The Bedroom Business

by Sandra Marton

  Jake lifted his brows. “Obviously not.”

  “Then why...” Why should I lose my job over your mis­take? “Why should I leave?”

  “Look, I’m not going to debate this. I want you out of here, pronto.”

  Emily folded her arms. “I don’t see any reason for this.”

  “No.” Jake smiled tightly. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “It’s not fair. You’ve said, yourself, I’m good at my job.”

  “Of course you are. But whatever you’re doing can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Now, just one minute, mister...” Emily frowned. “To­morrow?”

  “Nothing’s so important that it can’t be put off for a day.”

  “I don’t...” She stared at him. “Are you telling me to leave early?”

  Jake nodded. “I know you can’t see the street from here—”

  “No,” she said, fumbling desperately for words, “uh, no, I can’t. I don’t have a window...”

  “Exactly.” Jake gave her a quick smile. “The snow’s stopped and the streets are clear, but it’s freezing out there and you know what happens to the subways when the tem­perature drops to zero.”

  “What?” she said stupidly. “I mean, yes. Yes, I know...”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “I mean... well, I thought—only for a minute, you understand—I thought...”

  She couldn’t say it. What an idiot she was, thinking he’d fire her because of a silly kiss. He was a man who kissed women all the time, kissed them until they were clinging to him as if he were a lifeline and they were drowning in his arms.

  “...I thought the temperature was supposed to stay in the mid-thirties,” she said briskly. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Oh, yes. Most definitely, the sooner she was out of here, the better. This had been the weirdest day of her life. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses. McBride had, too. He hadn’t even mentioned the Introduce Emily Around cam­paign. Better still, she had the feeling he’d never mention it again.

  Life was still good, she thought, and smiled brightly in Jake’s direction.

  “Thank you again, sir. I appreciate your concern.” She shut off her computer, cleared off her desk, got her things from the closet and sat down to put on her socks and boots.

  “Emily.”

  She looked up. He was leaning against the wall, eyes hooded, arms folded, watching her.

  “Do you need me?”

  “Do I... do I need you?”

  “All you have to do is tell me you want me, Emily. You know that.”

  “I don’t.” She spoke quickly, too quickly, she knew, but what kind of question was that to ask? Here she’d thought the kiss wouldn’t stand in the way of their continuing to have a good working relationship, and then he’d asked if she­—

  “Of course, if you’re sure you can get those boots on by yourself...”

  The boots. Oh the stupid boots. Emily wanted to laugh but she didn’t dare. Instead, she gave him another bright smile

  “I’ll be fine, thank you, Mr. McBride.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “I’m positive.”

  Jake nodded., “In that case, I’ll see you in the morning.

  “Certainly, Mr. McBride.”

  “Jake. I thought we agreed on that.”

  “Jake,” she said, and beamed at him again. “I’ll try and remember that, sir.”

  “‘Sir’ and ‘Jake’ don’t go together, Emily.”

  He smiled. She smiled. She was tired of smiling. Her lips felt as if they’d been stretched on a rack.

  Jake strolled into his office, stopped, and swung towards her. “Oh, Emily?”

  “Mr. Mc ...? I mean, Yes, Jake?”

  “While you’re remembering things, remember not to wear tweed tomorrow.”

  Her face creased in puzzlement. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Tweed,” he said patiently, jerking his chin towards her. “That’s what that stuff you’re wearing is called, isn’t it?”

  Emily glanced down at herself. “Well, no,” she said slowly, “actually, it’s not. Tweed is nubby and coarse. This is just a heavy wool worsted—”

  “How about silk?” Jake said, before she could treat him to a dissertation on fabrics.

  “How about it?” she said, looking at him with caution.

  Jake sighed. He was starting to regret the deal they’d made. First, for reasons he couldn’t figure out, he’d teased her about helping her with the boots and he’d seen that she’d taken him seriously. Now she was staring at him as if he’d asked her if she had anything in her closet made of chain mail.

