded slowly. "I knew that," he assured her.

But her soft chuckle told him she didn't believe him at all. And that was when Leo decided that yes, it would no doubt definitely be a good idea to start at the beginning, as she had suggested, and to go slow, to see where things led. Because so far, with Lily Rigby, the path had been a bit winding. Now, however, Leo was beginning to think it was time to straighten things out.

"So, Miss Rigby," he began, glancing back down at the book in his hand, "you got plans for the afternoon? I, uh… I promise I'll go slow."

There was little in life that Leo could imagine dreading more than having to face Kimball's board of directors again. The only thing that made this incident worse than the first time was what had made it worse last week, too—on both occasions, he'd had to come clad in his persona of Leonard Freiberger.

And as he had the week before, when he'd given them his first report about the status of his work at Ashling, Leo felt strangely vulnerable, strangely violated, and thoroughly sick to his stomach. Not just because he had to be Lame Leonard Freiberger, but because he knew he was failing at the job he'd been hired to do. And failure, in any form, was something to which Leo was totally unaccustomed.

What was worse was that his inability to find the missing Kimball millions wasn't the only place where he was failing these days. He'd struck out with Miss Rigby last weekend, too. Although she'd agreed to accompany him to a little coffee shop near the park, the only thing he'd managed to get from her was a brief span of idle conversation, the kind of chitchat that two vaguely acquainted people might share.

And even though he was confident that his acquaintance with Miss Rigby had gone beyond the
vaguely
stage—that sprawl in the park had kinda clued him in to that fact—he could tell that she was still holding back from him. Just what all she was holding back, he wished he knew. But somehow, he was confident that she didn't speak as freely with him as she did with others.

Like Kimball, for example, he thought grudgingly.

But his grudge was interrupted by a booming remark from Charlton Heston Man, who demanded, "Do assure me, Mr. Friday, that you haven't been standing up straight like that when you've been at Mr. Kimball's estate."

Leo bit back a growl of discontent. "No, of course not," he said, striving for a bland expression. "In fact, I've been doing these slouching exercises I read about in
Men's Health
magazine. I do them every morning, as soon as I get up, and they've already taken a full two centimeters off of my original height."

The other man eyed Leo suspiciously, clearly not sure whether he was to be believed or not.

"Honest," Leo said without a single smirk. "I also bought some special shoes."

Charlton Heston Man nodded slowly. "Good," he muttered, though he sounded considerably less Moses-like than he usually did. "Keep up the good work."

Leo refrained from comment.