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The Bridal Suite
Sandra Marton
DO NOT Disturb Anything can happen behind closed doors!The newspapers called her new boss a financial genius; the gossip columns branded him gorgeous. But Dana knew Griffin McKenna took whatever he wanted, be it a company or a woman. She could think of other words to describe him: arrogant, egotistical, self-important … .When Dana and Griffin arrived at an important conference to find they had to share a room, Dana was ready to run - a whole weekend spent with Griffin in the Bridal Suite? But then she experienced for herself the McKenna take-over technique… to genius and gorgeous, add great lover!


Excerpt (#u5aa8622a-1c1b-57d0-b36d-c761bc0c58a7)Title Page (#u6f1cee84-2b8f-5d84-a975-7d4483bd6277)CHAPTER ONE (#uea8353b1-8463-5621-91a1-56f25b062680)CHAPTER TWO (#ub5a44a79-aa01-515f-beda-af2b2417db5f)CHAPTER THREE (#ube3da318-ee9e-555d-b526-da0f43348390)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“And now you’re telling me you haven’t got one room available in this entire hotel?”
“I’m afraid that is correct, sir. Well, we do have an accommodation, but—”
“We’ll take it.”
Dana touched Griffin’s arm. “McKenna,” she whispered.
Griffin swung towards her. “What?”
She looked at the clerk, then at him. “We cannot share a room.”
“Did you hear what the man said? This room he’s offering us is all there is.”
“I don’t care. There is no way I am going to share a room with—”
“Oh, it isn’t a room, madam.”
Griffin and Dana both looked at the clerk, who swallowed nervously.
“It’s a suite.”
A slow smile edged across Griffin’s face. “A suite? Don’t tell me. What is it? The Presidential Suite?”
The clerk looked from Griffin to Dana. She could almost feel his distress. “Not exactly, sir,” he said, and cleared his throat. “It’s—it’s the Bridal Suite.”
The Bridal Suite
Sandra Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
GRIFFIN MCKENNA was a pirate.
The newspapers, and the Wall Street pundits, said he was a financial genius, but Dana Anderson knew better. McKenna was a pirate, plain and simple. He took whatever he wanted, whether it was a corporation or a woman.
What else could you call a man like that?
Gorgeous, that was what, according to the gossip columns. Dana supposed there were some women who’d find him attractive. The sapphire-blue eyes, the thick, silky black hair, the cleft chin and the nose that was almost perfectly straight except for a faint bend in the middle...all of it seemed exactly right for McKenna’s broad-shouldered, long-legged body.
So what? Nobody’d ever said pirates had to be homely.
McKenna bought companies that were in trouble, scooping them up like a kid taking candy from a dish, and turned them into moneymakers. And, they said, he managed such feats because he had skill, courage and determination. They left out the fact that he’d also started life with an inheritance big enough to float a small kingdom, or that he got obvious pleasure from controlling the destinies of others.
And from having people fawn over him—especially women.
But not all women, thought Dana as she marched down the hall to McKenna’s office. No, definitely not all. She, for instance, was not the least bit impressed by the man. She’d seen him, early on, for what he was. Not just a pirate but a charter member of the Good Old Boys club. An arrogant, egotistical, self-important Male Chauvinist, capital M, capital C.
What he needed, instead of gushing columnists and swooning females, was the truth.
Well, she was about to deliver it.
She paused outside his office.
Not the truth about his overrated, overpublicized self. Dana wasn’t a fool. She had more than a job here, at Data Bytes; she had a career, one she’d worked damn hard for, and she intended to keep it. The truth she’d tell him. the truth he needed to learn, was about the company’s all-new, highly touted computer program, the one that was going to be on display at the big software convention in Miami this coming weekend—the program that was supposed to save Data Bytes from going belly-up.
But it wouldn’t. It couldn’t, because the code that underlay it was a disaster.
She’d already tried telling that to McKenna a week ago.
“Mr. McKenna is a very busy man,” his secretary, the formidable Miss Macy, had said. Dana had replied that The Very Busy Man himself had made it clear, during the organizational meeting he’d held, that he was also A Very Approachable Man.
She hadn’t mentioned that he’d also made it clear he was a man who believed in gender equality the way a skunk believed in deodorants.
Not that it came as a surprise. What kind of man got his name into the gossip columns all the time? What kind of man was photographed with a different woman each week?
What kind of man made the sort of joke McKenna had made at that organizational meeting?
“Remember,” he’d intoned solemnly, “we’re all in this together, people. If Data Bytes is going to fulfill the vision I have for it—and I assure you, it will—it’ll be because every man here works his tail off to make it happen.”
“Every man, and woman,” Jeannie Aarons had called out, and McKenna had grinned along with all the others.
“An interesting observation,” he’d said with wide-eyed innocence, and, after the laughter had died down, he’d added that he never doubted the value of the “female of the species.”
“I’ll just bet you don’t,” Dana had muttered under her breath.
If she had any lingering doubts, McKenna had swept them aside when she’d met with him last week, after Macy had finally agreed to grant her an audience. She had come armed with printouts to support her contention that the new code was not going to be ready on time—but McKenna hadn’t been the least bit interested in listening.
“How do you do?” he’d said, rising from behind his desk like an emperor greeting his subject. “Would you care for some coffee? Some tea?”
“Nothing, thank you,” Dana had said politely, and then she’d launched into her speech only to have McKenna cut her off in the middle with an imperious wave of the hand.
“Yes, yes,” he’d said. “Dave told me that he thought you might come by to protect.”
“I’m not protesting, sir,” Dana started to say, but then his words hit home. “Dave told you? You mean, you already know there’s a problem?” It was such a relief, knowing Dave had finally faced reality, that she smiled. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. I never dreamed—”
“—That you’d be passed over for promotion.” McKenna nodded. “Dave explained that to me. He understands why that’s made you unhappy.”
“I was passed over. But that isn’t why—”
“He also told me that you’ve complained that you haven’t been given enough credit for your work.”
“Complained?”
“Politely, of course.” McKenna flashed a patronizing smile. “He assured me you were every inch the lady when you brought it to his attention.”
“Did he,” Dana said coolly.
“He was very open,” McKenna said. He smiled again, this time with unctuous sympathy. “You see, we go back a long way together, Dave and I. We belonged to the same fraternity.”
“Do tell.” Dana said, even more coldly.
“I assure you, Miss Anderson, your efforts will not go unrewarded. I’m going to institute a bonus plan, and—”
“Mr. McKenna,” Dana took a steadying breath. “This isn’t about getting credit for my work, or about that promotion. I came to tell you that the new code isn’t going to work! If you introduce it at the Miami conference—”
“Not ‘if,’ Miss Anderson. When. And it won’t be me introducing it, it will be Dave. I suppose you’d hoped for that chance yourself, but—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Dana shot to her feet and glared at him. “I’m not looking for a shoulder to weep on, dammit! I came to warn you that the code’s a mess, but if you don’t want to hear it, there’s nothing I can do.”
“And why is it a mess, Miss Anderson?”
“Because...” Dana hesitated. Because Dave’s a drunk, she’d almost said, but McKenna would never believe her. “Because it’s got bugs. Little bits of code that are written wrong.”
“So Dave tells me. He also tells me you wrote those little bits of code, Miss Anderson. Not that he or I hold you responsible, of course, considering your lack of experience.”
“My what?”
“But he assured me that you’ll learn. He says you’re bright, and quick.”
Dana stared at him in astonishment. “I don’t believe this. I absolutely don’t—”
“And now, if you’ll forgive me...” McKenna had smiled politely as he rose to his feet, came around his desk and lightly grasped her elbow. “Thank you for stopping by,” he’d said in a way that made it clear she was dismissed. “My door is always open to my employees, Miss Anderson—or may I call you Dana?”
Dana, who’d been so angry by then that she could hardly see straight, had pulled free of his grasp.
“You may call me Ms. Anderson,” she’d snapped.