  “Silk,” he said. “You know, that soft stuff made by silk moths?”

  “Silk worms, sir. Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “A dress?’

  “A suit. But—”

  Jake sighed again. “A suit. Well, that figures. Okay. Wear it tomorrow.”

  Emily furrowed her brow. “Why?”

  “Because,” he said, through his teeth, “tweed—”

  “Wool worsted.”

  “Whatever. It won’t go over, tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow...?”

  “Internet Resources is giving a cocktail party. You pen­ciled it into my appointment book.”

  “I remember, sir. Jake. But what does that have to do with me?”

  “Emily, Emily, what a short memory you have. Our plan? For you to meet men? You’ll go with me.” He smiled. “Ac­tually, there’s an even better thing tonight but...” His voice trailed off. But, you’re not dressed for it, he’d almost said, but why hurt her feelings? “But, considering the weather, I wouldn’t want to see you having to ride the subway all the way to... Where is it you live again? Brooklyn?”

  “Tribeca,” Emily said stiffly. “Mr. McBride—”

  “Tribeca,” he repeated, as if she’d said she lived in Outer Mongolia. “Too bad. Tonight’s affair—”

  “What affair?”

  “The one I’ve been talking about. Cocktails and dinner, for United Broadcasting. I thought they might call it off, be­cause of the weather, but I spoke with one of the V.P’s a while ago and he said—”

  “No!”

  “Yes. I just told you, the Veep said­—”

  “No, I am not going with you tomorrow night.”

  “Of course you are. That’s the plan, remember? You network, I’ll introduce you around--”

  ­“Absolutely not.”

  “What do you mean, absolutely not?” Jake straightened up and walked towards her. “We agreed this was a good plan.”

  “Well, it isn’t.” Emily tucked her socks into a desk drawer and quickly pulled on her boots. No socks; she wasn’t going to leave herself open to that problem again. She stood up, put on her coat and buttoned it. “I’ve thought about your idea, Mr.... Jake. And I just don’t see myself meeting men that way.”

  “Ah,” Jake said, and folded his arms. “Of course. You’d rather meet them through ads in magazines.”

  She could feel color rising into her cheeks. “Whatever I choose to do, it isn’t your concern.”

  “Meaning. I should mind my own business.”

  “Meaning, I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

  “Listen, Emily—”

  “Why should it matter to you, who I go out with?”

  Why, indeed? “Because I’m your employer. I’m your friend.”

  “We have never been friends, sir,” Emily said politely “That’s as it should be. You’re my employer, as you said. I am your employee. That has always been the extent of our relationship.”

  She was right. She was his P.A. His E.A, She wasn’t his friend. But, dammit, that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about her welfare.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about your welfare,” Jake said with self-righteous indignation. “I’d much rather know the men you date than worry about you meeting up with the Boston Strangler.”


  “Oh, for goodness sakes... Look, Mr. McBride. Jake.” Emily put her hands on her hips and tried her best not to glare. “You’re blowing this out of all proportion. I don’t go it with men.”

  “You went out with Archer.”

  “Only because I was angry at you.”

  “Well, that’s certainly reassuring,” Jake said, his words ripe with sarcasm. “You don’t go out with men but you went out with this one because you were mad at me. That’s a heck a way to pick a date, isn’t it?”

  “I just told you, I don’t have dates!”

  “Then, what were you doing with GOTHAM magazine?”

  “Reading it,” she said sharply. “You do understand the concept, don’t you?”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t try and play smart with me, Miss Taylor. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He reached past her, snatched the magazine from the waste­basket and waved it in front of her. “You were in the process leaving your name and phone number at the local loony bin when I stopped you!”

  “The local...” Emily laughed. “You’re being ridiculous,” said and started past him, but Jake snagged her by the elbow.

