But Not For Me

All that love stuff people carried on about might be okay for others—but not for me,

Brad decided. He opened his bedroom door and abruptly halted. Rachel stood there, ready to knock.

“Uh, look, Rachel, I know I was way out of line earlier, and I apologize. I—”

She placed her fingers lightly across his lips. “I just came to tell you that if your offer is still open, I believe our getting married would solve a lot of problems.”

Why hadn’t she just taken a bat and hit him over the head? She couldn’t have stunned him more.

“You want to marry me?”

Her smile was as sweet as an angel’s. “I believe I do, Mr. Phillips. I believe I do.”

Dear Reader,

June is busting out all over with this month’s exciting lineup!

First up is Annette Broadrick’s But Not For Me. We asked Annette what kinds of stories she loved, and she admitted that a heroine in love with her boss has always been one of her favorites. In this romance, a reserved administrative assistant falls for her sexy boss, but leaves her position when she receives threatening letters. Well, this boss has another way to keep his beautiful assistant by his side—marry her right away!

Royal Protocol by Christine Flynn is the next installment of the CROWN AND GLORY series. Here, a lovely lady-in-waiting teaches an admiral a thing or two about chemistry. Together, they try to rescue royalty, but end up rescuing each other. And you can never get enough of Susan Mallery’s DESERT ROGUES series. In The Prince & the Pregnant Princess, a headstrong woman finds out she’s pregnant with a seductive sheik’s child. How long will it take before she succumbs to his charms and his promise of happily ever after?

In The Last Wilder, the fiery conclusion of Janis Reams Hudson’s WILDERS OF WYATT COUNTY, a willful heroine on a secret quest winds up in a small town and locks horns with the handsome local sheriff. Cheryl St. John’s Nick All Night tells the story of a down-on-her-luck woman who returns home and gets a second chance at love with her very distracting next-door neighbor. In Elizabeth Harbison’s Drive Me Wild, a schoolbus-driving mom struggles to make ends meet, but finds happiness with a former flame who just happens to be her employer!

It’s time to enjoy those lazy days of summer. So, grab a seat by the pool and don’t forget to bring your stack of emotional tales of love, life and family from Silhouette Special Edition!

Sincerely,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

But Not for Me

Annette Broadrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Patricia,

Who popped back into my life when I needed you the most.

You must be my fairy godmother!

Thank you for believing that I could write again. Your faith in me has helped me regain my faith in myself. Here’s to the next twenty years together. Long may your magic wand wave.

ANNETTE BROADRICK

believes in romance and the magic of life. Since 1984, Annette has shared her view of life and love with readers. In addition to being nominated by Romantic Times as one of the Best New Authors of that year, she has also won the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best in its Series; the Romantic Times W.I.S.H. award; and the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Awards for Series Romance and Series Romantic Fantasy.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

Where is she?

Brad Phillips slammed the phone back in its cradle. There had been no answer at Rachel Wood’s home. Instead, all he’d heard was her cheerful recording inviting him to leave his name and number. She already knew his name and number. He was her boss and she should have been at work hours ago.

Impatient and more than a little unnerved by her continued absence, Brad shoved his chair away from his desk, stood and began to pace. He couldn’t remember a time in the eight years she’d worked for him when Rachel hadn’t called if she was running late.

So what is going on?

He glanced at his watch. Since she was generally at her desk working hard by the time he arrived each morning around seven-thirty, that meant that she was more than two hours late.

The only scenario that made sense—and the thought scared the hell out of him—was that she’d been in an accident on her way to the office and was lying unconscious somewhere, unable to call him. Twice this morning he’d picked up the phone to call the various hospitals that served the metropolitan area of Dallas, Texas, to see if she had been taken to any of their emergency rooms.

So far, he’d managed to talk himself out of that move, at least for the time being. His head told him that it was too soon to panic. No doubt there was a perfectly logical explanation why she hadn’t gotten in touch with him. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he’d been unable to come up with one.

Brad continued to pace, wondering how long a person had to be missing before you could call the police. Probably more than two hours, which meant there was nothing he could do but wait, not his favorite form of activity. Or inactivity, which was why he’d never considered patience a virtue. He considered patience a complete waste of time.

His intercom rang and Brad almost leaped across the room to reach his desk.

“Yes?”

His secretary, Janelle, said, “I wanted to remind you of your ten o’clock meeting with Arthur Simmons.”

“Thanks,” he replied. He turned away from his desk and walked over to the window. Just what he needed, he thought, his irritation and apprehension climbing another notch—a meeting with Arthur Simmons without Rachel to run interference.