And what a stupid thing that had been to say. Even now, the memory made her shudder. Nobody, nobody, at Data Bytes was so ridiculously formal. People went around in jeans and T-shirts with funny sayings on them. Why, she was the only one who dressed in suits and tailored shirts, but when you sat down to pee instead of standing up, you had to work harder at winning a place on the team. Despite all the gender equality laws, the playing field was far from equal. Just look at how McKenna had thought he was complimenting her last week, telling her she was a lady....
“Miss Anderson. Sorry. I meant, Ms. Anderson, of course.”
The familiar voice, a sort of honeyed growl, came from just behind her. Dana swung around and found herself facing Griffin McKenna.
“Mr. McKenna. I didn’t—I thought—”
“Tongue-tied, Ms. Anderson? How very unusual.”
Dana blushed. How could he manage that? He had a way of making her feel—what was the word? Incompetent? No. Not that She knew her stuff; you didn’t get as far as she’d gotten on the corporate ladder without being damn good at what you did. Uncertain. Yes, that was it. He made her feel uncertain. It had to do with that little smile on his mouth when he looked at her, as if he knew something she didn’t
“Were you looking for me? Or were you simply planning on skulking in the hallway?”
“I have never skulked in my life, Mr. McKenna. Yes, as a matter of fact, I was looking for you. We need to talk.”
McKenna’s brows lifted. “Again?”
“Again,” she said, holding her ground.
“Well...” He shot back his cuff, frowned at his watch, then nodded. “I suppose I can give you a few minutes.”
Such generosity! Dana forced a smile to her lips.
“Thank you,” she said, and strode through the door ahead of him, past a surprised-looking Miss Macy, who was guarding McKenna’s lair with her usual dragon-like efficiency, and into his office.
“She doesn’t have an appointment, sir,” the Dragon hissed.
“That’s all right, Miss Macy,” McKenna said soothingly. He paused, just long enough to give the Anderson babe time to stalk halfway across the carpet toward his desk. It was the polite thing to do, but hell, who was he kidding? What he wanted was the view.
And there it was.
Ms. Anderson had the walk of a lioness, all power and pride, and the golden hair to match. And her eyes, when she turned to face him...they were the color of emeralds. Her mouth was lush and soft-looking, made all the more tempting because she never seemed to bother with lipstick. And oh, that body, curved and feminine despite the dowdy suits she wore....
Griffin closed the door and leaned back against it, arms folded over his chest.
It certainly was a pity that a woman who looked like this should be such a cold piece of work. But then, Dave had warned him.
“The Anderson babe’s a hard case, Griff,” he’d said. “You know the type. She wishes to God she’d been born a guy but since she wasn’t, she holds every man since Adam responsible for the world’s woes.”
Griffin sighed, walked to his desk and sat down behind it. Why did some women want to be what Nature had not meant them to be? He’d never been able to understand it.
“Well, Ms. Anderson,” he said, “what can I do for you today?”
Dana cleared her throat. “Mr. McKenna—”
What was he doing? Dana frowned. He was looking through the stack of papers on his desk, that’s what he was doing.
“Mr. McKenna?”
He looked up. “Hmm?”
“Sir, I was trying to tell you about—”
He was doing it again! Bending that dark head of his, thumbing through what appeared to be a bunch of telephone memos, instead of paying attention to her.
“Mr. McKenna. I’d appreciate it if you’d listen.”
“Sorry.”
He looked up, and she could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn’t the least bit sorry. As far as he was concerned, she was wasting his time.
Dana took a deep breath.
“I ran the new program this morning,” she said.
“And?”
“And, it’s a total disaster. There’s no way it’ll perform properly tomorrow, when you demo it at the Miami convention.”
McKenna favored her with a small smile. “Fortunately for me, I won’t be doing the demo, remember? Dave will.”
Stupid, stupid man! Dana smiled politely in return.
“It won’t matter who does it,” she said calmly. “The point I’m trying to make is that the code won’t work right. And Dave won’t—”
“It’s really a pity, you know.”
“What’s a pity?”
“That you should be so distressed by that missed promotion.”
“That I should be...? Mr. McKenna, I told you, this has absolutely nothing to do with—”
“Your record is excellent, Miss—sorry—Ms. Anderson,” McKenna leaned forward over his desk, his eyes focused on hers, his expression one of heartfelt compassion. “I took the time to look through it, after our chat last week.”
Lord, he was condescending! Dana’s gaze narrowed.
“Thank you, but I don’t need reassurance. I’m good at what I do. Very good. I know that. I spent a lot of time on that code, a lot of time, but Dave—”
McKenna got to his feet.
“I’d hate to see this become an obsession, Ms. Anderson,” His voice was polite, but his smile, this time, was cool. “You’re a valued employee, but so is Forrester. And he’s the man in charge.”
“Exactly,” Dana said before she could stop herself. “He’s the man in charge.”
“He is the right person for the job, Ms. Anderson. His gender has nothing to do with it. As for you... I suggest you rethink your position. Data Bytes would like to keep you— but if you’re not happy being part of the team, perhaps you might wish to move on.”
Dana had always prided herself on being a clear-thinking woman. She knew it was one of her best attributes, that cool, rational approach to life. It was why she’d succeeded at virtually everything she’d attempted, from the A’s she’d collected in elementary school straight through to the Phi Beta Kappa key she’d proudly acquired at Harvard.
And yet, at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to tell Griffin McKenna what he could do with his advice and his job.
But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Her life, and her career, were moving forward just as she’d planned, or they had been, until the despicable McKenna came along. And she’d be damned if she’d let him derail all her plans.
“Ms. Anderson? Do I make myself clear?”
Dana forced herself to meet his cold glare with equanimity.
“Perfectly,” she said calmly. “Good afternoon, Mr. McKenna.”
And she turned on her heel and marched out of his office without a backward glance.
Dana banged open the door to the ladies’ room.
McKenna wasn’t despicable, he was detestable.
“The bastard,” she said between her teeth. She stalked to the nearest white porcelain sink, turned on the faucet, cupped her hands under the flow and splashed cold water over her burning cheeks. “The thick-skulled, insensitive lout!”
She yanked a paper towel from the dispenser, scrubbed it over her face, then balled it up and dumped it into the waste receptacle.
Was he blind? He’d bought his success with inherited money, but he did have some degree of talent. Everybody said so. Even Arthur, who knew about such things, said so.
“My dear,” he’d informed her after McKenna’s takeover, “the man is a financial genius.”
Dana had been so ticked off at hearing Arthur, of all people, say such a thing that the “my dear” had slid past her, instead of making her clench her teeth as it usually did.
“Financial genius, my foot,” she’d replied. “He’s a spoiled brat, born with an 18-karat spoon in his mouth.”
Arthur had set her straight, explaining that McKenna had been born to money, yes, but that even the most conservative analysts figured he’d tripled his inherited wealth by now.
“If you’d read the Journal,” Arthur had said kindly, “you’d be aware that the man knows all there is to know about leveraging stocks and corporate takeovers.”
Well, maybe he did. Dana leaned back against the sink, arms folded, and glared at the row of closed stalls. But he didn’t know spit about computers, or computer programs, and it was painfully obvious that he didn’t know spit about her boss, either. Dave was running their department into the ground, but when she’d tried to tell that to McKenna, he’d damn near laughed in her face. And why?
Because he and Forrester were pals, that was why. Because she could never qualify as anybody’s “pal,” not so long as she was a woman, and never mind McKenna’s remark about gender having nothing to do with it. Dana might have come out of college naive enough to believe that sexism in the office—especially in the programming field—was a whisper of the past, but five years in the trenches had taught her otherwise.
If you were a man, the sky was the limit. But if you were a woman, there was a glass ceiling. And she had reached it.
The only kind of female the McKennas of this world could deal with were the ones who knew how to flutter their lashes. McKenna, especially. If he hadn’t been linked with every beautiful female on the planet, it was only because, at thirty-five, he hadn’t yet had the time to get around to them all.
One Down, a tabloid headline had read the day after John Kennedy Jr. tied the knot. One to Go.
Even Arthur had understood just who that “one” was.
Dana stamped her foot. If she’d swooned at his feet, he’d have paid attention to her. If she’d been a man, bringing him bad news about the new code, he’d have listened. But she hadn’t swooned, and she wasn’t male, and so he’d shooed her off as if she were a bothersome fly.
