The Secretary's Seduction. Jane Porter

to arrive and Winnie made it her job every morning to turn on the office lights, check the thermostat and get the coffee brewing.

      Coffee percolating, Winnie left the employee break room and headed toward the back office suite, flicking on lights as she went.

      She arrived at Mr. Grady’s office and froze.

      Mr. Grady was already in, he was sitting at his desk, and his door was ajar. He never left his door ajar. He was a man that preferred privacy always.

      She stood there, transfixed, listening to him type, his fingers tapping away at his computer keyboard.

      Something was wrong. The door shouldn’t be open. He shouldn’t be at his computer yet. He should still be reading his papers.

      What had happened? Was it something to do with the press? She’d had three calls yesterday from various media sources, or was this more personal? Did this have anything to do with…her?

      The tapping on the keyboard briefly stopped and Winnie felt the strangest, most physical sensation shoot through her. She could feel him.

      Her brain told her that he hadn’t left his desk but her body was reacting totally different. The fine hair on her nape rose. Her skin prickled. Her body felt incredibly sensitive all over.

      She’d never been so keenly aware of him before. It was almost as if he was standing right here next to her, touching her.

      Heat banded across her cheekbones. She drew a slow breath. She was being overly dramatic, she lectured herself, forcing herself to action.

      Winnie headed for her desk, took off her lightweight trench coat and hung it on the hook next to the filing cabinet before moving to her desk.

      As she rolled out her chair she spotted a book with a lime green cover lying in the middle of her desk.

      She didn’t remember leaving a book on her desk last night. She always left her desk clean, virtually spotless.

      She moved closer, lifted the book. Never Work for a Jerk.

      She dropped the book as if she’d been burned. Good God. The book. It was the book. The book she’d mentioned to Tiffany. He’d gone out and bought her a copy.

      Winnie sagged into her chair, sitting down in a heavy heap, her purse falling to her feet.

      He was going to fire her. That’s why his door was ajar. He was waiting for her to get here so he could give her the ax.

      It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She’d been the one looking for a new job. She’d been the one hurt. It was her feelings that had been trampled.

      And yet had he ever badmouthed her? Had he ever publicly insulted her? Had he ever insulted her even in private?

      Why had she said what she’d said to Tiffany? Why had she let her emotions get the better of her? What was the saying? Open mouth, insert foot?

      Well, it was more like, open mouth, insert body.

      She felt really, deeply embarrassed.

      The small intercom on her desk made a faint clicking sound. “Miss Graham, when you’ve a minute, I’d like to see you.”

      Her heart jumped. She couldn’t make herself move, unable to find enough strength in her legs.

      But she couldn’t ignore him. She was already in trouble. She might as well get this over with, go face the firing squad.

      Winnie rolled away from her desk and stood up, pressing her blue pleated skirt smooth, making sure every pleat fell straight. It was her smartest skirt, the one she wore when she needed to feel extra crisp, extra professional. If ever there was a day she needed it, it was now.

      The intercom clicked again. “Oh, and Miss Graham, you don’t need to bring the book with you.”

      Morgan watched Winnie enter his office, her eyes wide behind her dark glasses, the black frames resting halfway down her straight nose. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair that faced his desk and folded her hands across the notebook and pen she’d brought with her.

      He struggled to be civil. “Good morning.”

      “Good morning, Mr. Grady.”

      He leaned back in his swivel chair. “How are you?”

      Her lashes fluttered behind the lenses of her glasses. Her lashes were long and they brushed the glass. “I’m fine, thank you.”

      Her voice sounded firm, decisive, every inch the competent secretary he’d been relying upon these past six months.

      She swallowed hard. “About the book—”

      “I don’t want to discuss the book.”

      A pulse had begun to beat rapidly at the base of her throat. “You don’t?”

      “No. I knew you wanted it, so I bought a copy for you. Happy Secretaries Day.”

      “That was back in April, Mr. Grady.”

      “Better late than never.” He sat forward, touched a button on his keyboard and checked the European market before it closed. His gaze skimmed the various stock prices before sitting back again.

      “I have to be able to trust my staff,” he said after a moment, grateful his voice could sound so calm when he didn’t feel the least bit calm, and hadn’t since overhearing her flippant remark yesterday in front of the office building.

      His perfect secretary was a fraud.

      Until now he’d thought of her as a future Miss Robinson, Miss Robinson being his first executive assistant and hands down, the best. Miss Robinson was tidy, precise, efficient, intelligent, controlled. She was always one step ahead of him and practically anticipated his every need before he even knew the need himself.

      Miss Robinson had been with him for seven years, and retired eighteen months ago, just before he bought out Bradley Finance in a friendly acquisition. Trying to fill Miss Robinson’s shoes had been impossible and he’d gone through assistant after assistant until he inherited Winnie Graham through the Bradley acquisition.

      He hadn’t thought he’d like Miss Graham, hadn’t expected anyone who hid behind large dark glasses and a mass of pinned-up braids to be as effective as his esteemed Miss Robinson but Winnie Graham wasn’t just good. She was great. She was the future Miss Robinson, the superlative secretary who knew what he wanted before he even wanted it.

      “I need to trust you,” he said. “You have complete access to me. You know details about my personal life, my family, my finances. If you’re going to talk to Tiffany from the sixty-third floor, what’s to say you won’t talk to a friendly reporter?”

      Her head lifted and her unblinking gaze met his. He watched as she adjusted her glasses. “Because I won’t,” she answered crisply.

      “But you did yesterday—”

      “And it was a mistake!” She rose from her chair. She’d never interrupted him before, never contradicted him and her passionate response surprised both of them. “I’m sorry, Mr. Grady, I feel terrible about what happened yesterday. It was careless of me, but I honestly didn’t mean anything by it—”

      “Are you looking for a new job?”

      Her lips parted and color seared her cheeks but no sound came from her mouth.

      She didn’t answer because she couldn’t answer, he thought, rocking forward in his chair, reaching for his phone, needing something, anything to do to keep his temper in check.

      How had this happened? Where had he misjudged her?

      “Never mind,” he uttered shortly, unable to remember the last time he felt so cheated, or deceived. “I know you want Friday off. Take it off.”

      Winnie sank back into her seat. “Please forgive me,” she whispered, cheeks stained red, fingers kneading in her lap. “I