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  Temp

  Milford College, Book Five

  Noelle Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About Temp

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Return

  About Noelle Adams

  About Temp

  THE LAST THING I WANT is to take a temp job as assistant to the grumpiest VP at Milford College. But my mom broke her leg, so I need to live in Milford for a while to help her. Plus, I could use some extra money for graduate school, and this is the only job available.

  I'll just have to put up with Liam for a couple of months. I can deal with his grouchy manner and his workaholic habits and his irresistible eyes. The real problems start when I begin to want him as a lot more than just my boss.

  Temp is the fifth book in the Milford College series, novellas about the faculty and staff of a small liberal arts college.

  One

  MOVING BACK IN WITH my mother wouldn’t have been my first choice at twenty-eight years old.

  It’s not even my hometown. I grew up in Danville, Virginia, the only daughter of a plumber and a waitress, but my father died when I was in college and my mother remarried and moved to Milford, a much smaller town in south-central Virginia. When my stepfather died of a heart attack a few years ago, she stayed.

  I’ve been to Milford plenty of times—anytime I went to see my mom over the past eight years. It’s cute enough for a visit. Small, but there’s a local college, so it has more stores and restaurants than most towns this size. But I don’t know a soul except my mother, and I’m in the middle of a PhD program at UVA. I’m done with my coursework, so I was supposed to start writing my dissertation this semester. I was looking forward to quiet months of research, writing, and a couple of intro French classes to teach.

  Instead, my mother fell down the stairs at church and broke her leg, so I’m in Milford until she’s back on her feet. She’s completely immobilized by the fracture and full-leg cast, and she can’t get by on her own. She’s got plenty of friends who are willing to help her during the day, but neither she nor I can afford to pay for someone to stay with her during the night.

  So it’s me. Of course I’m going to do it. But it means I’ll have to move in with my mom and live in Milford for much longer than a visit.

  On a Monday morning in February, I get up early so I’ll have time to help my mom go through her morning routine and still have time to shower and dress for the first day of my new temp position at Milford College.

  My mom is situated in her recliner, and she smiles when I come into the room. “You look so pretty, Polly.”

  I’ve got long brown hair, big brown eyes, and a soft, curvy appearance. There’s nothing about me that particularly stands out, but I guess I’m attractive enough. Today I’m wearing a long, soft skirt in a pretty floral fabric, a tailored brown jacket, and tall boots. I spent longer than normal deciding what to wear. In my experience, college campuses are not particularly formal, but I do want to look professional. This outfit would look appropriate in any office at UVA, so I assume it will be fine for Milford too. “Thanks. I don’t know how this VP is going to expect his assistant to dress, but hopefully this will be okay.”

  “I think you look perfect. How do you feel?”

  “Honestly, kind of nervous. I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at this. I don’t have any experience as an administrative assistant. I’m not sure why they even hired me.”

  “You’ll be just fine. It’s just a temp job. They’re not going to expect that much of you. You’re so smart you can handle anything. If you can get a PhD, you can do this.”

  I almost laugh. “I think doing a PhD is an entirely different skill set than this. I hate making phone calls. I don’t like talking to strangers. I’m not sure why I thought I could do this.”

  The truth is I know exactly why I’m doing this. I don’t have much choice. I’ve had to give up my teaching assistantship in the French program at UVA, so I’ve got to find some sort of temp work to make enough money to pay my bills for the next few months.

  Anyone who’s ever tried to find temp work in a small town will know how challenging that can be. I was afraid I’d have to drive forty-five minutes to Danville every day to find a job, but then a position opened up at Milford College. The assistant of one of the vice presidents is on maternity leave, and they need someone to fill in at her desk.

  So here I am—about to spend several weeks pretending I’m a good administrative assistant and hoping no one finds out I’m just a shy, bookish girl who would far prefer to be hiding in the corner of a library than staffing a VP’s desk.

  “Are you going to be okay here by yourself until nine when Greta comes?” I ask my mom after bringing her a fresh mug of tea.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. You go ahead and go. You don’t want to be late for your first day.”

  I don’t want to be late. I really need this job. If I can hold on to it for the seven weeks they’ve scheduled it for, then I’ll have made enough money to scrape by until I go back to Charlottesville.

  The next several weeks don’t have to be great. I just need to get by. This is only temporary. I’ll get back to my real life eventually.

  I ARRIVE AT THE EXECUTIVE suite of the main administration building of Milford College ten minutes before eight o’clock.

  The door is unlocked and open, but no one is there. It’s a large suite with three private offices—one for the president of the college and two for vice presidents. There’s a roomy, well-appointed waiting area. And there are three assistant desks, each one set up near the doors to each individual office.

  All the desks are empty and the office doors are closed, so I sit down on a leather sofa near the entrance of the suite to wait.

