Her Favourite Rival. Sarah Mayberry

His insurance should cover the repair.”

      She looked at him. Humiliation aside, he’d gone out of his way to find her so she wouldn’t return and find her car all banged up. A pretty nice thing to do.

      And he’d fed her last night.

      “Thanks for coming to get me. I appreciate it.”

      “It was no big deal.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

      He headed for the stairs, no doubt going back up to his office to put in more overtime. She watched him walk away, begrudgingly agreeing with Megan—he was too manly and masculine to be a true pretty boy, even if his face was very pretty.

      But it seemed he wasn’t just an attractive face. He could be nice, too, as well as considerate.

      She frowned. She didn’t want to start seeing the human side of Zach. He got under her skin enough already. If they were in a meeting together, it was always his comments she remembered the most clearly afterward. At large work functions, she always knew where he was and who he was talking to. And when he took leave or traveled interstate, the office felt too quiet and slow in his absence, as though some vital element was missing.

      She didn’t want to be so aware of him. In fact, it was the very last thing she wanted. Half the women in the building had a crush on him, and she steadfastly refused to join their ranks.

      Besides, even if he was a nice person under his well-cut suits and perfect hair, it didn’t change the fact that he would throw her under a bus if he thought it would further his career.

      Admit it, you’d give him a shove, too.

      Maybe. Part of her liked to think she would. She worked in a male-dominated industry, and it was important to be as tough, as emotionless as many of the men she had around her. The other part of her questioned if any role or pay raise was worth all the stress and exhaustion and worry.

      She squared her shoulders. It was worth it. The alternatives—sitting in the corner waiting to be rewarded for being a good little girl, or giving up entirely and finding something less demanding—were not really alternatives. She could no more walk away from this job and her ambition than she could change the color of her eyes or her skin. She needed to prove herself. She needed it like she needed oxygen.

      Turning her back on her scratched and dented car, she headed back to her office. If Zach was putting in the long hours tonight, she needed to be, too.

      That was just the way it was.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ZACH WASN’T ABOUT to kid himself—there was no way he would get any work done with Audrey’s words bouncing around inside his head.

      I don’t want to think about Zach in relation to my clitoris or any other body part.

      He’d entered the bar just in time to catch Audrey’s words, and he was burning to know what she and Megan had been talking about before he arrived.

      Him—obviously—but had the conversation been led by Megan or Audrey? And had it been the kind of conversation a guy liked to think women might have about him when he wasn’t around, or the kind that could leave a man scarred for life?

      He made a frustrated noise as it hit him that he would never know. The odds of Audrey ever willingly broaching the topic again were slim to none, and he certainly wasn’t going to harangue her into confessing. That would give her too much power.

      He would simply have to learn to live with the mystery. Yet another unanswered question where she was concerned, to be added to the host of other things he wanted to know about her.

      Like what she did when she wasn’t working, and why he found her so compelling, and if the pale, downy skin at the nape of her neck was as soft and fragrant as he imagined....

      He loosened his tie and gave himself a mental slap, pushing thoughts of Audrey into a dark, deep corner. Where they were going to stay, for the sake of his peace of mind and his career.

      He made a point of not noticing if Audrey’s office was still lit as he made his way to his car an hour later. He drove home via the supermarket and walked in the door just after eight o’clock. He kicked off his shoes, made himself a chicken sandwich and ate in front of the TV. Even though he was tired, he felt wired, his brain unable to focus on the screen.

      Maybe he should go out, catch a movie or something. Or maybe read a book. He walked to the bookcase in his study and checked out the shelf he’d reserved for fiction. Two lonely, dusty spy thrillers sat there, and he’d read both of them. Still, it had been a while. The odds were good he’d forgotten enough of the plot to still go along for the ride.

      He returned to the couch, one of the books in hand, and muted the TV. He settled down with his legs outstretched, a cushion behind his head. He opened the first page and started reading.

      He was intensely aware of the silence in the house, so much so that his own breathing sounded loud in his head. It hit him that this was the first time in months that he’d taken some time for himself, and even though he was ostensibly chilling out, there was still a voice in the back of his mind telling him he should check his email and go over another report.

      He set the book down on his belly and let his head drop back. Was it possible to lose the ability to relax? Because if so, he was there.

      He stared at the stain on the ceiling from where the roof had leaked and wondered what Audrey was doing tonight.

      “Idiot.”

      He stood abruptly, the book sliding to the floor.

      This little crush he was developing stopped now. No more self-indulgence. No more flirting with the possibilities.

      Even though it was dark outside, he changed into his running gear and hit the street. An hour later, he was drenched in sweat, his thigh muscles burning. Most importantly, his mind was blessedly clear.

      It would stay that way, too. He had the conference coming up, then a series of catalogs to plan for. Plus whatever drama Whitman would no doubt stir up.

      Then there was his mother.

      More than enough for one man to handle.

      * * *

      AUDREY ARRIVED AT work the next morning with a plan: to acknowledge Zach’s generosity in helping her with her car while simultaneously avoiding him as much as possible in the hope that they could both forget the clitoris thing. On the surface they were two agendas at odds with each other, but she was hoping she could swing it. She started her campaign by leaving a box of protein bars on his desk, complete with a breezy note. Thanks for your help yesterday and for the much-needed snack the other night. Both much appreciated. A.

      It had taken her a whole hour last night to compose those two sentences, and while she wasn’t entirely happy with them, she figured her note covered the first part of her plan. The second part—the avoidance part—would require more effort and vigilance. The merchandising department might employ in excess of thirty people, but it was essentially a fishbowl and they all swam around one another all day. There were multiple opportunities to run into Zach in the hall, in the staff room, at the printer, near the photocopier, so she needed to stay sharp and be quick on her feet.

      And spend a lot of time hiding in her office.

      A couple of days should do it, she figured. Long enough for her to stop blushing every time she remembered that moment in the bar, and hopefully long enough for him to forget what he’d overheard.

      All went well, avoidance-wise, until midafternoon when she arrived three minutes late for the weekly departmental meeting to find only one seat left. Right next to Zach, naturally.

      Well, shit.

      Shaking a mental fist at fate, she slid into the empty seat. Zach glanced at her briefly before focusing on Gary, who had the floor. Audrey flipped to a new page in her notebook, determined to get past this