Honeymoon For One Page 5

  At the office, stacks of files teetered precariously on her normally orderly desk. At least now she had something to keep her mind busy, distracted. It would take her weeks to catch up. Thank God.

  Maybe if she buried herself in paperwork, she wouldn’t notice how every person who passed by her desk looked at her as though she’d lost her best friend. Both of them.

  “Want to talk?” Pam leaned against the file-laden desk.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. I should be able to find my desktop in a decade or so.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Yeah, she knew, except she’d spent all morning trying to forget that her fiancé and best friend were now husband and wife.

  "Okay, I'll play along." Pam dropped a manila file on Michelle’s desk. “We’ve got the final numbers on last quarter.”

  Michelle moved the pencil holder Pam had bumped an inch to its proper place, then opened the file and leafed through the pages. “Ooh,” she hissed. “This is worse than I thought.”

  Pam nodded. Each page was bleaker than the one before. Ad revenues were falling like stones off a cliff.

  “There’s more.”

  Michelle closed the folder, tapped it on her desk and set it squarely on the short stack of files she'd been working with. “Do I really want to know?”

  “Depends on how much you like your job.”

  “About as much as I like to eat.”

  “While you were away, we got the word. Mr. Harrison is gone. They’re sending some new hotshot hatchet man to trim the fat.”

  “My God. Ed Harrison has been here since—”

  “Forever,” Pam finished for her.

  Michelle’s stomach did a nervous flip. “How many jobs will be cut?”

  “Sally from personnel didn’t say. Supposedly Mr. Hatchet Man is only coming to evaluate, but we all know what that really means.”

  “Blast. I’d hoped some of the new sales incentives would help the numbers. When is this new guy expected to arrive?"

  “Sometime today.”

  Michelle swallowed her surprise, set the pen on her desk and leaned back in her chair. Hopefully she’d struck a casual, laissez-faire pose, but she was pretty sure her body language screamed jilted bride in denial. “Do we know anything more about him? Like for starters, his name?”

  Pam nodded and crossed her ankles. “Lloyd McEntire.”

  “Lloyd? What kind of a name is that? No one names their kid Lloyd anymore. The man must be older than my aunt Millie's heirlooms.”

  “All I know is he’s supposed to be some kind of miracle worker. The Lee Iacocca of the new millennium. Sally says he’s the guy responsible for turning around Stereo City.”

  “What’s a guy who not only saves a regional retail outlet from bankruptcy but turns it into the number one national electronics store doing tinkering with a newspaper?"

  Pam shrugged. “Beats me. But last week, Harmon Brody came down from corporate to make sure we had everything up to speed before Mr. Hatchet Ma...I mean McEntire gets here. You remember Harmon, don’t ya?”

  “Wasn’t he the skinny fellow who always wore bow ties?”

  “That’s him. He’s done real well for himself at headquarters. We went out for a few drinks. Not till his last day in Bluffview, of course. You know, appearances and all.”

  Michelle almost laughed. Since when did the flaming redhead dressed in bright purple care about appearances?

  “Anyhow, when I had him good and buttered up”—Pam looked around, and leaned closer—“he told me McEntire’s our last hope. We’ve been bleeding red ink for so long, some of the higher-ups are just itching to board us up and write us off.”

  A small hammer started banging between Michelle’s eyes. “This McEntire better be a sanctified miracle worker. I can’t afford to lose this job. I can’t.”

  “None of us can, honey. But don’t you worry. I’ve done a little checking around, and this guy is the best. Really he is.”

  “Excuse me.” A male voice came from behind Michelle. A deep, sexy, and dear-God-it-couldn’t-be familiar voice. “I was told I’d find Mr. Harrison’s assistant here.”

  Pam straightened to her full height, puffing her chest out and grinning like a cat about to pounce on her next canary. “I’m Pamela Stuart. How may I help you?”