  I’m going to be working for Liam Cunningham, the vice president of finance for the college. I looked him up online last night and discovered he’s been at Milford for four years. Before that, he held a number of impressive-looking positions at businesses in Richmond. Milford is the only college he’s ever worked for.

  I look at the closed door of his office and the clean assistant’s desk nearby. The other desks in view are personalized, but this one isn’t. I figure the regular assistant must have cleaned hers off before she went on maternity leave out of respect for whoever was going to take her place.

  It’s a regular desk. L-shaped and made of a dark wood. With a phone. An inbox. The computer is on the side against the wall, and the other side faces out toward the door of the suite.

  I try to imagine myself sitting there.

  It helps settle my stomach, so I replay it in my mind. All my life I’ve done this. Visualized myself going through anything that makes me nervous as a way to assure myself I can get through it.

  When a middle-aged woman walks into the suite with a big bag and a travel mug of coffee, I straighten up.

  She glances over toward me. “Are you Polly Jeffries?”

  “Yes,” I reply, standing up and smoothing my skirt. “I am.”

  Her smile is sincere as she comes over to shake my hand. “I’m Cindy. I’m the president’s assistant. Thanks for helping us out.”

  “Of course. I’m happy to be here.”
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  “Give me just a minute, and I’ll show you the ropes.”

  “Sure. Take your time.” I sit back down, feeling better now that I’ve met a living, breathing person and she seems both normal and nice.

  I wait as she puts her stuff up, and then I walk with her over to the desk where I’ll be sitting.

  “This will be your place. Kelly wrote up some instructions for the person filling in for her.” Cindy pulled some stapled papers out of the top drawer of the desk. “She’s superorganized, so this should help you out.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you.” I glance over the typed pages, relieved that they seem complete and clear. I’m good at following directions. I’m not good at guessing what I’m supposed to do in an unfamiliar environment.

  “Liam was probably in earlier—he’s always the first one here—but he has meetings all morning, so you won’t meet him until after lunch.” Cindy glances at the closed door of his office as if she’s trying to decide how to say something.

  “That’s no problem. It will give me a chance to get used to things on my own.”

  After another hesitation, she finally says in a hushed voice, “He’s a good guy. He really is. But I do want to warn you.”

  I blink. “Warn me?”

  “He’s... difficult.”

  This isn’t at all what I expected. “In what way?”

  “He’s not always... the friendliest of people. He’s a good guy. I promise. But he’s... abrupt. A lot of people think he’s rude.”

  “Oh.” I’m not sure what to make of that, but I’m happy to know about it beforehand so I can prepare myself. “That’s okay with me.”

  “Is it? Because we’re getting kind of desperate. We had three people in the past week to cover this position, and none of them lasted more than two days.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. I really am. So this time I thought I might try to prepare you for it. Please don’t take it personally. He doesn’t intend to be mean. It’s just his way. He’s very focused on work, and he doesn’t always realize how he comes across to other people.”

  “Okay. He’s not... I mean, he won’t be inappropriate or anything, will he?”

  “No! No, no, no. I promise he won’t do anything like that.” Cindy’s eyes are wide and earnest, and I swear she’s telling me the truth. “He just isn’t very good at social niceties. He’s not a bad guy at all. It just takes a while for people to get used to his manner, and a lot of people aren’t willing to give him that time.”

  Maybe it’s crazy, but this conversation is actually settling the last of my nerves. If they’re so worried about keeping someone at this desk, they’re not likely to let me go because I don’t have much experience and I’m not perfect at every task.

  If I can simply deal with a rude supervisor, then I’ll probably be able to keep this job for the next seven weeks.

  I prefer nice people. Who doesn’t? But I don’t actually have to like this man. I just need to put up with him. Be patient. Not lose my temper.

  If it means I’ll have enough money to pay my bills while I take care of my mom for the next couple of months, then I can do that. I can put up with anything. Composure and hiding my feelings are things I know how to do.

  “Okay,” I tell Cindy. “I understand. I won’t take it personally. Thanks for warning me about it.”

  Cindy smiles, looking faintly relieved. “Okay. You’re giving me hope. We actually talked about trying to cover his desk ourselves, but he has too much work on his plate, and he needs a full-time person to help him.”

  I smile. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  “Excellent. The first thing you need to know is that he refuses to use IM or the phone to get your attention. Kelly spent a year trying to teach him, but she finally gave up. If he wants you, he’ll just yell out your name from his office. Be ready for him to yell out Polly several times a day.”

  MAYBE IT’S A LITTLE unusual to work for several hours at a new job before ever meeting your boss, but I’m glad of the breathing space while Liam is in meetings. I spend the morning getting used to the desk, computer, and phone system. I ask questions of the other assistants in the executive suite for anything I’m not sure of. And I answer the phone and take messages.