The man was a genius with numbers and financial strategy. He’d saved Brad all kinds of money since he’d become the head of Phillips Construction Company’s accounting department. Brad considered himself blessed to have the guy.

However, he dreaded each meeting that he was forced to sit through. Simmons had to be one of the most boring men Brad had ever encountered. Brad needed Rachel at the meeting as a buffer. She knew when he’d had enough of long-winded recitations delivered in an annoying monotone. She had a knack for bringing meetings to a close without offending anyone.

If Rachel didn’t show up in the next fifteen minutes, Brad would be left on his own to suffer through Simmons’s long-winded explanations of the latest reports from his department.

The numbers were essential to Brad and he would be the last person to deny their importance, but he would much prefer to look over the figures himself without having them explained to him in excruciating detail.

Maybe it was Simmons’s attitude that bugged him. He came from a wealthy, upper-crust family somewhere back east. Arthur had made it clear during his interviews for the position that despite his moneyed background, he felt called to share his knowledge and expertise with humanity.

In Arthur’s case, humanity appeared to be Phillips Construction Company, but Brad didn’t care as long as Arthur continued to save—and therefore help to make—the company a great deal of money.

Although the two of them were close in age, he and Simmons couldn’t be more different. Brad had come up the hard way. He was a street kid who had eventually built a multimillion-dollar construction business from little more than his back, his bare hands and encouragement from a man who had believed he had potential.

Simmons, on the other hand, had probably never worked up a sweat in his life. Instead, he had attended all the right private schools and graduated with honors from a prestigious eastern university.

Brad was in no way envious of the man. The gulf between their backgrounds just underlined the fact that they had nothing in common…except the mutual goal to make the company a success.

The way Brad saw it, he was a physical person. Simmons was a card-carrying intellectual. His carefully manicured hands made it obvious that Simmons had never picked up anything heavier than a pencil.

Brad turned away from the window, running his hand through his hair in agitation. He needed his invaluable administrative assistant and he needed her now.

He forced himself to return to his desk, almost hearing Rachel’s voice telling him to relax and use his time practicing patience.

Brad threw himself into his chair with a long-suffering sigh. Rachel’s voice often echoed in his head. He figured she’d taken him on as some kind of project.

He would never forget the day he had hired her. He’d had no idea at the time that it was the smartest decision he’d ever make.

He’d been twenty-five, carefully tending a fledgling company by working long hours and generally sleeping in the construction trailer at his current building site.

He had a construction crew but no one who knew anything about the paperwork involved, including himself.

He’d been awarded the contract to build a multiplex theatre in north Dallas, the biggest job of his career. After the elation wore off, Brad had realized that he could no longer operate his growing business out of his apartment and a construction trailer.

He needed a bona fide office…with real office workers. He found the thought terrifying. An office would mean hiring—at the very least—a receptionist, a secretary and a bookkeeper. The latter job took up entirely too much of his time already.

The problem was that he couldn’t afford to hire that many people. Not yet. But once he finished the multiplex, he felt that more business would come his way. He knew he provided quality structures. He’d worked hard to build a reputation for honesty, integrity and fair dealing.

Yes, there would be more work down the road, but until then he still worked on a shoestring budget.

Brad faced the reality of his situation and advertised for what he could afford—a receptionist—in the hope that whoever applied for the position might be able to do more than answer the phone.

His first step had been to lease office space. He’d negotiated the price with the owner by agreeing to do repair jobs on the building whenever needed. He’d worked on the new space every night and weekend.

When he placed the help-wanted ad in the paper, the office space was still a mess, which meant he had to figure out where to hold interviews. He couldn’t expect a woman to show up at the project location and pick her way around building supplies, equipment and construction debris to get to his trailer. He eventually settled on a corner coffee shop near the site.

His phone rang repeatedly the day the ad first appeared. Brad was excited by the response. Surely he would find someone qualified within days.

A week later he was less excited. By then, he knew he was in deep trouble. Either the applicant wanted too much money or she didn’t appear to know how to handle business calls or keep messages straight. By the third week, he was desperate.

Then Rachel Wood called.

“Phillips Construction,” he yelled over the drilling noise going on outside.

In a cool, refined voice, she said, “Mr. Phillips, please.”

Man, she sounded so professional that it never occurred to him she was anything but some CEO’s administrative assistant.

“You’ve got him,” he said grinning. He was already fantasizing about what the woman with the crisp—yet husky—voice might look like.

“I understand you’re seeking a receptionist. Is the position still available?”

