“Single?”
His question came out of left field and caught her completely off guard. “By law we don’t discuss anyone’s marital status.”
“But they’d be wearing wedding rings. You’d know if they were single or married.”
“I could guess …” She floundered. What did he want? Someone single he could hit on? That didn’t seem right. Max might be a player, but he wouldn’t be unprofessional at work. Seeing he awaited the answer to his earlier question, she heaved a sigh. “She’s single. Does that matter?”
“Your agency has a certain reputation.” He didn’t make that sound like a compliment.
“For providing the best.”
“For matchmaking.”
Rachel wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. “Matchmaking? Are you out of your mind?” The words erupted before she considered how they might sound. Taking a calming breath, she moderated her tone. “I run an employment agency.”
He nodded. “And how many of your clients have married the assistants you’ve sent them?”
What the hell sort of question was that? “I don’t know.”
“Eight, including Sebastian and Missy.”
Rachel didn’t know what to make of his accusation. Is that why he sounded so annoyed earlier? He thought … She didn’t quite know what he thought. A matchmaking service? Was he insane?
“Don’t look so surprised,” he muttered.
“But I am. How did you know that?”
“A friend of mine has done a fair amount of research on your little enterprise.” He sneered the last word, leaving no doubt about his opinion of her or her company.
Rachel inched forward on the sofa as she wavered between staying and disputing his claims and walking out the door. Fortunately, her business sense kicked in and kept her from acting impulsively.
“I assure you I’m not in the business of matchmaking.” She straightened her spine and leveled a hard look at him. “My agency is strictly professional. If my ability to find the perfect match between executive and assistant means that they’re compatible in other ways, then that’s coincidence.” Serendipity. She grimaced. If word got out that something unprofessional was happening between her clients and her employees, she was finished. “If you’re worried about finding yourself in a similar predicament, I’ll only send you married assistants.”
She recognized her mistake the second the words were out of her mouth. Annoyance tightened his lips and hardened his eyes to tempered steel.
Once upon a time she’d been married, and he’d fallen for her. Well, maybe fallen for her was pushing it a little. They’d enjoyed a spectacular four days together and he’d been interested in pursuing her beyond the weekend.
“Or really old and ugly assistants,” she finished lamely.
One eyebrow twitched upward to meet the lock of wavy brown hair that had fallen onto his forehead.
Rachel’s professionalism came close to crumpling beneath the weight of his enormous sex appeal. Fortunately, the grim set of his mouth reminded her that they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. He wouldn’t appreciate the feminine sigh bottled up in her chest.
“I’ll arrange some candidates for you to interview on Monday,” she said, her heart sinking as she realized she was now stuck acting as Max’s assistant for the indefinite future.
Monday came and went and Max was no closer to liking any of the candidates she’d arranged for him to interview. By the time Rachel pulled into her driveway at six-thirty, she was half-starved and looking forward to her sister’s famous chili. It was Hailey’s night to cook, thank heavens, or they’d be eating around midnight.
She entered the house through the kitchen door and sniffed the air in search of the spicy odors that signaled Rachel was going to need three glasses of milk to get through the meal. No pot bubbled on the stove. No jalapeño cornbread cooled on a rack. Rachel’s stomach growled in disappointment. No pile of dirty dishes awaited her attention in the sink. Why hadn’t Hailey started dinner?
“I’m home,” she called, stripping off her suit coat and setting her briefcase just inside the door. “I’m sorry I’m late. The new boss is a workaholic. Did you …”
Her question trailed away as she entered her small living room and spied her sister’s tense expression. Hailey perched on the edge of their dad’s old recliner, her palms together and tucked between her knees. The chair was the only piece of furniture they’d kept after he died. That and the family’s single photo album were all the Lansing girls had left of their dad.
Hailey’s gaze darted Rachel’s way as she paused just inside the room. Rachel’s stomach gave a sickening wrench at the misery her sister couldn’t hide. Only one person in the world produced the particular combination of alarm and disgust pinching Hailey’s lips together.
Rachel turned her attention from her sister’s stricken gaze to the tall man who dominated her couch. He’d grown fleshy in the four years since she’d last seen him, his boyish good looks warped by overindulgence and the belief that the world owed him something. He still dressed like the son of a wealthy and powerful business owner. Charcoal slacks, a white polo, blue sweater draped over his shoulders. He looked harmless until you got close enough to see the malicious glee in his eye.
“What are you doing here?”
He smiled without warmth. “Is that any way to greet the man you swore to honor and cherish until death you do part?” His gaze slid over her without appreciation. He ran an index finger across his left eyebrow. “You look good enough to eat.”
Devour, more like. And not in a pleasant way. Brody Winslow enjoyed sucking people in with his smooth talk and clever charades, and using them up. Once upon a time, that had been her. She’d been taken in by the expensive car he drove and big house he lived in. Not until it was too late did she realize that some of the best liars came from money.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to collect the money you owe me.”
“You’ve been paid what I owe you this year. Nothing’s due for another nine months.”
“See, that’s where we’ve got a little bit of a problem. I need the fifty grand now.”
“Fifty …” She crossed her arms over her chest so he wouldn’t notice the way her hands shook. “I can’t pay you the full amount now.”
He looked around her house. “Seems like you’re doing pretty well.”
“I bought the house through a special program that allowed me to put zero money down. I’ve barely got five percent equity and no bank is going to give me a second mortgage for that. You’re just going to have to wait. I’ll get the next installment to you in nine months.”
“That’s not working for me.” He pushed himself off the couch and headed toward her.
She flinched as he brushed past her on his way to the window that overlooked her driveway.
“Nice car. It’s got to be worth something.”
“It’s leased.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “What about that business of yours?”
She bit her tongue rather than fire off a sharp retort. Making him mad wasn’t going to get him out of her house or her life. The man was a bully, plain and simple. And he’d figured out where she