| Copyright © 2007, Judith
Otto Reviews For NIGHT WITHOUT STARS by Judith Otto This modern tale manages to have a slightly
old-fashioned charm that is endearing. “NIGHT
WITHOUT STARS is a very sweet romance with quite a bit of humor. Matt
is a bit frustrating at times because he cannot seem to make up his
mind about his growing attraction for Jilly and keeps sending her mixed
signals. Jilly is a riot as she tries to tend to Matt’s children
and fails miserably a few times yet still seems to redeem herself with
them. The attraction between Matt and Jilly is strong at times but they
both have very strong feelings against romance in the office so they
resist longer than expected. Ever read a romance story based on the
scenario of a boss and his secretary? "Children in a book are usually fun to read, and this one was no exception. Somehow, the reader simply does not know how and when the time passed, or how 210 pages have gone by and she’s found herself engrossed in it. Matt and Jilly make an explosive pair, and this reader has to admit Matt is a man who can melt any woman’s heart. The mystery of Claire missing also adds further to the everyday drama of the plot, and spiraling out of control is Jilly’s grip on her highly organized and efficient persona. This is one book to read if you want to be engrossed and lose track of time. You’re bound to laugh, sigh, and enjoy yourself." 4 Enchantments! - Zee, Enchanting Reviews Sample Chapter For
NIGHT WITHOUT STARS by Judith Otto
Jilly Tremayne stepped from the elevator onto the gleaming rust-coloured slate and waited for the doors to sigh shut behind her. She took a deep breath and said, “Matt, I’m sorry to do this to you, but here’s my letter of resignation.” At last she had come out and said it. Only problem was, the words were spoken to a deserted foyer. They were going to be a lot more difficult to expel when her boss was on the receiving end. She’d figured that several dummy runs might make it flow more easily when the time came. The lump in her throat said she was mistaken. “Jilly!” Beth Simpson, receptionist, clattered up as Jilly turned towards her private office. “Wait’ll I tell the others about this!” Jilly whirled, encountering Beth’s broad grin, and shuddered to think how the news would be bandied around the office before she had the chance to tell Matt herself. “Tell the others what, Beth?” Perspiration coated her palm as she gripped the handle of her leather briefcase. “That I caught Miss Efficient talking to herself.” Beth giggled. “Great, huh?” Jilly relaxed. Her words, foolishly said aloud, hadn’t been overheard after all. “Don’t call me that, Beth, please.” Normally Jilly took the nickname for what it was, a bit of fun, but what she was about to do had momentarily stripped her of her sense of humour. Her efficiency ensured she gave her utmost as Matt Smith’s PA. And now she was about to resign. “I was only teasing.” Beth pouted, managing to look like a wounded spaniel. In apology, she touched the girl’s arm. “Sorry, Beth.” Jilly didn’t need a conversation this morning, especially a meaningless Monday morning exchange that would set her nerves jangling even more than they were right now. Until she faced Matt across his desk, she was going to stay in this highly charged state. Once she began, the words, carefully rehearsed while staring up at her bedroom ceiling all weekend, would tumble out, leaving only relief. She hoped. “It’s okay.” Beth stared, wrinkling her nose, apparently trying to figure out what was different. Her eyes lit up. “Hey, I love your hair! You’ve had auburn foils done, haven’t you?” About to tell the younger girl that was more than a week ago, Jilly cocked her head in the direction of her office. “Oh, there’s my phone. Talk to you later.” Jilly, grateful to have an excuse to escape, hurried towards her office. She listened to Beth’s awful platform
shoes clunking away in the opposite direction. Reaching across her desk, she sent a vase of snowdrops spinning to the floor. “Blast!” She snatched up the receiver, hoping the caller hadn’t got tired of waiting. “Matt Smith’s office.” Matt’s voice burst down the line. “Help me, Jilly.” “Matt?” She frowned. Although her boss could be a bit of a prankster when the mood took him, he hadn’t gone this road before. “The twins have given me smallpox.” Jilly smiled. Her heart skipped a painful beat when she realised that after this week, she would never hear that rich, sexy voice again. Then she became conscious of his words and said, “Matt, smallpox is out.” “What about chickenpox?” He sounded sheepish. Enjoying the exchange, and forgetting her earlier mission, Jilly felt her lips twitch. She sat on the corner of her desk, swinging one leg, her navy suede shoe dangling from her toes. “I’d have to say—definitely in.” “Right. Chickenpox it is, then.” “Care to expand on that a wee bit, Matt?” she asked, picking up a pencil and tapping it on the edge of her