In Bed with the Boss

by Christine Rimmer

  Tom wanted to know more about Shelly. That seemed perfectly reasonable to him. He liked her and she was a colleague, a colleague who interested him. A lot.

  In no time, they’d reached Washington Square. They walked around the park, admiring the elaborate masonry buildings erected by Chicago’s elite after the famous fire at the end of the nineteenth century. Then he led her on the path that ran diagonally through the center of the square.

  He said, “I thought we ought to get to know each other better.”

  She paused on the concrete walk. “How well is ‘better’?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Better than we know each other now.” He guided her forward a few steps.

  But she only stopped again and pulled her arm from his. They stood exactly in the middle of the square of park, facing each other. “I want this job, Tom. I love it already.”

  “Good.”

  “And I need it. I don’t want to do anything that could potentially screw it up.”

  “I don’t see how you could screw it up. You’re very good, Shelly. Smart. Efficient. With strong office skills.”

  “I’m not talking about how good I am at my job.”

  Tom gave up finessing her. He looked at her steadily. “Of course you’re not.”

  She caught her lower lip between her pretty white teeth. “I…This is so awkward. And I’m scared that you’re going to get offended—or worse.”

  “I’m not. I promise you.”

  She laughed, a nervous sound. “Men do, you know?”

  He wanted to touch her. But he kept his hands to himself. “Not me.”

  She pressed those soft lips together and nodded. “Well. Good. Sometimes…office romances work out fine.” She spoke slowly. Thoughtfully. “But sometimes—probably more often than not—they end with someone hurt. Or someone angry. Then working together becomes too difficult. I can’t have that happen. I really can’t.”

  He got the message. Loud and clear. It was a reasonable argument, and he could understand her fears. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that no matter what, she wouldn’t lose her job as his assistant. But he had no right to promise such a thing. In the end, there really were no guarantees.

  “Come on.” He touched her arm, but didn’t take it. She went with him the rest of the way through the park to a row of iron benches on the edge of the square, facing the imposing facade of the Newberry Library.

  For a while they just sat there. Tom let the silence spin out. It was full dark by then, the streetlights blooming bright, the fountain in front of the library bubbling away, making those happy splashing sounds as the water shot upward and tumbled back into the fountain’s bowl. An old couple strolled past, the man frailer than the woman. He held her arm and leaned heavily on a cane. And there were others, most walking fast, in a hurry to get wherever they were going.

  “You live in Forest Park, right?” he asked after a while.

  She sent him a glance.

  He put up both hands. “Don’t shoot me. It was on your résumé.”

  An unwilling smile broke across those full lips. She shook her head. “Do you ever give up?”

  “Persistence. Key to success. Tell me about your place.”

  “Tom…”

  “Come on. It’s getting-to-know-you time. Totally innocent.”

  “Hah.”

  She had him pegged. It wasn’t innocent. Tom knew that. Not innocent in the least. He was drawn to Shelly. Powerfully. She made him want to take the kind of chances he’d long ago stopped taking.

  He knew he should respect the boundaries she’d just set. But when he looked into those brown eyes of hers, well, what he should be doing seemed of no importance.

  “About your place…?”

  She blew out a breath. “Oh, all right. It’s got three bedrooms and two baths. My parents helped me buy it. It’s small, but it’s mine.” She turned to him. In the glow of the streetlamp a few feet away, her eyes were dark velvet and her skin shone like pearls.

  Tom smiled to himself. He knew she liked him. Maybe more than she wanted to like him. He’d take it a day at a time. Anything might happen.

  As a rule, he would never consider seducing his secretary. But he was considering it. More than considering it. It felt…right, somehow, with Shelly. He wanted her. And he liked her. That seemed a rare thing to him. As each day passed, Tom was only more certain that, between him and Shelly, the rules didn’t apply.

  She said, “You realize I know almost nothing about you.”

  “Is that an accusation?”

  She sighed. “Well, yeah. I guess it is. Where do you live?”

  “I’ve got a great condo on East Randolph.”

  “Right in the Loop.” The Loop was downtown, so named because the train system looped in a circle around it. Living space there was at a premium. She went on, “I might have guessed. And you can see Grant Park from your balcony, right?”

  “Yeah. I can see it.” He nudged her with his elbow. Gently.

  She shot him a wary glance. “What?”

  “We could go there right now. I’ll show you my…view.”

  She laughed. “I think you’re dangerous.”

  “Who, me?” He did his best to look harmless.

  “Let me guess. You’re from somewhere back east. You went to Yale. You were on the rowing team…”

  “Princeton. Coxswain, heavyweight men’s crew. I had a full ride.”

  “In the rowboat?”

  He chuckled. “I meant scholarships. They covered everything, tuition, fees, living expenses. I never would have gotten near the Ivy League otherwise.”

  A frown crinkled her smooth forehead. “Not from a rich family? Not from Pennsylvania or Massachusetts or upstate New York?”

  “I was born and raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma. My dad was a janitor and my mom worked in a dentist’s office. They were older. My mom was forty-five when she had me. I was their only kid.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah. They died years ago. My dad went first. Heart attack. My mom followed not long after.” He didn’t say the rest, that the stress of his arrest and the trial for insider trading had really taken it out of them. Dan Holloway died while Tom was in prison. Tom got out in time to be at his mother’s bedside when she went.

