Honesty. There’s a unique concept, which I think is more myth than reality, but I cannot deny him what I so crave in my own life. “Security,” I say. “Stability. Pride in my success that lets me pay my bills.”
He does more of that intense staring of his, and several seconds tick by in which I do not dare breathe, before he approvingly says, “That’s more like it.” Then he tosses me another abrupt change of topic. This one more sensitive than the last. “I understand you moved here from Texas for a job that was eliminated.”
“That’s right.” While I am pleased with my immediate response, I do not succeed at keeping the tightness from my voice.
“How do I know you won’t haul it back home while I’m gone?”
“I’m not going back.”
“Now or ever?”
Knots form in my stomach. “Ever.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“You can’t be sure,” I say precisely. “But I can and I am.”
His head tilts thoughtfully, my direct answer giving him pause. “Do you have family here?”
My reply is instant, my defenses impossible to shackle. “Is that a job requirement?”
Several beats tick by before he asks, “Are you alone?”
I’m not sure what he means by “alone,” but he’s on a roll that I don’t like. First he carved me up, and now he’s punched me in the gut. “What I am,” I say, a hint of tartness I do not intend slipping into my voice, “is here to stay. I’m also a damn good employee.” I don’t give him time to question my reply. “Where are you headed?”
I think he will push me harder, but he doesn’t. “New York.”
“When will you be back?”
“Monday.”
Relief washes over me, and his glower is instant. “Hoping for an easy first week?” he asks, his tone dry, hard.
“No.” I clearly need to work on my poker face. “That’s not the case.”
“Then what is the case, Ms. Miller?”
I hope he really does like honesty, because that’s what he’s getting. “Your absence gives me a week to organize whatever that explosion is on my new desk and to get a general footing in the office. That includes sizing up the staff to work with them most effectively, which is important since they appear quite intimidated by you.”
“The staff? You’ve only met Dana, who barely has contact with me and is so insecure that she was afraid to even fill in as my secretary.”
“Even the staffing agency seemed intimidated by you.”
“Do you find me intimidating, Ms. Miller?”
I consider that objectively. “No. You don’t intimidate me.” My attraction to him does, and so does the idea of losing this job, but he doesn’t.
His brow arches. “You’re sure about that?”
I open my mouth to assure him that I am, but the elevator dings and the doors open to a rush of people. A woman in a business suit is being shoved forward by a group of giggling females. I sidestep to avoid her, but it’s too late: She stomps on my foot. Despite the pain, I manage to catch pieces of conversation that tell me I have just become a victim of a well-lubricated bachelorette party.
I tumble backward, gasping as a hard, big body absorbs mine and strong hands close down on my shoulders. “Easy, Ms. Miller,” I hear in that deep, rough baritone I already know as my boss’s, and then he leans in even closer, his mouth near my ear, his breath warm on my neck. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I reply, but it comes out as more a pained pant than a confident assurance. I’m not sure if that’s because my foot has been stomped on, or I’m horribly embarrassed, or I’m tingling everywhere he is touching me—and in some intimate places he is not.
“I’m so sorry,” the offending woman gushes, looking appalled, only to be shoved toward me again as the party piles in and crowds us like sardines in a can. Desperate to stay standing, the foot stomper grabs my arm to steady herself, then quickly lets go. “So sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I manage.
Mr. Ward leans down again, and, Lord help me, his chin brushes my hair as he says, “I’m making an executive decision. We need to get out of the car before we are locked inside with them for who knows how many floors.”
“Yes,” I agree, and I all but gasp as his fingers curve intimately at my waist and his body urges me forward.
I don’t breathe until we break free of the elevator and he releases me.
“How’s your foot?” he asks. He is taller than I remember, towering over my five feet five inches, and he’s giving me another one of those intense inspections I tell myself I’ll develop an immunity to. Then again, no matter how many chocolate stomachaches I get, I never seem to get enough.