  Michelle held her breath. It couldn’t be him. Kirk most likely lived somewhere in California. Probably scoping out his next Mafia hit at this very moment. Or jumping out of an airplane somewhere.

  “I’m Lloyd McEntire. I’ll be replacing Mr. Harrison temporarily.”

  She breathed a relieved sigh. But how could two men have that same bone-melting sexy voice? And how the heck was she supposed to work with someone whose every word would remind her of the ten best days of her life? She had no idea, but sitting with her back to her new boss was most definitely not the smartest way to keep her job.

  Rolling her chair to the side, she pushed to her feet and turned to meet... “Oh, God.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Michelle looked about to keel over. All color drained from her face, and if Pam wasn’t mistaken, her friend had just mumbled, Oh God.

  Thinking maybe the Rat Bastard had summoned the courage to come into the office, Pam glanced around Mr. McEntire. Except for the new receptionist coming down the hall with a cup of coffee, the place was deserted.

  Beside Pam, with eyes round as dinner plates, Michelle stared openmouthed at their new boss. Granted the guy was handsome as the devil and tempting as sin, but that was no reason for Michelle to be teetering in place like a woman who had just drunk her lunch straight from a bottle in a brown paper bag.

  And if the deep crease embedded between Mr. McEntire’s brows was any indication, the man appeared to be as confused as Pam by Michelle’s odd behavior. “This is Michelle Bradford,” Pam said, “local ad manager.”

  His brows lifted, and Pam thought she saw a hint of a smile tug at one side of his mouth. “Micki—”

  “Nice to meet you,” Michelle blurted quickly, sticking her hand out so fast she almost stabbed the man in the midsection.

  Dark brows knitted together briefly before his expression cleared to a blank slate. "Nice to meet you, too.”

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Michelle stepped to the side, tripping over her chair. “I have some things to take care of.” Backing up a step, she pointed at Pam. “You’ll be in good hands. Um, I mean, Pam will take good care of you.” She stepped back again and took a deep breath. “That is, Pam will show you around. I mean, your office. Won’t you, Pam?”

  Pam nodded at her friend who’d managed to stumble backward halfway down the hall, then Pam smiled stiffly at the handsome hunk in front of her. “Right this way, sir.”

  ***

  Without a single glance back in Michelle’s direction, Lloyd McEntire followed the sassy redhead. The moment the large wooden door—of what had until recently been Mr. Harrison’s office—clicked shut, Michelle spun around, ran to the ladies’ room and didn’t stop until she stood in a stall, her back pressed to the bolted door. “Oh, God.”

  Clutching her stomach as though she’d been punched—hard—she took in a long deep breath and blew it out very slowly. The last thing she needed was to hyperventilate. Hiding in the bathroom like a melodramatic teenager was bad enough. Someone finding her passed out by the toilet would be beyond mortifying. “Oh, God.”

  She drew another slow deep breath and another. The mind-numbing shock had begun to ease, but her legs were none too steady. Shifting around in the small space, she closed the toilet lid and sat. “Of all the gin joints."

  Lloyd McEntire. He’d lied. Given her a fake name. She almost laughed. How pathetic she must have seemed to him. On the cruise it hadn’t taken long for her to understand, other than the few tidbits about his college days, Kirk wouldn’t talk about his life off the ship. For him there seemed to be only the then and there. And frankly, the idea of making the outside world off-limits suite
d her fine. She didn’t want to be pitied. The jilted bride. At the time it all made sense. A cruise fling. No ties to the life on land, just fun in the sun. But to not give her his real name?

  Elbows on her knees, she dropped her head into the palms of her hands. At least she’d stopped him from giving her away. When he’d used his nickname for her, her heart almost stopped.

  He was supposed to be her private little memory. Tucked away in the back of her mind to be brought out and dusted off every decade or so. He wasn’t supposed to show up in her town. At her job. As her boss, temporary or otherwise. “Damn.”

