by Carly Carson
Until he had a brilliant thought.
"Letty, be sure you tell Ms. Thompson that attendance at the Christmas party is mandatory."
"Mandatory?" She couldn't keep the question mark out of the word.
"She needs to start meeting the other employees."
"Ah, yes." Letty paused. "Fine. I'll tell her."
They disconnected and he hit the intercom button. "Rosie."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to see you."
She appeared in the doorway immediately, as if she'd been waiting for the summons.
"Are the decorations down?"
"Not yet." She bit her lip. "I've been working on something else."
"What is this charity that I'm now supporting?" He tried to keep his tone even, but she must have realized she'd overstepped the line.
"It's very important, sir." She leaned forward with eagerness. "People enjoy buying toys for little kids at Christmas time. They forget about the older kids who don't get anything."
He thought of the junkyard outfit she'd worn yesterday. "Were you ever in that situation, Rosie?"
"Oh, no." Her eyes went round with surprise. "I had my a—"
She bit off the word.
"Your aunt?"
She clapped a hand over the gasp that flew out of her mouth. "I wasn't supposed to tell you. Aunt Bridget said I had to prove myself."
He nodded. "It's all right. I do owe your aunt something."
She turned to go. "I'll take those decorations down right away."
Logan watched her drooping shoulders. Damn. Why did he feel so guilty? Was it the memory of his own lavish holidays? Piles and piles of presents under the tree, everything he wanted and more.
But the main memory he had to quash was the overflowing love. The presents had paled in comparison. Even now, as a grown man who could buy anything he desired, he still knew that material things counted for little when measuring a man's happiness. But with children and teens—it was different. They needed to feel like they had at least some of the items that their peers had.
"Rosie!"
She turned back, her expression wary. "Yes?"
"Leave 'em up, then. It's a good cause." He swallowed. "Thank you for thinking of it."
"Yes, sir." This time she bolted.
***
An hour later, Amanda was standing in his doorway. The lick of pleasure he felt didn't please him. Especially when he considered the god-awful outfit she was wearing. No man should be attracted to a woman dressed like that.
She stepped into his office. "Letty in HR told me you have a mandatory Christmas party tonight?" She raised her eyebrows.
"That's right." He leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a brief fantasy about what he could say to her right now if she'd been hired as his mistress.
"I'm not one for Christmas parties," she said. "I think I'll skip it."
"If I have to go, you have to go." He used the strict voice that made his subordinates quake.
"I don't see the logic." She raised her chin a notch, as if she had no intention of recognizing his authority.
"You don't need to. Be there."
A delicate frown wiggled between her eyebrows. "Is that an order?"
Ah. There was an opening if he'd ever heard one. "I like the way you put that. Are you willing to follow my orders?"
She tilted her head to one side. "I'm willing to follow your business orders. Nothing more."
"Fine. Consider the party a job requirement. I'll see you there."
She muttered something under her breath as she turned to go. It sounded a lot like 'Tyrant'.
He repressed a smile.
"We dress up for the Christmas party," he heard himself say. Hell, why had he said that? Of course, anything would be better than what she was currently wearing. But he hadn't worn a costume since he'd been a kid at Halloween.
"So you'll be wearing a red suit and a beard?" She smiled with fake sweetness.
He pointed his pen at her. "If you come as a Christmas tree."
"Something green and pointy and sharp?"
An unexpected smile curved his lips. "A string of lights and two bits of tinsel would do nicely."
"You wish." She stomped out.
Chapter 7
Logan was not amused when Amanda showed up at the party in baggy black pants and a big red Christmas sweater decorated with a tree. The tree, which plastered the sweater from neck to hem, came complete with sparkling lights.
Well, maybe he was a little amused. One of the red lights had fallen onto her right breast. It must have become partially disconnected from its power source because it blinked on and off, drawing attention to exactly the spot he wanted to look at anyway.
He didn't bother to hide his grin as she approached.