desk. Jilly heard what sounded like one mighty big sigh. That in itself was unusual. Men like Matt Smith, with the world at their feet, had no cause to sigh. “The kids are covered in spots. Nanny has flown the coop. I’m so damn exhausted I’m walking into walls. How do women cope?” Matt’s voice shuddered to a halt. Pure melodrama, Jilly suspected. She laughed. “Now you know how I feel when you keep me here all hours of the night.” Those overtime sessions had been the start of it. Her burgeoning attraction to her boss. And now, with her nerves stretched like weak elastic and about to snap, she’d made the decision to leave rather than suffer the gnawing jealousy she felt when Claire Raisson called or popped into the office. Okay, so he wasn’t married to Claire, but he might as well be. He was just as committed. To Jilly, men in long-term relationships were pigeonholed with married men. They came with a big fat sign tied around their necks, not to mention one around their nether region that read, ‘Off Limits.’ But she was falling in love with Matt. No. She had to be honest with herself. She was in love with him. After much agonizing, she had decided that it was best to go while she had her pride intact and her fingernails still fit to be seen as they rested on her keyboard, and her heart in one relatively solid piece. Matt Smith always brought out the sunlight in her and she was going to enjoy it, perhaps for the very last time. Now she teased, “Slave driver.” “I’m serious, Jilly. I need you here. I’m at my wit’s end.” “Is that a slight plea I hear?” Jilly’s shoe slipped off her toes, the carpet absorbing the sound of its fall. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” “You work for me, so I could order you. But yes, it’s a plea. In fact, I’m begging you.” Children’s laughter filtered through the phone. “What? The mighty man, begging? The director of MS Heating, highflying ‘we’ll keep you warm Matt Smith’, begging me, his lowly PA to come help?” Matt knew his nickname around the office so Jilly had no compunction in using it. “I want you to get over here. Now. And pick up a six pack while you’re at it.” “You’re in dire straits and you’re thinking of beer? Molson or Black La—” “I was talking about calamine,” Matt explained, a definite sheepish note apparent for the second time in their short conversation. Something in that statement sent his message loud and clear. “You’re not joking, are you? You’ve got spots, too?” And as Matt sighed heavily in her ear, she burst out laughing. “Make it snappy, Jilly. I’m itchin’ like crazy.” “This, I’ve got to see.” She slid from her desk and righted the discarded shoe with her foot, pushing her toes into it as her mind clicked into a summary of procedures she needed to get up and running before she could leave her office. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Matt grumbled. “Sam! Honora! Get away from that window. And don’t scratch!” Jilly held the phone out at arm’s length while her boss yelled at his children. On hearing his low groan, she moved the receiver back to her ear. “That’s measles, not chickenpox.” Jilly laughed, moving towards the expansive picture window to watch the shower of spring rain over downtown Vancouver. “What’s measles? Jeez, I haven’t landed those, too, have I?” Chuckling down the phone, she said, “You keep away from the light when you have measles. Not chickenpox.” “How do you know that? You’re a career woman.” Jilly’s breath caught in her throat. A carefully cultivated persona, so why was she surprised that Matt saw her as such? “Because I’ve had both.” “See why I need you here?” She didn’t want to ask, but under the circumstances, it was a reasonable question. “Where’s Claire?” Maybe she was ill, too. In that case, why was Matt asking for her help? A nurse from one of the city’s medical temp agencies would be more appropriate. She didn’t want to go to Matt’s house, see the happy couple. Her heart might discover it had had enough, and shatter. In the three years she’d been in Matt’s employ, there were occasions when it had been necessary to go to his house, but only to drop off or pick up work. She never stuck around long enough to watch the happy family at play. Though, by the sound of things this morning, it was hardly playtime in the Smith household. Even the budgie was chattering noisily in the background. Matt did not elaborate. “Just get here, will you?” “Aye, aye, sir.” “And whatever you do, please don’t forget my calamine!” With the thunk that signalled he’d gone off to supervise his unruly five-year-old twins, Jilly’s smile widened. She kept the laugh firmly ensconced in her head as she retrieved her professional persona and went about calling Personnel. She’d been given a reprieve. Today, she could no more hand Matt Smith her resignation than she could refuse his plea to hop on over and help. Gathering up snowdrop blooms that littered the dove grey carpet, she stashed them in