  No one could find out. How would she explain him, them, to her young impressionable sister? Taking another deep breath, she straightened her spine. She wouldn’t have to explain. No one would have to know. He hadn’t given her away. Surely that meant he would be willing to ignore their past...history?

  Of course. The nervous flutter in her stomach slowed. Just because he was here didn’t mean he wanted to pick up where they’d left off. Why couldn’t they function in the same office and maintain a reasonable working relationship? After all, she hardly ever dealt with Mr. Harrison. If she kept to herself, burying her head in paperwork, she might not have to see him much at all.

  Standing up, her legs felt stronger, her stomach more settled, and her breathing easier. She could do this. Everything would be fine. She’d do her job. Keep to herself. Yeah. Everything would be fine.

  “Michelle, you in here?” Pam’s voice drifted over the stall.

  She unlocked the door and swung it open. “Yes.”

  “You okay, honey?”

  Still shaky fingers brushed at the sides of her skirt, smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles. She nodded.

  “Then what in the name of all that is holy has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you act so scatterbrained.”

  “Nothing.” She flashed a brief smile. “Everything’s fine.”

  Pam raised her hands to her hips, tipped her head, and glared at Michelle with the searing precision of X-ray vision. “You’re not telling me something.”

  “I promise you, I’m okay. I just felt a little queasy and needed to get to the rest room.” That much was the truth. “Probably some bad leftovers. I’ll have to clean out the fridge when I get home.” One little white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, Pam had no way of knowing Michelle had already scrubbed the refrigerator and every other appliance in her kitchen to within an inch of its metallic life.

  “Okay. But whatever you do, don’t throw up on the new guy. Our jobs may depend on it.”

  Michelle splashed a little water on her face and pulled at a paper towel to dry her hands. “I don’t plan to get that close to him.”

  “Well, you know what they say about the best-made plans. Mr. Hatchet Man wants you in his office. Now.”

  ***

  It’s her. Micki’s here. Kirk booted up the desktop. The old publisher’s password was still registered. He would have to get with personnel about that. Add it to his list. Purge old employees from system access.

  When he’d first caught a glimpse of her sitting at her desk, noticed her profile, his insides had twisted with that familiar tug of desire. But when she’d turned, faced him, he’d doubted. Thought his mind was playing games with him. She’d looked...different.

  The old computer hummed. The hourglass floated aimlessly on the screen.

  Her clothes looked more austere, her hairdo flat and simple, but her scent was the same. He could smell the traces of vanilla shampoo blended with a sweet floral perfume that reminded him of springtime and his grandmother’s lilacs. Only the lilacs never filled him with this kind of longing.

  The page flickered in front of him. An outdated design practically jumped off the page. A few clicks of the mouse and he knew Harrison had turned off the automatic updates. The man had been working with the best software features available—five years ago.

  Apparently the guy didn’t believe in basic computer maintenance, either. Growing irritation took over any thoughts of lost liaisons, so much so Kirk almost didn’t hear the soft knock at the door. “Come in.”

  Michelle entered the room and leaned back against the closed door. “Pam said you wanted to see me.”

  He wanted to see her all right. In the shiny gold number he’d spent several dizzying minutes removing before sliding inside her.

  Well, now what? Not only was this the first time he’d ever run into a shipboard companion, this was the first time he’d ever slept with someone whose job he would most likely be eliminating. It had been an impulse to send for her. An odd need to reassure himself she was real. Or maybe hope she wasn’t. It would certainly make his world easier if this were a different Michelle Bradford. Not his sensual Micki.

  “I understand you’re the local ad manager.”

  She nodded, but made no effort to move away from the door.

  He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Pam also mentioned you’ve been with the company for seven years. Worked your way up from outside sales.”

  “That’s correct.” She eased into the seat slowly, stiffly, as though afraid the chair might come to life and bite her. Or maybe she was afraid he would.

  “You look good.” He’d meant to keep this conversation strictly business. The entire situation needed to remain formal. And although the prim wardrobe, the understated hairdo, and the lack of makeup should have made his intentions easy to carry out, the frightened look in her caramel-colored eyes made him want to ask what happened to his Micki.