“The idiot!” Dana said, swinging toward the mirror.
The door swung open and Jeannie Aarons walked into the room.
“Don’t even speak to me,” Dana said crossly.
Jeannie’s brows arched. “And a bright and cheery hello to you, too.”
“How does that man live with himself? He is, without question, the most thick-skulled, miserable son of a—”
“Arthur? Thick-skulled, yes. Dull, yes. But miserable’s going too far,” Jeannie leaned closer to the mirror, eyes narrowed, and peered at her chin. “Wonderful. I’m getting a zit, and tonight I’m seeing that guy I met at that singles dance. What do you think, huh? Should I try popping it?”
“I’m not talking about Arthur. I’m talking about McKenna. Who does the man think be is? Who in hell does he think he is?”
“A hunk. That’s who.”
“A jerk. That’s who. The smug, miserable, rotten—”
“My grandma always said that repetition was the product of a non-creative mind.”
“Your grandma never met Mr. I-Am-God McKenna. Jeannie, what are you doing?”
“Squeezing this zit. I cannot possibly go out tonight with a zit the size of Rhode Island on my chin. It’s gross.”
Dana sighed. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. I look like the poster child for leprosy.”
“Do you have any concealer with you?”
“Does an elephant have a trunk?”
“Well, give it to me. And your compact. I’ll fix it so your zit will disappear. I just wish somebody could do the same to His Majesty McKenna.”
“Now, Dana.” Obediently, Jeannie let her face be tilted up toward the light. “Wanting to fix McKenna isn’t nice.”
“Why not? Fixing that man’s butt would be doing the world a favor.”
Jeannie grinned. “Ah. Well, fixing his butt is okay, I guess, but fixing him, as in the way a vet fixes a randy tomcat, would make legions of damsels weep.”
“Frankly,” Dana said coldly, “I don’t give a hoot about his personal life, though the way he goes through women, he might just deserve it.”
“I take it you’re not one of his fans,” Jeannie said cheerfully.
“If you mean that I’m not taken in by his press, his money or his looks, you’re right.”
“There’s no sense in arguing over his looks. Only a troglodyte wouldn’t find the guy hunky. As for his press... according to what I’ve heard, Griffin McKenna bought up and turned around a lot of troubled companies last year.”
“Great. First Arthur and now you, giving me the same speech.”
“Please! Don’t put me in the same sentence with Arthur. I’m liable to fall asleep from boredom.”
“It’s garbage and you know it,” Dana said, ignoring the gibe. “McKenna is a pirate.”
“Does he still insist on wearing bow ties?”
“McKenna?” Dana said, staring at Jeannie.
“Arthur. Somebody ought to tell him, guys just don’t wear those things anymore.”
“I think his bow ties make him look distinguished,” Dana said loyally. “Besides, I was talking about McKenna, and please don’t bother telling me how many jobs he’s saved because that’s all secondary to his real purpose in life, which is to make himself as disgustingly rich as possible.”
“My, oh, my, is that right? He should be taken out and shot.”
“And to accumulate as many female scalps as he can manage in his spare time. Turn toward me a little, please.”
“I thought you just said you don’t care about his personal life.”
“I don’t. It’s just that his attitude toward women spills over into his work.”
“Whoa.” Jeannie drew in her breath. “Don’t tell me,” she said in an excited whisper. “He made a pass?”
“Ha!”
“Ha, as in yes?”
“Ha, as in I almost wish he had.” Dana’s eyes glittered. “Then, at least, I could nail him with the charges he deserves. The man is a sexist pig. He sees women only as objects.”
“I thought you said he didn’t make a pass,” Jeannie said in bewilderment.
“He didn’t,” Dana stepped back, cocked her head and studied Jeannie’s face. “There. If you keep your hands away from your chin, nobody’ll notice a thing.”
Jeannie swung toward the mirror. “Terrific! I’m almost human again.”
“Which is more than we can say of Mister McKenna.” Dana curved her hands around the rim of the sink and glared into the mirror. “Tell me the truth, please. Do I sound like an idiot?”
Jeannie looked at her friend and sighed. “Your trouble isn’t what you sound like, my friend. It’s what you look like. People who design complicated computer programs aren’t supposed to look like Michelle Pfeiffer stand-ins. Well, except for the hair. If you’d just go blonder, leave it loose...”
“Forget about the way I look,” Dana said sharply, “although that, clearly, is part of the problem as far as McKenna’s concerned. He looks at me, all he can see is a female.”
“How peculiar,” Jeannie said sweetly.
“Sitting there, like an emperor on his throne, giving me these solemn looks, nodding wisely as if he were really listening to what I was saying, when he’d already decided I had nothing worth listening to, thanks to my chromosomes. Oh, it was as plain as the nose on your face.”
“Or the Mount Vesuvius on my chin,” Jeannie swung toward the mirror and frowned. “When did this happen? When did McKenna decide you had terminal PMS?”
“Last week. Well, and again just a few minutes ago. I met with him twice, and each time was a disaster.” Dana paced across the room. “He didn’t listen to me, Jeannie, he patronized me. And when that didn’t work, he told me that I could look for another job, if I didn’t like this one.”
“Uh-oh. That sounds ominous.”
“And why?”
“Well,” Jeannie said, “I guess because—”
“Because I stood up to him, that’s why. Because I turned out not to be the ladylike little puppet he thought I was, one that would let him pull my strings.”
“I don’t think puppets have strings,” Jeannie said carefully. “I mean, it’s marionettes that—”
“It was just a figure of speech,” Dana said angrily. “Oh, that man. How can he be so blind?”
“Dana, look, I think maybe you’re going overboard, you know?”
“Well, you think wrong. There’s a serious problem with the new code, thanks to my boss. Dave’s screwing up, big time.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” Dana took a deep breath. “He’s got a drinking problem.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m dead serious. He doesn’t slur his speech or fall down in a heap, but there are times he’s so drunk he can hardly see the monitor.”
“But—but surely, someone would have noticed—”
“Someone did. Me.”
“Did you say something about it to him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And?”
“And, he denied it. Then he said that no one would believe me. He’s the one with a name. With experience. So now I spend half my time trying to catch his errors, and the other half trying to keep up with my own work, and the result is that everything’s a total mess.”
Jeannie chewed on her lip. “Damn,” she said softly. “What a spot to be in. Well, you’ll just have to go to McKenna. I know snitching on Dave won’t be fun, but—”
“I have gone to him,” Dana said furiously. “What do you think I’ve been telling you for the last fifteen minutes?”
“You told him Dave’s a drunk?”
“No. I knew he’d never believe me. But I told him the code’s unstable.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he knows there are problems, and that Dave told him I was the cause, and that he realizes I’m upset because I didn’t get that promotion.” Dana’s eyes flashed. “And, until he got around to telling me I might want to look for another job, he complimented me for complaining in such a ladylike way—”
The door swung open. Charlie, the custodian, beamed at Dana and Jeannie. He had a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other.
“Top o’ the mornin’, ladies,” he said cheerfully. “My apologies for disturbin’ you. I did knock, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“That’s okay,” Jeannie shot a glance at Dana. “We were just about finished in here.”
“Makin’ girl talk, were you?” Charlie beamed his grandfatherly smile. “And primpin’, I suppose. Well, darlins! you can rest assured that there’s no need. The both of you ladies are perfect, just as you are.”
Jeannie smothered a groan as she saw the look on Dana’s face.
“Indeed,” Dana said coldly. “Whatever would we girls do without a man’s stamp of approval?”
Charlie, blissfully unaware of the quicksand beneath his feet, grinned broadly. “Isn’t that a fact?”
“You want a fact?” Dana demanded, marching toward him. Charlie’s smile faded and he flattened himself against the wall. “We are not girls,” she said, wagging her finger under his nose, “and we are not ladies. We are women. As for needing a man’s stamp of approval—”
Jeannie grabbed Dana’s arm and hustled her from the bathroom. Halfway out the door, she turned and gave Charlie an apologetic smile. “It’s nothing personal,” she hissed. “She’s just upset.”
