Mr. Right Next Door. Arlene James
the papers. “Anything else, Betty?”
“Just your meeting with Mr. Dayton.”
Denise glanced at her wristwatch and got up from her desk, briskly but not quite successfully suppressing her dread. “I expect the meeting will flow over into lunch,” she said absently, “so you might as well go ahead and take your break now. I know you must want to check on your granddaughter.”
Betty had been gathering up the papers strewn over the top of Denise’s desk. It was the sudden cessation of her quick, efficient movements that alerted Denise. She looked up, catching Betty’s expression of surprise just before the older woman masked it. Irritation made Denise snap, “Well, she is having her tonsils out, isn’t she?”
“Yes, ma’am. I just... That is, thank you. Thank you very much.”
Denise waved her away with a frown, uncertain what irritated her most, that her secretary had thought she ignored the talk going around the office or her surprise at what was ultimately a meaningless bit of compassion. It cost Denise nothing, after all, if her secretary left the office a few minutes early when the woman was both efficient to the point of amazement and, at present, unneeded. Yet, Denise was embarrassingly aware herself that it was unlike her to make unnecessary comments. Normally she would have stopped with merely telling Betty to take an early lunch, making no comment about her young granddaughter’s minor surgery. She couldn’t think what had changed inside her that would allow, even compel, her to comment about something as private as her secretary’s granddaughter. Knowing that Betty’s thoughts must be somewhere along the same line as hers, she swept out of the office without so much as a glance over her shoulder.
By the time she reached Chuck’s impressively swank office suite her dread had coalesced into potent distaste, and again she had no adequate explanation for her own reactions. She had never liked Chuck, but personal pref erence had never played a part in her career. She had always been able to keep personality out of professional dealings. What difference did it make if the boss or even a subordinate was a jerk and a bore? Or even if he was a prince and a sweetheart? All that mattered professionally, the bottom line, was performance. Period. So why suddenly should her skin crawl at the idea of walking into a room with Chuck Dayton?
She knew that Chuck was about due for a hit on her. She’d recognized the signs that announced he was working up to it. His wouldn’t be the first pass she’d had to field, nor would it be the last. Denise considered such unpleasantness merely part of the job. It came with the territory, so to speak, with being a woman in a man’s world. It was just one more thing that she would not let get in her way. Reminding herself of that seemed to help, so mentally she squared her shoulders, nodded at Chuck’s young, nubile secretary, and marched into the lion’s den.
The “lion” looked up and boomed a hearty welcome. “Hey, Dennis, come on in!”
She reminded herself that he called her Dennis because she dared to compete with the men on their own level, and it wasn’t just the racquetball.
Resisting the urge to lift a hand to smooth the sleek roll of dark hair twisted against the back of her head, she instead kept her hands free and her movements fluid as she approached the desk. No chair had ever been drawn up in front of that desk. In Chuck’s mind, no subordinate rated a chair at his desk, while superiors rated five-star treatment in the comfortable seating area arranged artfully before the picture window with its lovely view of the Ozarks. Chuck and only Chuck sat at that desk. Denise came to a halt in front of it and folded her arms.
“You wanted to see me?”
He shot her a knowing smirk and turned his attention back to the papers in front of him, just showing her who was boss. When he’d felt that he’d kept her waiting long enough, he looked up and smiled.
“Looking good today.”
She let the compliment pass without comment. He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying his comfort at her expense.
“You know, you really have to loosen up. That ice queen stuffs good for the grunts. Keeps them in their place. But the higher-ups are used to living in the sun. We like a little warmth every now and again, even some real heat once in a while. I’m sure you catch my drift.”
She ignored his “drift” and went straight to business. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
Chuck frowned, then sat forward again and briskly began giving her the details. “It’s about the new retailer coming on-line. I’ve invited the rep to dinner on Friday night at the Ozark Springs Inn. Have you been there yet?”
“Ozark Springs Inn? No, I haven’t.”
“Well, here’s your chance to enjoy the amenities at company’s expense. I think we can swing an overnight stay—for both of us.”
Denise’s stomach turned sour. “Your wife ought to enjoy that,” she said as offhandedly as she could manage.
“My wife is used to my, uh, work keeping me out overnight.” Chuck smiled and waggled his eyebrows.
It was all Denise could do to keep from gagging. Instead, she made herself smile and pass a limp hand over her forehead. “Gee, I wish you’d given me a bit more notice,” she said, thinking furiously. “Friday is...day after tomorrow, and I’ve, ah, already made plans.”
The smile turned upside down. “What kind of plans?” “Well, p-personal plans.”
He screwed up his face. “A date? You’re telling me you have a boyfriend?”
He made it sound like a disease, and suddenly she knew why. A boyfriend would mess up all the plans he’d been neatly laying, plans designed to get her off by herself, plans to seduce her. No, Chuck wouldn’t go to all the trouble of being sure that she was willing. More likely, what he had in mind was something along the lines of compromise, if not outright demands- Yes, a boyfriend was definitely in order. She folded her arms again.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do have a boyfriend.”
Chuck knocked his index finger against the edge of his desk. “Well, work will just have to take precedence. If he doesn’t know that already, he’ll just have to learn.”
“Agreed.”
“Then you’ll cancel your plans.”
“Ah, no.”
“Jenkins,” he said sternly, “this is your job. I want you at that dinner Friday night!”
She grabbed at the proverbial straw. “Dinner! Well, dinner, yes, I can probably swing that. I’ll just, uh...”
Chuck’s eyes narrowed, lending him the air of a truculent pig, but Denise was well aware that it would be unwise to underestimate him. “Bring him along?” he suggested smoothly, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
She had not the faintest idea what he was planning, but no doubt he had something up his sleeve. The Chuck she knew didn’t take kindly to being thwarted in anything. She gulped, trying to cudgel her reluctant brain into giving her a solution, while Chuck warmed to his own scheme.
“By all means, bring him along! It’ll be a pleasure to meet him. I insist. Really.”
She felt like a rat trapped on a sinking ship, but if she had to choose, she’d just as soon go down with the ship as have to put herself into Chuck’s hands in order to escape it. Coolly, she inclined her head in acceptance of his “invitation.” It was only after she’d left his office some minutes later that-she realized her little plan had one glaring flaw.
She didn’t have a date on Friday, let alone a boyfriend.
It was, of course, the obvious solution, not so much because they were friends but because, more pointedly, he was the only single man she knew in the whole area! Moreover, something told her that he would not let her down. She could count on Morgan Holt to come to the rescue, but could she count on him not to take advantage or misconstrue? That was another