her.
There, the truth. She’d admitted it at last. The reason she couldn’t stay: Winnie couldn’t bear having her heart stepped on anymore. It was time to get smart. Time to think about self-preservation.
Winnie’s head began to pound and her stomach chose that moment to rumble. She’d just started a new diet—her third attempt this summer—and she still hadn’t gotten used to working from lunch to dinner without the midafternoon cookie or candy bar. What she needed was some fresh air and something cold to drink.
Winnie reached into her top right desk drawer and scooped out her wallet before taking the elevator to the forty-second floor, and changed to the express elevator that whisked her to lobby level in less than ten seconds. It was a drastic free-for-all in her tummy and she swallowed hard when the elevators slid open a second time.
Life with Morgan Grady was a bit like riding the Tower elevators: a giddy ride up and down but nothing solid in between.
Yet after six months of wild rides, she was ready to get off.
She wanted a job with decent hours, solid benefits, and an elderly boring boss so she could sleep again at night.
Outside, Winnie drew a short breath, momentarily blindsided by the heat and noise. As she walked to the hot dog vendor on the corner, a truck roared past, followed by a dozen streaking yellow cabs, half leaning on their horns.
Winnie bought a can of icy soda and popped the top on her way back to the Tower’s entrance. It was midafternoon and Manhattan’s skyscrapers had already reduced the light into little grids of sun and shadow on the sidewalk.
When she announced she was moving to New York to work, her family had predicted she wouldn’t survive a month. Instead she’d lasted over four years.
She didn’t particularly want to leave Manhattan now, but she needed distance from Morgan and all her impossible, outrageous fantasies. At night she dreamed of him over and over and it only made reality worse.
Morgan Grady would never go for her. He dated socialites, models and actresses. Not pudgy secretaries who stuttered when nervous.
The Tower’s revolving glass door turned and a woman Winnie only knew as Tiffany, joined her on the sidewalk in front of the building.
“It’s that time of day,” Tiffany said, tapping out a cigarette and lighting up. She was tall, slender, with lots of blond highlights in her hair. She looked like the type that had tried to model in high school. “Just three more hours.”
Winnie felt a stab of envy. “You go home at five?”
“Most of the time. If I’m lucky.” Tiffany dragged on the cigarette and exhaled. She cast Winnie a bored glance. “Where do you work?”
“On the seventy-eighth floor.”
“The seventy-eighth?” Tiffany’s eyebrows arched, her interest piqued. “Then you must work for Grady Investments.”
Suddenly Winnie didn’t feel like talking anymore. Women always wanted to be friends with her if they thought it’d get them closer to Morgan Grady. “Yes,” she answered, voice clipped.
“So what’s he like?” Tiffany persisted.
Winnie pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “Who?”
Tiffany let out a little laugh, her pink-painted lips parted. “Very funny. Morgan Grady, silly. You work in his office. You must have met him. What’s he like…I mean, really, what’s he like?”
“Busy.”
“Of course. He’s huge. He completely dominates the investment world. Everyone pays attention to his market forecasts.”
Winnie forced a small, tight smile. “Isn’t that nice?”
“But the part I find most amazing, is that he’s not just this brilliant brain in a glass jar—he’s gorgeous, too.” Tiffany sounded positively giddy. “No wonder he’s been named New York’s Sexiest Bachelor twice in a row. He’s sexier than sin. I’d kill for a moment alone with him.”
“And I should just kill myself,” Winnie muttered beneath her breath, feeling painfully inadequate. Living on the periphery of Morgan Grady’s world was about as excruciating a thing as Winnie had ever experienced.
Thank God she’d soon be working somewhere else. Maybe then she’d get some self-esteem back.
Tiffany had a one-track mind. “What’s he like as a boss?”
“Let me loan you my book, Never Work for a Jerk, and then you tell me what you think.”
Tiffany giggled. “Is there really such a book?”
“Yes.”
Tiffany laughed even harder. “And you have a copy?”
“No, not yet. But I plan on buying it soon.”
Tiffany was laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes. “I had no idea you were so funny,” she cried, tapping her cigarette. “Who would have thought?”
“Yes, who would have thought?” A voice coolly cut in. It was a deep voice, husky and distinctly male, a voice Winnie knew far too well. “She’s a woman of many hidden talents.”
Winnie felt ice water flood her limbs. Mr. Grady!
“And her next job,” he continued dryly, “will be working as a standup comedian.”
CHAPTER THREE
IT COULDN’T be. He couldn’t be here. He didn’t hear her say that…did he?
Paling, Winnie turned to discover Morgan Grady behind her, a black trench coat thrown over his arm, his long dark hair almost tidy.
“Mr. Grady,” she whispered, her mouth drying. “Heading out?”
He gazed down at her, his expression curiously hard. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Heat surged to her cheeks. “I came down for a soda.”
“I see.”
There was a moment of strained silence between them, something that had never happened before. He’d always talked; she’d always listened. He’d never been silent with her before. “Did you want something?”
“You had a phone call from a Mrs. Fielding. She said it was urgent. I left the number on your desk.”
Winnie couldn’t remember Mrs. Fielding and wondered what could possibly be urgent. “Thank you.”
His dense black lashes lowered, his mouth compressed. “Next time you might want to remember to take this,” he added, extending his arm to reveal her small pager.
Winnie moved to take the pager from him but tensed as her fingers brushed his palm and a sharp current of sensation sizzled through her.
He