"What is making you so happy?" she demanded. "The fact that I followed your suggestion?" She gestured to the sweater.
"It's more the advertisement of your own personal red light district I'm enjoying."
Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"
He glanced down.
She followed his gaze. "Oh, for God's sake." She yanked the red light up to where it should be. "Are you two years old?"
"Feeling more twelve, I'd say. An age when a guy is just looking for an excuse to stare at tits."
She shook her head. "Adolescence. Great. Thought I'd left those days behind me."
"Never do if you're dealing with guys." The red light had fallen down once more, and clearly intended to stay there, blinking right over her nipple. He resisted the temptation to fix it.
"By the look of glee on your face," she said, "I'm guessing the light has re-positioned itself once more?" She grabbed a glass of wine off the tray of a passing waiter and took a gulp.
"I didn't do it." He spread his hands in a show of innocence. "But this is a business party for professionals." He bit the side of his cheek to keep from grinning. "I don't know if you want to go around flashing a red light on your chest like you're trying to be Rudolph in drag."
"Damn it." She yanked the sweater up over her head. "There. Are you happy?"
Oh, yeah, he was. For a second he'd had a perfect view while the sweater covered her face. The white turtleneck hugged her curves exactly like he wanted to. But, by the time she'd shaken out her hair, passed a hand over her neat hairstyle, and folded the sweater onto her arm, he had his eyes fixed firmly on her face.
"I could comment on the granny pants," he murmured, just to see her eyes flash, "but I'll just pray I'm never confronted with them again." He touched her arm. "Let me introduce you to some of the executives."
Amanda had no choice but to go with Logan and suffer through the introductions. She had to meet the staff if she wanted to succeed at this job. But she regretted the outfit she'd chosen. What had seemed inspired in the safety of her apartment was absurd at this elegant party. The other attendees had dressed in festive Christmas attire, with shimmering silks, subtle glitter and snappy shoes all showing up her—she had to admit it—appropriately named, granny outfit. She'd be lucky to make a good impression on anyone tonight.
Logan introduced her to several people, all of whom were polite. Except for one woman, a blonde who would have been pretty if she didn't seem to have a permanent sneer on her face. Amanda recognized her as the woman who'd been gossiping with Rosie when Amanda had arrived for her first interview.
Logan introduced her as Phoebe Cattus.
"Director of Entrepreneurial Services?" Phoebe lifted her thin eyebrows. "That's a new name for an old job."
"You're right," Logan said so smoothly that Amanda wasn't sure if he'd heard the snide undertone. "I'm excited about the new opportunities Amanda can discover for the company."
"We all know what excites you, Logan." Phoebe lowered her eyelashes in an unmistakable invitation.
"I hope you do." There was an edge to his voice now. "Hard work and dedication."
He grasped Amanda's arm above her elbow to steer her away. She mana
ged to step aside without being too obvious. His warm hand was too alluring, and she had no intention of allowing him any familiarity.
"Sorry about Phoebe," he murmured. "She has her good points, but she wasn't showing them off just then."
"Good points?" She shot him a look. "Am I going to run into your jealous exes all over the place?"
"Exes?" He raised an eyebrow. "Phoebe is an employee. As far as exes go, no, you won't run into them. When it's over, it's over."
She shivered. That sounded too much like a warning.
"Hey." Rosie walked up, her gold velvet dress looking medieval, with its crossed corset bodice and deep cleavage. "I see you met the company sniper."
"Sniper?"
"Verbal shots, but they're usually dead on target. She's dubbed me the Fashion Maven of the Homeless."
Amanda almost giggled, even as she cringed. "You look fabulous." She did, too, because the fitted dress emphasized Rosie's hourglass shape. Rosie had an ability to take unusual, even odd, ideas, and craft them into an appealing look.
Rosie grinned. "I like it, and that's what counts." She moved closer and spoke in a low voice. "More on the sniper, later."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Rosie." Amanda turned to Logan. "Speaking of which, tomorrow's a work day." She hoped she sounded like a good employee rather than a boring nerd. "The party has been fun. Thank you."