“I am not upset,” Dana said, spinning around. “I am just tired of pretending that I need patting on the head, as if I were a—a poodle instead of a person.”
Charlie’s baffled glance went from one woman to the other. “I never said one word against poodles, Miss.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I didn’t... This has nothing to do with dogs. I simply meant...” Dana threw up her arms. “Men,” she snorted, and marched off.
Moments later, Charlie stood before Griffin McKenna’s massive desk, his bushy white brows still drawn together in a knot.
“So, there I was, about to mop the ladies’ room—pardon me, the women’s room—and the next thing I knew, the young lady said I’d insulted her dog. I ask you, sir, why would I? I like dogs. ‘Course, she says it’s a poodle. Try as I might, I can’t claim to be fond of them little things. Can’t stand their yappin’ all the time, if you know what I mean.”
Griffin nodded wisely. That was the way he hoped it looked, at any rate, but he couldn’t be sure he was pulling it off. What in hell was the old guy babbling about?
He liked Charlie. But his mind was on other things. Like putting on a good showing at the convention that started tomorrow in Miami. Like landing a couple of big accounts with Data Bytes’s new financial database program, to put the company back in the black.
Like figuring out why a woman as gorgeous as Dana Anderson should be so impossible.
Griffin frowned. Why waste time thinking about her? She was gorgeous, yeah, but she was nothing but a pain in the rear. If only she’d admit she didn’t know everything, and do what she was told.
Not that he could imagine that happening. The perfect Ms. Anderson taking orders? And from a man? He almost laughed.
Still, there had to be some guy out there, somewhere, who could tame her. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it to turn all that anger and fire and single-minded determination into passion, the sort of passion beautiful women were meant to experience.
“...Just said that the two of ’em were pretty little things. I suppose her poodle is, too.”
Griffin dragged his thoughts back to Charlie. The poor guy was really worked up, but about what? Griffin was no closer to an answer now than he’d been when the old fellow first came bustling through the door five minutes ago, with the ferocious Miss Macy snapping at his heels. The woman was a leftover from prior management and insisted on defending the door to his office with the zeal of a junkyard dog, despite all his reminders that Data Bytes’s employees were free to see him, anytime, anyplace, about anything.
“...Wife’s sister had a poodle once. Nasty little thing it was, all teeth and a bark high enough to make your ears ring.”
Griffin nodded in sympathy. He leaned forward, picked up his pen and scribbled a note on the pad Macy had centered neatly on his desk blotter.
“Early retirement package for Macy?” he wrote. “Put junkyard dog out to pasture.” Which was a mixed metaphor if ever he’d seen one. It was just that Charlie kept going on about dogs...
Griffin focused his attention on the old man who surely deserved it, considering that he’d made it past Macy, and with his mop and scrub bucket still in his hands.
“...Best come straight to you, sir, seein’ as you said there was an open door policy. Right?”
“Right. Absolutely.” Griffin cleared his throat. “Although, actually, I’m not quite certain what the problem seems to—”
“Well, sir, the young lady thinks I insulted her and maybe even her poodle. And I didn’t.”
Griffin rubbed his hand across his forehead. This was what came of defying your own advisors, all of whom thought he was crazy to go in and spend a couple of months at the helm of each company he purchased. He’d always disagreed...until now.
“Who knows what she’ll do? Complain to you, I s’pose. All this nonsense I read, about sexual harrass...whatever.” Charlie looked stricken. “She had this real angry look in her eyes—green, they are, and cold as can be.”
An icy draft seemed to waft across the back of Griffin’s neck. “She has green eyes?”
“Yes, sir. It had been on the tip of my tongue to tell her they were the color of emeralds but, thank the saints, I never got that far. Anyways, I thought I might do well to come and talk with you.”
“And the lady’s name?” Griffin asked, though he knew. Dammit, he knew.
“Her friend called her—did I mention there were two young ladies, Mr. McKenna?”
“Yes. Yes, you did. What did her friend call her, Charlie?”
“Dana. And if I never see the woman again, it’ll be way too soon. You understand, sir?”
Did he understand? Griffin smiled tightly as he rose to his feet and offered Charlie his hand.
“I hope I did the right thing, comin’ to you, sir,” Charlie said. “I don’t want to get the girl—the woman—in any trouble, you understand.”
“Wipe her from your mind, Charlie. You won’t have any more problems with Dana Anderson.”
“You’ll have a talk with her, will you? Tell her I didn’t mean to insult her dog?”
“Indeed,” Griffin said as he eased the old man out the door and shut it after him.
Oh, yes. He’d have a talk with Ms. Dana Anderson. Damn right, he would. The woman was trying to make Dave look bad, and now she’d upset a nice old man. She was Trouble with a capital T, and eliminating trouble was what Griffin did best.
Whistling softly between his teeth, he strolled to his desk. His glance fell on the note he’d made about Macy. With a sigh, he grabbed it, crumpled it up and slam-dunked it into the wastepaper basket.
Macy was a dragon, but she was a dragon who knew how to do her job.
Dana Anderson was a different story. Let her go make life difficult for somebody else. Let her bake cakes, or sew curtains, take dictation or type letters, let her do a woman’s job instead of storming into the business world and making trouble. And if she couldn’t accept her rightful place in life, then she could go find a bunch of leftover female twit-heads from the seventies, rip off her bra and burn it.
Griffin caught his breath. An image filled his mind. He saw Dana standing beside a blazing fire, her green eyes locked to his as she let down that mass of streaked golden hair and then, with heart-stopping slowness, took off not just her bra but every stitch she wore, until she had nothing on except her own soft, rose-flushed skin.
Naked, she’d be even lovelier than he’d dreamed. And yes, dammit, he had dreamed of her, though it galled him to admit it.
Griffin shut his eyes. The image was so real. He could feel the heat of the fire and hear the soft beat of drums somewhere off in the darkness of the night. He could see Dana smile, then run the tip of her tongue across her lips. Her hands lifted; she thrust them into her hair. Her head fell back and she began to dance. For him. Only for him...
Griffin blinked, cursed, and grabbed for the telephone.
“Miss Macy,” he barked. “Send Dana Anderson in here, on the double.”
“Mr. Forrester’s here. He wants to see you, sir.”
“All right, send him in. And then get hold of the Anderson woman.”
“Of course, sir.”
Griffin sat down. He’d give Forrester five minutes, although, to tell the truth, the man was becoming an annoyance. Still, there was no harm in a little delay. In fact, it would make what came next all the sweeter, when he finally gave the blonde with the green eyes and the disposition of a wet tabby cat exactly what she’d been asking for.
Smiling, he tipped back his chair and put his feet up on his desk.
The mere thought of the Anderson babe cooling her heels on the unemployment line was enough to make his day.
CHAPTER TWO
DANA was neck-deep in work.
Unfortunately, none of it was hers. She was too busy fixing up Dave’s disasters to pay any attention to her own stuff.
Her tiny cubicle was crowded with files, and her desk was strewn with papers. Memos fought for space with a clutter of computer disks and Styrofoam cups. “The Neat Freak,” Dave had dubbed her long before he’d gotten his promotion, but neatness had gone the way of the dodo bird. How could you be neat, when the world was crashing down around your ears?
She’d spent the past hour hunched over the keyboard, hoping to find a way to debug the latest problem in the code. Dana’s fingers raced across the keyboard. Numbers scrolled down the screen of her monitor. She paused, scanned the numbers, then hit the “enter” key.
“Please,” she said under her breath, “let it be right.”
It wasn’t.
Not that she’d expected it would be. Mistakes, not miracles, were too often the inevitable result in the wonderful world of computing.
If only Griffin McKenna could get that through his thick skull....
His thick, handsome skull.
Dana muttered a word McKenna surely wouldn’t have approved hearing a woman say. She glared at the monitor. Then she sighed, sat back and reached for the closest Styrofoam cup. An inch of black sludge sloshed in the cup’s bottom. She made a face, held her breath, and glugged it down. After a minute, she looked at the monitor again.
