The Bedroom Business. Sandra Marton

it’s only four forty-five.”

      McBride gave her another of those I’m-So-Wonderful-and-You’re-So-Lucky-To-Be-Working-For-Me smiles.

      “I can do without you for a little while, I promise. Now, go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

      “Thank you, Mr. McBride.”

      “Good night, Emily.”

      “Good night, sir.”

      Jake shut the door and sat down at his desk. Damn, what dedication. He’d almost had to carry Emily out of the office. Well, that would have been simple enough. She was small. Slender. She’d be light, just like one of those little sparrows. He could carry Emily up the steps in his duplex, to his bedroom, set her down on her feet and find out just what, exactly, lay hidden under all those woolly layers of clothing…

      He frowned, pulled a blank pad towards him. What crazy thoughts. Jake chuckled softly. Amazing, the things a man’s brain could conjure up at the end of a long day. Better to spend the next couple of hours profitably, writing some memos to leave on Emily’s desk for her to tackle first thing in the morning.

      He worked for a while, went from the memos to sketching out an idea that had just come to him about that meeting in San Diego…

      A knock sounded on the door.

      Jake looked up, then checked his watch. It was after five. Emily was gone. Nobody else would…

      Somebody would.

      Brandi, he thought unhappily. She’d called earlier, when Emily was at lunch. He’d picked up the phone just as the answering machine did and he’d heard that little whisper that had once driven him crazy with lust and now just drove him crazy, begging him to see her tonight.

      The knock came again. Maybe if he just sat it out, pretended he wasn’t here…

      “Jake?”

      The door swung open. Jake, caught between deciding whether to duck for cover or tell Brandi to get lost, looked up and grinned in surprise.

      “Pete?”

      Pete Archer, a guy he’d worked with his first year in New York, opened the door wider and stepped inside.

      “Jake, you old son of a gun. What’s the matter? You afraid I’m a bill collector or something?”

      Jake got to his feet. “Or something.” He came forward and the men shook hands. They’d never been close friends but it was great to see someone from the past. “Why didn’t you call me? If I’d known you were going to be in town, I’d have rolled out the red carpet.”

      “Didn’t know it, until the last minute.” Pete smiled. “You look like life’s treating you well.”

      “You, too.” Jake grinned, gave Pete a light jab to the biceps. “How long will you be in town?”

      “Just overnight. I have to be back in Chicago tomorrow morning.”

      “Too bad. I have a business dinner lined up. Let me call the guy and—”

      “No, no, I understand. How about drinks? You have time for that?”

      “Great idea. Want to go out, or have something here?”

      “Here would be cool. Got any ale?”

      Jake laughed. “Some things never change, huh? Ale, it is.”

      He went to his built-in mini fridge, took out a couple of bottles and opened them. Pete waved away his offer of a glass. The two men sat across from each other, leaned close enough to clink bottles, took long, thirsty swallows, then smiled.

      “So,” Jake said, “how’re things?”

      “Couldn’t be better. And you?”

      “Terrific.” Jake sighed. “Well, they would be, if…” He leaned forward, across the desk. “You know why I didn’t answer when you knocked? I thought you were a woman.”

      Pete laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided you’re giving up babes. I wouldn’t believe it.”

      “Let me amend that,” Jake said, smiling. “I thought you were a particular woman.”

      “Ah. A bowwow who’s developed a thing for you, huh?”

      “No, she’s a definite ten.” Jake grinned, but his grin faded. “But the thing ran its course, you know? She began to hear wedding bells.”

      “Oh, yeah. I know what that’s like.” Pete drank some ale. “So, you tried to end it?”

      “I’m still trying. Trouble is, she’s determined. She calls. She sends me notes. She shows up at my apartment, she shows up here…”

      “Well, you have a secretary, don’t you? Let her do the dirty work.”

      “I have an executive assistant,” Jake said, smiling and lifting his eyebrows.

      “What’s that mean?”

      “It means I’m lucky enough to employ a woman whose only goal in life is to make me happy.”

      “Jake, you dog, you! You stocked the front desk with a hot babe!”

      ‘‘Sorry to burst the bubble, pal, but Emily’s as far from being a hot babe as Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

      Pete sighed. “Too bad. I figured her for the fox I just saw at the elevator.”

      “Oh, hell,” Jake said, and the color drained from his face. “Brunette?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “Big brown eyes?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “Great legs? A body meant to send a man straight over the edge?”

      Pete shrugged, took a drink of his ale. “Definitely and probably.”

      “Probably?” Jake gave a forlorn laugh. “You’d have to be blind or dead not to notice Brandi’s figure.”

      “Brandi?”

      “Yeah. The lady who’s decided I’m the love of her life. I half-figured she might show up here tonight.”

      “Well, she did. And the only reason I didn’t notice her shape was because it was hidden under a layer of tweed.”

      “Yeah, well…” Jake stared at Pete. “Tweed? Brandi would sooner be caught during rush hour in a New York subway than in tweed.”

      “Either her tastes have changed, or the woman I saw wasn’t…Who’d you say?”

      “Brandi,” Jake said automatically. He frowned. “Emily wears tweed.”

      “And Emily would be…?”

      “I told you about her. She’s my P.A. My E.A.” Jake thought for a second, then shook his head. “Forget it. No way could it have been Emily. I mean, she’s great. She’s efficient. She’s capable. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had.” He smiled. “But a looker? No way.”

      Pete gave a dramatic sigh. “See, that’s where we differ, Jake. I’ve learned to refine my tastes.”

      Jake grinned. “Sure.”

      “No, I’m serious. I look beyond the obvious.” He leaned forward, gave a leering smirk. “Besides, you know what they say. Still waters run deep.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning,” Pete said smugly, “if a babe doesn’t think she’s a looker, a guy can get into her pants a lot easier.”

      Jake shot to his feet. “Not into Emily’s, he can’t.” His voice was cold; he could feel the sudden tension in his muscles.

      “Hey.” Pete stood