  That’s pretty much all I do from eight until after one.

  Whenever I meet someone new and tell them I’m working for Liam Cunningham, they give me a look of wary sympathy that makes it clear he has a reputation around the college.

  After I come back from lunch, the mail has arrived, so that gives me something else to work on. I sort it as best I can, figuring out what I can deal with myself and what should go directly to Liam and asking Cindy whenever I’m unsure. I’m about halfway confident in my sorting decisions as I take the final pile into the office and place it carefully in the inbox.

  I stare down at it for a minute, wondering if I should do something different with the letter on top of the pile complaining about the lack of funding for the science department. It’s really just an angry rant. The letter doesn’t require direct action except a brief, polite response. Maybe it’s not something that should be included in Liam’s inbox.

  That’s the kind of person I am. I like to do things right. I try to avoid mistakes as much as I can. Even small ones like not sorting the mail perfectly, despite the fact that I’m on my first day in a temporary assignment.

  “Who are you?”

  The words are gruff. Abrupt. Completely unexpected. And coming from the doorway behind me.

  I whirl around, startled and therefore momentarily speechless. I swallow and force out a (rather stupid) response. “I’m Polly.”

  The man standing in the entrance of the office is probably Liam Cunningham—the VP of finance at Milford College and my boss for the next seven weeks—but he’s not at all what I expected. From the way everyone has talked about him, I expected a grizzled, ornery older man.

  This man isn’t grizzled or old.

  He’s hot.

  I realize now that I saw a couple of photos come up of him in last night’s Google search but assumed they were of a different Liam Cunningham. He’s tall and fit and looks like he’s in his midthirties. He’s got dark hair, broad shoulders, and a handsome face with a short beard. He is scowling—so that much meets my expectations. His eyes run up and down my body with open disapproval.

  “And who is Polly?” he demands, taking a step closer to me.

  I gulp again and look down at the pile of mail my hand is still touching. I was shy as a child, and I’m still not the most outgoing of people. But I’m not a pushover, and right now I’m doing exactly what I was told to do.

  This is my job. This man has no right to bark at me and make me feel like a naughty child.

  So my voice is cooler than it normally would have been as I reply, “Polly is your new temp. Surely someone told you I was starting today.”

  He blinks. He has chocolate-brown eyes. I can see them now that he’s closer. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot you’d be here.” His eyes run up and down my body again. It’s a look of intense scrutiny—not anything like a leer—and I get the feeling he can see everything about me just by the details of my clothes and face. “I’m supposed to be nice to you. I’ve been told to be nice by at least eight people. Screwed that up pretty well, didn’t I?”

  The shift in tone surprises me so much I let out a soft laugh. “Maybe a little.”

  His eyes focus on my face again. It’s unnerving how intently he peers at me. “I saw your résumé. You’re in the middle of a PhD program?”

  “Yes. In nineteenth-century French literature. But I had to take the semester off from my coursework, so I’m doing temp work to make some extra money.” I don’t bother telling him about my mother’s broken leg. It’s not really his business, and it doesn’t seem appropriate to spill a bunch of personal information right on first meeting one’s boss.

  “At UVA?”

  He clearly read and remembers my résumé.
“Yes.”

  “And before that you worked as a translator?”

  “Yes. For a couple of different organizations in DC.”

  “Why not keep doing that?”

  The question is barked out, making it feel more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation, but I keep my tone pleasant as I reply, “It wasn’t what I wanted to do. My dad was Quebecois, so I grew up speaking French, and then I studied it in college. So the language wasn’t a problem. But I found translating exhausting and stressful. It didn’t suit my personality. I like teaching a lot better. And I also didn’t love living in DC.”

  He nods and doesn’t ask for further details. “Okay. Someone showed you the ropes around here then?”

  “Yes. Cindy did this morning.”

  “She told you about me?”

  “Y-yes.” I check his expression and see a glint of dry amusement in his eyes. So I continue, “She said not to expect a lot of friendliness but that you aren’t as bad as you come across.”

  He gives a huff of amusement. “I’ve found that people have differing views on that particular topic.”

  Since he’s been so direct and open, I figure I can be too. “I don’t really care if you’re nice to me. I’m not going to take it personally. As long as you treat me with respect, then I’ll be happy to do this job.”

  I need this job. If I can’t keep this one, I’ll have to go through an agency and commute to a larger town, which seems like a terrible thing to have to do for a temp job. So I hope he takes my comment in the way it was intended.

  He does. He nods, narrowing his eyes as he scans my face again. “I will.”

  “Okay then. I sorted your mail, and your phone messages are all written out in that online system you use. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”

  He glances down at the stack in his inbox. “You can guard the door.”

  “Guard the door?”

  “I have some work to do for the next couple of hours, and I don’t want to be disturbed. So answer my phone and don’t let anyone in.”