How To Sleep With The Boss

Patrick found her twenty minutes later. “You ready to go? I guess it makes sense to take two cars.”

Silver Reflections was tucked away in the mountains ten miles outside of town. In the complete opposite direction stood the magnificent Silver Beeches Lodge. Perched on a mountaintop overlooking Silver Glen, it was owned and operated by Maeve Kavanagh and her eldest son, Liam. Libby hesitated before answering, having second thoughts. “I’m sure you must have better things to do with your weekend. I’m not really dressed for dinner out.”

Patrick’s eyes darkened with a hint of displeasure. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll include these hours in your paycheck. And dinner doesn’t have to be fancy. We can go to the Silver Dollar.”

Patrick’s brother, Dylan, owned a popular watering hole in town. The saloon was definitely low-key. Certainly Libby’s clothing would not make her stand out there. “All right,” she said, realizing for the first time that Patrick’s invitation was more like an order. “I’ll meet you there.”

During the twenty-minute drive, she had time to calm her nerves. She already had the job. Patrick wasn’t going to fire her yet. All she had to do was stick it out until they did some of the outdoor stuff, and she could prove to him that she was adaptable and confident in the face of challenges.

That pep talk carried her all the way into the parking lot of the Silver Dollar. The requisite pickup trucks were definitely in evidence, but they were interspersed with Lexus and Mercedes and the occasional fancy sports car.

Libby had visited this corner of North Carolina a time or two over the years with her mother. Silver Glen was a high-end tourist town with a nod to alpine flavor and an unspoken guarantee that the paparazzi were not allowed. It wasn’t unusual to see movie stars and famous musicians wandering the streets in jeans and baseball caps.

Most of them eventually showed up at the Silver Dollar, where the beer was cold, the Angus burgers prime and the crowd comfortably raucous. Libby hovered on the porch, waiting for Patrick to arrive. The noise and color and atmosphere were worlds away from her native habitat in Manhattan, but she loved it here.

At Maeve’s urging, Libby had given up the New York apartment she could scarcely afford and had come to North Carolina for a new start. Truth be told, her native habitat was feeling more and more distant every day.

Patrick strolled into view, jingling his car keys. “Let’s grab a table,” he said. “I called Dylan and told him we were on our way.”

In no time, they were seated. Libby ordered a Coke...Patrick, an imported ale. Dylan stopped by to say hello. The smiling, very handsome bar owner was the second oldest in the seven-boy Kavanagh lineup. Patrick was the second youngest.

Patrick waved a hand at Libby. “Do you remember Libby Parkhurst? She’s going to fill in for part of Charlise’s maternity leave.”

Dylan shook Libby’s hand. “I do remember you.” He sobered. “I was sorry to hear about your mother. We have an apartment upstairs here at the Silver Dollar. I’d be happy to give it to you rent-free until you’ve had a chance to get back on your feet.”

Libby narrowed her gaze. “Did your mother guilt you into making me an offer?”

Dylan’s neck turned red. “Why would you say that? Can’t a man do something nice without getting an inquisition?”

Libby stared from one brother to the other. Apparently, down-on-her-luck Libby had become the family project. “If you’re positive it won’t be an imposition,” she said slowly. “I’m taking up a very nice guest room at Maeve’s fancy hotel, so I’m sure she’d rather have me here.”

Dylan shook his head. “Maeve is delighted to have you anywhere. Trust me. But she thought you’d like some privacy.”

* * *

Patrick studied Libby’s face as she pondered the implications of living above the bar. It was hardly what she was used to...but then again, he had no idea what her life had been like after the tax guys had swooped in and claimed their due.

Dylan wandered away to deal with a bar-related problem, and on impulse, Patrick asked the question on his mind. “Will you tell me about this past year? Where you’ve been? How things unfolded? Sometimes it helps to talk to a neutral third party.”

Libby sipped her Coke, her gaze on the crowd. Friday nights were always popular at the Silver Dollar. He studied her profile. She had a stubborn chin, but everything else about her was soft and feminine. He would bet money that after one night in the woods, Libby was going to admit she was in over her head.