  “Ridiculous? When hardly a day goes by there isn’t some­thing in the paper about a woman getting robbed, raped and murdered? When this city’s full of perverts?”

  “Let go of me.”

  “You want to be a statistic? You want the cops to call me and ask me to come identify the body?”

  “You’re not just being ridiculous, Mr. McBride. You’re stark-raving mad.”

  Hell. Maybe he was. She wanted to go out with the rein­carnation of Vlad the Impaler, was it his business? No, it was not.

  “Okay, then.” Jake took his hand from her arm with delibe­rate exaggeration. “Answer the Personals. Pick up guys on street corners, for all I care.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to know I have your permission.”

  “Go out with guys you just met because you’re pissed off at me.”

  “An excellent idea,” Emily said, eyes flashing as she tried to step past him.

  “Date any Tom, Dick or Harry who comes up to you on the subway and says ‘Hi, honey, how about a movie?”‘

  “I would never,” she said icily, “accept a date from a man I didn’t know.”

  “Except for last night,” Jake snarled.

  “Except for last night... but then, why would I assume that my boss would introduce me to an octopus?”

  “Is that what he was?” Jake’s eyes glittered. He took hold of Emily’s shoulders and propelled her backwards. “What did that son of a bitch do to you? Tell me. I’ll hunt him down and beat the crap out of him.”

  “I told you, he didn’t do anything. And I don’t need a protector!”

  “You’re right.” He slapped his hands on either side of her, palms flat against the wall. “What you need is a keeper.”

  He was only inches from her, so close that he could see a tiny muscle just beside her mouth. It was moving in time with her heartbeat, fast and furious, and he wondered what would happen if he put his lips against it, if he’d somehow absorb the race of her blood into his.

  “Jake,” she said, in a low voice.

  His eyes went to hers. She was looking at him as if she’d never seen him before and maybe she hadn’t. He felt like a stranger in his own body, a man wanting to do things he knew were crazy.

  This was his assistant. This was Emily Taylor, she of the efficient brain and unremarkable body. Except, he knew that body wasn’t unremarkable at all. He wanted to prove that to her, to put his hands into her hair, pull it free of the clip and let it spill like dark silk through his fingers. He wanted to unbutton her coat, lift her skirt, seek out her heat.

  Most of all, more than any of that, he wanted to kiss her again.

  “Emily,” he said huskily, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Emily...”

  She moved fast, ducked under his arm and reached for the doorknob. But Jake was quicker. He grabbed her arm and swung her around.

  “Look,” he said, in what he hoped was a tone of reason, “try and see this from my angle, okay? I, ah, I feel some responsibility for you, Emily. You work for me. You don’t have any family in the city.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Because he’d pulled out her job application again and read it thoroughly, that was why. All of a sudden, he’d wanted to know her age, her marital status, as much as he could find out about her. It was perfectly logical, too. A man had to research his subject before he could play matchmaker.

  “You told me so, when you applied here. You said you were from Rochester. Right?”

  “Right,” she said, a little grudgingly. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Look, I feel guilty about last night. If I hadn’t introduced you to Archer, if I hadn’t made you so angry at me...”

  “It isn’t your fault.” She sighed, looked up, managed a quick smile. “What I told you was the truth. I’m an adult, and I take full responsibility for my actions. Accepting Archer’s dinner invitation was foolish. I’m to blame, not you. As for the personal ads... You’re right. They’re not for me.”

  Jake smiled. The tendrils of hair he’d noticed this morning were still clinging to her temples. He reached out, touched one, watched as it curled around his finger.

  “Good. I’d hate to end up paying a visit to each of those guys in that listing.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”

  He shrugged, caught the curl between his thumb and index fingers, let it slide against his skin.

  “To warn them that they’d have to answer to me, if they tried any funny stuff.”

  She laughed. Her whole face lit up, when she laughed. How come he’d never noticed that before?

  “Just what I need,” she said. “A bodyguard.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “That’s what you need, all right.”

