The Playboy's Protegee. Michele Dunaway

arched an eyebrow. “Did I stutter? It’s not going to happen.”

      She gestured wildly for a moment. “Are you insane? Look at us! We can’t stand each other. You’ve done nothing but pick apart my performance since I got here a year ago. I’m sorry. Well, no I’m not. You made yourself look foolish in that meeting, Harry, not me.”

      Perhaps, but that didn’t matter. He’d forgotten how intense she could be when angry. He shoved that intriguing thought aside. He had to stay focused.

      “That meeting long ago is irrelevant. You are not good for Jacobsen, Megan. You are not a good fit for this company. But since it is not my company until such time that my grandfather and my father both step down and retire, I have little say in the matter.”

      This was going better than he thought. He knew she’d come in prepared to fight, to prove they were incompatible. She’d played right into his hands. Megan drew herself up and leaned over his desk. “So step aside and let me have a different mentor.”

      “No. You know what they say about your past mistakes coming back to haunt you, don’t you, Megan? That was your mistake, messing with me when you first came to work for Jacobsen Enterprises.”

      “I did no such thing as what, messing with you? I came here on a professional basis. You and I may not be able to stand each other, but we can be professional. Why don’t you just step aside so we can get past this issue and move on with our lives.”

      She drew a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. The movement made her breasts press forward. The suit jacket gaped open. She was wearing white lace.

      Harry’s throat went dry, and his next words simply disappeared. What was it about a clue train, or conversation train, or something like that derailing? He felt poleaxed. Come on! From seeing catalogs to actually removing women’s clothing during lovemaking, he’d certainly seen lace-covered breasts before. But something about Megan and lace had just caused him to come unglued.

      He blinked in order to yank his gaze away from staring at her breasts. He’d totally lost where he was, oh yeah, his office. And what he was saying or about to say? To regain control he stood, his six-foot-two height towering over her by six inches.

      “I told my grandfather I’d make my decision soon. Who knows, maybe I just will be your mentor. After all, you’re right. I need to be professional about this.”

      “You are such a, you are…”

      “Oh spit it out, Megan. You can do better than that. Everyone knows how you enjoy making me look foolish. No one else is listening or even here. You don’t have to pretend to be perfect. Let the real you hang out for once.”

      She tossed a hand though her short hair as if she was trying to regain control, and then the words spit forth. “You are a cad!”

      Harry laughed. Boy, was she cute when she was angry. “Bravo. Impressive. You could have called me so much worse.”

      “You are impossible!” Her brown eyes flashed venom at him.

      “Yes,” he said. “I am. I take pride in that attribute.”

      “This was a waste of time.” Megan strode over to the door, giving Harry a view of her shoes: plain, sensible blue pumps that matched her suit.

      But she had nice ankles. Nice, thin, and not too bony. Just about perfect.

      He stared at those perfect ankles as she stormed out of his office, her brown hair tossing around her head.

      Peggy suddenly hovered at the doorway. “You got a call from Peters in New York while Ms. MacGregor was here. I didn’t want to disturb you and send it through.”

      “Thanks, Peggy. Ms. MacGregor is disturbing enough. Go ahead and redial him for me, won’t you?”

      “Certainly.” Peggy went back to her desk.

      Harry sat back down, surprised to find himself so oddly invigorated. Megan was disturbing.

      Arguing with her, how to describe it? The thought that it had been better than some of the sex he’d ever had, and man had he had some sex, came into his mind. She was feisty, mind-blowing, difficult, temperamental, and yet she faced him down and went where most men would even fear to tread. Hmm.

      She was an intriguing woman. No wonder men found her a siren. Maybe he should be her mentor just to spar with her again. It had been the most fun he’d had in several weeks.

      He laughed at the foolishness of that idea as Peggy sent the call through.

      Chapter Two

      “Megan? Is that you?”

      “It’s me.” Megan’s purse landed with a thump on the side table. She took a moment to calm herself down. The meeting with Harry still had her totally keyed up.

      The look on his face! Never in her life had she wanted to slap someone as much as she had wanted to smack Harry Sanders. Heck, she’d have kissed him if it would have given her back the control she’d lost in that meeting.

      Of course, kissing him…Control. Harry always made her so furious, mostly at herself for being so unprofessional and out of control.

      She strode into the living room of the shotgun flat she shared with her mother down in the area of Saint Louis known as the Hill. Her mother, propped up by pillows, was watching the evening news. Megan leaned and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling today?”

      Barbara MacGregor smiled weakly. “Okay. Today is much better than yesterday,” she said. “I’m not as numb in my legs as I was.”

      “Then that’s good news,” Megan said. She pushed the wheelchair aside and took a seat next to her mother. “Maybe the medicine is working.”

      “I hope so,” Barbara said, her face clouding for a moment. Megan felt the familiar pang shoot through her. Her mother, the bravest woman she knew, did not deserve to have a primary-progressive case of multiple sclerosis. It had left Barbara needing a wheelchair most of the time. While her mother could still walk, her muscles were so weak that she used the wheelchair mostly to conserve precious energy.

      “You just missed Bill. He brought me dinner before he went in to work.” Barbara mentioned her fiancé of the past year. “He’s tending bar tonight.”

      Ironically, her mother’s fiancé, a wonderful retired gentleman with lots of spare time on his hands, worked for mad money at Henrietta’s, Jacobsen’s five-star, five-diamond restaurant.

      Located only a few blocks away on Southwest Avenue, Bill often brought Barbara gourmet carryout dinners since she rarely left the house herself except for a doctor’s appointment. It was just too much effort to go anywhere besides the general area of her home.

      “So how was work?”

      If one forgot about Harry Sanders, it was, “Great,” Megan answered. “Mr. Jacobsen came by to tell me about a new program he’s launching in two weeks called Jacobsen Stars. He wants me to participate.”

      “Honey! That’s fantastic! Congratulations.”

      “Thanks,” Megan replied as she told her mother about it, except of course, about Harry.

      “I’m so proud of you,” her mother said. She moved her hand slowly and finally covered Megan’s. “You’re the best daughter I could have asked for.”

      “Mom,” Megan said. Tears brimmed in Megan’s eyes and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

      Barbara’s voice suddenly sounded weary. “You shouldn’t be having to take care of me, Megan. I’m only fifty. I should be fine.”

      A lump lodged in Megan’s throat. She tried to lighten the moment. “Well, set a date with Bill and I’ll pass you off on him.”

      Her mother’s features