He’d been leaning back in his chair reading some reports when she called. At her words, he almost flipped over the chair. Struggling to maintain his balance, Brad triumphed over gravity enough to place his feet on the floor before saying, “Uh, yeah, uh, the position is open if you’re interested.” He heard the doubt in his voice and hoped she didn’t notice.

She gave a quiet sigh that he could have sworn sounded like relief. But when she spoke her voice was perfectly composed.

“When may I set up an appointment to be interviewed?”

He almost told her the job was already hers if she wanted it, but managed to restrain himself. This must be some kind of mistake, but at least he’d get to see her in person and have his curiosity satisfied. With a person like her answering his phone, his office would immediately appear financially sound, stable, and trustworthy.

He was already lamenting the fact that he would never be able to afford to hire her.

He glanced at his watch. “Is it too late to meet today?” he asked and held his breath.

“Not at all. That would be fine. If you could give me your address and a time that would be convenient, I’ll be there.”

Now came the sticky part. “Well, the thing is, my office space won’t be ready for occupancy until next week, but there’s a coffee shop near my present project where we could meet, if that’s okay with you—say around five o’clock?”

“Certainly,” she replied with a crispness that he found attractive and calming.

He gave her the address and directions. After he hung up, he sat staring at the wall. Don’t get too excited, he warned himself. Once she finds out what a tiny operation this is and all the paperwork that keeping it running entails, a woman like her will laugh at the pittance of salary I have to offer.

Brad forced his attention back to the reports before he returned to work with his crew. As the day progressed, he kept an eye on the clock to be certain he’d arrive at the interview on time.

By the time he walked into the coffee shop, Brad had washed up, but what he wore—faded jeans, a shirt with the sleeves ripped out and battered work boots covered with dust and grime—marked him for what he was: a construction worker. He might be the boss, but he knew he was too rough around the edges to mingle socially with the clientele he hoped to impress with his company’s performance.

He glanced around the small café, realizing too late that he’d neglected to get a description of Rachel Wood. He’d been more rattled at the time than he’d thought.

He rubbed his hand over his face, frowning. All right. Process of elimination. How many women were there? Alone?

Unfortunately, at least five.

Were any of them looking at him?

He dropped his head in disgust and stared at his boots. All of them watched him, and two of them wore predatory expressions.

A strong sense of relief coursed through him when a familiar voice from behind him said, “Pardon me, but are you Mr. Phillips?”

He turned and met the cool green gaze of a very attractive young woman who wore a tailored dress the color of her eyes. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a knot and framed her heart-shaped face.

The top of her head was level with his chin.

“You must be Ms. Wood,” he replied, a sense of relief that they’d connected washing over him. This woman couldn’t actually save his life; it only felt that way.

She smiled and nodded. “I chose a booth toward the back, thinking it would be a little more private.”

Brad almost missed what she said, because he was so intent on listening to her voice. In person, she sounded even more well-bred than she had on the phone. Rachel Wood was one classy lady. He was a little intimidated by her beauty, her poise and her obviously expensive education.

He wished he’d taken time to go to his apartment to change clothes, but it was too late now.

Brad motioned for her to lead the way and was treated to a view of her erect posture, her confident stride and a figure that was almost—but not quite—disguised by the prim dress she wore.

They sat across from each other. The waitress immediately appeared.

“Hi Brad,” the waitress said, giving him the seductive smile that he’d seen every time she was on duty.

“Yeah, hi, Mitzi, just a cup of coffee, please.”

Mitzi glanced at Rachel and motioned to the cup in front of her. “Need a refill?”

Rachel shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Once the waitress left, Brad faced Rachel, wondering where to begin. He’d interviewed a dozen women so far, but today he felt like an awkward teenager on a first date. Either that, or as though he was the one being interviewed for a job he desperately wanted.

“I need to tell you up front that I have very little office experience,” Rachel said, looking as though she’d confessed to a crime. “Your ad didn’t state that you required experience, but I didn’t want to mislead you.”

“How are you at learning?” he asked, smiling. She was more nervous than he was, although she’d done a great job of disguising the fact. He relaxed a little, sat back and enjoyed the view. She is one good-looking woman. Way above your league, he reminded himself.

She gave a quick nod. “Show me what you want done and I’ll do it.”

Mitzi returned with his coffee. He nodded without taking his eyes off Rachel. “Thanks,” he murmured. “You know anything about construction work?”

“No, sir.”

He flinched in mock horror. “Hey, I’m not that much older than you. You don’t need to ‘sir’ me.” He noticed her hand trembling beside the coffee mug, confirming his assessment of her. She was nervous. Of him? Or the interview?