"I'll see you home." His face revealed nothing, as Rosie melted away.
"That's not necessary."
He shrugged. "It's time for me to go. They can't have fun with the boss around."
"That's up to you. I'll be fine going home alone."
He raised his brows in silent mockery. "Are you afraid I'll make a pass at you?"
"Afraid? Not likely."
He grinned. "Good instincts."
There was an ambiguous answer.
She lifted her chin. "I'll walk out with you. But that's it."
"Excellent." He touched the small of her back once more as they made their way out to the coat check. He held out his hand, but Amanda gave her claim check directly to the tired-looking woman behind the table. Then she dug in her wallet for a tip.
Logan placed a hand on her forearm. "Allow me."
The woman lifted Amanda's coat over the barrier, and Logan managed to take the coat and also pass over a folded bill.
A gasp sounded and Amanda glanced up to see the coat check lady flush bright red.
"Thank you, sir," she said, thrusting the bill into her pocket.
Logan smiled as he shook out Amanda's coat while she put her Christmas sweater back on. When he lifted the coat over her shoulders, he lingered a bit too long over helping her into it, smoothing one hand over her back after she'd settled into the coat.
Then he grasped her elbow to steer her to the elevators.
"Was that a hundred dollar bill?" The words escaped Amanda.
He lifted his eyebrows, but she saw humor lurking around his mouth. "You don't think she deserves it?"
"Well…well…" She could only sputter. What to say? Of course the woman undoubtedly deserved the money.
She resorted to silence as they rode down in the elevator. They walked out into a crisp night speckled with lightly falling snow. The dusting emphasized Logan's broad shoulders and Amanda had to tear her gaze away from him.
She needed to be looking for a cab, anyway. Normally, she'd take the subway to save money. It wasn't late enough yet to be unsafe. But she knew if she mentioned the subway, Logan would seize the opening to insist she go with him.
"I think I'll walk up to Fifth Avenue," she said. "Some fresh air would be nice." And the cabs more plentiful. Obviously, there weren't any on this dark side street. Though a limo waited.
"Good idea." Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his wool coat, Logan fell into step alongside her. The limo crawled down the street after them.
Of course. Mentally, she smacked herself in the head. That was Logan's car, with Felipe at the wheel.
She cast it an evil glance. Now they looked ridiculous. Walking in snowy weather on a cold night, while a limo followed them.
The ballet flats she'd worn provided no grip on the slippery sidewalk. Though she concentrated on placing her feet carefully, it was inevitable that she'd hit an icy patch. When she did, Logan casually gripped her elbow, holding her firmly upright.
"Are you all right?" His head slanted down toward her and she looked up to see his gray eyes laughing at her in the light of a street lamp.
"I am perfectly capable of getting home on my own."
"I don't doubt it. But my car does look warm and comfortable, doesn't it?"
"I live way downtown in Alphabet City."
"Felipe keeps the car gassed up."
Mulishly, she kept on walking, keeping her head down to watch for ice, and her shoulders hunched to retain warmth. She hoped it was her imagination when Logan tugged her closer. Because if it was only her imagination, there was no need for her to do anything about it but to enjoy the warm heat emanating from him. To lean a bit closer to catch his male scent. Yum. Cleanliness with a touch of snow-dusted musk.
They reached the corner of Fifth and she watched the cars whizzing downtown. Every cab was occupied. If she did spot a lit-up bar, it would be highlighted by the 'Off-Duty' lights. She tried to marshal her patience. All she had to do was wait.
Like Felipe was doing with the town car, sitting at the side of the road, watching her, no doubt, with annoyance. He couldn't go home until he got Logan home.
Her feet were numb already, and she wished she'd worn a hat, or at least a scarf. She glanced at Logan, to see him fighting a smile.
"What's so damn funny?" she muttered.
"I'm just hoping a cop doesn't drive by. An ambulance might be helpful if you're determined to freeze to death, but not a cop."
