one thirty,” she improvised.
“One,” he returned curtly.
She almost gasped. “You are a very rude man,” she said.
His eyebrows arched. “And you are one step away from the unemployment line,” he shot back. “I need someone to organize my library and catalog my books again.” He gave the young girl an angry glance as he spoke.
“I just knocked over a bookcase or two,” the girl muttered.
“On purpose and with help.” He took a breath. “Well?” he shot at Gaby. “Can you do it?”
Her degree was in anthropology, but probably it wouldn’t take a scientist to rearrange books. “Of course I can,” she said confidently. “I minored in library science.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but she didn’t expect that he’d go that deep with a background check.
He gave her a brief scrutiny, obviously saw nothing that interested him and opened the door wider. “Do you have references?”
“Pages of them,” she replied and offered up a silent prayer of thanks that she actually did have them in her purse, because she’d just come from an interview for a job she didn’t get at a local museum.
“Don’t hire her, Uncle Nick,” the wild girl said angrily. “She’s got a mean mouth!”
“Look who’s talking,” Gaby returned. “And at least I’m not in danger of septic infection from dozens of piercings and that colorful tattoo down your arm. How do you blow your nose with that ring in it?” she added. “And how in the world do you eat soup?”
“If you say one more word...!” the girl threatened.
“Jackie, go back to your room,” the man said curtly. “Now.” He never raised his voice, but the raw power in it could have backed down a mob.
Gaby would have known that he was an attorney just by the way he used his voice. He headed a prestigious law firm in Chicago, Chandler, Morse and Souillard, and he had a national reputation as a trial lawyer, famous for celebrity cases.
“Mr. Chandler?” she asked politely.
He nodded. “And you are...?”
“Gaby Dupont,” she said with a polite smile. The name would mean nothing to him. There were dozens of people with her surname, no need to make up something that might come back to haunt her later.
He cocked his head. “And why do you want this job?”
“I’m starving?” she replied hopefully.
He didn’t smile, but his eyes had a faint twinkle. “Come in.”
He led the way back to his library. The apartment was huge, done in tasteful dark Mediterranean furniture and cream-and-brown curtains and carpets. The library had a burgundy Persian rug, an oak desk and a library that covered all three walls from floor to ceiling. The floor was full of stacked books, boxes and cartons of them.
“I’ve just moved in,” he said, indicating the disorder. “I don’t have the time or the patience to catalog and place all that, and the assistant I had decided to go back to school and study architecture,” he added gruffly.
“Hence the job opening,” she mused.
“Exactly. Put the books on the floor and sit down.” He’d indicated the seat in front of the desk. Impressive. Burgundy leather and hand-tooled wood. Expensive. She did as he asked and sat down.
“Your qualifications?” he asked.
She handed him a sheet of paper. It outlined her college degree and her hobbies.
He looked up at her curiously. “Are you married?”
“I am not.”
“Engaged? Involved? Living with someone?”
Her eyes almost popped. “Mr. Chandler, I hardly think any of that is your business. This is a job interview, not an interrogation.”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “I want to know if you have entanglements that will interfere with the work you do here,” he returned. “I also need references.”
“Oh. Sorry. I forgot.” She handed him another sheet of paper. “And no, I’m not involved with anyone. At the moment.” She smiled sweetly.
He ignored the smile and looked over the sheet. His eyebrows arched as he glanced at her. “A Roman Catholic cardinal, a police lieutenant, two nurses, the owner of a coffee shop and a Texas Ranger?” he asked incredulously.
“My grandmother is from Jacobsville, Texas,” she explained. “The Texas Ranger, Colter Banks, is married to my third cousin.”
“And these others?”
“People who know me locally.” She smiled demurely. “The police officer wants to date me. I know him from the coffee shop. The owner...”
“Wants to date you, too,” he guessed. He stared at her as if he had no idea on earth why any male would want to date her. The look was fairly insulting.
“I have hidden qualities,” she mused, trying not to laugh.
“Apparently,” he