the crystal vase, feeling happier than she was ten minutes ago. She headed for the water cooler to refill the vase. Then, remembering that Matt hadn’t answered her question, Jilly frowned. Where was Claire? She shrugged. No mystery there. Claire Raisson was either laid low with chickenpox or had suggested Matt ring his office so that Jilly could run the errand for them. Twenty minutes later, having organised for one of the girls from the typing pool to man her desk, she wondered about her briefcase, then decided to leave it. Jilly picked up her handbag and slung the leather strap over her shoulder, just as a young woman bustled in. “Jilly, Crabby sent me.” Susan Dee’s smile was warm, lighting up a pixie face that made her look around twelve years old. “Oh, Susan, don’t. Miss Crabtree’s too nice to be given such an unappealing name. It would upset her if she knew.” Before she’d joined MS Heating, Jilly had never been in an office where everyone appeared to have a nickname. “Ah. But with a surname like that, she can hardly escape it. You worry too much, Jilly. Anyway, apparently it’s an emergency?” Susan rushed on, glancing around the office as though she might find the source of the emergency there. “Afraid so. Matt has got himself into a bit of a dither and has ordered me out there.” That in itself was strange, Jilly reflected. Matt wasn’t the kind of man who dithered. What could possibly be happening over at his house? “Wow,” Susan said, breaking into Jilly’s muse. “Wish he’d asked me.” She rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t have to ‘order’ me, either.” Pulling open her top drawer, Jilly ratted
around among pens and paperclips and old Kitkat wrappers until she found
a set of keys. “What’s an old married lady like you doing
eyeing drop-dead-gorgeous Matt Smith?” she teased, using her thigh
to close the drawer. “Ah ha. So you do think he’s gorgeous? I knew it!” Jilly’s smile faltered. She’d left herself wide open to that one. It was bad enough having female staff between sixteen and sixty-six lusting after her boss. Jilly just didn’t want to be added to that list. “I’m not immune to the man, if that’s what you mean.” “You could have fooled me. And the entire contingent of MS office staff.” Susan eyed her reflectively. “You always seem so cool around Matt. So, are you hiding something?” “Been nice chatting to you, Susan, but I’ve got to go. Matt needs me.” Jilly had to get out of there before she inadvertently revealed her feelings for her boss. “If something crops up, you know where to find me.” The young woman clutched her hands to her chest and sighed theatrically, “Oh, Lord, if he only needed me!” Susan’s chuckle followed Jilly out of the office. She couldn’t leave Matt now. Not when he needed her. Okay, Jilly told herself, not bothering to wait for the elevator. Instead, she clattered down four flights of stairs to the basement parking bay. You’re glad of the excuse to stay a little while longer. A couple more days in which to feast your eyes upon Matt Smith. But, my girl, you are toying with a live grenade. And already the pin is part way out. Jilly headed for one of the company’s black Chryslers, used on such missions, mixed thoughts still whirling around in her head. Matt hadn’t even mentioned Claire. Perhaps she had come down with the annoying childhood disease as well and was too ill to care for the little band of Smiths? The twins might bounce back quickly, but chickenpox in adults was a serious illness. On the drive out to Point Grey, Jilly continued to chat to herself, ignoring the stupid grins other drivers shot her while waiting at traffic lights. A ratty-looking youth wound his window down and leered at her. She ignored him, too. She wasn’t the only driver in Vancouver to have a running conversation with herself. One parking space remained in front of a small drugstore, and still muttering about her predicament, Jilly pulled in. Yanking on the handbrake, she unclipped her seat belt with her free hand then jumped out of the car. She dashed into the store, spotted what she wanted, paid for it and was back in the car in less than two minutes. “You’re not scared of Matt in the office,” she admonished, continuing the one-sided conversation as she slid into first gear and guided the car out into the traffic. “You respect him as your boss and visiting him at home does not change his status.” But some little devil in her head whispered otherwise. Visiting a household bursting with virus-stricken Smiths was much more personal than having them turn up on her own turf. In the office, she could maintain her friendly yet not-too-familiar status. Green patches of manicured lawns fringed with yellow and white daffodils began to appear as she left the worst of the city traffic behind her. Removing her hand from the wheel, Jilly searched blindly for the tissue box, battling to concentrate on the road ahead, instead of the churning in the pit of her