She knew she'd regret asking, but the words slipped out. "Why not? We're not doing anything wrong."
"It's an interesting effect to see those red lights on your sweater flashing out from the neck of your coat. I feel like a pimp with my own mobile red light district."
"I'll take your word for it," she said sweetly. "I'm sure you know more about the business side of sex than I do."
"Touché." He had the nerve to smile at her. "I'll enjoy watching that quick mind of yours working for me."
Huffing, she stuffed her hands further into her pockets. How did he make her feel so churlish so easily? Here she was standing foolishly in the cold, waiting for a cab, when a warm car idled beside her. It was ridiculous. But she needed to maintain her independence.
Didn't she?
As if he heard her thoughts, Logan spoke again, his deep voice warm in the cold night. "It's just a ride, Mandy. Nothing more."
She jerked her head up to look at him. "Why did you call me Mandy?"
His eyes widened a fraction. "It suits you, I guess."
She wondered if he'd even realized he said it.
"I like Amanda." She lifted her chin.
His lips quirked upwards. "I'll try to remember that." He nodded toward the limo. "Now can we get in the car and get everyone home tonight?"
"Fine." She tried to stomp over to the limo, but the slippery footing foiled her. Logan's hand was always there to catch her, and she was well aware of how cleverly she was being maneuvered into accepting his touch.
Too bad they were going to Philadelphia in two days.
She had to be careful not to end up alone with him again.
Chapter 8
Logan ushered Amanda into their suite at the Four Seasons Philadelphia, with a light hand on the back of her waist. This stage of the game would be both fun and frustrating. He needed to lull her into accepting both his presence and his touch, without losing his own patience.
"I've arranged a dinner here with the Molloys, the owners of Daily Eats," he said, hoping to forestall any complaints from her about sharing the suite. "They'll be here at 5:30."
She gazed at him for a long moment. "Feeling
clever, aren't you?"
"Mrs. Molloy is in a wheelchair." He was careful to keep any smugness out of his tone. "It's easier for her if we don't have to deal with a restaurant."
"Surely it would be easier for her if we went to their place."
"I gave them their choice. They work out of their home and said it would be a treat to get out."
"A hotel suite is not a professional place in which to hold business meetings."
He shrugged, maintaining his casual approach. "Believe it or not, I often have meetings at my hotel when traveling. It's easier for me and it justifies the expense of renting a suite."
Amanda pressed her lips together, tightened her hold on her rolling suitcase, and marched off to one of the bedrooms.
She was back in the living area of the suite at 5:15. On the table in the dining area, she laid out her laptop and some brochures he'd given her. "This is an interesting business," she said. "Why are the Molloys selling?"
"Her illness." Logan placed his own laptop on the table next to hers. "Multiple sclerosis. They've lived with it for a long time, but apparently her episodes of sickness are becoming more frequent."
Amanda nodded. "I've prepared a list of questions and forwarded them to you."
"I saw them. Good job. Why don't you start off the meeting?"
He was interested in seeing how she handled herself with clients. Even though he wanted a personal relationship with her, he expected her to also handle the professional job for which he'd hired her.
They ate the dinner provided by room service first. Amanda single-handedly kept the conversation going, as Bill Molloy was faintly hostile throughout the meal, and Mrs. Molloy very quiet.
Then she was equally as impressive during the after-dinner meeting. She was professionally cordial to the Molloys, keeping an eye out for Mrs. Molloy's comfort, while still pressing forward with the hard questions that needed to be asked.
Logan was able to sit back and watch, interjecting an occasional comment when necessary. This gave him more time than he wanted to indulge his fantasies. Tonight, Amanda was wearing the same suit she'd worn on her first interview with him. The cut did not flatter her lush figure. Fortunately, he had a good imagination.
He pictured her dressed in the suit, minus the prim, high-necked blouse. He could slip his hand inside her jacket, caress the underside of her breast, and tease her a bit. He knew she'd be soft and plump where it counted.
