In Bed with the Boss. Christine Rimmer

disaster. The designer was not only over budget, but also behind schedule. Way behind schedule.

      There was also some problem at the Kyoto site. The facility there was still under construction, and things had been moving right along until the past few weeks. And there were accounting issues, as well. Tom took another long meeting with his managers to discuss the situation.

      Friday he told Shelly he would be going to San Francisco on Monday and then to Japan on Thursday. “You’ll probably have to move a few meetings around for me. Go over my appointments and make the calls. Push everything to the following week, if you can. We should have the day here in Chicago on Wednesday, so you can pack it with whatever can’t be put off till the week of the thirtieth. Let me know if there are issues.”

      “Yes. Of course.”

      He said, “And I’d like you with me for both trips.”

      With him…

      Somehow, Shelly managed not to jump up and down in her chair. This was the life. Jetting to the west coast. Zipping off to Japan…

      She’d get packed over the weekend. It was going to be fabulous. She needed a decent suitcase. One of those new ones with four wheels. She’d pick one up Saturday morning. They couldn’t be that expensive, could they?

      He asked, “Can you manage it?”

      “It?” She blinked.

      “Two trips in one week?”

      “Uh. Yeah. I can. I’m with you. No biggie.” Max would still be in Mount Vernon next week. Childcare wouldn’t be a problem. Not this time.

      “Got a passport?”

      “Yes, I do. I took care of that on the day I got the job.”

      “Good. What else? Everything under control for Verna’s party tonight?”

      “Everything’s a go. I just got off the phone with the caterer. And I checked around the office to make certain they all knew we’d changed the date. From the responses I got, we should have a great turnout.”

      They held Verna’s retirement party in a friendly little bar on a side street, a few blocks west of the office. Most of the women from HR were there, along with the lower-level executives from the finance department and several of the secretaries and assistants Verna had worked with in her twenty-two years at Hanson Media, then TAKA-Hanson.

      Verna’s husband, Hank, came, too. And Tom, of course.

      The beer flowed freely and the food was cafeteria-style, set out in chafing dishes on a long table. Customers grabbed a plate and helped themselves.

      Verna got a Rolex to mark the occasion and Tom gave a little speech in her honor. And he offered a toast. “To Verna. We’ll miss you. Think about us now and then while you and Hank are out there seeing America.…” He raised his beer glass to his former assistant as Hank put his arm around her and kissed the top of her graying head. Everybody clapped and cheered.

      From the stool she’d claimed down the bar, Shelly raised her glass high and joined in the toast, happy for Verna, even happier for herself.

      Someone tapped her shoulder. She swiveled her chair around. “Hey, Lil.” Lillian Todd worked for one of the finance managers. She had sleek red hair and a killer body. She seemed to spend most of her time in the break room and making the rounds, chatting up all the secretaries, flirting with every guy in sight. Verna had confided in Shelly that it was lucky for Lil she was as smart as she was sexy. She spent so much time gossiping and making eyes at the men, she needed to be fast to get her work done, too.

      “Doing all right on your own?” Lil had to shout to be heard over the rowdy crowd.

      Shelly nodded, and shouted back, “So far, so good.” Lillian opened her mouth to say something else—but then she blinked and aimed her sexiest smile at a point past Shelly’s shoulder.

      “Terrific party.” The male voice, deep and warm and threaded with humor, spoke in Shelly’s ear.

      Tom. She turned to him—and tried not to get lost in those baby blues of his, tried not to sigh over the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, over the five-o’clock shadow on his manly jaw. His suit jacket, as usual, was nowhere in evidence. His tie was gone, too. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves the way he liked to do.

      The strangest feeling washed through her. A mix of excitement—and tenderness.

      Tenderness? For a man she’d known less than two weeks? That hardly seemed possible. Yet somehow, it was so.

      The party seemed to get louder by the minute. She had to lean close or shout. She leaned. “Having fun?”

      “You bet.”

      Someone in the corner let out a whoop and everyone started laughing and clapping again. It simply wasn’t the kind of party where you could have an actual conversation.

      So she nodded and sipped her beer and stared into those eyes of his. They actually twinkled. Funny. Until Tom, she’d thought that twinkling eyes were more a figure of speech than anything that occurred in nature.

      He leaned toward her again. She met him halfway. He smelled of some subtle aftershave and soap. And man. All man.

      “Hungry?” He set his empty glass on the bar.

      She set hers beside it. He gestured toward the table with the food on it and she slid off her stool and started walking, aware with every step that he followed. They filled a couple of plates and went back to the bar.

      Since it was such a chore to try to talk, they ate to the rowdy laughter of their coworkers and the occasional shouted good wishes directed at Verna and Hank.

      Shelly had hired a DJ and the place had a postage stamp of a dance floor at one end. Hank gave the DJ a big tip and a list of favorite tunes. Then he pulled Verna onto the floor. They swayed to the music. A few other couples joined them. Not too many. There wasn’t that much room.

      Shelly watched, feeling sentimental. Hank and Verna reminded her a little of her parents: married forever, still going strong.

      Tom leaned close again. “Dance?”

      She slanted him a look—wanting the dance, wondering if they were carrying this a little too far. For the umpteenth time, she reminded herself that the last thing she needed was an office romance.

      Especially one with her boss.

      Even if he did have the bluest eyes in Chicagoland.

      But then again, it was just a dance. No big deal….

      He held out his hand. She settled the light chain strap of her bag more securely on her shoulder and put her hand in his. His lean fingers closed around hers. Warm. Strong. Good.

      Too good.

      It was another slow one. Hank seemed to have picked all slow ones. A real romantic, that Hank.

      Tom pulled her into his arms. Shelly tucked herself into him—not too close, just enough that she could feel his body’s signals as he led her.

      Neither of them said a word. That suited Shelly just fine. It was…lovely. A few brief moments out of time. One hand enclosed hers, the other fitted itself possessively on the curve of her lower back. Shelly closed her eyes and cleared her mind of thought, enjoying the sweet strains of the old, romantic song. And even better than the music was the heat of Tom’s body, so close to hers, the light caress of his big hand at her back, the occasional rough brush of his cheek against her temple.

      It was over much too soon. A fast number came on next.

      Hank groaned, “What about my list? That one’s not on my list.”

      Everybody laughed, more of them crowding forward onto the floor, fast-dancing to the heavy rock beat of the new song.

      Tom dropped his hand from her back. But he didn’t let her go. The