stomach. She wiped the sweat from one hand and swapped over, giving the other a quick dab. Blast! Why was she sweating like this? The idea of arriving smelling like she’d completed an intensive gym session had her grimacing in disgust. Claire never sweated. Claire glowed, just as a woman of her class should. Pockets of lush grass and red cobbled driveways slid past with Jilly continuing to mumble reassurances. She wasn’t going to sweat. Well, other than her hands. They were okay. She could deal with them. But please, God, not her armpits. She’d die of embarrassment. She turned into a cul de sac, her eyes focused on the red brick pillars at the end of the street. Nearly there. She took a deep breath, but rather than calming her, it only served to exacerbate the thudding of her heart. Relaxing her iron grip on the wheel, she slowed to negotiate the relatively narrow entrance to the Smith residence. As the Chrysler crawled along the driveway, Jilly remained alert for squirrels in the stand of red cedars. A kamikaze rodent in her path would certainly not make her day. At least it kept her mind off her trembling limbs. How could she face seeing Matt and Claire together? “Oh, for goodness sake!” she scolded, coming to a halt in front of one of the closed garages. Cutting the engine, she hauled on the handbrake. “It’s not the first time.” And as she couldn’t tell Matt about her plans to resign until he was back on deck, it would hardly be the last. She unclipped her seatbelt and slithered from the car, slamming the door behind her. Clutching the bottle of calamine lotion, Jilly wandered along the flagstone terrace towards the front door, admiring red, white and yellow tulips crammed into curving gardens that followed the line of the house, before disappearing around a corner. Blossoms scented the air. The incessant chattering of a squirrel punctured the silence. Jilly changed direction, ready to check out the cause of his distress when a black cat dashed out from between the rhododendrons and brushed against her leg. “Ah, so you’re the culprit.” She hunkered down to scratch behind the cat’s ear, smiling as the rumble of its purr grew in volume, and the squirrel’s racket ceased. Birds twittered from above; pale sunlight misted through the trees. She was in no hurry to get into the house. Most of the windows were shuttered with blinds or drapes. Would Claire have the house closed up like that? Thinking about Claire Raisson made Jilly reflect for the umpteenth time on why she and Matt hadn’t married. As lovely and levelheaded as Claire was, she seemed to find it quite in order living with the father of her twins without marriage. Though, the rumour being bandied around the office lately was that Matt was pushing for marriage. Jilly shook her head at the woman’s foolishness. He wouldn’t have to ask her twice; she’d jump at the proposal. “Okay, puss,” she said after one final pat. Knowing she couldn’t stay out here all morning, she got to her feet and walked up to the front door. Pressing a shaky finger into the bell push, she steeled herself to greet Claire. Although Claire’s visits to the office were rare, Jilly realised it had been several weeks since she’d seen Matt’s partner. Of course she’ll be tall and blonde and as lovely as ever. Jilly grimaced, checking her own newly-styled jaw-line cut in the hazy reflection of the front door, thankful that she’d had the notion of leaving MS Heating, and Matt Smith in particular, with a favourable impression of her that had nothing to do with being super efficient. After an interminable wait, she heard giggling and glanced down. In the lower glass panel, she spied a squashed nose and a mouth that resembled Melanie Griffith’s bee-stung lips. Then a second face joined in. Smiling, Jilly hunkered down to peer through the frosted glass. After a squeal of delight and a fluster of activity in which the twins dragged a chair to the door and clambered up, it opened. Two pairs of dark eyes looked her over. From the tips of her navy stilettos, to the silver chain at her throat. Then on to lock gazes. Jilly tried to stare them out, but soon gave it up. “May I come in?” The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked noisily. Then she nodded. “Daddy’s sick.” No mention of her mother. The chair, bumping dangerously against the glass, was shoved aside and, tight fit though it was, Jilly managed to squeeze through. Following two boisterous children who didn’t look at all sick, apart from the healing spots, along the hall, Jilly found herself in what was obviously the master bedroom. The walls were Laura Ashley lemon and white, the colour theme incorporating the drapes that flanked French doors leading to a fenced turquoise pool shimmering in the pale morning sunlight. A cold room, thought Jilly, shivering. “Jilly, at last!” Matt looked so forlorn—and alone—in
the king-sized bed, sitting back against snowy-white pillows, his black
hair |