and it would be just plain stupid to be following Mr. Hunk-Of-The-Century around like a drooling puppy for another seven years of her life. It was way past time to cut the umbilical that ran from his fine, tight ass to her navel, and get a job that might pay far less, but that would give her some measure of pride back.
Pride? What the hell was that? Oh yeah, she remembered now. She’d always taken great pride in her management capability. In her competence. In her skills as a public relations expert. That’s what had gotten her this job in the first place. And those skills would get her another job that might not pay as much, but would give her back some measure of herself. Some sense of being a real person again, instead of a gofer-escape-artist- interference-runner
Tearing her eyes from her unhappy reflection, she crossed to the sofa and set her computer bag down beside her suitcase. She hadn’t packed much. Just an overnight case with cosmetics, toothbrush, nightgown and robe, and a change for the return flight Sunday morning. The usual hit-and-run assortment of necessities she would require.
She ran her fingertips over the expensive piece of luggage, a gift from her boss from a couple of years back when her luggage got lost somewhere between a photo shoot in Spain and the airport in New York. A sigh escaped, and a sad smile curved her lips. Sometimes-just sometimes-her boss could show compassion and thoughtfulness.
Her old luggage had been ratty and scarred from years of abuse. When he’d found out about the loss, she’d come home to find a fifteen-piece set of the most elegant, expensive matched luggage on the market, filled with the most elegant, expensive clothing money could buy. Everything from underwear to shoes to a floppy brimmed hat (she’d complained about getting a sunburn in Spain) all in the correct sizes and in colors she loved. She had been shocked, elated. But when she’d tried to thank him for his thoughtfulness, he had brushed her appreciation aside like a bothersome gnat, stating flatly that he’d simply had somebody replace stuff she’d lost. No big deal.
But to Jill it had been a very big deal. Another juicy bone tossed to the faithful puppy. It had led to another decision that he was just possibly worth not flaying the delectable skin that stretched so primely over that buff, mouthwatering mass of muscle. Another wasted discussion with her reflection.
That’s the way it always went. She would make up her mind to tell him to take his high-paid job and stuff it, and then he’d do something that totally blew her away. Such as the time she’d broken her ankle dashing across the street on an errand he’d dropped in her lap with no concern for the fact that she’d already had something planned, and he’d come to the hospital in a rented helicopter, landing on the life-flight helipad and rushing to the emergency room straight from a high-class party, wearing black tie and a cummerbund of shot silver silk, his dark hair wet from the pouring rain. And when they’d put her into a cast and had released her, he’d picked her up out the wheelchair they’d taken her to the helipad in, and carried her to the waiting chopper.
And then he’d hired a nurse and a housekeeper for her until she was able to get up and around again.
Damn him! And she’d planned on telling him to hire himself another chump to clean up his messes for him. She paused to get her timeframes straight. That had been…right-
She frowned at her watch. If she called a cab now, she would be at the airport, on her flight, and on her way to quit again. And this time, she wasn’t going to let anything stop her from giving him notice. Broken bones, lost luggage be damned. And she would take deep satisfaction watching his face when she handed him back the sat phone he had given her just so he could reach her at any and every hour of the day or night. Hah! He wouldn’t be able to find another indentured servant like Jillian Turner. He would have to treat the next one like she had a brain. A life, maybe.
Yes. She would get her life back. Right. Now, if she could just hold that thought.
The driver handed her luggage over and took the bills from her with a nod, and she turned to head into the private terminal, nodding to the uniformed guard who opened the door for her.
“Miss Turner-” He touched his hat and smiled at her as she strode past him.
“How’s the wife today, Jimmy? Has she had that baby yet?”
“She’s a week overdue, but so was our last one. No sweat.”
Jill smiled at the pilot, who handed her bag to the copilot, before offering her a hand as she climbed the metal steps that led to the open hatch door of the Learjet-85. Once seated comfortably in one of the four custom-fitted leather seats, she accepted a chilled bottle of Evian, and nodded that she was belted in securely.
“Weather reports say that Aspen is getting a heavy snow warning. We may have to reroute, but as of one hour ago Sardy was still up and accepting air traffic. I’ll let you know if we have to change the flight plan in midflight.” The pilot smiled, handing her a packet holding the latest magazines. “You know the routine-once the light goes out, you can get something to eat from the galley. Mr. Furie had us stock plenty of microwavables. And I put in some fresh salads too.”
Jill smiled up at Greg Landers, and thanked him for his kindness, before he closed and secured the door and entered the cockpit. Moments later, they were taxiing, and within ten more minutes, the jet was airborne. She sighed and leaned back in the lush comfort of the seat. She was so going to miss this. No commuter lines. No waits for delayed flights. No paying extra for first class.
Damn, she loved this setup, but that was not going to prevent her from taking a stand and telling her boss what he could do with his demands and his lack of consideration. He had been fully aware of her plans for this weekend. She’d put it onto his schedule so he would know that she was unavailable this weekend. A damn lot of good that had done.
He was supremely selfish, self-centered, thoughtless of her needs and totally ambivalent toward her privacy, never thinking once about barging in on her when she was in residence at one of his homes. When she was able to get back to her own apartment once in a coon’s age, she liked being able to walk around in her underwear and flop on her sofa with a snack and watch TV. But she never dared do anything like that when he was around.
He had once even walked into the luxurious bathroom attached to the guest bedroom she normally used at his Aspen house, while she was in the middle of a shower, jerking the glass door aside to yell at her over some minor mistake she’d made in his schedule. He had ignored the fact that she was trying very hard to cover her breasts with the fluffy white washcloth, and was angling her hip to him so she wasn’t flashing him with a view of her pubic hair.
He had simply raked her up and down with one angry glare and had told her to get the hell out of her shower, put something on, and get his fucking schedule fixed-stat! She doubted that the asshole had even realized she was naked, for all the notice he took. She had exited from her bathroom three minutes later wrapped in her terry robe, to find him pacing in her bedroom, rifling absently through her personal stuff on the dresser. He had glanced up and had said tersely, “Get rid of my appointments for the rest of the day. I have someplace to be, and I don’t want to be bothered with business.”
And then he had unexpectedly dragged her along with him to the Aspen Music Festival, where he had insisted that she accompany him and take notes on anything he found interesting.
There had been a minimum of note-taking. It had been a wonderful outing, and she had loved it, but he had acted as if she had destroyed his entire day with that one measly error where she’d forgotten to enter an appointment with Gretchen Gaines, the movie and music editor who had been trying her damnedest to get an exclusive interview-or possibly get him in a compromising position-for months. Ms. Gaines had shown up on time, and had made herself at home while he was talking on the phone with his attorney about getting a new rock group under contract.
After ten minutes of backpedaling, and finally getting her out of his house, he’d marched into Jill’s private suite and had blown his gasket. And he hadn’t even bothered to apologize for invading her privacy and embarrassing the hell out of her. But the next day, when she’d tried to find her terry robe, she found in its place a stunning, extremely sexy and expensive satin dressing gown. And to add to her humiliation, he had taken it upon himself to replace her flannel nightgown with a filmy, scandalously sexy one she felt half-naked in.
Just like him to point out that she owned ratty, dowdy sleepwear, and an old bathrobe that she’d had for over ten years. What the hell was it to him? She realized he was just trying to be conciliatory, but she would have greatly preferred a verbal apology. However, Mike Furie wasn’t one to apologize or admit fault. Money fixed