McKenna’s face, complete with its smug, self-confident smirk, seemed to flicker like a ghostly apparition on the screen.
“That’s right,” she said. “Smile, McKenna. Why wouldn’t you? The world is your oyster.” Angrily, she tapped the keys again, deleting the numbers, but McKenna’s image still lingered. “I should have quit,” she muttered. “I should have told that man exactly what he can do with this job.”
It wasn’t too late. She could pick up the phone, dial his office...
She was reaching for the receiver when the phone rang.
“Hello,” she snarled.
“Dana?”
It was Arthur. Dana shut her eyes.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”
“Were you expecting someone else, my dear?”
Dana shot a glance at the monitor, as if she half expected to find McKenna’s face still etched onto the glass.
“No,” she said. “No, not at all. I just—I’m, ah, I’m awfully busy just now, Arthur, so if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Of course, Dana. I only wanted to say hello.”
“Hello, then,” she said, trying not to sound brusque, “and now, if you’ll excuse me...”
“Will I see you this evening?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes. I mean...”
Dammit. She was being rude, and she was babbling, and it was all because of McKenna. She flashed another quick look at the screen. He was still there, smirking. She stuck out her tongue, then rolled her eyes. What had happened to the rational thought process she was so proud of?
“Arthur.” She took a deep breath. “Are you free for lunch? Because if you are, could you meet me at...” Dana paused and did a mental run-through of the restaurants between Arthur’s office and hers. McKenna might eat in any one of them, and he was the last person she wanted to see right now. “At Portofino,” she said, plucking the name out of the air. It was a name she recalled from a recent review in the Times.
“Portofino. Of course. But...all you all right, Dana?”
“I’m fine. It’s just... It’s just that I need you.”
“Oh, my dear,” Arthur said, and she didn’t realize he might have gotten the wrong impression until she was on her way out the door.
But by then, it was too late.
Griffin had been in a lot of restaurants in his life, but never in one that reminded him of a chapel.
If only he’d been paying attention when Cynthia had turned up unexpectedly at his office, smiling her perfect smile, looking as if she’d just stepped out of a bandbox—whatever the hell that might be—asking if he’d like to join her for lunch.
Sure, he’d said, even though he knew he should have come up with some excuse because Cynthia was beginning to push things a little too hard. But his thoughts had been on Dana Anderson, and how much pleasure there’d be in firing her, and the next thing he’d known, he and Cynthia had been standing inside this super-trendy, self-conscious watering hole where violins violined and trysters trysted.
“What is this place?” he’d muttered.
“It’s called Portofino,” Cynthia had whispered, giving him a tremulous smile. “Your mother said the Times gave it a terrific write-up.”
My mother, the matchmaker, Griffin had thought grimly, but he’d managed to smile. Apparently, it was time for another little chat. Marilyn McKenna was wise, sophisticated and channing...but she never gave up. She had decided, a couple of years before, that it was time he married and settled down, and she’d switched her considerable energies from her newest charity to getting him to do just that. Poor Cynthia didn’t know it, but she was his mother’s latest attempt at moving him toward the goal.
“If you’d rather go someplace else,” Cynthia had said, her perfect smile trembling just a little...
“No,” Griffin had said, because that was exactly what’d he been thinking. “No, this is fine.”
It wasn’t fine. The Times might love Portofino but as far as he was concerned, the place was a total loser. He liked being able to identify the food on his plate, something you could not do in the artificial twilight of the restaurant, and if the captain or the sommelier or the waiter slid by one more time, smiling with oily deference and asking, sotto voce, if everything were all right, he was going to say no, by God, it wasn’t, and would somebody please turn up the lights, dump half the bordelaise sauce off what might yet prove to be a slab of rare roast beef, and take away these flowers before he started listening for a Bach fugue to come drifting from the kitchen?
Griffin smothered a sigh. The truth was that he’d do no such thing. He’d come here of his own free will, which made paying the consequences for his stupidity an obligation.
The captain had seated them at a table for two behind the perfect fronds of an artificial palm tree. The fronds had dipped into his soup and his salad. Now, they were dipping into his beef.
“Isn’t this romantic?” Cynthia sighed.
“Yes,” Griffin said bravely, brushing aside a frond. “Yes, it is.”
“I just knew you’d like it,” Cynthia said, batting her lashes.
He’d never noticed that before, that she batted her lashes. He’d read the phrase in books but until this moment, he hadn’t thought about what it meant. Blink. Blink, blink. It looked weird. Did all women do that, to get a man’s attention? He couldn’t imagine the Anderson woman doing it. She’d probably never batted a lash in her life.
“Griffin?”
Griffin looked up. Cynthia was smiling at him. Nothing new there; she almost always smiled at him. Not like the charming Ms. Anderson, who always glared.
“Griffin.” Cynthia gave a tinkling little laugh and cocked her head at a pretty angle. “You seem to be a million miles away.”
“I’m sorry, Cyn.” Griffin cleared his throat. “I, ah, I keep thinking about that conference.”
“The one in Florida? Your mother mentioned it.”
Give me a break, Mother!
“Yes,” he said pleasantly. “It should be interesting. I’ve never been to a software convention before.”
“I envy you,” Cynthia said, and sighed.
Griffin’s dark brows angled upward. “I didn’t know you were interested in computers.”
She laughed gaily. “Oh, Griffin! Aren’t you amusing? I meant that I envied you for getting away from this cold weather to spend a long weekend in Florida. I only wish I had that opportunity.”
Griffin’s jaw clenched. Marilyn the Matchmaker was really pushing it this time.
“Yes,” he said politely, “I suppose it sounds terrific, but I doubt if I’ll even get to set foot on the sand. I’ll be too busy rushing from meeting to meeting.”
“Ah,” Cynthia gazed down at her plate. “I see.”
Griffin sighed. No. She didn’t see. She was a nice girl, but she was wasting her time. Sooner or later, he was going to have to find a way to tell her that.
It was true, she would undoubtedly make some man a fine wife. She was pretty. Actually, she was beautiful. She was well-educated, too, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who was bothered by the fact that she was a woman; she understood that there was a difference between the sexes. Griffin had had enough of male-bashing broads to last a lifetime. Any man would, who’d come of age within the past couple of decades.
Cynthia was like a breath of fresh air. She had no agenda and no career goals. She didn’t look upon men as the enemy. She liked being a woman. She understood the difference between the sexes, and the difference pleased her.
There was no question as to what would make Cynthia happy. She would be content to be a man’s helpmate. To bear his children. To stay at home, cook his meals and clean his house...metaphorically, anyway, because, of course, there’d be a staff of servants to do all of that. The point was, Cynthia would not want the rules bent to accommodate her. She wouldn’t leave you wondering if she’d say “thank you” if you opened her car door for her or accuse you of trying to treat her as if she were the weaker sex.
Griffin knew that if he’d been looking for a wife, he’d have looked no further.
But he wasn’t looking for a wife. Not yet. Maybe not ever. His life was full and exciting, just the way it was. He loved his work, and his freedom, the right to come and go as he pleased, when he pleased. Not that he didn’t enjoy curtailing that freedom from time to time. The world was full of gorgeous women who were eager to share his life for a few weeks or months, no commitments asked. They were not wife material, his mother had said more than once, and each time she did, Griffin nodded thoughtfully and breathed a silent prayer of thanks that they were not.
But—and it was one hell of a big “but”—if he ever did decide it was time to settle down, and if Cynthia was still available, he might just look her up. He liked her well enough; he supposed he could even learn to love her...and if he couldn’t imagine taking her in his arms, the way he’d thought about taking Dana Anderson in his arms, and making love on the warm sands of a tropical beach, so what? Wild passion wasn’t what married life was all about.
Griffin frowned. Dammit, it wasn’t what the Anderson woman was all about, either. Why did he keep thinking about her and that silly beach?
Ms. Anderson, making love on a beach. The very idea was laughable. She’d probably never had a date in her life. She’d probably never...
Griffin jerked back in his seat.
No. It couldn’t be!
But it was. There, directly across the restaurant, tucked away in a cozy little nook, sat Dana Anderson...and a man.