When she looked at him, those beautiful eyes gave him a jolt—awareness laced with the tiniest bit of sexual interest. He shut down that idea quickly. Maeve would have his head on a platter if he messed with her protégé. And besides, Libby wasn’t his type. Not at all.

Libby’s lips curved in a rueful half smile. “It was frightening and traumatic and definitely educational. Fortunately, my mother had a few stocks and bonds that were in her name only. We managed to find an apartment we could afford, but it was pretty dismal. I wanted to go out and look for work, but she insisted she needed me close. I think losing the buffer of wealth and privilege made her feel painfully vulnerable.”

“What about your father?”

“We had some minimal contact with him. But Mama and I both felt betrayed, so we didn’t go out of our way to visit. I suppose that makes me sound hard and selfish.”

Patrick shook his head. “Not at all. A man’s duty is to care for his family. Your father deceived you, broke your trust and failed to provide for you. It’s understandable that you have issues.”

She stared at him. “You speak from experience, don’t you? My mother told me about what happened years ago.”

Patrick hadn’t expected her to be so quick on the uptake. Now he was rather sorry he’d raised the subject. His own father, Reggie Kavanagh, had been determined to find the lost silver mine that had made the first Kavanaghs in North Carolina extremely wealthy. Reggie had spent months, years...looking, always looking.

His obsession cost him his family.

“I was just a little kid,” Patrick said. “My brother Liam has the worst memories. But yeah...I understand. My mother had every right to be bitter and angry, but somehow she pulled herself together and kept tabs on seven boys.”

Libby paled, her eyes haunted. “I wish I could say the same. But not all of us are as strong as Maeve.”

He cursed inwardly. He hadn’t meant to sound critical of Libby’s mother. “My mother wasn’t left destitute.”

“True. But she’s made of tough stock. Mama was never really a strong person, even in the best of times.”

“I’m sorry, Libby.”

Her lips twisted, her eyes bleak. “We can’t choose our families.”

In an instant he saw that this job idea was laden with emotional peril for Libby Parkhurst. When it became glaringly obvious that she couldn’t handle the physically demanding nature of Charlise’s role as his assistant, Libby would be crushed. Surely it would be better to find that out sooner than later. Then she could move on and look for employment more suited to her skill set. Libby was smart and organized and intuitive.

There was a place for her out there somewhere. Just not at Silver Reflections.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I looked at the weather forecast. We’re due to have a warm spell in a couple of days.”

“I saw that, too. Maeve says you almost always get an early taste of spring here in the mountains, even if it doesn’t last long.”

“She’s right. And in light of that, why don’t you and I go ahead and take an overnight trip, so I can show you what’s involved.”

Libby went from wistful to deer in the headlights. “You mean now?”

“Yes. We could head out Monday morning and be back Tuesday afternoon.” Part of him felt guilty for pushing her, but they had to get past this hurdle so she could see the truth.

He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “I don’t have any outdoor gear.”

“Mom can cover you there. And my sisters-in-law can loan you some stuff, too. No sense in buying anything now.”

“Because you think I’ll fail.”

She stared him down, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. “I think there is a good chance you’ll discover that working for me isn’t what you really want.”

“You’ve made up your mind already, haven’t you?” He was surprised to see that she had a temper.

“No.” Was he being entirely honest? “I promised you a trial run. I’ve merely moved up the timetable, thanks to the weather.”

Libby’s gaze skewered him. “Do I need a list from you, or will your mother know everything I need?”

“I’ll email you the list, but Mom has a pretty good idea.”

Libby stood up abruptly. “I don’t think I’m that hungry, after all. Thank you for the Coke, Mr. Kavanagh. If you’ll excuse me, it sounds like I have a lot to do this weekend.”

And with that, she turned her back on him and walked out of the room.

Dylan commandeered the chair Libby had vacated, his broad smirk designed to be irritating. “I haven’t seen you crash and burn in a long time, baby brother. What did you say to make her so mad?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Patrick said, his voice curt. “Mind your own damned business.”

“She could do better than you, no doubt. Great body, I’m guessing, even though her clothes are a tad on the eccentric side. Excellent bone structure. Upper-crust accent. And those eyes... Hell, if I weren’t a married man, I’d try my luck.”

