was coming from behind him. Slowly, he put down the telephone and turned around.
She stood in the doorway. Snowflakes glittered in her hair—brown hair, he thought, but with a warm, golden glow that made a man think of dark maple syrup on a winter morning….
Jake’s mouth turned down.
“You’re late.”
“I’m aware of that, sir. And I’m sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry. Not the least bit. There was a chill to her voice that had nothing to do with the weather.
“And you’re late because…?”
“The trains are running behind schedule.”
“Really.” Jake smiled thinly and folded his arms. “I wonder if that could be because it’s snowing.”
He was gratified to see a light flush color her cheeks. “I’m sure it is, Mr. McBride.”
“In which case, Miss Taylor, you must also know that the trains always run late when it snows. Half the city runs late—or is that news to you?”
Emily looked down and brushed the snow from her coat. Her ankle-length, tweed coat, Jake thought irritably. Was tweed the only item in her wardrobe? Was he ever going to see her legs?
“I know what snow does to New York,” she said calmly. She lifted her eyes to his. “I allowed for that contingency.”
“Ah. You allowed for it.” Jake glanced pointedly at his watch. “Interesting, since you’re almost an hour late.”
Damn, he sounded like an ass. Well, so what? He was the boss. He was entitled to sound like an ass, if he wanted.
“I’m twenty minutes late, sir.” Emily still sounded calm but there was a bite to the “sir.” “And I did allow for the weather. I left my apartment twenty minutes earlier than usual. If I hadn’t, I’d be later than I already am.”
“Does that mean you got out of bed twenty minutes earlier than usual?”
Emily’s eyebrows brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s a simple question. I asked if you set your alarm back twenty minutes.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
Neither did Jake. What he really wanted to ask was if she’d had to set the alarm back or if something else had awakened her this morning. Somebody. Archer, for instance, moving above her, in her bed…
Hell!
Jake frowned, cleared his throat, went behind his desk and sat down. He reached for his appointment book and looked at the page. Letters and numbers danced before his eyes.
“Never mind,” he said brusquely.
“Never mind, indeed.” Her voice was frigid now; he could almost see the icicles forming on each word. “Perhaps we need to establish some boundaries, Mr. McBride. My private life—”
“So you said, last evening.” Jake waved his hand in dismissal. “I left the mail on your desk. Go through it, see if anything needs my immediate attention and then come back and I’ll dictate some notes.”
She hesitated. He didn’t look up but he didn’t have to. He could all but feel her counting to ten, taking deep breaths, doing what she could to hang onto her composure. Well, wasn’t he doing the same thing? The nerve of her, holding him up for a pay raise and a new title one day and coming in late the next.
“Of course, Mr. McBride.”
The door snicked shut. Jake looked up, glowered at it, and closed his appointment book.
Of course, Mr. McBride, he thought furiously. As if nothing had changed, as if she hadn’t shown up late, been insubordinate, done exactly the opposite of what he’d told her to do and gone off with a man who was only after one thing…
Jake closed his eyes. “Hell,” he said, but with no heat whatsoever.
Emily was right. Her life, outside of the office, wasn’t his business. Who she dated was up to her. What she did with who she dated was up to her, too. Why should he care, as long as she did her work?
Still, it was only human to wonder where she’d gone last night and whether she’d had a good time. He could just ask her. He’d known Emily for almost a year now. They were friends. Well, they were business associates. And he’d been the one who’d put Archer in her path.
Was it so strange he should be vaguely curious about how things had gone last night?
Emily, he could say, I was just wondering, did you have a nice evening? Where’d Archer take you for dinner? Did he take you home? Did you invite him in? What time did he leave?
He did leave, didn’t he?
Jake rubbed his hands over his face.
Not only was her private life none of his business, but even thinking about it was none of his business.
The kid was right, though. She did have nice eyes.
A muscle knotted in Jake’s jaw. He wondered if Archer had been right, too. About her legs. Were they great? He couldn’t tell, not with that coat going straight down to her feet, and he’d certainly never noticed her legs in the past. Why would he? Emily was his P.A. Check that. She was his E.A. She was a well-oiled, well-educated, well-paid employee. Her looks were none of his business.
She was a quiet little sparrow.
His little sparrow.
Jake shoved the appointment book halfway across his desk, swiveled his chair towards the window and gave the falling snow the benefit of his scowl. He knew it was foolish to bristle, but bristling was precisely what he felt like doing.
And it was all Emily’s fault.
Emily took off her coat, shook it briskly and hung it in the closet. Then she sat, bent down and began tugging at her left boot while she told herself that bristling would get her nowhere.
Still, bristling was exactly what she felt like doing.
And it was all McBride’s fault.
The great man was not in a good mood this morning. Too bad. Perhaps he’d had another run-in with the twit, desperate to tell him how wonderful he was.
“Idiot,” Emily said, and gave the stubborn boot a whack.
Or was he still annoyed that she hadn’t let him tell her what to do last night? Don’t go, he’d said, as if he owned her, and the hell of it was she should have listened to him because her evening with his pal had been a disaster. A total, unmitigated disaster. Mr. Peter-Aren’t-You-Fortunate-To-Be-With-Me Archer was so full of himself it was a wonder there’d been room for her at their all-too-cozy table for two in the restaurant he’d chosen.
Emily hung her head and groaned.
Oh,
