Strictly Business Read Online Free Page A

Mr. Brundel has always called me Jess. Apparently it’s his
granddaughter’s name.” With this she was standing in front of his desk, holding
her hand out for him to shake.
    Her voice was like warm brandy. It seemed terribly out of place
coming from the dowdy woman standing before him. It was the voice of a siren.
And, as if she was a siren, he suddenly found himself impossibly drawn to her.
This wasn’t going to work. He needed another architect.
    She stood there, obviously waiting for him to shake her
hand. When he finally reached out, gripping her hand in his, he found her grip
to be firm, her skin soft. Just as he felt the jolt of electricity, she pulled
her hand back as if she'd been burned. “Ms. Wythe, I’m sorry about the confusion,
but I don’t think this is going to work out.”
    “I’m sorry, what’s not going to work out?”
    “You, as my architect. I’ll call Mr. Brundel and explain the
situation. Explain that this is in no way your fault, but I need him to send me
another architect.” Jake had no idea why, but for some reason he felt that
having her here was dangerous. It was probably just because he didn’t handle
surprises well.
    “Excuse me. Am I to understand that you are…firing me?
Because I’m not a man?”
    Her words dripped with sarcasm. He almost smiled at the
first sign of fire from the bland Ms. Wythe. This little spark seemed more in
keeping with the voice than the clothes. “No, not really. Well yeah, actually.
This ranch has almost exclusively men living here. The only woman who will reside
in the main house is Marsha, and I’ve already given her complete control within
the kitchen. However, the rest of the house will be essentially mine. And I
would like someone to design it that understands me.”
    “You have no idea what I understand or don’t understand.”
Her voice rose as she continued, “You have yet to even speak to me, let alone
get to know me or see any of my designs. And as for what I understand, let me
tell you. I understand that you have not redecorated this house in well over
ten years, probably longer. The original decoration reflects, I would hazard to
guess, your mother’s taste and has since become some random collection of
whatever was lying around. I also understand that the only room in the house,
or at least the bottom floor, that in any way reflects your personal choices,
is this room. I would bet that this is not only your office, but your haven.
And I also understand that you are a chauvinist pig. And, if you call Mr.
Brundel and request a new architect, I will personally pay him his commission
percentage of this job’s estimate to refuse your request and refuse to send
anyone else out here!”
    She was standing opposite him, leaning in with her hands on
the desk. Since he had assumed the same position on the other side, they were
almost nose to nose. And she was yelling at him. In his office, in his home.
She was yelling at him and calling him names. He was irate! And she was
gorgeous. Somehow, warm brown eyes were shooting fire while she was yelling.
And the anger seemed to break that icy, boring package. He was not at all sure
whether he wanted to kill her or kiss her. A strange blend of urges, especially
for him. He opted for yelling right back.
    “Ms. Wythe, I don’t know how you treat your clients, but I
can assure you that screaming at me will in no way help you keep this job! I do
not tolerate people yelling at me! Do you understand?”
    He watched as shock and horror registered on her face. She
took a breath, schooling her face back into the calm, boring mask. If he looked
closely, he could still see the anger simmering underneath, but it was barely
perceptible.
    “Mr. Morgenstern,” now her voice dripped icicles as she
spoke, “I am going to need a ride back to the airport. There is not a
snowball’s chance in hell that I would take this job. Which is your loss, by
the way. You asked for the best, and I’m the best. Oh, and good