What would such an evening be like? To have a man smile across the table at you, have him pick up your hand and bring it to his lips? Even if she really wanted to find out, where would she find a date? Lately, she’d started reading through the Personals in the back of GOTHAM magazine. Just for laughs, of course. She couldn’t imagine ever bringing herself to answer an ad. Or running one. What would she say?
Average-looking mouse searching for gorgeous, sexy, exciting man but will settle for plain, nonsexy, unexciting, average-looking rat...
No. That wouldn’t do at all. Then again, neither would the truth.
Average-looking female interested in average-looking male. Object: to find out what a date is like because said female hasn’t had one in forever. In fact, not since the night of her senior prom, when one of her beautiful sisters conned a would-be boyfriend into being said female’s date and everybody knew it and laughed...
“Emily?”
Okay. That was it. She would run an ad. After all, she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She wasn’t Serena and Angela Taylor’s poor little sister, the one with all the brains and none of the looks. She wasn’t one of Jake McBride’s women, either, with the kind of face and figure men dreamed of, but she could still manage to find herself a date—
“Emily? Are you okay?”
A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder. Emily blinked, focused her eyes on her boss. He was standing a breath away from her, staring at her with a little furrow just between his eyes. And what eyes they were. Dark. Deep. So deep...
“Are you all right? For a minute there, you seemed to drift away.”
“I’m fine,” she said briskly. “Just, uh, just a cold coming on, perhaps.”
His hand slid to her elbow. “Go home,” he said gently, as he propelled her towards the door. “Take a nice hot bath. Make yourself some tea.”
“Honestly, Mr. McBride...”
“Do it,” he said, with a polite, teasing smile, “or I’ll take you home and do it for you.”
An image swam into her head. McBride, in her tiny apartment, so big and masculine against her chintz-covered furniture. McBride, smiling down at her, his hands warm and gentle as he unbuttoned her tweed jacket, unbuttoned her silk blouse. Or, perhaps, his hands not so gentle. Hard, in fact.
Rough, maybe, as he ripped the blouse from her and took her into his arms...
Color flooded her face as she stepped back.
“That won’t be necessary, sir. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know you are,” he said. For one awful minute, she was afraid he was going to pat her on the head. “Now just run along home, Emily. Take that bath, have the tea, pop some vitamin C and get a good night’s rest.”
“But it’s only four forty-five.”
McBride gave her another of those I’m-So-Wonderful-and-You’re-So-Lucky-To-Be-Working-For-Me smiles.
“I can do without you for a little while, I promise. Now, go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you, Mr. McBride.”
“Good night, Emily.”
“Good night, sir.”
Jake shut the door and sat down at his desk. Damn, what dedication. He’d almost had to carry Emily out of the office. Well, that would have been simple enough. She was small. Slender. She’d be light, just like one of those little sparrows. He could carry Emily up the steps in his duplex, to his bedroom, set her down on her feet and find out just what, exactly, lay hidden under all those woolly layers of clothing...
He frowned, pulled a blank pad towards him. What crazy thoughts. Jake chuckled softly. Amazing, the things a man’s brain could conjure up at the end of a long day. Better to spend the next couple of hours profitably, writing some memos to leave on Emily’s desk for her to tackle first thing in the morning.
He worked for a while, went from the memos to sketching out an idea that had just come to him about that meeting in San Diego...
A knock sounded on the door.
Jake looked up, then checked his watch. It was after five. Emily was gone. Nobody else would...
Somebody would.
Brandi, he thought unhappily. She’d called earlier, when Emily was at lunch. He’d picked up the phone just as the answering machine did and he’d heard that little whisper that had once driven him crazy with lust and now just drove him crazy, begging him to see her tonight.
The knock came again. Maybe if he just sat it out, pretended he wasn’t here...
“Jake?”
The door swung open. Jake, caught between deciding whether to duck for cover or tell Brandi to get lost, looked up and grinned in surprise.