  Shelly’s big brown eyes were soft. “Wow. That’s tough. How old were you when you lost them?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “I can’t imagine getting along without my parents.” She put her hand on his arm. It felt damn good there. Warm. And steady. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

  He looked into her eyes and felt like a fraud. They died because I broke their hearts….

  He had the craziest urge right then, to tell her everything. All the gory details. His apprenticeship in greed, ambition and corruption under a master manipulator, his long free fall from grace.

  It was an urge he had little trouble resisting. He wasn’t going there. He liked Shelly. He wanted to get to know her better. A lot better.

  But some ugly stories were better left unshared.

  He lowered his arm from under her touch. “You do what you have to do. I went into the army after they died.”

  “Time for a change, huh?”

  “You could say that. When I got out, I got my MBA on the GI bill from the University of Texas. I worked in Dallas and Atlanta, then Dallas again. And then back to New York. And now Chicago.”

  “Back?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said you went back to New York….”

  Way to blow it, Holloway. He tried to act casual as he covered his ass. “I had a job in New York before my parents died.” And he went right on before she had a chance to ask him what kind of job. “What else? My favorite color is orange and I’m becoming a Cubs fan. I hate Thai food, love Italian. Two serious relationships.”

  “Marriages, you mean?”

  “Uh-uh. Never went that far. Now you. Come on. It’s only fair. Favorite color?”

  “I love blue.�
�

  “And about the Cubs?”

  “The Cubs are tops with me. I like Thai food, like Italian better. I have a thing about tuna fish. Love it.”

  “A little mercury. What’s the harm?”

  “Exactly. Never been married, either—and I see those questions in your eyes.”

  “Busted. Your son’s father…?”

  “Okay. Since I feel like we’re almost friends—in a strictly professional way…”

  He made a circular, move-it-along motion with his hand. “Yeah?”

  “I got pregnant in college. The boy didn’t want anything to do with being a dad. He agreed to sign papers giving up his rights to Max. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “That’s cold. Signing away your own kid.”

  She shifted on the bench, turning her body toward him. “Honestly, I’m not bitter.” She looked so…earnest. And damn it, he wanted to slide his fingers under her hair, hook his hand around her neck and pull her close for a kiss.

  But he played fair—for now—and held himself in check. “I like your attitude, Winston.”

  “Hey. Thanks.”

  There was one of those moments. The fountain across the street burbled away and people hurried past a few feet from the bench and Tom and Shelly grinned at each other like a couple of lovestruck fools.

  Lovestruck…

  Strange choice of words. Yeah, he liked her. He wanted her. But it was way early to be using the word love.

  He made himself break the eye contact.

  After a few seconds, she said, “It’s worked out all right for me and Max. It…wasn’t meant to be, between Max’s dad and me. And Max is smart and funny and happy. And loving. He doesn’t need a dad who’s not one hundred percent there for him.”

  “I want to meet this kid.”

  “Just don’t give him your phone number.”

  “What?”

  She laughed. “Oh, nothing. It’s his thing lately. He’s discovered the wonder of the telephone. He likes to make phone calls—you know, dial the number all by himself—and then talk your ear off.”

  Tom grinned. “Definitely. Need to meet him.”

  “Well, he’s with his grandparents until the first of July. So you’ll just have to wait.” She rose before he could reach out a hand and stop her. “This has been great, Tom….”

  He resisted the strong urge to grab her hand, to hold on until she sat back down beside him.

  With a shrug, he stood. “At least I know your favorite color now.”

  She tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. The fountain lights made those brown eyes of hers gleam golden. “Yeah. Top priority. Knowing that your secretary loves blue.”

  “You never know when information like that will come in handy.”

  “Oh. Right.” Her voice was breathy. In spite of her insistence that she wouldn’t get involved with him, her eyes begged for a kiss. “And that I like Italian food. That’s so important….”

  Her full lips tempted him. One kiss. What could it really hurt? Two kisses. Three.

  A night full of kisses. He wanted that. With this woman. He wanted it bad.

  Time to hail a cab. He saw one coming and raised a hand. The cab slowed and stopped at the curb.

  Two steps and Tom was pulling open the door. He gestured her in.

  She hung back. “Uh. No. Really, I’ll just catch the train. It’s no problem.”

  “Shelly. Get in.”

  Chapter Three

  “Four hundred East Randolph,” Tom told the driver as the cab pulled away from the curb. He turned to Shelly. “He’ll take you home from there.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Shelly stared out the smeared window on her side of the cab.

  Traffic was relatively light. In no time they were sailing down Michigan Avenue, turning onto East Randolph….

  The cab pulled up to the curb in front of a high-rise.

  Tom sent her a glance and a nod. “See you Monday, then.” He knocked on the partition. The cabby slid it open and Tom handed some bills through. “Take her to Forest Park.”

  The cabby smiled. “Sure, man.”

  “Thank you.” Shelly spoke softly.

