Beyond The Boardroom(11)

"You're not the only one, you know. Forgive me," she said, "for being  just a little on edge. It's not every day I have to face my boss after  he's seen me naked."

Shane winced. "I could say the same."

"Yeah," she agreed, "but from my perspective, this is just a little bit harder."                       
       
           



       

"How's that?"

She laughed shortly and felt the sound scrape against her throat. "This  is a cliché for God's sake. Employers have been diddling with their  secretaries/assistants for generations!"

"Diddling?"

"Don't you dare smile at me," she shot back. "Diddling is a perfectly good word."

"You're right," he said and took one cautious step closer. "But don't  you lump me in with some sleazy guy who makes a habit of sleeping with  his secretary."

"Assistant."

"Fine. Assistant." He shoved one hand through his hair and Rachel  remembered how soft his thick, dark brown hair was. How it felt  streaming through her fingers.

She swallowed hard.

"My point," he continued, his voice hardly more than a growl, "is that what happened between us shouldn't have happened at all."

"Yes," she said tightly, "I believe you covered that this morning with the whole ‘mistake' thing."

"Well, wasn't it?"

Her hands at her sides, she curled her fingers into her palms and  squeezed until she felt the indentation of every nail digging into her  skin. Mistake? No doubt.

Did she regret it? She certainly should. But she couldn't honestly say she did.

She'd wanted him for so long how could she possibly regret having him?  Even if it meant having to deal with the messy repercussions.

Watching his face, trying to read the maelstrom of emotion in his eyes, Rachel said, "Of course it was."

Was that disappointment flashing across his eyes? If it was, it was gone almost immediately.

He nodded, blew out a breath and said quietly, "At least we agree on that."

"Yay us."

A half smile quirked the corner of his mouth then disappeared again.  "The question is, can we work past it? Can we just forget about what  happened and go back to the way things were?"

"I don't know," she said honestly after a long, thoughtful pause. "I'd like to think so."

A small thread of panic jolted through Shane as he watched her. He'd  called their time together a mistake. But he didn't regret it. How could  he? He'd never experienced anything like what he'd found with Rachel.

He'd been thinking of nothing but her for hours. And now that she was  standing there in front of him it took every ounce of self-control he  possessed to keep from grabbing her and kissing her until neither of  them was able to think.

But that wouldn't solve a damn thing. It would in fact, only make a weird situation even more uncomfortable.

"Rachel, I don't want to lose what we have. Our friendship."

"I think that ship has sailed, Shane." Her mouth curved sadly.

"I don't accept that."

Her green eyes filled with tears and he held his breath, hoping to hell  they wouldn't fall. He was a dead man if she started crying. Nothing in  this world could bring a man to his knees faster than a strong woman's  tears.

As if she heard his panicked thoughts, she blinked quickly, furiously, and kept her tears at bay.

"You have to, Shane," she said, with a slow shake of her head. "If we  hope to salvage this working relationship, we both have to accept the  facts. We're not friends. We're not lovers. To be honest, I'm not sure  what we are anymore."

After work, Shane was too irritable to go home alone and not in a good  enough mood to call a friend. That last conversation with Rachel kept  rewinding and playing in his mind and he couldn't quite seem to settle  with it. Things were different between them now and he didn't have a  clue what to do about it.

It had been a long time since he'd let his groin do his thinking for him.

Now he remembered why.

If he hadn't given in to his own desires the night before, everything in  his world would be running great. He'd won the competition in the  family, The Buzz was gaining strength every damn day and he'd finally  realized that he was doing exactly what he should be doing.

He stepped out of the EPH building into a face full of wind-driven snow.

Shrugging deeper into his overcoat, he squinted into the wind and  glanced around. The sidewalks were crowded, as usual. Manhattan streets  were never quiet. Cabs carried customers, buses belched along the street  and a police squad car, lights flashing, siren whining, fought to get  through the congestion.

He loved it.

Loved the noise, the hustle, the rush of life that pulsed in the city  like a heartbeat. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he fell into step with  the crush of people instantly surrounding him. You had to keep up when  walking these sidewalks. Move too slowly and the crowd would knock you  down and kick your body to the curb, all without losing step.                       
       
           



       

Smiling to himself, he realized he was in the perfect frame of mind for walking in Manhattan.

He wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he didn't want to go  home. God knew there were plenty of women he could call for company, but  that thought left him a lot colder than the melting snow sliding  beneath his coat collar.

Hands in his pockets, he let his gaze drift while his mind raced.  Strings of twinkling lights lined the front windows of the shops he  passed, and the combined scents of hot chocolate, steaming coffee and  hot dogs poured from a street vendor's cart. He came to the end of the  block and while he stood waiting for the light to change, he glanced in  the front window of Hannigan's.

A bar that was too upscale to be called a tavern, but too down to earth  to be classified a club, Hannigan's offered cold beers and friendly  conversation.

Sounded a hell of a lot better than going home alone.

Shane marched to the door, pulled it open and was slapped with a blast  of warmth, coated with laughter and the jangling beat of Irish folk  music. He shrugged out of his coat, hung it on the rack by the door,  then made his way through the tangled maze of tables and chairs.

The hardwood floors were gleaming, a fire danced in the stone hearth on  the far wall and behind the polished mahogany bar, a gigantic mirror  reflected the faces of the patrons.

Shane pushed through the crowd, made his way to the bar and leaned both  elbows on the shining top. When the bartender worked his way down to  him, he said quickly, "Guinness."

In a few minutes, the practiced barman was sliding over a perfectly  built drink, with a thick layer of cream colored foam atop dark, rich  beer. Shane picked up the glass, took a sip and turned to look at the  crowded room. His gaze slid across a few familiar faces; after all,  everyone who worked in the neighborhood ended up in here at one time or  another.

At a booth in the back sat a man more familiar than the rest. Shane  headed that way, deftly avoiding a waitress with a laden tray. He tapped  on the tabletop, waited for his nephew to look up at him in welcome,  then slid into the booth opposite him.

Gannon Elliott was a big man, with black hair, sharp green eyes, and in  the last year or so, a ready smile. At thirty-three, Gannon was only  five years younger than Shane. The two had grown up more like brothers,  though Gannon was his nephew, the son of Michael, Shane's oldest  brother.

"Didn't expect to see you in here, Gannon."

The other man shrugged. "Erika wanted to do some Christmas shopping," he  said, sliding his half full glass of beer back and forth on the  tabletop. "Hannigan's sounded like a better idea to me."

"Christmas shopping." Shane slumped back against the red leather booth. "Haven't started that yet."

"My suggestion?" Gannon quipped, lifting his glass for a long drink. "Get married. Turns out women like shopping."

Shane smiled, both at the ridiculous notion of getting married and at  the change in his nephew. Only a year ago, Gannon would still have been  at work, staying late into the night. More like his grandfather Patrick  than any of Patrick's kids were, Gannon had lived and breathed the  family business.

Until Erika.

"What about you? Why are you sitting here having a drink with me?"  Gannon took another swallow of his beer. "Why aren't you out with that  Hollywood girl … what's her name, Amber or Brownie or something?"

Shane frowned, thinking about the woman he was supposed to have had  dinner with the night before. He still couldn't think of her damn name.  But if he'd only met her as planned, none of that mess with Rachel would  have happened and he wouldn't now be sitting in the middle of a mess.