Patrick reined in his temper, well aware that Dylan was yanking his chain. “That’s not funny.”

“Seriously. What did you say to run her off?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got all night.”

Patrick stared at him. “If you must know, Mom shoved her down my throat as a replacement for Charlise. Libby can handle the retreat center details, but there is no way in hell she’s going to be able to do all the outdoor, backcountry stuff. When I hired her, she asked me to give her a chance to prove herself. I merely pointed out that the weather’s going to be warm the first of the week, so we might as well go for it.”

“And that made her mad?”

“Well, she might possibly have assumed that I expect her to fail.”

“Smart lady.”

“How am I the bad guy here? I run a multilayered business. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.”

Dylan’s expression went from amused to horrified in the space of an instant.

Libby’s soft, well-modulated voice broke the deadly silence. “I left my sweater. Sorry to interrupt.”

And then she was gone. Again.

Patrick swallowed hard. “Did she hear what I said?”

Dylan winced. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t have time to warn you. I didn’t see her coming.”

“Well, that’s just peachy.”

The waitress appeared, notepad in hand, to take Patrick’s order. “What’ll you have?” she asked.

Dylan shook his head in regret. “Bring us a couple of burgers, all the way. My baby brother needs some cheering up. It’s gonna be a long night.”

Three

Not since the wretched aftermath of her father’s arrest had Libby felt so small and so humiliated. She’d thought Patrick liked her...that he was pleased with her work to date. But in truth, Libby had been foisted on him, and he resented her intrusion.

Her chest hurt, almost as if someone had actually sucker punched her. When she made it back to her room on the third floor of Maeve’s luxurious hotel, Libby threw herself on the bed and cried. Then she cussed awhile and cried some more. Part of her never wanted to see Patrick Kavanagh again. The other part wanted to make him ashamed for having doubted her. She wanted to be the best damn outdoorswoman he had ever seen.

But since that was highly unlikely to be the actual scenario come Monday, perhaps the best course was to explain to Maeve that the job hadn’t worked out.

There would be questions, of course, lots of them. And although there might be other jobs in Silver Glen, perhaps as a shop assistant making minimum wage, it would be difficult to find a place to live on that kind of paycheck. She owed Maeve a huge debt of gratitude. Not for anything in the world did she want to seem ungrateful.

Which left Libby neatly boxed into an untenable situation.

* * *

Saturday morning she awoke with puffy eyes and a headache. It was only after her third cup of coffee that she even began to feel normal. Breakfast was out of the question. She felt too raw, too bruised. There was no reason to think Patrick would be anywhere near the Silver Beeches Lodge, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

After showering and dressing in jeans and a baggy sweater, Libby sent a text to Maeve, asking her to drop by when she had a minute. In the meantime, Libby studied her paycheck. She had planned to buy the first pieces of her professional wardrobe this weekend. But if she was going to be fired Tuesday night, it made no sense to pay for clothes she might not need.

One step at a time.

When Maeve knocked on the door around eleven, Libby took a deep breath and let her in.

Maeve hugged her immediately. “I want to hear all about the job,” she said, beaming. “I saw Charlise in town Wednesday, and she said you were amazing.”

Libby managed a weak chuckle. “Charlise is being kind.”

The two of them sat down in armchairs beside the gas log fireplace. Although now Libby could barely afford the soap in the bathroom, the upscale accommodations were familiar in their amenities. Growing up, she had traveled widely with her parents.

Maeve smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her neatly pressed black slacks. Wearing a matching blazer and a fuchsia silk blouse, she looked far younger than her age, certainly too young to have seven adult sons. “So tell me,” she said. “How do you like working for Patrick?”

“Well...” Libby hesitated. She’d never been a good liar, so she had to tiptoe through this minefield. “I’ve spent most of my time with Charlise. But everyone on the staff speaks very highly of your son.”

“But what do you think? He’s a good-looking boy, isn’t he?”

At last Libby’s smile felt genuine. “Yes, ma’am. Patrick is a hottie.”

