five and a half months with him he’d never displayed any emotion and yet now he was angry.
Quickly, to hide her confusion, Winnie clipped the pager to the waistband of her skirt even as Tiffany dropped her cigarette, stubbing it out with the spike of her high heel.
“Mr. Grady,” Tiffany murmured, her voice dropping an octave as she held out her hand.
He hesitated, turned ever so slightly, and smiled a cool quizzical smile. It was a smile he must have practiced for moments like this, when he needed to put distance between himself and others without appearing aloof. The smile was a little slow, a little crooked, and made his rugged jaw wider, his cheekbones stronger. “We’ve met?”
“Once,” Tiffany answered archly. Her smile stretched as his hand closed around hers, her cheeks glowing with the faintest touch of pink. “Well, we sort of met. You had business with one of the firm’s partners and I notarized the paperwork.”
“Ah.” Morgan’s teeth had never looked so straight or white and he continued to hold her hand in his. “You work with Jeff.”
“Yes. He thinks the world of you. We all do.”
A black limousine slid next to the curb, and the driver shifted into neutral but the car remained on, engine idling. Morgan Grady released Tiffany’s hand, glanced at the limo, and then back at Tiffany. “I must run, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss—”
“Saunders. Tiffany Saunders. And I work with Jeff.”
“On the sixty-third floor, right.” He smiled again, and Winnie could see why women melted at his feet. There was something in his eyes, something in his energy and intensity that made you feel—however brief—that you were special. That you were the only one alive.
Winnie sucked in a painful, self-conscious breath.
He’d never looked at her once that way.
He’d never even gotten her name right.
A lump filled her throat and Winnie wished with all her heart she’d never worked for Morgan Grady.
Mr. Grady started for the waiting car, conversation forgotten, no goodbyes necessary. Move On, seemed to be his unwritten motto, no time to linger, no patience for niceties. Just move on to the next thing on the agenda.
But suddenly he stopped and turned back. It was muggy hot, the muggy hot of New York in late June when the air felt thick and yellow, yet he looked coolly elegant in his black suit and shirt.
She wondered how he did it, how he handled the heat and pressure without sweating or wilting or fading.
How did he predict the market before the market knew what it was going to do?
How did he juggle dozens of complicated, million and billion dollar deals without worrying, panicking, overeating?
She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. He was nothing like her.
Mr. Grady was staring at her now, his high tanned brow slightly furrowed. “Are you job hunting, Miss Graham?”
It was the last question she expected from him, the absolutely last thing she expected him to say, and Winnie wobbled in her sensible heels.
She reached for a handkerchief from her pocket and came up with nothing. Instead she gripped the pager in her perspiring hand. Good Lord. Did he know about her job interview, too? Or was it just a joke, a follow-up to his comedian remark moments ago?
Winnie blinked, swallowed, and blinked again, her glasses fogging slightly, her thoughts spinning in no logical direction.
What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to answer that?
“No,” she blurted at last, cheeks darkening. “Of course not.”
His eyebrows lifted. He stared at her hard, his lips twisting ever so slightly.
Her blush deepened. She felt like a willful child with a hand caught in the cookie jar.
“Of course not,” he echoed softly, mockery in his voice. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
“Right.”
Then he turned away and climbed into the back of the waiting limousine.
Tiffany silently disappeared into the lobby of the Tower’s building leaving Winnie alone on the sidewalk.
For a long moment Winnie didn’t move, her heart thumping hard and fast. What had just happened out here? What did Mr. Grady mean?
Finally she shook off her fear, threw away her lukewarm soda and returned upstairs.
Winnie worked until dinner and then when she’d done all she could for the day, turned off her computer and took the subway home.
She was back at the office the next morning at six-thirty. As usual she was the first of the administrative assistants to arrive and Winnie made it her job every morning to turn on the office lights, check the thermostat and get the coffee brewing.
Coffee percolating, Winnie left the employee break room and headed toward the back office suite, flicking on lights as she went.
She arrived at Mr. Grady’s office and froze.
Mr. Grady was already in, he was sitting at his desk, and his door was ajar. He never left his door ajar. He was a man that preferred privacy always.
She stood there, transfixed, listening to him type, his fingers tapping away at his computer keyboard.
Something was wrong. The door shouldn’t be open. He shouldn’t be at his computer yet. He should still be reading his papers.
What had happened? Was it something to do with the press? She’d had three calls yesterday from various media sources, or was this more personal? Did this have anything to do with…her?
The tapping on the keyboard briefly stopped and Winnie felt the strangest, most physical sensation shoot through her. She could feel him.
Her brain told her that he hadn’t left his desk but her body was reacting totally different. The fine hair on her nape rose. Her skin prickled. Her body felt incredibly sensitive all over.
She’d never been so keenly aware of him before. It was almost as if he was standing right here next to her, touching her.
Heat banded across her cheekbones. She drew a slow breath. She was being overly dramatic, she lectured herself, forcing herself to action.
Winnie headed for her desk, took off her lightweight trench coat and hung it on the hook next to the filing cabinet before moving to her desk.
As she rolled out her chair she spotted a book with a lime green cover lying in the middle of her desk.
She didn’t remember leaving a book on her desk last night. She always left her desk clean, virtually spotless.
She moved closer, lifted the book. Never Work for a Jerk.
She dropped the book as