In an attempt to help her to relax, Brad described the company. “I formed my own company a little more than three years ago. I’ve worked construction since I was old enough to wear a tool belt and balance on a girder. What I don’t know anything about is keeping up with bills and payroll and the kind of paperwork that IRS insists I file on a regular basis.”

She picked up her cup and delicately sipped before she commented. “Your ad said something about being a receptionist,” she said with a hint of question in her voice.

“Yeah, because once I have the office open, I need someone to handle calls. I lose more business than I want to think about because I’m unable to check my answering machine at home more often. I get involved in a project and forget about everything else, but I know I can’t keep doing that or I’ll lose the momentum I’ve got going for me.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” she said slowly. She paused, as though searching for words. Finally she said, “About the salary—” she began, then stopped when he waved his hand as though a salary was incidental.

He knew this was the tricky part. He’d lose her when she heard what the job paid. He had to pitch the job as one of opportunity for greater things in the future. His con-artist dad had given Brad innumerable examples of how to convince a mark the future looked rosy.

“The thing is,” he said with what he hoped was a confident grin, “I’m getting more business than I can handle without working around the clock, which is close to what I’m doing already. The jobs are there, you see, but right now my cash flow is a little tight. If you’re willing to work for me, we can work something out now for a starting salary with a firm promise that your pay will increase steadily as we grow.”

Although her shoulders remained the same, Brad got the impression that Rachel had slumped into the bench at his explanation.

He sighed. “How much money were you looking for?” he asked, almost holding his breath for the answer.

“I don’t have a set figure. I finished college in May. I need to find work. My mother has some health problems and can no longer work. She sacrificed a comfortable life to ensure that my brother, sister and I received a good education. I don’t want her to worry about money. She’s done enough.” She sounded composed. Only the pain in her eyes revealed her emotions.

“Are you saying you’ve never worked before?” he asked, rubbing his cheek and realizing he should have shaved before the meeting.

Her lips curled into a wry smile. “Oh, I’ve worked, Mr. Phillips. Just not in an office. I began baby-sitting when I was thirteen, bused tables during high school and graduated to waitress in college. So yes, I’ve worked before,” she quietly added.

He tried not to let his astonishment show. If he’d been asked to guess, he would have said that Rachel Wood had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and had never needed to lift her hand to any sort of menial labor.

“Where did you go to school?” he asked, his curiosity aroused.

“Southern Methodist University. I wanted to stay close to home and was fortunate to receive a scholastic scholarship that helped me do so.”

“You’ve got me beat by a long shot. I managed an education of sorts, mostly by going to night school while I worked during the day.” As soon as he stopped speaking, Brad was appalled that he had mentioned his background to her. He never discussed his past. Talk about sabotaging himself! He quickly continued. “What did you major in?”

Her smile flashed once more. “You might find it strange for me to interview for a receptionist position, but I took all the business courses I could…accounting, business law, office management…”

She continued to list the subjects he knew little about. He had to pinch himself to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. When she finished her list, he said, “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Go on.”

“If you’ll come to work for me starting next Monday, you can decide your salary. Look at the books and the overhead. Pay yourself whatever’s left. How’s that?”

“You can’t be serious.” Disapproval frosted her words. He wasn’t surprised. Her reaction was proof enough he’d chosen the perfect candidate for the job.

“I need someone with your skills,” he said, wanting to convince her he wasn’t a complete loon. “Do you intend to take advantage of me?”

She looked at him with reproach. “Of course not.”

“Then I don’t see a problem.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She eyed him for the first time with suspicion.

He grinned. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but no, I don’t do drugs and outside of an occasional beer, don’t drink much, either.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked, startled.

“You have a very expressive face,” he replied, still smiling. “So, will you consider it? I can take you to the office. I still have a lot to do to have it ready by Monday, but I promise you a place to work by then.” He paused, silently pleading for her to agree.

“All right,” she eventually said, sounding a little uncertain.

“Great,” he said, immediately standing. “You want to ride with me?”

She moved more slowly and with a great deal more grace. “It would be more efficient if I followed you, wouldn’t it?”

Already thinking ahead, he thought, barely able to control the grin that kept threatening to break out. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He left a tip on the table, stopped and paid for their coffee and escorted her outside. “Where’s your car?”

She pointed to a small economy car that looked well used and equally well cared for.

“I’m over here,” he said, pointing to his beat-up truck with its faded red finish that blended well with the rust. After escorting her to her car, he strode to his truck and got in. He waited until she pulled out before he moved into traffic.

Brad was excited about being able to show off his office to someone. He’d been working out of his small apartment so long that he could barely find his way through the place, what with all the papers, files and other business-related products scattered around.