“Pete?”
Pete Archer, a guy he’d worked with his first year in New York, opened the door wider and stepped inside.
“Jake, you old son of a gun. What’s the matter? You afraid I’m a bill collector or something?”
Jake got to his feet. “Or something.” He came forward and the men shook hands. They’d never been close friends but it was great to see someone from the past. “Why didn’t you call me? If I’d known you were going to be in town, I’d have rolled out the red carpet.”
“Didn’t know it, until the last minute.” Pete smiled. “You look like life’s treating you well.”
“You, too.” Jake grinned, gave Pete a light jab to the biceps. “How long will you be in town?”
“Just overnight. I have to be back in Chicago tomorrow morning.”
“Too bad. I have a business dinner lined up. Let me call the guy and—”
“No, no, I understand. How about drinks? You have time for that?”
“Great idea. Want to go out, or have something here?”
“Here would be cool. Got any ale?”
Jake laughed. “Some things never change, huh? Ale, it is.”
He went to his built-in mini fridge, took out a couple of bottles and opened them. Pete waved away his offer of a glass. The two men sat across from each other, leaned close enough to clink bottles, took long, thirsty swallows, then smiled.
“So,” Jake said, “how’re things?”
“Couldn’t be better. And you?”
“Terrific.” Jake sighed. “Well, they would be, if...” He leaned forward, across the desk. “You know why I didn’t answer when you knocked? I thought you were a woman.”
Pete laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided you’re giving up babes. I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Let me amend that,” Jake said, smiling. “I thought you were a particular woman.”
“Ah. A bowwow who’s developed a thing for you, huh?”
“No, she’s a definite ten.” Jake grinned, but his grin faded. “But the thing ran its course, you know? She began to hear wedding bells.”
“Oh, yeah. I know what that’s like.” Pete drank some ale. “So, you tried to end it?”
“I’m still trying. Trouble is, she’s determined. She calls. She sends me notes. She shows up at my apartment, she shows up here...”
“Well, you have a secretary, don’t you? Let her do the dirty work.”
“I have an executive assistant,” Jake said, smiling and lifting his eyebrows.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m lucky enough to employ a woman whose only goal in life is to make me happy.”
“Jake, you dog, you! You stocked the front desk with a hot babe!”
“Sorry to burst the bubble, pal, but Emily’s as far from being a hot babe as Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
Pete sighed. “Too bad. I figured her for the fox I just saw at the elevator.”
“Oh, hell,” Jake said, and the color drained from his face.
“Brunette?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Big brown eyes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Great legs? A body meant to send a man straight over the edge?”
Pete shrugged, took a drink of his ale. “Definitely and probably.”
“Probably?” Jake
gave a forlorn laugh. “You’d have to be blind or dead not to notice Brandi’s figure.”
“Brandi?”
“Yeah. The lady who’s decided I’m the love of her life. I half-figured she might show up here tonight.”
“Well, she did. And the only reason I didn’t notice her shape was because it was hidden under a layer of tweed.”
“Yeah, well...” Jake stared at Pete. “Tweed? Brandi would sooner be caught during rush hour in a New York subway than in tweed.”
“Either her tastes have changed, or the woman I saw wasn’t... Who’d you say?”
“Brandi,” Jake said automatically. He frowned. “Emily wears tweed.”
“And Emily would be...?”
“I told you about her. She’s my P.A. My E.A.” Jake thought for a second, then shook his head. “Forget it. No way could it have been Emily. I mean, she’s great. She’s efficient. She’s capable. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had.” He smiled. “But a looker? No way.”
Pete gave a dramatic sigh. “See, that’s where we differ, Jake. I’ve learned to refine my tastes.”
Jake grinned. “Sure.”
“No, I’m serious. I look beyond the obvious.” He leaned forward, gave a leering smirk. “Besides, you know what they say. Still waters run deep.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Pete said smugly, “if a babe doesn’t think she’s a looker, a guy can get into her pants a lot easier.”
