Emmy And The Boss. Penny McCusker

and he was tall which, being tall herself, Emmy considered a definite plus. And he obviously kept in shape; he wasn’t exactly dressed for the executive suite, but if he looked that good in Dockers, he’d be killer in a suit. And she’d be dead meat.

      But it wasn’t just his face and body. Nick Porter had that thing, that indefinable quality that made actors movie stars and pretty girls supermodels. You just wanted to be around him, Emmy concluded, and talk to him and look at him. It didn’t make any sense, but that was why they called it the X-factor. There weren’t any words descriptive enough to give it an actual name.

      “I’m entertaining, too,” he said, taking her long perusal and the resulting silence as agreement. “I’m funny and dependable—”

      “No, you’re not. We’ve only met twice and you’ve been late both times.”

      “You’re right, I just said that because I thought it would appeal to an efficiency expert. But punctuality is highly overrated. There’s more to life than work.”

      “I know.” She just didn’t like any of the other parts. “But work is what we’re supposed to be doing right now. Besides, you have a girlfriend, and I doubt she’d appreciate your efforts to appeal to me.”

      “Let me guess, Stella told you that. She thinks every woman I meet is after my money.”

      “You don’t have any money. Your business is in debt.”

      “I know. That’s why you’re here. Who would’ve thought being broke would turn into such an advantage? Although I have to admit I’m not actually broke. I have a trust fund.”

      “So women are after your money.”

      “Sometimes. But the important thing is you’re not, and since I’m not currently dating anyone except you—”

      “We’re not dating.”

      “Yet. We will be. Eventually I’ll wear you down, and before you know it you’ll be introducing me to your parents. Once I meet your mom you’re toast. Moms love me.”

      Emmy didn’t say anything, but she made sure her expression was blank. She didn’t exactly dwell on her childhood, or the foster homes, but she didn’t have any trouble with the memories, either. Her parents—her mother especially—was the one area of her past she couldn’t bear to think about. It hurt too much.

      “I said something wrong.”

      “My parents are dead.” It looked as though he might reach for her, so Emmy eased away from him. “It happened a long time ago. I barely remember them, and it’s personal. I’m here to talk about your business. Do you want to save it?”

      For a minute she didn’t think he was going to respect her boundaries—or agree with her. But then he nodded and she was able to relax. As much, she figured, as she’d ever be able to relax around Nick.

      “Good, then let’s get started.”

      Chapter Three

      Emmy spent the rest of the day observing Nick’s employees. Nick spent the rest of the day observing Emmy. The employees didn’t care much for being observed. Emmy was oblivious to everything but work. Nick had the time of his life.

      She was so cute with her clipboard and stopwatch, brow furrowed in concentration, tucking her flyaway blond hair behind her ear every other minute. That hair gave him real hope where she was concerned. If she’d been as no-nonsense as she claimed to be, she’d have tamed her hair back into some kind of ugly, efficient bun. Nick couldn’t think of anything worse than that, so it was a relief that she was still wandering around with a head full of wild Shirley Temple curls.

      And she was surprisingly good with people—or she would have been if she’d let them in. She asked questions, and she listened so intently to the answers that whoever she was speaking with couldn’t help but be flattered despite themselves. But every time talk strayed to the personal, she shut down, the person on the other side of the conversation backed off, and Emmy moved on to the next work station, personal involvement rolling off her as though she walked around in a Teflon isolation bubble. She’d done the same thing when he mentioned her mother, Nick remembered, only the bubble hadn’t been made of Teflon, it had been made of sadness.

      Well, he was just the guy to burst her bubble—and where the heck had that thought come from? Nick wondered. Being attracted to her was one thing, anything else was moving way too fast, and Nick made it a point never to move too fast.

      Yet there was something about Emmy Jones. Part of it was knowing she’d lost her parents at a young age. Nick could sympathize; his mother had died before he was twelve years old, and he remembered that time with perfectly awful clarity. There was something more drawing him to Emmy, though, a level of curiosity and fascination that pushed him beyond his normal take-it-as-it-comes approach to romance. He was so anxious to see her that he was actually on time the next morning, waiting in the parking lot for her. Emmy was late.

      “There you are,” he said when she finally pulled up and was climbing out of her car. “I guess I can call off the St. Bernards.”

      “Are those the dogs that carry little kegs around their necks? Because I could use a drink about now.”

      And he could use a cold shower. She reached into the front seat to gather her purse and briefcase, her skirt hiked up high enough to show about a mile of leg, and Nick could practically feel brain cells dying from lack of oxygen. Fortunately he didn’t care because most of his attention was focused way south of his brain.

      “Considering how my day started, it’s probably best if I don’t remember any of it,” she mumbled from the car’s interior.

      She straightened, but Nick’s brain was slow to keep up. “There are other ways to forget.”

      “I’ve tried ice cream already.”

      “For breakfast?”

      “Trust me, this was the kind of unforeseen event that called for drastic measures. But Roger is too much for even triple chocolate fudge to banish.”

      Nick tore his eyes off her legs and checked back in to the conversation. “Roger, as in the guy who dumped you? What did he want?”

      She walked around him and headed for the building. “He wanted to get his things.”

      “And you couldn’t tear yourself away?”

      “I had to stick around and guard my furniture. It turns out Roger has a pretty inventive memory when it comes to what he brought with him when he moved in.”

      “I could talk to him for you.” Or punch him.

      She took in the expression on his face and the curl to his fingers. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you and Roger to interact.”

      “Funny, I’m having the same thought where you’re concerned.”

      Emmy rolled her eyes. Nick would have been insulted if she didn’t look so adorable doing it.

      “Here’s the report I wrote up last night,” she said, “some preliminary observations about the way your business runs, and some areas we can study for possible efficiency improvements.”

      Nick took the neat manila folder she handed him and completely ignored it. There was some serious heat jumping around inside him, and he had two choices, punch Roger or kiss Emmy. He took one look and decided punching Roger wasn’t going to cool him off. Kissing Emmy wasn’t going to cool him off, either, but at least he wouldn’t hurt his hand.

      For the moment, though, she was only interested in work so he had to humor her. And control himself.

      She didn’t make it easy.

      When they got to Nick’s office, Emmy took the file folder from him and set it on the desk. “Point one. Starting and quitting times have to be enforced,” she read, still standing so Nick had no choice but to