What was she doing here? Griffin would have bet anything that she had her lunch in a health food store, or quaffed yogurt at her desk. Instead, here she was amidst the palm fronds and velvet drapes in the pseudo-romantic, sickeningly phony confines of Portofino. And she was with a guy.
An attentive one.
Griffin’s frown deepened.
The man could have been chosen for her by central casting. He was perfect, from his tortoise-shells to the bow tie that bobbed on his Adam’s apple.
“Monsieur?”
Griffin looked up. The waiter hovered beside the table.
“Do monsieur and madame wish dessert? A tarte, perhaps, or a Madeline Supreme?”
What Griffin wanted was to keep watching the Anderson babe and her boyfriend, but Cynthia had that I’m-hurt-but-I’m-being-brave look on her face again. The waiter, who seemed to see nothing strange in a French menu and a French accent in a restaurant named for a town in Portugal and warned, perhaps, by the look on Griffin’s face, drew back as if expecting to be attacked.
Griffin did his best to smile politely.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” he said. “Cyn? What will you have?”
Cynthia listened attentively while the waiter made his way through a seemingly endless list. Anderson—Ms. Anderson—wasn’t doing much of anything. She certainly wasn’t eating. Griffin couldn’t fault her for that. He couldn’t see her plate very clearly, thanks to the near-darkness that hung over the room like a pall, but from what he could observe, she was eating what looked like a taxidermist’s special.
And the Bow Tie was worried. You could see it on his face. He was looking at Anderson the way a puppy looks at an out-of-reach bone.
Well, who could blame him? Despite the plastered-back hair, the tweed jacket and the loose-fitting twill trousers, Dana Anderson was something to look at.
Griffin frowned. Yeah, well, piranhas were interesting to look at, too.
The guy said something. Anderson started to answer, stopped, then began to speak. She was really getting into it now, gesturing with her hands, leaning forward and risking immolation from the candles flickering in the floral centerpiece. She took the guy’s hand in hers, and the idiot positively beamed. There was no other way to describe it.
He was smiling so hard it looked as if his ears might start glowing, and why wouldn’t he? Anderson was looking at him as if he were St. George standing over the dead body of the dragon when, in reality, the guy looked as if a strong breeze might blow him over.
One corner of Griffin’s mouth turned down. This was the Anderson babe’s sort of man, all right. A guy she could lead around by the nose. Somebody who’d never want her to dance for him on a deserted stretch of sand, while the moon looked down and the drums pulsed out a beat that matched the fire in his blood...
“Griffin? Griffin, are you all right?”
Griffin pulled back from the edge of the precipice and looked across at Cynthia. “Yes,” he said calmly. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.”
And he was.
It was just curiosity that had him wondering what could be keeping Dana Anderson’s attention so tightly focused on the man she was with.
“You aren’t eating, Dana. Is something wrong with your fish?”
Dana sighed. Arthur was looking at her with concern. Well, no wonder. She’d called and asked him to meet her for lunch, and now she was sitting here like a piece of wood, saying nothing, doing nothing, just watching her own grim reflection in the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.
“No,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “No, the fish is fine, Arthur. Just fine.”
It was fine. She assumed so, anyway, because the truth was that she hadn’t eaten enough of it to know. It was just that Portofino served fish complete with head and tail. The tail didn’t bother her but the head was another story. The finny creature lay draped across her plate on a bed of something that looked suspiciously like kelp, its thin mouth turned down, its glassy eye turned up and fixed on the cherubim painted on the gilded ceiling.
Dana repressed a shudder. She’d never been good with food that looked as if it might get up and walk off her plate—or swim off, as the case might be. Besides, if this morning’s runin with McKenna had dimmed her appetite, the atmosphere in Portofino had finished it off completely.
She’d had no idea the place dealt in such overblown decor. If she had, she’d never have suggested it.
No wonder poor Arthur kept looking at her that way, with a little smile on his lips and his gaze expectant and misty behind his horn-rims. Her phone call, her choice of words, even her choice of restaurants, must have convinced him that romance was in the air.
Dana cleared her throat, lay her knife and fork across her plate, and folded her hands in her lap.
“Arthur,” she said gently, “I’m afraid I may have misled you.”
“I knew it,” he said, “you really don’t like the fish! Where is our waiter? I’ll ask him to bring you something else.”
Dana sat forward and put her hand on his. “The fish isn’t the problem.”
Arthur’s brows lifted. “It isn’t?”
“The problem’s...” She frowned. McKenna, was what she’d thought. But what she’d almost said was, me. Me, you, us, Arthur. We’re just not right for each other.
But it wasn’t true. They were right for each other, it was only that she was in an insane mood today. Just look at how she’d treated that poor custodian. She owed him an apology, and she’d give it to him first thing this afternoon, but right now, she was going to let Arthur help her get back on an even track.
He could do it, if anyone could.
“The problem,” she said, clearing her throat, “is Griffin McKenna.”
Arthur blinked. Just for a moment, it made him bear an uncanny resemblance to her glassy-eyed fish.
“Your employer? My dear Dana, I don’t understand. What has he to do with our lunch?”
“Nothing, Arthur. He has to do with me. With my job, with my self-respect, with my responsibilities at Data Bytes.” She drew back her hand and sat upright “You cannot imagine how much I despise that man.”
Arthur sighed. “My dear Dana—”
“Do you think you could stop saying that?”
“Saying what, my dear?”
Dana forced a smile to her lips. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just—I’ve had a bad morning, that’s all. My nerves are shot. That’s why I called you. I need your advice.”
“You need...” Arthur’s smile dimmed just a little, then brightened again. “I’m at your disposal, of course.”
“There’s a problem at work, with my boss and the code we’ve been working on. I tried to tell McKenna about it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“That’s surprising, Dana. Griffin McKenna is a brilliant strategist. According to the Journal...”
“The Journal doesn’t bother mentioning that he’s a pompous ass! I hate working for him.” Dana paused. “So, I’m asking for your opinion.”
Arthur’s bow tie rode up and down his Adam’s apple. “I’m flattered, my dear.”
“Should I start looking for another job?”
“Well, if you ask me—”
“Or should I ride it out? McKenna won’t stay at Data Bytes forever, but Dave Forrester probably will.”
“True. And—”
“But, if I quit, what kind of references would I get?”
“An excellent ques—”
“On the other hand, what can I accomplish by staying on? Forrester’s just going to keep screwing up and McKenna’s going to keep treating me as if I’m a troublemaker.”
“I see. If you think—”
“He’ll fire me anyway, when the new code blows up tomorrow. But if I quit before then, he’ll think he forced me out.” Dana’s eyes narrowed. “I refuse to give him that satisfaction.”
“Well,” Arthur said quickly, “if you really want my opinion—”
“I might not need references. I know lots of people in this business. I could find a job, a better job, then tell McKenna what he can do with this one!”
“True. But—”
“But that would be giving in. And I won’t do that. I’ll never do that!” Dana seized Arthur’s hand. “Oh, I’m so glad I asked your advice! Thank you for helping me come to a logical decision.”
Arthur blinked. “Ah...you’re very welcome.”
“You’re wonderful, you know. You’re so clear-headed.”
A pink glow suffused Arthur’s cheeks. His fingers tightened on hers, and he leaned forward until his bow tie lay nestled among the daisies and tea roses that separated them from each other.
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
Beaming with delight, Arthur lifted her hand to his lips.
“Monsieur.” The waiter favored them with the hint of a smile. “Would you and mademoiselle care for some café and dessert? Some sorbet, perhaps, or an excellent tarte...”
“Nothing, thank you,” Dana said. She smiled at Arthur as she rose to her feet. “I feel rejuvenated, thanks to you, Arthur. And I’m really eager to get back to work.”
Cynthia was talking, something about a luncheon she’d attended with his mother. Griffin was trying to pay attention, but how could he, after that incredible display? The Bow Tie had kissed Anderson’s band, and she’d given him a thousand-watt smile in return.
Anderson rose to her feet. So did the Bow Tie. And they headed straight in his direction.
Griffin’s jaw tightened. He tossed his napkin on the table and shoved back his chair.