Jake shot to his feet. “Not into Emily’s, he can’t.” His voice was cold; he could feel the sudden tension in his muscles.
“Hey.” Pete stood up, too. “We don’t even know it’s Emily we’re talking about.”
“I’m just making a point, Archer. Forget about getting into Emily’s pants.”
“Yeah, but it’s probably not even... Jake. I didn’t...” Pete took a breath. “Listen man, no offence.”
“None taken,” Jake said, and even he could hear the lie in his words. Well, why wouldn’t he be upset? Emily was a fantastic asset. He wasn’t about to end up with a messed-up assistant on his hands. Anyway, it was all academic, he thought, and forced himself to smile. “Not that it matters. That couldn’t have been Emily. She isn’t a looker. You don’t know my Emily but I can tell you, my Emily is average—”
“Your Emily isn’t ‘your Emily,’ Mr. McBride!”
Both men swung around. Emily stood in the open doorway, her face pale except for two spots of crimson high on her cheeks.
“Oh, hell,” Jake said softly. “Emily. Emily, listen, I didn’t mean—”
“You did mean. And I don’t mind being called ‘average.’ It’s what I am.” Her hands bunched into fists, fists she hid in the folds of her tweed skirt. “But I am not your property. You may assume I have no life away from this office, but that does not give you the right to—”
“Emily,” Jake said unhappily, “please—”
“Emily.” Pete’s voice was soft. Smarmy, Jake thought. Gentle, Emily thought, and looked at him. “Emily,” Pete said again, and smiled, “I’m sorry we have to meet under such difficult circumstances.”
“You two were talking about me,” she said stiffly.
Pete walked towards her. “We were, yes. I was telling Jake—Mr. McBride—that I’d just passed you in the hall.”
Jake made a choked sound. “You mean, the woman you were talking about really was—”
“And that I wanted to meet you,” Pete went on, as if Jake hadn’t spoken. He held out his hand. “My name is Pete Archer.”
Emily ignored his outstretched hand. “Why did you want to meet me?”
“Because I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“Nonsense.” Jake’s voice was too loud, too sharp. He knew it but hell, this was his office and his exec. What right did Archer have to... “She can’t go with you,” he said, as he stalked towards the two of them. “She doesn’t want to go with you. She—”
“I’d be delighted,” Emily said firmly.
“Emily, don’t be a fool. Pete’s not really interested in...” Jake bit his lip. If looks could kill, the one she’d just given him would have left him stone-cold and on the way to the mortuary. “For heaven’s sake, where’s your common sense? You, and this man...?”
She shot him a look more vicious than the first, and then she swung towards Pete.
“Shall we go, Mr. Archer?”
“Archer,” Jake roared, “you son of a—”
“The lady’s made her decision, Jake.”
“I have, indeed. You pay my salary, Mr. McBride, but you do not own me. I do as I wish after office hours. If I want to go out on a date, I will.” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless you’d rather I tendered my resignation...?”
Emily waited. Pete did, too. And Jake, totally helpless for the first time in his adult life, could do nothing except stand in the center of his office and watch his former friend and his little brown sparrow flutter her wings as she headed for a night on the town.
CHAPTER TWO
THE city awoke to snow the next morning.
Heavy wet flakes drifted down from the skies.
Fine, Jake thought. Let the sky turn to lead, for all he cared. He was in a mood almost as foul as the weather. Snow that would soon turn to gray slush was just about right this morning.
The doorman greeted him cheerfully. Jake muttered a response, waved off his offer of a taxi. Traffic in Manhattan always verged on gridlock; it would be even worse in weather like this. Besides, walking to work might be a good idea. He figured that the cold air, a brisk pace as he headed crosstown, would improve his mood.
It didn’t.
