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  "Yes. I checked it out just a few minutes ago. He seems very impressed with your ability." Ward Kingman sat forward again and picked up her application. "I see here that you list a nineteen-year-old brother as a dependent. Isn't that a little old for a man to be relying on his sister for support?"

  Althea bristled instantly. "Greg is in college. He's studying to be an engineer," she replied stiffly.

  "People have been known to work their way through college, you know."

  "Yes, I know. I did it myself. But as long as I can afford it, I see no reason why my brother should have to." It took every ounce of self-control Althea possessed to conceal the anger that smoldered inside her. Ever since that tragic car crash that had killed their parents when she was only ten, she had looked after Greg, mothered him, helped him with his studies, protected him from their uncle's wrath. And as soon as she had finished college and gotten the job at Barlow's she had moved out of their house and petitioned the courts for guardianship of her younger brother. He was all the family she had and she loved him dearly. She bitterly resented this cold, hard man's criticism.

  "Does he live with you?"

  "Only during the summer months. The rest of the year he lives in a dorm on campus. But I assure you, he is quite self-sufficient."

  "Good. The job as my assistant entails long hours and frequent out-of-town trips—many with no advance warning. Too many family ties and obligations would make that impossible."

  The bluntness of his statement stirred a burning resentment in Althea, but she clenched her jaws and said nothing. Greg certainly didn't need a nursemaid, but he was dependent on her for financial support. This job would enable her to provide that, if she could stomach this overbearing man. The trick was to keep her mouth shut and appear calm and unruffled. That she had discovered while living with her aunt and uncle. It had taken only one sharp, painful experience on the receiving end of Bill Holland's temper to learn that there were better, less harmful ways of achieving her goals than open resistance.

  "I don't suppose you're engaged or living with a man, are you? Those sorts of commitments could create problems also." Ward Kingman's eyes roamed over her, and one corner of his mouth curled upward in a small dismissive smile. The shapeless olive-green suit concealed her feminine curves and a colorless beige makeup washed out her complexion, while a pair of subtly tinted thick-rimmed glasses obscured the vivid blue of her eyes. Her long golden hair had been dulled with an ash-blond rinse and scraped back into a tight old-maid bun at the base of her neck. The finishing touch to her disguise was a pair of clumpy, sensible shoes.

  The hint of scorn in Kingman's eyes as they took in her drab appearance told Althea that the question, as blunt and infuriating as it was, had merely been a formality. It was obvious that he didn't believe for one moment that any man could possibly be interested in her, and though she agreed with the assessment and it was precisely the reaction she had hoped for, Althea couldn't prevent the surge of resentment that rippled through her.

  "No. I'm not."

  "In that case, you may start Monday morning, Miss Winters. The first three months will be a trial period. If, at the end of that time, you have proved satisfactory, the job will be yours. You may check with Miss Dunston on your way out if you have any other questions." Abruptly he dismissed her, setting her application aside and reaching for the thick file folder on the corner of his desk.

  Fixing a tight smile on her face, Althea nodded politely, rose to her feet and started for the door, grinding her teeth every step of the way.

  Chapter 2

  Gritting her teeth quickly became a way of life, along with counting to ten and taking long, deep breaths. Althea's carefully constructed composure was tested to the limit during her first week as Ward Kingman's assistant. As luck would have it, during her second day on the job Miss Dunston was taken ill and was rushed to the hospital, where she underwent an emergency appendectomy, and Althea was left to learn the ropes and cope with her difficult employer on her own. He was forceful, blunt, demanding, and, as much as she hated to admit it, absolutely brilliant. He had an agile mind that worked with all the precision and speed of a computer, and he tended to be impatient with anyone who couldn't keep up with him. Most of the time Althea felt as though she were floundering like a banked fish.

  Well, you wanted a challenge, and that's certainly what you got, she reminded herself as she gazed at an open file drawer, trying to make sense out of Miss Dunston's system.