  Nervous fingers twisted together in her lap. “Thank you. For before, too.”

  “Before?”

  “At my desk, for not letting on we’ve...met.”

  Seeing this woman sitting in front of him explained so many things. Sporadic bashfulness the first night of the cruise, parasailing with her bathing suit cover-up, the frightened-doe-caught-in-the-headlights look he would notice just before she’d throw herself into their next adventure with gusto. By the time the cruise had come to an end, those occasional glimpses of the reserved woman now sitting in his office staring at him had disappeared. He should have realized. Somehow, he should have known.

  “Yes. Well...” Where was his silver tongue when he needed it? “You’re right, of course. Nothing worse than the employee grapevine. I have a lot of work to accomplish in a short amount of time, and it would be better for all around if people weren’t gossiping about our personal lives behind our backs.”

  Fingers stilled, she nodded. “I’m glad you agree a strictly business relationship is for the best.”

  Is that what he’d just said? An office affair would be nothing but trouble. He couldn’t argue with her about that. Then why did he suddenly feel like he’d been sucker punched by the heavyweight champ?

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You’re not going to like this.” Pam stood at Michelle’s desk, her back to the hall.

  “The earth’s tilted off its axis and is about to collide with Mars.” She should be so lucky.

  “Steven just stepped off the elevator.”

  Michelle dropped her pen and grabbed the edge of her desk with both hands. “Is Beth with him?”

  Pam shook her head. “But I don’t think he’s here to place an ad. Thought you’d want a heads-up.”

  For a split second Michelle contemplated running to the bathroom again. It seemed to be the only place she could avoid the men in her life. If she took off now, she’d be safe in the stall long before Steven worked his way over to her desk.

  As much as she hated the idea, she couldn’t avoid Steven, or Beth, forever. She might as well get this over with. But she didn’t have to face him alone. She handed Pam a file from the pile on her desk. “Don’t go.”

  “I’ll stick like glue.” Pam opened the folder, leaned over the desk, and pointed at the middle of the page.

  Her finger was still on the same spot when Steven came up beside her. “Hello, Pam, Michelle.”

  “Steven.” Pam nodded, but didn�
�t move.

  Shifting his weight, Steven seemed to be having as hard a time facing Michelle as she had looking at him. “I tried calling you at the house.”

  “We’ve been busy.” Rat Bastard.

  “Glad you took the trip. You look lovely. Tanned. It brings out the color in your cheeks.” One corner of his mouth tipped up in an awkward smile.

  An urge to wipe the quirky grin off his face rushed through her so quickly she almost didn’t recognize it in time to stop herself from smacking him, hard. But she wouldn’t give him, or anyone else watching, the satisfaction of falling apart. She could do this. Be the better person. Even if it killed her.

  “Congratulations.” She smiled, hoping her face didn’t crack with the effort. “I hope you and Beth are very happy together, but I’m really busy now.” She waved her arm over her desk. “Lots to catch up with. Maybe the three of us can get together another time?” Like when hell freezes over.

  His gaze wandered across her desk, most likely evaluating the truth of her statement, then settled on Pam. “Could you give us just a minute, please?”

  Afraid Pam might tell him exactly where he could go, not that he didn’t deserve it, Michelle answered instead. “This really is a bad time. We have a new boss, and everyone is a bit unnerved.”

  “I only need a few—”

  “Hhm hhm.” As though the mere mention of his name had conjured him up, Lloyd McEntire appeared behind Pam with a thick stack of papers in one hand. His attention focused on Steven.

  For reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, the air suddenly seemed heavy with testosterone. From the way Pam straightened, her gaze swinging from man to man, she’d noticed it, too.

  The two bucks stared each other down, silently daring the other to challenge their claim. Except neither of them had a claim to anything, especially not her. So what the hell was this posturing all about?