“Griffin?” Cynthia said.
Anderson was holding the guy’s arm as they came down the aisle, looking at him as if he were the only man alive.
“Griffin?” Cynthia asked, “are we leaving already?”
Griffin stepped away from the table, folded his arms and waited. The estimable Ms. Anderson was still chattering away, smiling brightly, her head tilted toward the Bow Tie.
Griffin felt a tightness in his belly. She had never looked at him like that. Not that he’d want her to, but still, it was infuriating. She’d given him the kind of look you gave tapioca pudding when you had it shoved in front of you. How come she was gazing at Bow Tie and damn near glowing?
“...Don’t know what I’d do without you,” she was saying. “You’re so good for me.”
They were going to walk right into him. Griffin almost smiled as he anticipated her shock. But at the last second, Bow Tie pulled his adoring gaze from Anderson’s face, looked up, and saw Griffin standing, immobile, directly in their path.
To say he blanched was to be kind. The guy turned as white as paper.
“Mr. McKenna!”
Anderson nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “That’s all you hear around the office. Mr. McKenna this and Mr. McKenna that, spoken in such hushed tones that, frankly, sometimes I just want to—”
“Now, now,” Griffin said coolly. His lips curved into a tight smile as she skidded to a dead stop not more than six inches off his chest. “Be careful what you say, Ms. Anderson. We’re in a public place, after all.”
Dana’s heart slammed into her throat. “You,” she croaked as she looked into the scowling face towering above her.
“Indeed, Ms. Anderson. What a small world.”
Dana’s thoughts were whirling. McKenna? And a woman who looked as if she’d just stepped out of the fashion pages? But that was impossible. She’d chosen this restaurant with such care! McKenna wasn’t supposed to be here.
And why didn’t he step back? Why didn’t Arthur step back? Then, at least, she’d have room to breathe. She wouldn’t have to stand so close to McKenna’s hard body that she had to tilt her head at a neck-breaking angle just so she could look him in the eye.
“Introduce us,” Arthur hissed in her ear.
“Did you enjoy your meal, Ms. Anderson?”
“Dana,” Arthur whispered, “please. Intro—”
“What are you doing here?” Dana said.
Griffin’s scowl deepened. “Having lunch, Ms. Anderson. And you?”
“I don’t mean what are you doing here, Mr. McKenna, I mean...” God! What did she mean? Dana straightened her shoulders. “Excuse me,” she said coldly, “but I’d like to get by.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would.”
“Mr. McKenna. I am on my lunch hour.”
McKenna’s brows rose. “Is that a fact,” he said pleasantly.
Dammit all, why didn’t Arthur step back and give her some room? Dana shoved her elbow into Arthur’s middle and shot him an angry look, but he didn’t notice. How could he, when he was staring at Griffin McKenna with the look of a deer caught in the headlights?
Dana firmed her jaw, stepped back and planted her foot firmly on Arthur’s toes. That made him move, all right, not much but enough so that now she didn’t have to inhale faint whiffs of McKenna’s cologne with every breath she took.
“It is,” she said. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. McKenna, I’ll see you back at the office.”
Griffin nodded. “Indeed you shall, Miss—oh, sorry—Ms. Anderson.”
How could the man make the correction of her name sound like an insult? Dana’s cheeks burned as she maneuvered past him and headed for the door.
Arthur stepped in front of her when they reached the sidewalk.
“Why didn’t you introduce me, Dana?”
She glared past him, at the restaurant, as if McKenna might materialize at any moment.
“The nerve of him,” she said, “the damned nerve!”
“You should have introduced us. It was a wonderful oppor—”
“Did you see him? Did you see him?”
“Of course, I saw him.”
“Don’t be dense, Arthur. I mean, did you see him? The way he stood there, with that look on his face!”
“What must he be thinking? Common courtesy demands—”
“Courtesy is uncommon, Arthur, haven’t you figured that out yet?” Dana blew a strand of streaky blond hair out of her eyes. “And that woman with him. Miss Perfection.”
“Actually, I thought she was rather attrac—”
“The polite little smile. The perfect hair. The elegant suit. The la-di-da air.”
Arthur frowned in bewilderment. “La-di-da air?”
“So ladylike. So unruffled. So—so unthreatening, to the master’s masculinity!”
“Dana, really, I fail to see what you’re so upset about.”
“That’s just the point, Arthur. You fail to see, but that’s because...because...”
Because what? What was she so upset about? McKenna had been in the same restaurant as she’d been, he’d been having lunch with a beautiful woman. So what?
“If I have to explain it,” she said loftily, “there’s no point. Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you for lunch.”
She swept past him, chin lifted, and started toward the corner. Arthur stared after her for a couple of seconds before hurrying to catch up.
“Dana, my dear, let’s not quarrel.”
“We haven’t quarreled. I just don’t see how you can let yourself be taken in by Griffin McKenna.”
“I haven’t been taken in. I just...” Arthur sighed. “Never mind. Are we still on for dinner this evening?”
“Yes. No. I’m not sure. Why don’t you phone me later?”
“Dinner,” Arthur said more firmly than usual. “All right?”
Dana sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you at seven.”
Dave Forrester, who had not yet succumbed to his afternoon ration of vodka, was lounging in the doorway to Dana’s office when she returned. He greeted her with an enigmatic look.
“Had a good lunch, did you, Dana?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Forrester grinned. “Boss wants to see you.”
Dana didn’t reply. She turned and walked down the hall to McKenna’s office, telling herself as she did that she was not about to take any more nonsense from the man and telling herself, too, that it was a good thing she’d spoken with Arthur because now she was calm, she was very calm, and nothing Griffin McKenna did or said could get under her skin anymore.
Miss Macy greeted her with a look that mimicked Forrester’s. Were enigmatic looks the order of the day?
“Mr. McKenna is waiting for you, Miss Anderson.”
“It’s Ms.,” Dana said, and stepped into McKenna’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, looking the length of the room at her, like an emperor on his throne. “You wanted to see me, Mr. McKenna?”
“Shut the door please, Ms. Anderson.”
Dana complied, then faced him again. “Mr. McKenna. If this is about our bumping into each other at that restaurant—”
“Where you eat is no concern of mine. You may eat what you wish, where you wish, with whomever you wish.”
“How generous of you, sir,” Dana smiled sweetly. “In that case, what did you want to see me about?”
McKenna smiled, too, like a cat contemplating a cageful of canaries.
“You’re fired.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Fired, Ms. Anderson. As in, clean out your desk, collect your severance pay, and don’t come back.”
Fired? Fired? Dana’s vision blurred. All the logic of the last hour fled in the face of Griffin McKenna’s self-indulgent smile.
“You can’t fire me,” she snapped. “I quit!”
Griffin tilted back his chair and laced his hands behind his head.
“Have it your way, Ms. Anderson. Frankly, I don’t give a damn, just as long as we agree that you are no longer in my employ.”
Maybe it was the way he said it, in that know-it-all, holier-than-thou tone. Maybe it was the insufferable smile, or the way he tilted back that damn chair. All Dana knew was that, suddenly, she’d reached the breaking point.
She stomped across the room, snatched a stack of papers from his desk, and flung them high into the air.
“You,” she said, “are a complete, absolute, unmitigated jerk.”
Griffin looked at Dana. She was breathing as hard as if she’d just finished a five-mile run. Her eyes blazed with green fire, and she looked as if she could happily kill him.
Something in his belly knotted. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he kicked back his chair, rose to his feet and came around the desk.
“And you,” he said, “are a woman in need of a lesson.”
“In what?” Dana said furiously. “In the fact that the world is owned by men like you?”
A dangerous smile curved across Griffin’s mouth. For the second time in her life, and the second time that afternoon, Dana wanted to step back. But she didn’t. To give way would have been a mistake.
Standing her ground turned out to be the bigger mistake. It meant that when Griffin reached for her, he had no trouble pulling her straight into his arms.
“In the fact that women have their uses, Ms. Anderson,” he said, and then he bent his head, laced his fingers into her hair, and kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WASN’T much of a kiss, as kisses went
No bells. No fireworks. No explosion of colors behind Dana’s closed eyelids.