  Tom gave her a last smile. “Don’t be late for the flight.”

  “I’m never late.”

  “I noticed.” He pushed open his door and he was gone.

  The cabby said, “Where to in Forest Park?”

  She gave him her address. The ride home took a half hour. She spent most of that time telling herself she wasn’t disappointed in the least that he hadn’t tried to lure her up to his apartment.

  The flight to San Francisco was commercial, first class. Nonstop. And on time. They left the ground at 7:20.

  Tom spent an hour or so going over spreadsheets and answering e-mails. Shelly caught up on some letters Tom wanted in the mail by Wednesday and listened to her Fast and Easy Japanese CD, which she’d copied to her iPod, in preparation for the trip to Kyoto on Thursday.

  At eight-thirty Chicago time, Tom shut his computer down. Shelly took off her earbuds and put her iPod away.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  “Please.”

  He hadn’t said a word about Friday night. Since she’d met him at the gate at six, he’d been friendly in a strictly business kind of way.

  That was great with Shelly—just great. Or so she kept telling herself.

  They ate bacon and asparagus frittata, croissants and excellent coffee. First class, she was discovering, not only had roomy, comfortable seats, but also better food than you got when you went coach.

  He briefed her on Riki, the world-famous designer who was way behind schedule on the fabulous interiors at The Taka, SF.

  “Riki’s got the credentials,” Tom said. “He’s done the mansions of some of the biggest names in the business world. And he’s designed hotel interiors before. High-end boutique-style hotels. Even a small chain. He hasn’t done anything on this scale up till now, but he came to us highly recommended and his plan for the project was just what we wanted. We’re not getting why he’s messing up so damn bad now.”

  “Riki. I swear I’ve heard of him. Did he ever have a TV show?”

  Tom nodded. “Million Dollar Design. He’s still doing it. Syndicated. Interior design for the rich and famous—mostly high-level money men, Donald–Trump types.”

  “Very tall, very thin—with red hair combed into a swoosh at the top of his head?”

  “That’s Riki.”

  “The times I saw the show, he really laid on the drama. Yelling at people, treating every setback like the end of the world.”

  “That’s just his act for the cameras. It plays well. Viewers love a train wreck—one he always pulls out of at the end, with everybody happy and another rich executive living in his dream house.”

  “I guess….”

  “But behind the scenes, Riki’s strictly professional. At least in terms of his behavior. And his designs are amazing. Too bad he’s not getting the job done. At this rate, we’ll be putting off the September opening. And that can’t happen.”

  “What will you do, replace him?”

  “I’m hoping it doesn’t have to come to that.”

  Speaking of luxury hotels…

  The one they stayed in was downtown. Shelly’s room had a gorgeous view of the bay, a bed like a cloud, a flat-panel television and an open shower. She unpacked quickly and met Tom in the lobby.

  Outside, the streets were steep, the sun shining and the temperature in the high sixties. The air smelled of the sea, which surrounded the city on all sides.

  Shelly heard the charming ring of a cable-car bell as they ducked into a cab. It was a short ride to The Taka, which looked pretty fantastic from the outside: twenty-five stories of silver-gray granite and sparkling glass.

  Inside, things weren’t so good. It was all soaring, empty spaces, without furniture or fixtures. They walked on sub-flooring—no carpets, no marble.

  Riki was waiting for them in his office on the s
econd floor. Topping seven feet, wearing a bamboo-green silk shirt and a scarf around his neck, his trademark swoosh of red hair rising like a wave from the top of his head, the famous designer was polite and subdued. And very concerned about the lack of progress on the interiors.

  The meeting lasted the rest of the day and included an extensive tour of the facility, where they got to get up-close and personal with all that wasn’t getting done.

  Shelly took notes, as Tom had asked her to do. Riki had reasons. A whole lot of reasons why it had been impossible for him to stay on schedule.

  The carpets were his own design. But the supplier had problems with the dyes. They’d had to start over twice. And the lighting fixtures were on order. Yes, they were weeks late in being delivered, but they were coming. They were promised for a week from today. Absolutely. No more delays….

  It went on like that. Through the furnishings and the flooring, the bathroom fixtures and the specially made pillowtop beds, the three-thousand-thread-count sheets, the Egyptian-cotton bath towels. Even the window treatments had issues.

  But Riki assured them he was pulling it together. He had spreadsheets and schedules that proved, he said, he’d be exactly where he should be within a month’s time.

  “That’s cutting it pretty damn close,” said Tom.

  “But my original schedule had a lot of room for just these kinds of delays. So as you can see, we’re going to be ready in plenty of time.”

  Tom looked at him levelly. “I can give you only so much leeway, Riki. You have to know that.”

  “Count on me. You know you can.”

  That night, Riki took them to dinner at Fleur de Lys, the world-famous restaurant, where thick draperies adorned the ceiling and the wine was excellent and flowed a little too freely. The food was wonderful.

  Riki saw them into a cab at quarter after ten. “I’m determined,” he said before waving them off, “to get everything back on track within the time frame I laid out for you.”

  Tom shook his hand.

  The ride back to the hotel was a quiet one. Tom seemed lost in thought.