  “Well, you can stop worrying. I promise, I won’t go out with anybody who describes himself as H, S, and S.”

  “H, S, and S?”

  “Handsome, sexy and successful. I figure it’s only a matter of time before those ads are all initials and numbers. You know, H, S and S, B and B, ISO for B, S and S... Jake? What are you doing?”

  Slipping the clip from her hair, that’s what he was doing. He felt her shudder as he moved his fingers lightly again her scalp.

  “Is this natural?”

  “Is what natural?” she whispered. Her mouth was too dry for anything but a whisper.

  “This.” He took a handful of her hair, let it sift through his hand. “The color. What do you call it?”

  “What do you call the color of my hair?” Emily laughed nervously. “Brown. As in, ‘mouse.’”

  “Brown, as in ‘sparrow,’” Jake murmured, and smile “I like it.” He leaned forward, took a sniff. “I like the smell too. What is it?”

  Emily could feel her heart, pounding in her throat. “It’s­—it’s just shampoo. Whatever was on sale last week.”

  “Nice. Smells like sunshine and flowers.”

  “Mr. McBride. Jake. I really have to leave, if I want to miss the worst of the subway rush—”

  “What about the others?”

  “The other what?” It was hard to talk. She wanted to shut her eyes, lean into his stroking hand, draw his scent of cold air and hot male deep into her lungs. “What others? The shampoos? I don’t know. I only buy whatever is—”

  “The other guys you’ll date.” Jake shifted his weight. His body brushed hers. She felt soft. So soft. So wonderfully, marvelously soft. “What about them?”

  “What about them?” she said, because the only way to respond to a question that made no sense was with an answer that made no sense. How could it, when she was feeling so strange? So warm. So liquid. So...

  “The guys you’ll go out with. Those you’ll meet that I don’t know. How am I going to know they’re harmless?”r />
  Emily stiffened. Jake McBride was leaning over her, smelling her hair, stroking her cheek, breathing in the same air she was breathing, and he was asking her about the men she intended to date?

  How on earth had she let him maneuver her into such a situation?

  Emily scowled, put a hand in the center of Jake’s chest and shoved him away.

  “That’s easy,” she said crisply. “You won’t have to worry about a thing because I won’t be dating anybody.” He blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me.” She dug into her coat pocket, took out a sensible wool scarf and wrapped it around her neck. Then she dug into the other pocket, took out a pair of sensible woolen gloves and pulled them on. “I’ve rethought things, Mr. McBride.”

  “Jake,” he said automatically, while he stared at her and tried to figure out how he’d ended up playing with Emily Taylor’s very proper hair.

  “Mr. McBride,” Emily corrected politely. “I really do it’s advisable to maintain decorum in the office, don’t you?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Calling me by my first name doesn’t change office decorum. Actually, I don’t think I know an­other secretary who calls her boss ‘Mr.’”

  “I am not your secretary, Mr. McBride.”

  “I know that. I only meant... You’re in a very contrary frame of mind lately, Emily.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I do. And, as you’ve just pointed out, I’m your boss and you’re my employee. If I say you’re contrary, you’re contrary.”

  She smiled politely. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  “Dammit, this is ridiculous. Calling me ‘sir,’ and ‘Mr.’ I’ve got a good mind to—”

  The door squeaked open. “Jake?”

  Jake froze. He looked up, past Emily, and groaned.

  “Brandi,” he said tonelessly, and took a couple of steps back.

  Brandi slipped into the office and put her arms around his neck. “Jake,” she whispered, “have you been trying to avoid me?”

  Did flies avoid flypaper?

  Jake reached up, grasped her wrists and drew them to her sides. “What are you doing here, Brandi?”

  “I came to see you. To ask why you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  She smiled up at him, or pouted. One or the other. It was hard for him to tell. She had what she called bee-stung lips, Collagen stung, was more like it. Whatever, Jake wanted no part of her lips or her.