The Bedroom Business. Sandra Marton

marched into his private office, peeled off his wet coat and dumped it on the back of his chair.

      Sick? Emily?

      “Ha,” he said.

      She hadn’t been sick a day since she’d come to work for him. Yeah, she’d said she felt as if she were coming down with a cold yesterday afternoon but it couldn’t have been much of a cold because not an hour later, she’d leaped at Archer’s invitation to dinner like a trout going after a fly.

      “Sick,” Jake muttered.

      Sleeping off her big night out, was more like it. Who knew where Archer had taken her for dinner, or what hour he’d gotten her home? Who knew how much wine she’d had to drink or how late she’d gone to bed or if she’d gone to bed at all…

      Or if she’d been alone when she got into it.

      Not that he cared. What she did, who she did it with, was her business. He’d tell her that, when—if—she deigned to show up this morning. The only question was, should he tell it to her before or after he told her she was fired?

      From executive assistant to unemployed, in less than twenty-four hours.

      The thought did wonders for his disposition. But why wait for Miss Taylor to put in an appearance? He could just as easily fire her right now.

      Jake smiled coldly as he reached for the telephone but his smile changed, went back to being a frown. What was her number? For that matter, where did she live? In the city? In the suburbs? In one of the outlying boroughs? He had all that information. She’d filled out a form when she’d come to work for him. Actually, she’d filled out a zillion forms, thanks to all the tax information everybody required, but he’d be damned if he could remember anything about Emily’s private life.

      Why would he? Until Archer stirred things up, she’d been the perfect employee. He’d never had reason to think about her, once he was away from the office. And now he was wasting time, thinking about her instead of sitting down and doing all the things that needed doing today. Not that he was actually “thinking” about Emily. Where she’d gone with Archer. Whether she’d had fun. Whether Archer had come on to her. Whether she was late because, even now, she was lying in the bastard’s arms…

      “Son of a bitch,” Jake said, under his breath.

      He thumbed open his address book, ran his finger down the list of T’s. There it was, Emily Taylor, the phone number written in Emily’s own, careful hand. Her address was there, too. She lived in Manhattan. Good, he thought grimly as he punched the phone number into the keypad. Then, she could damned well get her tail in here, pronto, and never mind what she was in the middle of doing with Archer.

      Let her trudge through the snow. Then, he’d fire her. In person, where he could watch her face become pale as he told her to get out of his life.

      Jake waited, tapping his foot impatiently as the phone rang. And rang. And—

      “Good morning, Mr. McBride.”

      “I’m happy you think so, Miss Taylor,” he said coldly…and suddenly realized that Emily’s voice wasn’t coming from the phone in his hand, it was coming from behind him. Slowly, he put down the telephone and turned around.

      She stood in the doorway. Snowflakes glittered in her hair—brown hair, he thought, but with a warm, golden glow that made a man think of dark maple syrup on a winter morning….

      Jake’s mouth turned down.

      “You’re late.”

      “I’m aware of that, sir. And I’m sorry.”

      She didn’t sound sorry. Not the least bit. There was a chill to her voice that had nothing to do with the weather.

      “And you’re late because…?”

      “The trains are running behind schedule.”

      “Really.” Jake smiled thinly and folded his arms. “I wonder if that could be because it’s snowing.”

      He was gratified to see a light flush color her cheeks. “I’m sure it is, Mr. McBride.”

      “In which case, Miss Taylor, you must also know that the trains always run late when it snows. Half the city runs late—or is that news to you?”

      Emily looked down and brushed the snow from her coat. Her ankle-length, tweed coat, Jake thought irritably. Was tweed the only item in her wardrobe? Was he ever going to see her legs?

      “I know what snow does to New York,” she said calmly. She lifted her eyes to his. “I allowed for that contingency.”

      “Ah. You allowed for it.” Jake glanced pointedly at his watch. “Interesting, since you’re almost an hour late.”

      Damn, he sounded like an ass. Well, so what? He was the boss. He was entitled to sound like an ass, if he wanted.

      “I’m twenty minutes late, sir.” Emily still sounded calm but there was a bite to the “sir.” “And I did allow for the weather. I left my apartment twenty minutes earlier than usual. If I hadn’t, I’d be later than I already am.”

      “Does that mean you got out of bed twenty minutes earlier than usual?”

      Emily’s eyebrows brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

      “It’s a simple question. I asked if you set your alarm back twenty minutes.”

      “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

      Neither did Jake. What he really wanted to ask was if she’d had to set the alarm back or if something else had awakened her this morning. Somebody. Archer, for instance, moving above her, in her bed…

      Hell!

      Jake frowned, cleared his throat, went behind his desk and sat down. He reached for his appointment book and looked at the page. Letters and numbers danced before his eyes.

      “Never mind,” he said brusquely.

      “Never mind, indeed.” Her voice was frigid now; he could almost see the icicles forming on each word. “Perhaps we need to establish some boundaries, Mr. McBride. My private life—”

      “So you said, last evening.” Jake waved his hand in dismissal. “I left the mail on your desk. Go through it, see if anything needs my immediate attention and then come back and I’ll dictate some notes.”

      She hesitated. He didn’t look up but he didn’t have to. He could all but feel her counting to ten, taking deep breaths, doing what she could to hang onto her composure. Well, wasn’t he doing the same thing? The nerve of her, holding him up for a pay raise and a new title one day and coming in late the next.

      “Of course, Mr. McBride.”

      The door snicked shut. Jake looked up, glowered at it, and closed his appointment book.

      Of course, Mr. McBride, he thought furiously. As if nothing had changed, as if she hadn’t shown up late, been insubordinate, done exactly the opposite of what he’d told her to do and gone off with a man who was only after one thing…

      Jake closed his eyes. “Hell,” he said, but with no heat whatsoever.

      Emily was right. Her life, outside of the office, wasn’t his business. Who she dated was up to her. What she did with who she dated was up to her, too. Why should he care, as long as she did her work?

      Still, it was only human to wonder where she’d gone last night and whether she’d had a good time. He could just ask her. He’d known Emily for almost a year now. They were friends. Well, they were business associates. And he’d been the one who’d put Archer in her path.

      Was it so strange he should be vaguely curious about how things had gone last night?

      Emily, he could say, I was just wondering, did you have a nice evening? Where’d Archer take you for dinner? Did he take you home? Did you invite him in? What time