Not that she’d deliberately shut her eyes. It had been reflex, that was all. And she certainly hadn’t expected bells or fireworks. That was the stuff of women’s novels, those silly books that were all fantasy.
It was only that somehow, when a man like Griffin McKenna kissed you, you thought—you sort of assumed—dammit, you expected...
Expected?
She hadn’t expected. That was just the point. McKenna had hauled her into his arms and sent her straight into shock. And that, plain and simple, was what he’d counted on.
Dana exploded into action, twisting free of McKenna’s grasp, balling her hand into a fist and whamming it into his middle. It was like pounding her knuckles against a rock but it was worth it. Oh, yes, it certainly was, just to see the look of astonishment spread across that too-handsome-for-its-own-good face.
“Hey,” he said, sounding indignant.
Dana’s blood pressure soared.
“Hey? Hey?” She jabbed her forefinger into his chest. It was steely, too, like his middle, so she jabbed again, a lot harder. “Is that all you have to say for yourself, you—you beetle-browed Neanderthal?”
“Now, wait just a—”
“How dare you, McKenna? How dare you kiss me?”
She paused for breath and Griffin opened his mouth, determined to get a word in while he could...and then he shut it again. She was waiting for an answer. She deserved an answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have one.
Why had he kissed her? It was an excellent question. She’d stood there, glowering at him, drawing a line in the dust, so to speak, women on one side, men on the other. So what? You didn’t kiss a woman because she didn’t like men. You didn’t look at the sexual chip on her shoulder and see it as a dare.
On the other hand, that was damn well what it was. And facing down dares had been the story of his life, starting with the day he’d inherited his father’s fortune along with a note handed over by John McKenna’s embarrassed attorney, a note that had contained a line he’d never forget.
Here’s my fortune, Griffin, his father had written. I worked a lifetime to build it. How long will you take to waste it?
That challenge, even though it had been given by a man who’d never had time for his wife or son, had driven a knife into Griffin’s heart. But he’d risen to it, perhaps beyond it, and built an empire he was proud of, one that might even have impressed his father.
But what kind of dare was there in hauling an unwilling woman into your arms?
None. Absolutely none whatsoever. So, why had he done it?
Griffin frowned. Damned if he could come up with a reason. A lesson, he’d said, but what lesson? Not even he believed in all that old crap he’d spouted about a woman’s place being in the kitchen and in the bedroom.
Okay, so he didn’t like the kind of female who saw men as the enemy. Who eagerly awaited the day they could reproduce by cloning and let the opposite sex kill themselves off, trying to gather a harem.
That didn’t mean he belonged to the “knock ‘em in the head, toss ’em over your shoulder, drag ’em off to the cave” crowd, either—and yet, how else could you describe what he’d just done?
“Your silence is eloquent, McKenna.”
Griffin focused on Dana’s face, still flushed with anger.
“I take it to mean that even you are aware that the days are long gone when a man could get away with coming on to a woman as if they were both decked out in animal skins!”
Griffin’s frown deepened. She was right, that was the damnedest part. It was what had kept him from really kissing her, the sudden realization, once he’d had her in his arms, that there was absolutely no rational explanation for what he was doing, that the “Me man, you woman” thing had never held any appeal for him.
By God, much as he hated to admit it, he owed her an apology.
He cleared his throat.
“Miss Anderson—”
“Ms.,” she said, her tone frigid enough to freeze water. “Or are you memory-impaired, as well as hormonally imbalanced?”
A muscle ticked in Griffin’s jaw. “Ms. Anderson,” he said, telling himself to stay calm, “I suppose I—I mean, I guess, maybe—”
He couldn’t say it. Why should he apologize, when she was glowering at him as if he were something that had just crawled out from under a rock?
Because it’s the right thing to do, McKenna, that’s why.
Hell, he thought, and he thrust his hand into his hair, shoving the dark locks back from his forehead, and told himself to try again.
“Listen,” he said. “Listen, Ms. Anderson—”
“No,” Her eyes, those green, green eyes that could be so filled with heat one second and so icy cold the next, fixed on his. “No,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a poke to his sternum. “you listen, Mr. McKenna!”
Griffin caught hold of Dana’s wrist. “Ms. Anderson, if you’d just calm down—”
“Unhand me, Mr. McKenna!”
Unhand me? Griffin stifled a chuckle. It didn’t take a genius to know that laughter would only make her more furious, but hell, unhand me...
“I said...”
“I heard you,” He let go of her wrist, screwed his face into an expression he hoped would communicate apology, and started over. “Ms. Anderson, I’d like to tell you—”
“I’m not the least bit interested in anything you have to say, McKenna—but you might be interested in what I have to tell you,” She smiled, put her hands on her hips, and tilted back her head so that their eyes met. “In fact, I’m certain of it. It’s going to wipe that—that stupid grin right off your face!”
“Ms. Anderson. I can assure you, I am not grinning. I am not even smiling. If you’d just keep quiet for a minute and let me talk—”
Her index finger made another dent in the front of his shirt.
“Your lawyers will have to do the talking, because I, Mr. McKenna, am going to see to it that every woman in New York knows exactly what kind of man you are!”
Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “Stop poking at me.”
“Did you hear what I said? I’m going to sue the pants off you!”
His hand clamped down on hers. “Did you hear what I said, Anderson? I am not a human pincushion!”
“Let go of me!”
“When you calm down, I’ll let go.”
“I am calm. Completely calm. Calm enough to assure you that the Griffin McKenna who—who swashes his way through life is in deep trouble.”
“Swashes?” Griffin couldn’t help it. This time, he did laugh. “What in hell does that mean?”
“Go ahead. Laugh. Laugh all the way to court because you’ll never laugh again, after I get done suing you for sexual harassment.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look as if I’m joking?”
Griffin considered. What she looked was furious. Indignant. Righteous...and out and out gorgeous. He could feel her pulse leaping just under the soft skin at her wrist. Her eyes were the color of the Atlantic off Cape Cod, just before a storm. Her cheeks were the tender color of new roses. And, somehow or other, her hair had come undone.
Somehow or other? His body tightened. Why was he being so modest? He knew how her hair had come undone. He had done it, plunging his hands into it when he’d kissed her.
But he hadn’t kissed her. Not really. The thought had been there, even the intention, but before he’d had time to get started, the knowledge of exactly what he was doing had broken through his anger and he’d clamped down on the kiss so that it had been nothing more than a touch of his mouth against hers.
If he’d kissed her, really kissed her, it would have been more than that. He’d have drawn her close against his body, held her so that he could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest. He’d have parted her lips with his, tasted all the heat bottled inside her, savored the silkiness of her mouth—that soft-looking, sweet mouth. He’d have inhaled her scent, whispered her name, accepted her surrender as she wound her arms around his neck....
“—anything to say?”
Griffin blinked and let go of her hand. “What?”
“For a man who’s always barking orders, you don’t seem to have much to say right now.” Dana glared. “Maybe you think I’m joking about slapping you with a lawsuit for sexual harassment!”
“Look, Anderson, if you want an apology—”
“An apology?” Dana said in a way that made his hackles rise. “You’ve got to be joking. What I want is your neck in the noose of the law,” She shot him a smile that would have bared her fangs, if she’d had any. “And believe me, that’s just what I’m going to do. I am going to sue you for every cent you’ve got, McKenna. And when I’m done, the entire world will know just what a sexist rat fink you are.”
Gorgeous, but nuts, Griffin thought, and folded his arms over his chest.
“Listen here, lady—”
“I am not a lady!”
“Damn right, you aren’t.”
“Don’t twist my words, McKenna! You know what I mean. I am not a lady, I am a human being. A person. And I don’t have to take any nonsense from the likes of you.”
“If you’d just shut up for two minutes, you’d know that I’ve been trying to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For kissing you, that’s for what.”
“It’s too late. You’ve already done it.”
Griffin swore. “Of course, I’ve already done it! How in hell could I apologize if I...” He stopped, counted silently to five, and tried again. “Look, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill.”

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