The Boss's Daughter. Leigh Michaels

      CHAPTER ONE

      AMY hesitated outside her father’s hospital room. Then she took a deep breath and pushed the door open. No matter what Gavin Sherwood wanted to tell her, she knew that delaying wouldn’t make it any easier to take, so she might just as well get it over with.

      Inside the room, she paused to look at the man lying propped up in the hospital bed, surrounded by high-tech equipment. There was less machinery now than there had been three days ago, when she’d seen him in the intensive care unit right after his heart attack. He was still very ill, there was no denying that. But his color was better, and he was no longer nearly as fragile-looking as he had been a few days before. He was going to make it.

      So whatever Gavin had on his mind, Amy told herself, she would listen patiently and politely and then do precisely as she pleased. She wouldn’t exactly blow a raspberry at him, of course, no matter what he said—because he was still her father. But she wasn’t going to be manipulated into making any deathbed promises to a man who clearly wasn’t on his deathbed.

      Gavin opened his eyes. “You finally got my message, I see.”

      He sounded a little querulous, Amy thought, and his voice hadn’t yet regained all its power—or perhaps the feeble quaver was intentional.

      Amy moved closer to the bedside. “Message? It sounded more like a summons to me.”

      “Took you long enough to get here. Where have you been? Out all night?”

      As if he has any right to ask. “No, I got up early and went out for a walk. What is it you want, Gavin?”

      “It’s a bit involved, I’m afraid. Sit down, Amy.”

      “No, thanks. I didn’t come for a leisurely chat, and I’d just as soon not be here when your fiancée gets back from the cafeteria or wherever she’s gone.”

      “Honey went home for a while.”

      Amy lifted an eyebrow. So she could rest, or so you could? she wanted to ask.

      “This has been an ordeal for her.”

      “She was obviously under a lot of stress the night you came into the hospital,” Amy agreed. In fact, she seemed to regard your illness as a great personal inconvenience.

      “She’s very young,” Gavin Sherwood said quietly. “She’s never faced serious illness before in anybody she truly cares about.”

      And perhaps she still hasn’t. Amy’s tongue was getting sore from biting it, but she knew better than to say what she thought. Her father was already quite aware that his soon-to-be trophy wife was a major thorn in his daughter’s side, so it was unnecessary—and hardly sporting—for Amy to take cheap shots at Honey’s expense. Even more important, if she kept criticizing Honey, her opposition would only drive Gavin into defending his choice, further deepening the chasm between father and daughter.

      But as long as Honey wouldn’t be popping in at any moment, she might as well make herself comfortable, Amy decided, and pulled up a chair. “So what did you want to talk to me about? The message you left on my answering machine wasn’t exactly chatty.”

      “The nurses were hanging around when I called. How’s the job hunt coming along?”

      “Quite well, thanks. Which I could have told you on the phone. So why was it so important that I drive over here?”