Some bozo trying to get his truck through a blocked intersection sent a spray of wet, dirty snow flying onto the sidewalk and over Jake’s shoes; a guy on Rollerblades—Rollerblades, on a day like this—damned near rode him down.
By the time he reached Rockefeller Center, Jake’s mood had gone from glum to grim. He gave a cursory look around as he strode into the building but he knew Brandi would be a no-show on a day like this. Not even her sudden determination to keep their affair alive would stand up to the possibility that her hair or makeup might get damaged. It was an unkind thought but, dammit, he was in an unkind frame of mind.
That was what staying awake half the night did to a man. Left him ill-tempered and mean-natured, especially when there was no good reason for him to have spent more time pacing the floors than sleeping.
It had to be the caffeine, Jake thought, as he stepped from the elevator onto the pale gray marble floor and walked to his office. The health food pundits made him edgy, with all their doomsaying. He liked coffee, and steak, and if he’d ever accidentally consumed a bite of tofu in his life, he didn’t want to know it.
Still, what else could have kept him up until almost dawn, if it wasn’t caffeine? Or maybe that Chinese takeout he’d picked up for supper had done him in. Not that he’d eaten much of it. Jake frowned as he reached his office. A hell of a night he’d put in, not eating, not sleeping...
The kid who delivered the mail came skidding around the corner.
“Morning, Mr. McBride,” he said cheerfully. “Here’s your mail.”
Jake, in no mood for cheerful banter or a stack of mail, scowled at the kid.
“What’s the matter?” he growled. “Don’t you deliver it anymore?”
“I am delivering it. See?” The kid shoved an armload of stuff at Jake, who took it grudgingly.
“This goes to my P.A., not to me.”
“Your what?”
“My P.A. My E.A....” Jake’s scowl deepened. “My secretary,” he said. “You’re supposed to hand her the mail.” “Oh. Emily.”
For reasons unknown, Jake felt his hackles rise. “Her name,” he said coldly, “is Miss Taylor.”
“Uh-huh. Emily, like I said.” The kid grinned. “Nice lady. Pretty eyes.”
What was this? Did every male who walked in the door have to make an appraisal of Emily? What abou
t her eyes? She had two of them. So what? Most people did.
“I always hand the mail right to her. But the door’s locked. It looks like nobody’s home.”
Jake’s scowl turned to a look of disbelief. He shot back the cuffs of his Burberry and his suit jacket, checked hi watch and looked at the kid.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course someone is home.” He grabbed the doorknob. “It’s after nine. Miss Taylor’s always at her desk by—”
The knob didn’t move. The kid was right. The door was locked.
Jake’s mood, already in the cellar, began digging its way towards China. He shifted the armload of envelopes and magazines, dug out his keys and let himself into his office.
“If Emily is sick or something,” the kid said, “when you talk to her, tell her that Tommy sends—”
Jake slammed the door, stalked across the office and dumped the mail on Emily’s desk. It was, as always, neat as a pin. Even when she was seated behind it, not so much as a paper clip was ever out of place. Still, he could tell she wasn’t there. Her computer monitor stared at him with a cold black eye. The office lights were off, too, and there was no wonderful aroma of fresh coffee in the air.
E.A. or not, Emily had no feminist compunction against making coffee every morning.
Jake turned on the lights, marched into his private office, peeled off his wet coat and dumped it on the back of his chair.
Sick? Emily?
“Ha,” he said.
She hadn’t been sick a day since she’d come to work for him. Yeah, she’d said she felt as if she were coming down with a cold yesterday afternoon but it couldn’t have been much of a cold because not an hour later, she’d leaped at Archer’s invitation to dinner like a trout going after a fly.
“Sick,” Jake muttered.
Sleeping off her big night out, was more like it. Who knew where Archer had taken her for dinner, or what hour he’d gotten her home? Who knew how much wine she’d had to drink or how late she’d gone to bed or if she’d gone to bed at all...
The Bedroom Business Page 2