  "Miss Winters, will you come in here." Ward Kingman's sharp command rasped over the intercom.

  Giving the machine a sour look, Althea nudged the file drawer shut with her hip. After smoothing her gray suit and checking that her tightly coiled bun was still in place, she straightened her spine and walked unhesitatingly into his office.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "What is the status of that threatened strike at Renway's?"

  "I ... I don't know," Althea confessed. She'd never even heard of Renway's. Or of any pending strike, for that matter.

  The brown eyes stabbed into her, and there was nothing sleepy or warm about them. "What do you mean, you don't know? I told Miss Dunston I wanted an update on that situation the first thing every morning until it was settled."

  Althea gave him a helpless look and gestured weakly with her hand. "I'm sorry. I guess that's one of those things she didn't have a chance to tell me."

  She could see his anger growing. His face grew even harder and his mouth firmed into a thin line. Flinging his pencil down on the desk, he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her through narrowed eyes. "Then I suggest, Miss Winters, that you call Charlie Miller and let him fill you in." His eyes narrowed even more as he took in her blank look. "Don't tell me you don't know who Charlie Miller is?" he demanded in a very soft voice that sent a tingle slithering down her spine. One thing Althea had learned since working there was that that softly menacing voice always preceded a volatile eruption.

  "No, sir, I don't," Althea responded, meeting his hard stare bravely, though her insides were quaking. "I've only been here four days."

  "I don't give a rat's nose if you've only been here four hours. You were hired as my assistant, and an assistant who doesn't know anything isn't much use to me, is she?" he exploded, his voice growing louder and more forceful with every word. "Now, I'll give you exactly thirty minutes to find out who Charlie Miller is and to get the information I requested. If you don't have it by that time, don't bother to give me any excuses, just leave."

  "Just like that?" Althea gasped in astonished outrage.

  "I don't have the time or the patience to lead you by the hand, Miss Winters. I need a person who can take the initiative when the occasion calls for it. If you don't feel you can do that, then there's no point in dragging this trial period out for three months." He paused to let that sink in, then added, "You're in a sink-or-swim situation. I suggest you make up your mind within the next thirty minutes which it's going to be."

  It took a great deal of effort, but for a moment Althea met his demanding stare with outward calm. Then, face set, she turned on her heel and walked back to her office. With rigid dignity she sat down at her desk and began to flip through the card file which listed the key executives and their phone numbers.

  ❧

  Ward Kingman's private jet streaked across the sky, a small silver speck in the great expanse of cobalt blue. To the north, dark clouds obscured the craggy peaks of the Rockies to the south, the arid land shimmered gold and bronze in the midday sun, and the western horizon ahead was clear. There was a somnolence about the sparsely populated land they flew over, a restful serenity that was strangely at odds with the charged atmosphere inside the plane.

  Ward Kingman and Martin Phillips, his attorney, were seated in adjacent plush armchairs, their heads together, poring over a stack of legal documents. Across the aisle, seated at the desk, Althea was totaling a column of figures on her electronic calculator. She had run it up twice already and gotten two different answer
s. Frustration was making her jittery and tense.

  "Have you finished with those estimates yet, Miss Winters?"

  The sharp question made Althea jump. As usual when Ward Kingman was in a hurry, his voice carried the sting of a whip. "Not quite. I'll be finished in just a minute," Althea replied with forced calm as her fingers flew over the keypad. She reached the end of the column and hit the total key. When the answer matched the last one she had gotten, she quickly penciled in the figure at the bottom of the column, then gathered up her papers and took them to the impatient man across the aisle.

  Ward Kingman accepted them without so much as a nod or a look in her direction. After more than four months in his employ, Althea was used to his abruptness, his remote, impersonal manner. Unless he had a specific need of her, he ignored her. She was quite sure that her boss thought of her as part of the office equipment—an efficient machine, there for his convenience.