“I know I’m prejudiced, but I think all my sons turned out extremely well.”

“I know you’re proud, and rightfully so.”

“Five of them already married off to wonderful women. I think I’m doing pretty well.”

Uh-oh. “Maeve, surely you’re not thinking about playing matchmaker. That would be extremely uncomfortable for me.”

Maeve’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“I’m starting my life from scratch,” Libby said. “I have to know I can be an independent person. Although I was too naive to realize it at the time, my parents sheltered me and coddled me. I want to learn how to negotiate the world on my own. Romance is way down the list. And besides, even I know it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”

If a mature, extremely sophisticated woman could sulk, that’s what Maeve did. “I thought you’d appreciate my help.”

“I do,” Libby said, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. “You looked out for me at the lowest point in my life. You helped me through Mama’s death and took me in. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But at some point, you have to let me make my own choices, my own mistakes. Otherwise, I’ll never be sure I can survive on my own.”

“I suppose you’re right. Is that why you wanted to see me this morning? To tell me to butt out?”

Libby grinned, relieved that Maeve had not taken offense. “No. Actually, I need your help in rounding up some hiking gear. Patrick wants to take advantage of the warm weather coming up to teach me what I’ll need to know for the team-building, outdoor-adventure expeditions.”

“So soon? Those usually don’t begin until early April.”

“I think he wants to be sure I can handle the physical part of the job.” Libby spoke calmly, but inwardly she cringed, Patrick’s words still ringing in her ears. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.

Maeve stared at her intently. Almost as if she could tell something else was going on. “Write down all your sizes,” she said. “I’ll gather everything you need and meet you here tomorrow around one.”

“I really appreciate it.”

Maeve stood. “I have a lunch appointment, so I need to run. You’ll get through this, Libby. I know how strong you are.”

“Mentally or physically?”

“They go hand in hand. You may surprise yourself this week, my dear. And you may surprise Patrick, as well.”

* * *

Patrick’s mood hovered somewhere between injured grizzly and teething toddler. He was ashamed of himself for letting his aggravation make him say something stupid. But damn it, he’d been talking to his brother...letting off steam. He didn’t go around kicking puppies and plucking the heads off flowers.

He was a nice guy.

Unfortunately for him, he could think of at least one person who didn’t think so.

During the weekend, he gathered the equipment he would need to put Libby through her paces. Normally, he and Charlise shared the load: supervising the employees who organized the meals, interacting with the executives, teaching skills, coaching the group through difficult activities.

But Charlise was not only accustomed to being outdoors, she also had a great deal of experience in living off the land.

Libby didn’t. It was as simple as that.

Patrick tried to juggle things in his mind, ways for him to take over some of Charlise’s duties so that Libby could handle a lighter load. But that would only postpone the inevitable. This first experience had to play out as closely as possible to the real thing, so Libby would understand fully what was involved and what she could expect.

By Monday morning, his mood hadn’t improved. He’d gone through his checklist on autopilot, but of course, he’d had to cover Charlise’s prep, as well. He arrived at Silver Reflections several minutes before eight so he would have some time to mentally gear up for the day’s events.

Libby’s car was already parked in the small wooded lot adjacent to the building. It was an old-model Mercedes with a badly dented fender. Suddenly Patrick remembered where he had seen the car before. Liam’s wife had driven it a couple of years ago until a teenage kid backed into her at the gas station.

Liam had decided it wasn’t worth fixing and bought Zoe a brand-new mommy van. The damaged car had been in Liam’s garage the last time Patrick saw it. Apparently, Maeve wasn’t opposed to getting the whole family in the act when it came to her “rescue Libby” plan.

Patrick headed inside, greeted the receptionist with an absent wave and holed up in his office. Taking a deep breath, he leaned a hip against his desk, pulled his phone out and sent a text.

We’ll leave at nine if that works for you...

Libby’s response was immediate: I’ll be ready.

Meet me out front.

He wondered if Libby was nervous. Surely so. But he knew her well enough already to be damned sure she wouldn’t let the nerves show.

