I made a mental note of that—it might come in handy. Plus the fact that Jaxson Richards had excellent hearing. I would have to remember that and use an inner monologue for my smart remarks. I grinned at Michael. “My dad is always better once he has a bagel in the morning. My mom says he used to be unbearable before he ate.”
He grinned as he opened the door and let me walk out first. “You have experience in dealing with high-handed men. That’s a good thing.”
I had a feeling he was right.
Chapter 3
Grace
I smoothed down my hair, straightened my shoulders, and knocked on Jaxson’s door. He had been in and out all day, meeting with people, on the phone, constantly busy. My computer had been delivered, I had filled out all the necessary forms for HR, and I had spent the day going through the files Jaxson placed on my desk and researching Drake’s Manufacturing.
“In,” he called.
I entered, shutting the door behind myself. I had learned several things today. Mr. Richards was an extremely busy man. Not only did he deal with corporate, but his expertise in copyright and trademark law kept him in constant demand. His files were varied and vast, and he consulted with several of the lawyers on staff. He liked his records a certain way, and he insisted the documentation on all of them done to his specifications. He was meticulous and precise. Stern and unflappable. His mood did get slightly better after he ate his muffins, but I wouldn’t call him friendly. He was reserved with some people and downright cold with others. He muttered under his breath a lot. His hearing was uncommonly good, and he liked his door kept open unless he was on a client call. He grimaced a great deal, especially when drinking coffee.
Yet twice I had spied a small glimpse of a different side to him. I heard him inquire about Michael’s daughter, Abby, who had a cold, asking if she was feeling better. I gleaned that he had sent her a stuffed animal—which she adored—to brighten her day. He seemed pleased to find out she was doing better and was happy his gift was met with so much enthusiasm. Another time, I had carried in a stack of correspondence while he was on the phone, and he had glanced up as I walked in. I paused, unsure if I should continue, but he waved me in. “I’m on mute.”
I placed some of the files he had given me earlier on the edge of his desk. I had answered all his notes and questions, adding in some thoughts, deciding that he seemed to be the sort of man who would like that initiative.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said quietly.
He grinned, suddenly looking mischievous. “Not to worry. He’ll drone on for an hour about some new business venture. He does it weekly.” He indicated the open file on his desk. “I get a lot of work done while he yammers on.”
“And he doesn’t catch on?”
“Nope. I interject a few ‘hmms’ or comments, let him talk himself out of the idea, then he hangs up, and I get Michael to send him a bill. We all win.”
I couldn’t help smiling at him. He looked almost boyish, amused at his own antics. He smiled back, and my breath caught in my throat. He was devastatingly handsome when he smiled. The sexy divot in the middle of his chin deepened, and the furrows on his forehead smoothed out. The ice in his eyes melted. He was intoxicating, and I wanted to get drunk on that smile. Realizing the wayward turn to my thoughts, I’d had to turn and hurry away before he noticed my response. Luckily, he needed to throw out one of his hmms, so he didn’t notice my flustered countenance.
Now, I approached his desk, unsure which man would greet me. He looked more casual this afternoon, his tie loose, and his jacket slung over the back of his chair. He had his sleeves rolled up, exposing his thick forearms, the dusting of hair catching the light. Other than the heavy watch on his wrist, he wore no other jewelry. His hands were large and masculine. I had to tear my gaze away—for some reason, they fascinated me. I noticed he looked tired, but his eyes were calm and steady as he regarded me.
“Ms. VanRyan.”
I sat down and handed him the Drake file. “I got all the information you were looking for.”
He looked skeptical. “All of it?”
“Yes.”
He glanced through the file, nodding slowly. “Good job.”
“Thank you.”
He tapped the other files on his desk. “Good work on these as well. I saw your notes on the conflict in the Greyson trademark issue. Good catch.”
“Thank you,” I repeated.
He pursed his lips. “So polite.”
“Simply responding to the vibe, sir.”
A smirk tugged on his mouth. “I was a bit over the top this morning, wasn’t I?”
“I have no idea. It’s my first day. Perhaps you’re ‘over the top’ all the time. You’re certainly grouchy.” My eyes widened in horror when I realized what I had said. Before I could apologize, he chuckled.
“You have trouble keeping your thoughts to yourself, don’t you?”
“Not usually.”
He paused, then changed the subject. “Michael showed you around? Got all your paperwork done? A company cell phone?”
“Yes.” I flashed my pass at him. “I’m official now.”
A strange look crossed his face. “Well, good.” He tapped the files beside him. “Keep up the good work, and we’ll get along fine.”
“I’m not a slacker, Mr. Richards. I’ll work hard for you.”
He pursed his lips, opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. “I’m sure you will. Have a good night, Ms. VanRyan.”
My time was obviously up. I stood to go. “You as well.”
I left, wondering why I hated to do so.
The week was crazy. I was busy every moment of every day. I did research, completed various tasks for Mr. Richards, sat in on meetings and pored over contracts. I was fascinated with the way he worked. He disliked idle chatter. Hated small talk. He was unfailingly polite with his clients but cut straight to the heart of the matter, keeping all his meetings short and productive.
“Time is money, Ms. VanRyan. I hate wasting both.”
He was generous, though, with information. He answered my questions thoroughly and started a new routine of his own in order to help me learn. Every morning, I would find a jotted note on my desk with a hypothetical situation. I would have time to think and plan, and we would discuss it before I left at the end of the day. When I was wrong, he never lost patience, instead explaining where I made my mistake. When I was correct, his praise was sparse, but sincere.
“Well done.”
“Excellent thought process.”
Once or twice, I earned one of his rare smiles. It made me want to work even harder.
One day, he was late and there was no note. Instead, he called me into his office.
“I’ve been offered to sit on a board of directors of an outside corporation. Should I consider it?” he asked.
I realized that was today’s lesson, and he wanted my first instinctive response—no time for research or preparation.
Lawyers were often asked to sit on the boards of outside corporations. I’d had this discussion once with Bill.
“No.”
He lifted an eyebrow, silently telling me to proceed. I mulled the words over in my head, trying to come up with the appropriate response. Since Jaxson liked honesty, I decided to lay it on the line.