  The hours he expected her to work certainly indicated that was his attitude. From daylight to dark she belonged to Kingman Enterprises. Althea had learned very quickly that Judy had been right: if her employer played hard, he worked even harder. He was a dynamic, keenly intelligent man who demanded, and got, the very best from those who worked for him, or they didn't work for him long. When he asked questions, he expected answers, and he tolerated no excuses, as she had learned that very first week.

  Since then Althea had not again made the mistake of pleading ignorance. After that chastening experience she had made it a point to familiarize herself with all the corporation's various operations and to learn all she could about the executives who headed them. As a result, in addition to the long hours she put in, Althea lugged home reams of files on the various companies under the Kingman umbrella, plus stockholders' reports, cost sheets, and information on possible future acquisitions.

  Her responsibilities and duties covered a wide range, from making coffee to taking notes at every meeting and conference. Letters and reports of a confidential nature were always typed by Althea, everything else by Mrs. Wilson, the secretary in the outer office. Occasionally Althea was required to attend dinners and parties that were business-related and report any pertinent information in writing the next day. When asked her opinion on any facet of the business, she was expected to give an immediate clear, concise answer. In addition, she screened all of Ward's calls and correspondence.

  Althea sat back down at the desk and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. It was only midday and already she was tired. Wistfully her gaze strayed out the window to the parched, sunlit scene below. How long had it been since she'd had an entire day off? Two weeks? Three? Since this resort deal had come up Ward had been working her and most of the office staff flat out. The man was a human dynamo, and Althea wondered where he got his energy. If he expended just half as much on the women he dated, no wonder they pursued him so diligently, she reflected with wry amusement. Of course, when he was heavily involved in a business deal, such as this one, his social life tended to take a backseat, as evidenced by the frequent irate phone calls she'd intercepted from Deborah Lang, his latest ladylove.

  "If you've finished daydreaming, Miss Winters, perhaps we can get back to work," Ward snapped caustically from right beside her, making Althea jump. "I want to dictate a few letters while we have the chance."

  For just an instant resentment surged through Althea, but she quickly battled it down. By not so much as a flicker of an eyelash did her face reveal the flare of emotion. She knew that anger would gain her nothing, whereas it might possibly cost her a great deal. The trick to dealing with impatient, dominant males was to stay calm and unruffled and appear compliant. "Yes. Certainly, Mr. Kingman," she replied hastily. With one forefinger she pushed the heavy glasses back up the bridge of her nose while she reached with her other hand for the steno pad.

  As it turned out, Ward's "few" letters amounted to nine. By the time they landed in California, Althea's fingers were aching.

  They wasted little time renting a car and, after a brief stop by their hotel to drop off their luggage, headed for Stanley Norton's office in downtown Los Angeles. Mr. Norton was a jovial, rotund little man with an infectious laugh and the shrewdest eyes Althea had ever seen. He was not at all what she had expected in an international financier, but after only a few minutes of listening to the wily little man and her boss discuss the resort development Kingman Enterprises was proposing, Althea could easily see how he had earned his reputation.

  For the next three hours Ward and Stanley hammered out the finer points of a deal between them, while Martin added occasional legal clarification. Althea's hand fairly flew over the steno pad as she took down every word that was said. By the time the session finally broke up the pad was almost full and her hand felt as though it were about to fall off.

  "You get that agreement typed up and I'll have my legal staff go over it tomorrow, my boy," Stanley boomed as they filed out of his office. "If it meets with their approval, we'll draw up the final papers."

  "Fine, Stanley. I'll be waiting to hear from you." Ward extended his hand and, as Stanley shook it, a young, attractive woman left her chair on the other side of the reception room and stepped to the older man's side.

  "Hi, Daddy. I was beginning to think you weren't ever going to get through with your meeting." Smiling, she slipped her arm through Stanley's, while her eyes ran appreciatively over Ward. Martin received a cursory glance, but his nondescript, pleasant features held the woman's interest for only a second before she focused once more on Ward. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" she asked in a wheedling voice that Althea was sure had gotten her just about anything she had ever wanted for most of her life.

