The Bridal Suite
Auteur·e
Sandra Marton
Lectures
15,7K
Chapitres
12
Chapter 1
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.
