Turning her attention to the walls, she realized the built-in shelves were filled not with stuffy antique books, but an eclectic assortment of mostly modern paperbacks and hardbacks in a wide variety of topics from best-selling fiction to nonfiction.
“I hope you don’t have any food allergies.”
She started and turned toward the man’s voice. She never heard the kitchen door swing open. Her host, she presumed, stood in the doorway. He held a large salad bowl filled with greens. Stepping forward, he set it on the table.
“I’m sorry I startled you.” He walked over and extended his hand. “Matthias Hawthorne.”
Her eyes met his. She offered her hand then blinked to stave off vertigo. He had the deepest, clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She felt she could get lost in his…
Not in the eyes!
She forced her eyes up, searching for safety. His sandy-brown hair was lightly sprinkled with grey around the temples. Finally dropping her gaze to his hand, she took a breath, feeling more than seeing his unwavering gaze. Hawthorne wore a quiet strength, an air of pleasant confidence.
“Nice to meet you. Anastazia Proctor.”
His grip felt cool and firm, but not pissing-contest strong. Hesitant to release his hand at first, she eventually did before risking another glance at his face. Something else about his eyes, the way the outer edges downturned slightly, gave him a careworn expression.
“I’m glad you accepted my invitation.” When he smiled, it softened his strong jaw, removed years from his eyes. Now she couldn’t tell if he was fifty-five or forty.
He motioned to the table. “I’ll be right back. Feel free to dig in.” He had the lightest trace of an accent, but from where she couldn’t say. Brit? Aussie? She’d have to check him out.
He moved quickly on his feet, gracefully. His arms looked strong, but not overly muscled. She could tell from the lay of his shirt along his torso he carried maybe an extra ten pounds, if that. He didn’t strike her as a gym rat. She watched him disappear through the kitchen door, noticing how his khakis clung to his firm backside.
Yum.
She shook her head. What? This is an interview, not a date. Good grief, what the hell’s wrong with me?
But her heart fluttered at an unsteady pace. Or was that her stomach? It felt like Hawthorne touched her very soul with those eyes, drawing her in.
She was pulling out a chair when he reappeared with two more bowls—vegetables—and returned to the kitchen. He returned with a small serving tray and a bowl of bread.
He’d rolled the sleeves of his chambray shirt up to his elbows, and there was a small spot of something near the third button. Whoops, a little gravy, perhaps?
“Roast beef. I hope you like it.”
“You cooked?”
His eyes twinkled as he reached for her salad bowl and served. “Dinner, yes. Dessert, no. My chef gets credit for that.”
“Somehow, I didn’t picture you as the domestic type.”
“How did you picture me?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t.”
“I eat plenty of meals on the road, Ms. Proctor.” She liked how he didn’t assume he could use her first name, or any variety thereof. It really pissed her off when someone did. “When I get the chance to stay home and cook, especially for company, I take it. In fact, I have to be on a plane early tomorrow morning for Paris, so I’m afraid our dinner won’t last too late.”
She strangled the unexpected pang of disappointment that announcement dredged up in her. “Business?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.” His face clouded for a moment, and then it passed. “What did you think of our offer?”
“We haven’t discussed numbers yet.” The roast tasted delicious.
“Ah, yes.” He took a bite. “What’s your salary requirement?”
“I’m not used to doing business like this, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Call me Matthias, please.”
“Mr. Hawthorne, if I take this job, and I’m not saying I will, I prefer to keep it professional. And I’m still not exactly sure what my duties would be. The paperwork Mr. Thompson left was just vague enough to be interesting without answering any of my questions.”
She took a bite of mashed potatoes. Obviously homemade and delicious, the perfect texture and flavor.
“In my business,” he explained, “it’s not uncommon to run into situations where I need someone with discretion to take care of issues that arise.”
She could have made at least three dirty jokes off the top of her head, but she kept them to herself. “I don’t know how much you discussed with Bob Stanley, but I will not cover up illegal activities.”
“And I would never ask that of you. Our corporation is involved in a wide variety of businesses all over the globe. All of them legal, I assure you. However, as you are well aware, sometimes embarrassing situations occur.”
“Such as?”
He shrugged, and she felt her heart take off again, out of control. What was it about him that got to her? This was totally not like her.
Stop that, she thought. Idiot. Don’t blow this.
But I’d like to blow—
Argh!
The trace of a smile crossed his face again. “For example, a vice president of one of my software firms got his secretary pregnant. She was of legal age, no worries, but he was married. And the mistress wanted support. We were able to help work out an amicable, as well as confidential, settlement that satisfied everyone and kept it out of court and the papers.”
“What happened to that person?” she asked. “The fixer you used?”
He looked at his plate. “Retired. But if you choose to take the job, you will have Albert at your full disposal.”
“Why can’t he take the job?”
“He’s a wonderful employee. Unfortunately I need an attorney, and he’s not.”
She took a few more bites. The food tasted really good. Nearly as good as Robertson’s cooking. If Hawthorne could cook like this, he would make a great husband if he wasn’t married already. No ring on either hand—
Focus, Taz!
“Don’t you have corporate attorneys on your payroll already?”
“I do. However, as you know, everyone specializes. I have tax attorneys and real estate attorneys and labor law attorneys, and on and on. But I need someone to work close by my side, whom I can fully confide in, who has contacts and certain specialized skill sets that can only be learned on the job, as it were. Someone flexible. I don’t have time to train. I also need someone who, at this time in their life, isn’t tied down by family commitments.”
That was a polite way of saying someone single.
It also set off her bullshit buzzer. “Why is that?”
“It’s a rigorous schedule, for starters. At first, at least. I have a wide variety of projects scheduled over the next six months, so whoever takes the job will live out of a suitcase quite a bit of the time. Sometimes travelling with me, sometimes alone.”
Travel with you? Let’s go…
“And I need someone I can trust. I do extensive research, Ms. Proctor. Among all of the potential candidates we’ve screened, only you have all the qualities I’m looking for.”
She tried to clear her head. It was hard to listen to him and not be distracted by his beautiful blue eyes. “You still haven’t told me exactly what I’d be doing.”
He put his fork down. “Legal work. Beyond that, I can’t be sure. You of all people know how unpredictable life can be.”