  "Hello, Vicky dear. I didn't know you were waiting to see me." Patting the girl's hand, Stanley turned his beaming smile on the others and proudly introduced his daughter.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you all," Victoria Norton purred, her gaze trained on Ward. "I've heard a great deal about you from Daddy, Mr. Kingman. And of course I've read about you in the papers."

  Ward's mouth curved up in that devastating smile that women found so attractive. "Don't believe everything you read, Miss Norton. I'm not nearly as bad as the newspapers like to paint me."

  Althea stared. She had seen him in action before, of course, but she was always amazed whenever Ward Kingman chose to use the charm he possessed in such abundance. Around her he was brusque almost to the point of rudeness.

  "Now, I wonder why I don't believe that," Victoria replied flirtatiously, her eyes dancing with undisguised interest. "Perhaps we can discuss it tonight. Daddy and I are having a few friends over for a little informal party and we'd be happy to have you and Mr. Phillips join us."

  "And you too, of course, Miss Winters," Stanley added, giving his daughter a fondly reproving look, which she blithely ignored.

  "I'm afraid Miss Winters is going to be busy typing up the agreement we just worked out, but Martin and I will be happy to join you."

  ❧

  Althea fumed all the way back to the hotel. She'd had no intention of accepting the invitation. She'd have to be deaf, blind and stupid not to realize that Victoria Norton didn't want her there. But Ward could at least have let her speak for herself. And that he expected her to work while he and Martin spent the evening enjoying themselves at a party infuriated her. What did the man think she was, a robot? Probably, she conceded grimly to herself as she followed the two men into the luxurious suite.

  The first time Althea had accompanied her employer on a business trip, she had been leery about sharing a hotel suite with him, but it hadn't taken long for her to see the practicality of the arrangement. Invariably these trips entailed long, hard hours, and Ward expected her to be available to work at a moment's notice. In any case, she could have had one eye and a wart on her nose as big as a lemon, for all the attention he paid her. Their relationship was strictly business.

  Since the interview, almost five months ago, Ward had asked no p
ersonal questions. Every word of conversation between them was business-related; he gave orders and she carried them out. Women's Lib would love him, Althea decided; he treated her exactly the same as he treated his male employees. There were times when she doubted that he even realized she was a woman.

  After issuing a few terse instructions, Ward disappeared into his bedroom to get ready for the evening. Tight-lipped and still seething, Althea turned to pick up her typewriter, only to find that Martin had already set it on the cherry wood table she would be using for a desk.

  "There, that should do it," he announced as he straightened from plugging in the portable machine. "Is there anything else I can help you with before we leave?"

  He smiled at her pleasantly, and Althea felt some of her anger melt away. She liked Martin. He was a nice, average-looking man with brown hair and hazel eyes, and, like Ward, somewhere in his mid-thirties. While his attitude toward her was not in the least amorous, he was unfailingly polite and considerate. Althea supposed that when he wasn't being overshadowed by Ward, he was considered something of a catch in his own right. He was single, successful and attractive in a quiet, unassuming way. He didn't have Ward Kingman's playboy reputation, but she was quite sure that Martin had wooed and won his share of the female population.

  "No. No, this will be fine," Althea assured him, returning his smile as she snapped open her briefcase and removed a box of bond paper. When he hesitated, she arched one brow and added, "If you're going to make that party, you'd better get a move on. You know how Mr. Kingman hates to be kept waiting."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right." A quick glance at his watch produced a grimace, and Martin turned and hurried away toward his room.

  When the two men emerged a short time later, Althea was diligently pounding away at the typewriter. To her annoyance, when she looked up and caught sight of Ward her heart executed a funny little skip. Freshly shaved and showered and dressed in a superbly tailored dark blue suit, the man was devastating.