The Boss's Christmas Proposal. Allison Leigh

dark gaze followed his hand as he pulled the hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and the pink in her cheeks became even brighter. She brushed those pinup-girl ringlets off her shoulder again. “I suppose I should apologize.”

      Supposing and actually doing were two different things, but he had no interest in debating the point. He held out the folded bill and after a brief hesitation, she reached out to take it.

      But he didn’t release it. “The next time I see you on the premises in a staff-related capacity, I expect you to dress appropriately.”

      “Yes—” she tugged harder on the bill “—sir.”

      “And by appropriate, I mean by my standards. Presumably one of those two dozen pieces of luggage that you brought contains a skirt longer than four inches and a blouse that buttons above your cleavage?” A surprisingly full cleavage, hugged by pink lace.

      He jerked his gaze upward, realizing he was nearly staring.

      Her glossy lips had compressed, and her long lashes had swept down. But when she spoke again, there was no hint of temper in her lilting voice. “Mr. Sherman, I can look like a nun if you’d like.”

      Even a full-scale nun’s habit wouldn’t dim the girl’s undeniable beauty. The fact that he recognized that beauty wasn’t bothersome.

      What was aggravating was his damnable response to it. He was too old to be going dry-mouthed around a woman. Particularly the boss’s daughter.

      He released the bill. “Exercise some judgment, Ms. Taka. That’s all I ask.”

      “Of course.” Her lips stretched into a smile he was positive she didn’t mean as she slipped the folded bill down into that cleavage. “Is there anything else, sir?”

      He could have told her that the HR office was empty. He should have. But that smile, that sir, got under his skin. “No.”

      She lifted her chin and turned around again, striding to the end of the hall.

      His teeth clenched when he realized he was watching the faint sway of Tasty until she turned out of sight.

      He went into his office and shut the door. The last thing he needed was to see Kimiko Taka strutting her way back to the elevator once she discovered that every person in Human Resources had already left for the staff meeting.

      Insufferable man.

      Walking away from Mr. Plank-o’-Wood, it was all Kimi could do not to tug self-consciously at her skirt. That was more than four inches long, thank you very much. It reached a very respectable length, in fact, hitting her midthigh.

      She could practically feel his gaze burning a hole in her spine before she reached the end of the hallway and turned out of his sight. Only then did she let herself exhale shakily. So much for the pep talk she had given herself twenty-some floors up in her suite.

      She wanted to kick herself for not changing her clothes. But the truth was, she was so dog-tired that she had been afraid if she slowed down enough to change, she would just collapse in a heap.

      Before finding her way to this lower level, all she had taken time to do was send a few text messages back home to let everyone know of her safe arrival and hook up her computer to transmit the Economics paper she had finished writing during the flight.

      She may have dropped out of school to her parents’ dismay, but that didn’t mean after she had done so that she had not recognized the prudence of obtaining her degree anyway.

      She had wanted just to do it on her own terms. In her own way. Finishing the classes online was a lot more tolerable to her than endless study groups and crowded lecture halls. It had even been worth having to prevail upon the dean’s good graces where the Taka family name was concerned to be quietly reinstated.

      None of which would matter a bit to Greg Sherman.

      He was overreacting where her clothing was concerned anyway. The hotel was not yet open for guests, and the only people she had encountered were other employees.

      Like her.

      For now, though, the reminder that she was an employee—for the very first time in her life—was enough to have excitement dissolving her irritation, and she quickened her pace along the empty, carpeted corridor until she found the Human Resources department. It, too, was marked by a tastefully engraved metal sign, and she pushed through the double doors, entering a small lobby furnished with a half dozen chairs and a glass-topped reception desk.

      All unoccupied.

      “Hello?” She peered down the hallway behind the desk, but heard no response.

      More unfilled staff positions?

      She wondered if Helen knew just how bare some of the holes were here, but Kimi supposed she must. According to everything Kimi had learned, Helen and her father were satisfied that after a rocky beginning plagued by financial misdealings and construction delays, the hotel was firmly back on course under the guiding hands of Greg Sherman and continuing on its path to the height of its class.

      She walked around the desk and down the hall, glancing in the half dozen offices that opened off of it. “Hello?” She reached the last office door. Closed and locked.

      She exhaled and turned on her heel, striding out of the empty suite.

      Greg could have told her that she was wasting her time. Probably the man needed to have some sort of amusements, though she found it hard to believe he had ever cracked a real smile.

      She returned to the elevator but grew impatient when the call button she pressed remained lit and the doors remained closed. She could hear the faint swoosh of the car moving in the shaft, but it never seemed to make it far enough to stop there at the basement level. She tapped her toe and watched the minute hand on her wristwatch slowly move and then nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a soft footfall behind her.

      “Might as well take the service stairs, my dear. That elevator’s already busy running back and forth to the fifth.” A tall Nordic blonde wearing a deep blue running suit approached. “That’s where the training room is, and that’s where all the staff is supposed to be as of five minutes ago for a staff meeting. Grace Ishida.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Director of Sales and Catering. And you must be Kimiko Taka.”

      “Yes, but make it Kimi, please.” She shook the older woman’s hand.

      Grace was nodding. She pulled a folded piece of fabric out of her pocket. “Tell me. What color is this?”

      She hesitated for a moment, feeling abruptly in the middle of a pop quiz. “Scarlet.”

      The other woman’s eyes narrowed. “Not just a simple red?”

      “I think it has too much orange in it to be a true red.”

      “Yes. It does.” The fabric disappeared back in Grace’s pocket, and looking satisfied, the other woman gestured Kimi past the unresponsive elevator. “You were born in Japan, weren’t you?”

      “Yes. I lived mostly in Tokyo until I was a teenager.” Around another corner, and through a doorway, they entered the stairwell. Kimi had to nearly jog to keep up with the woman’s long legs. The stairwell echoed with the sound of Grace’s athletic shoes and Kimi’s thin heels as they hurried up the steps. “But even before we moved there, I was enthralled with the United States.”

      “And now you’re back in Japan.”

      Kimi managed a noncommittal agreement. She was there, yes, but not entirely by choice. It was just where her parents were allowing her to sink or swim.

      Once they realized that she was not going under, she fully intended on returning to the country she loved.

      They reached the main level, and Grace pulled open the door there, letting them out into another hallway, through which she led a circuitous way to the lobby. In comparison to the busyness there when Kimi