At 8:55 he hefted all their gear and headed outside, only to get his first shock of the day. Libby leaned against a tree, head back, eyes closed. On the ground at her feet lay a waterproof jacket. From head to toe, she was outfitted appropriately. Sturdy boots, lightweight quick-dry pants, a white shirt made of the same fabric and an aluminum hiking pole. He came do a dead stop and swallowed hard.

Every bit of what she was wearing was borrowed. Yet inexplicably she managed to look like a model for some weird amalgam of Vogue and L.L.Bean. The clothing fit her better than anything she had worn so far in his employ. Suddenly, he realized that Dylan was correct. Libby Parkhurst had a kick-ass body.

When he shifted from one foot to the other, he dislodged a piece of gravel. Libby’s eyes snapped open, her expression guarded. “Good morning,” she said.

He hated the guilt that choked him. “Libby, I—”

She held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They stared at each other for several long seconds. He couldn’t get a read on her emotions. So he shoved aside the memory of her face in Dylan’s bar and forced himself to zero in on basics.

“Three things,” he said tersely. “The moment you feel anything on your foot begin to rub, we stop and deal with it. A major key to hiking in the mountains is taking care of your feet. Blisters can be incapacitating. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Her smart-ass tone was designed to annoy him, but he didn’t take the bait. “Secondly, if I’m walking too fast for you, you have to say so. There’s no need to play the martyr.”

“Understood.”

“Lastly, you have to drink water. All day. All the time. Women don’t like the idea of peeing in the woods, so they tend to get dehydrated. That’s also dangerous.”

The look on Libby’s face was priceless. “Got it,” she mumbled.

“Am I being too blunt?” he asked.

She gnawed her lip. “No. I suppose I hadn’t thought through all the ramifications.”

“That’s what this trip is about.”

He slid one of two backpacks off his shoulder. “I need to make sure the straps are adjusted correctly for you.” Without asking, he stepped behind her and helped settled the pack into position. With a few quick tugs, he was satisfied. Finally, he moved in front of her and fiddled with the strap at her chest.

Libby made some kind of squawk or gasp. It was only then that he realized his fingers were practically caressing her breasts. He stepped back quickly. “I’m sure you can manage the waistband,” he muttered.

“Uh-huh.” She kept her head down while she dealt with the plastic locking mechanism. After a moment, she stared off into the woods. “I’m good.”

“Then follow me.”

* * *

Libby had taken yoga classes from the time she was fourteen, although during the past year, she’d had to keep up the discipline on her own. She was limber and more than moderately fit. But Patrick’s punishing pace had her gasping for breath by the third mile.

His legs were longer than hers. He knew the rhythm of walking over rough terrain. And she was pretty sure he had loaded her pack with concrete blocks. But if Charlise could do this, so could she.

Fortunately, the boots Maeve had found for Libby were extremely comfortable and already broken in. Given Patrick’s warning, Libby paid close attention to her feet. So far, no sign of problems.

It helped that the view from behind was entertaining. Patrick’s tight butt and long legs ate up the miles. She had long since given up estimating how far they had come or what time it was. Since her phone was turned off to save the battery, she was dependent upon Patrick’s knowledge of the forest to get them where they needed to go.

At one point when her legs ached and her lungs burned, she shouted out a request. “Water, please.” That was more acceptable to her pride than admitting she couldn’t keep up.

Patrick had a fancy water-thingy that rested inside his pack and allowed him to suck from a thin hose that protruded. Not the kind of item a person borrows. So he had tucked plastic pouches of water for Libby in the side pockets of her pack. She opened one and took a long, satisfying gulp. It took everything she had not to ask how much farther it was to their destination.

The two of them were completely alone...miles away from the nearest human. The wind soughed through the trees. Birds tweeted. The peace and solitude were beautifully soothing. But a chasm existed between Patrick and her. At the moment, she had no desire to breach it.

As forecasted, the warming trend had arrived with a vengeance. Temperatures must already be in the upper sixties, because Libby’s skin was damp with perspiration.

Patrick hadn’t said a word during their stop. He merely stood in silence, his attention focused on the scenery. The trail had ascended a small ridgeline, and through a break in the trees, they could see the town of Silver Glen in the distance.