Who's on Top?. Karen Kendall

And he knew it. She restrained a smile. Was it her imagination or did every faint pinstripe on the man’s suit indicate a bullet trajectory—all of them aimed right at her?

      Jane smiled at his back as he stalked once again toward her office. Hostility and annoyance buzzed around them like a thousand angry horseflies.

      She dropped into her chair and made a couple more notes. This made her look official and professional and gave her a moment to think. Continue on the offensive, she told herself. Just take the bull by the horns. Maybe that way he’ll smash some excellent psychological china….

      “So, Mr. Sayers. How long have you entertained hostile thoughts toward women? Does this date back to your childhood?”

      He fixed her with an extremely black, dangerous stare—and then he began to curse. She ignored the actual words and just let him vent. But in the meantime she couldn’t help but admire the way he filled out his suit, the jump of the muscles in his stern jaw as he got pithy with her and the truly miraculous bone structure of his face. The man had cheekbones that would make a sculptor weep.

      When he finally stopped with an insult to her profession, she said graciously, “I’m so glad we’ve had this time together,” and opened her appointment book. “I’d like to visit you at the office on Monday, all right? Nine-ish, shall we say?”

      Sayers appeared to choke on that breath he was taking. “Lady, are you out of your mind?”

      “No, I’m certainly not. Let’s identify what just happened here. Since you were too proud to walk out that door, when I asked you a question you resented, you exhibited enough hostility that you hoped I’d be horrified and back out of working with you. I’m not going to do that. Of course, again it’s your choice. You can retreat from the battlefield and refuse to work with me.” She watched him carefully for a moment. “But then I’ll have to log that in my evaluation. And if what you say about the, uh, sociopathic Ms. DuBose is true, then won’t you just be playing into her hands?”

      2

      BY THE TIME DOMINIC SAYERS left her office, Jane was smug in the knowledge that she’d won the round. Oh, yes indeed—he was down for the count, with her high heel firmly planted between his handsome shoulder blades. It was a darn good feeling—but she couldn’t help questioning how long it would last. Dominic would be armed and dangerous next time they met. She had to prepare herself. And she had to get him to talk to her.

      Besides being angry, who was this man? She didn’t have many clues. And if she couldn’t figure out who he was, how was she going to figure out how to fix him?

      She stared at the obnoxious, broad, dark back of Sayers as he walked to his hunter-green Jaguar and unlocked it. The guy didn’t saunter exactly. He just walked casually, with confidence radiating off what she had to admit were exceptionally nice shoulders. She wondered fleetingly what he looked like in a snug T-shirt before her gaze dropped to his backside, which was so fine that she could watch it like a television. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if strange women pinched it on the street….

      That’s when he caught her, acknowledging her stare with one of his own.

      Annoyed at herself, she turned on her heel, only to have her gaze fall on the glossy Vicky’s Secret catalogue that had launched some of the trouble between them. Because there was trouble between them, no doubt about it—layers of disturbance that had to do not only with a battle of wits but also with an underlying resistance to each other. Jane didn’t like this one bit. Because the flip side of resistance was…attraction.

      How could she be attracted to a foul-mouthed self-professed swine? Well, truth to tell, he was more of a grizzly bear.

      Jane had always loved a good fight. And she usually won—just as she had today. But she was attracted to Sayers, God help her.

      Ugh. There it was, lying out in the open for her to deal with. But how?

      She snatched the offending lingerie catalogue off the sofa and stuffed it into the nearest circular file.

      The planet was littered with Vicky’s Secret catalogues. Bombarded with bras, plastered with panties. She was so used to seeing them, modeled by half-naked nymphets, that she hadn’t thought to hide the damned catalogue in the depths of the cleaning closet.

      And out of all the possible selections in such a catalogue, Mr. Sayers had to have caught her looking at that one. Jane clutched the pearls at her neck and let her fingers slide along the smooth orbs, trying not to imagine how they might feel slithering into dark, sensual crevices. She shifted from one foot to the other, feeling heat blossom on her skin at an unbidden image of Sayers trailing his fingers after them….

      Then she slapped herself in the forehead. What was wrong with her? Jane stuck her foot in the wastebasket and stomped on the damn catalogue just to make herself feel better.

      Shannon’s door opened behind her. “Now that’s a good look for you, O’Toole.”

      With dignity, Jane removed her foot from the container.

      “Almost as good a look as the beet-red on your face an hour ago.”

      Jane shot her a look that communicated two words: bite me.

      “So what’s up with him, and why do you look like you just ate a nail sandwich?”

      Jane sighed. “He doesn’t want to be here. Remember how thrilled I was to hear from that female VP? The one from Zantyne?”

      Shannon nodded.

      “Well, she’s the one who sent Mr. Sunshine this morning. And he does seem to have an attitude problem. He’s going to be a tough client.”

      “Not to mention a hot one!”

      Jane ignored the comment completely, as well as the smirk on her friend’s face.

      “But if you do well with him,” Shannon guessed, “we could get a lot more business from Zantyne—business that we need if we want to break even this year, service the business loans and hire a receptionist.”

      “Exactly.”

      Shannon tapped a long fingernail against her teeth. The fingernail was purple. Yesterday it had been blue.

      “Hey, Shan? Your nails aren’t going to be green tomorrow, are they? I mean, we—”

      “Have a corporate image to uphold, yes, I know. Trust me, once I have my first clients in here next week, the claws will be short and neutral. But until then I’m a free spirit, honey. And green’s not a bad idea…MAC has a new metallic mint color out. Thanks for reminding me.”

      Jane looked down at Shannon’s toes, which gleamed—alternately striped and polka-dotted with silver and purple. She shook her head. “Where do you find the time?”

      “Exactly where you find the time to run on your treadmill like a gerbil on a wheel. Back to this hunky guy with the eyebrows. Convince him that he can use you for his own purposes, and then he’ll relax.”

      Jane nodded slowly, trying to ignore the dirtier connotations of being used for Sayers’s own purposes. Stop that! He’s a client.

      Shannon might have a few nuts in her center, but she was often unexpectedly brilliant. “I think you’re right,” Jane said in her best crisp and professional tones. “He’s not the kind of personality who will accept help. He needs to be in control.”

      Shannon smirked. “Hmm. Kind of like some other people I know…”

      “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m a Virgo. I was born that way.”

      “No, I think you dictated the exact date and time you exited the womb. You also took notes, cc-ing the doctor and your parents.”

      Jane was smart enough to check the door this time for roving clients before shooting the finger at Shannon. Oh, yes, she had Finesse.

      SHE WAS DRAWN BACK INTO HER office by the ringing phone