The Bridal Suite. Sandra Marton

think his bow ties make him look distinguished,” Dana said loyally. “Besides, I was talking about McKenna, and please don’t bother telling me how many jobs he’s saved because that’s all secondary to his real purpose in life, which is to make himself as disgustingly rich as possible.”

      “My, oh, my, is that right? He should be taken out and shot.”

      “And to accumulate as many female scalps as he can manage in his spare time. Turn toward me a little, please.”

      “I thought you just said you don’t care about his personal life.”

      “I don’t. It’s just that his attitude toward women spills over into his work.”

      “Whoa.” Jeannie drew in her breath. “Don’t tell me,” she said in an excited whisper. “He made a pass?”

      “Ha!”

      “Ha, as in yes?”

      “Ha, as in I almost wish he had.” Dana’s eyes glittered. “Then, at least, I could nail him with the charges he deserves. The man is a sexist pig. He sees women only as objects.”

      “I thought you said he didn’t make a pass,” Jeannie said in bewilderment.

      “He didn’t,” Dana stepped back, cocked her head and studied Jeannie’s face. “There. If you keep your hands away from your chin, nobody’ll notice a thing.”

      Jeannie swung toward the mirror. “Terrific! I’m almost human again.”

      “Which is more than we can say of Mister McKenna.” Dana curved her hands around the rim of the sink and glared into the mirror. “Tell me the truth, please. Do I sound like an idiot?”

      Jeannie looked at her friend and sighed. “Your trouble isn’t what you sound like, my friend. It’s what you look like. People who design complicated computer programs aren’t supposed to look like Michelle Pfeiffer stand-ins. Well, except for the hair. If you’d just go blonder, leave it loose...”

      “Forget about the way I look,” Dana said sharply, “although that, clearly, is part of the problem as far as McKenna’s concerned. He looks at me, all he can see is a female.”

      “How peculiar,” Jeannie said sweetly.

      “Sitting there, like an emperor on his throne, giving me these solemn looks, nodding wisely as if he were really listening to what I was saying, when he’d already decided I had nothing worth listening to, thanks to my chromosomes. Oh, it was as plain as the nose on your face.”

      “Or the Mount Vesuvius on my chin,” Jeannie swung toward the mirror and frowned. “When did this happen? When did McKenna decide you had terminal PMS?”

      “Last week. Well, and again just a few minutes ago. I met with him twice, and each time was a disaster.” Dana paced across the room. “He didn’t listen to me, Jeannie, he patronized me. And when that didn’t work, he told me that I could look for another job, if I didn’t like this one.”

      “Uh-oh. That sounds ominous.”

      “And why?”

      “Well,” Jeannie said, “I guess because—”

      “Because I stood up to him, that’s why. Because I turned out not to be the ladylike little puppet he thought I was, one that would let him pull my strings.”

      “I don’t think puppets have strings,” Jeannie said carefully. “I mean, it’s marionettes that—”

      “It was just a figure of speech,” Dana said angrily. “Oh, that man. How can he be so blind?”

      “Dana, look, I think maybe you’re going overboard, you know?”

      “Well, you think wrong. There’s a serious problem with the new code, thanks to my boss. Dave’s screwing up, big time.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I’m positive,” Dana took a deep breath. “He’s got a drinking problem.”

      “You’re joking.”

      “I’m dead serious. He doesn’t slur his speech or fall down in a heap, but there are times he’s so drunk he can hardly see the monitor.”

      “But—but surely, someone would have noticed—”

      “Someone did. Me.”

      “Did you say something about it to him?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      “And?”

      “And, he denied it. Then he said that no one would believe me. He’s the one with a name. With experience. So now I spend half my time trying to catch his errors, and the other half trying to keep up with my own work, and the result is that everything’s a total mess.”

      Jeannie chewed on her lip. “Damn,” she said softly. “What a spot to be in. Well, you’ll just have to go to McKenna. I know snitching on Dave won’t be fun, but—”

      “I have gone to him,” Dana said furiously. “What do you think I’ve been telling you for the last fifteen minutes?”

      “You told him Dave’s a drunk?”

      “No. I knew he’d never believe me. But I told him the code’s unstable.”

      “What did he say?”

      “He said he knows there are problems, and that Dave told him I was the cause, and that he realizes I’m upset because I didn’t get that promotion.” Dana’s eyes flashed. “And, until he got around to telling me I might want to look for another job, he complimented me for complaining in such a ladylike way—”

      The door swung open. Charlie, the custodian, beamed at Dana and Jeannie. He had a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other.

      “Top o’ the mornin’, ladies,” he said cheerfully. “My apologies for disturbin’ you. I did knock, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

      “That’s okay,” Jeannie shot a glance at Dana. “We were just about finished in here.”

      “Makin’ girl talk, were you?” Charlie beamed his grandfatherly smile. “And primpin’, I suppose. Well, darlins! you can rest assured that there’s no need. The both of you ladies are perfect, just as you are.”

      Jeannie smothered a groan as she saw the look on Dana’s face.

      “Indeed,” Dana said coldly. “Whatever would we girls do without a man’s stamp of approval?”

      Charlie, blissfully unaware of the quicksand beneath his feet, grinned broadly. “Isn’t that a fact?”

      “You want a fact?” Dana demanded, marching toward him. Charlie’s smile faded and he flattened himself against the wall. “We are not girls,” she said, wagging her finger under his nose, “and we are not ladies. We are women. As for needing a man’s stamp of approval—”

      Jeannie grabbed Dana’s arm and hustled her from the bathroom. Halfway out the door, she turned and gave Charlie an apologetic smile. “It’s nothing personal,” she hissed. “She’s just upset.”

      “I am not upset,” Dana said, spinning around. “I am just tired of pretending that I need patting on the head, as if I were a—a poodle instead of a person.”

      Charlie’s baffled glance went from one woman to the other. “I never said one word against poodles, Miss.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I didn’t... This has nothing to do with dogs. I simply meant...” Dana threw up her arms. “Men,” she snorted, and marched off.

      Moments later, Charlie stood before Griffin McKenna’s massive desk, his bushy white brows still drawn together in a knot.

      “So, there I was, about to mop the