How to Sleep with the Boss

by Janice Maynard

  Ever the gentleman, he got out and opened her door, despite the fact that a uniformed parking attendant stood nearby, ready to lend a hand. She wanted to smile at Patrick and say something light and innocuous, but the words dried up in her throat.

  This man had seen her naked. He had done wonderfully wicked things to her and with her. They had slept like exhausted children, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Looking at Patrick’s stoic face right now, no one would ever guess any of that.

  Once they were seated practically hip to hip in the interior of the car, things got worse. The windows fogged up and the tension increased exponentially. She literally said nothing.

  Patrick followed her lead.

  She wanted to ask where they were going. But Patrick’s grim profile in the waning afternoon light didn’t invite questions. Chastened, she huddled in her seat and watched as the world flew by her window.

  He drove like a man possessed, spiraling down the mountain road at least ten miles above the speed limit, and then racing on past town and out into the countryside. If he had a destination, she couldn’t guess what it was. Her gut said he was driving at random.

  When thirty minutes had passed from the moment he fetched her at the lodge, he finally slowed the car and rolled to a stop. The scene spread out in front of them was the definition of middle of nowhere. If she hadn’t known better, she might have been worried he was going to dump her out and drive away, leaving her to find her way back home.

  Their meal was in the backseat, but she wasn’t hungry. And since she’d never been one to put off unpleasant tasks, she decided to cut to the chase. “I’ve been expecting this conversation,” she said quietly. “You’re going to say that we can either be lovers or coworkers, but not both.”

  Patrick’s hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “The rain has stopped. I need to get out of this car. Do you mind?”

  His question was clearly rhetorical, because before she could respond, he had already climbed out. She joined him on the side of the road, her arms wrapped around her waist. Even with a coat over her sweater, she was cold. The graveled edges of the pavement were waterlogged and muddy. The tops of the surrounding mountains were invisible, shrouded in low clouds, though the sun was trying to peek through.

  Patrick stood a few feet away, physically and emotionally aloof, with aviator sunglasses obscuring part of his face. His khakis were crisply creased. He wore a white shirt underneath a brown bomber jacket. The leather was soft and scarred, clearly the real deal. Who had given it to him? Maybe it had been a gift when he first earned his pilot’s license.

  A light breeze ruffled his hair. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she guessed they were more gray than blue in this light. “Are you asking me to decide? New York was incredible, Patrick. I want to pick sex with you and say to hell with everything else. But we don’t know each other all that well, and I was serious about learning to stand on my own two feet.”

  “You’ve misunderstood me,” he said, hands shoved in his pocket.

  “Does that mean you get to choose? I have no say in the matter?”

  His expression was grim, his jaw so tight he would surely have a headache soon if he didn’t already. It wasn’t the face of a man who was going to choose physical pleasure over their work relationship.

  He held up a hand. “Stop, Libby.” His voice was hoarse. “You’re making this harder.”

  Disappointment set up residence in her stomach. Clearly the sex that had seemed so incredibly intimate and warm and fun to her had meant nothing to him. Well, she wouldn’t be an object of pity. If he thought she was going to pine away for him, he was wrong. As far as she was concerned, they could work together and pretend the past weekend never happened.

  She mimed zipping her lip. “Say what you have to say.”

  He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket. In the battle between the clouds and the sun, the clouds had won. “I’m not asking you to choose, Libby. I think you were right. You should go back to New York.”

  Trembling began deep in her core and worked its way to her extremities. “I don’t understand.”

  In his face, she saw no remnant of the tender, funny man who had made love to her so passionately and so well. He stared at her impassively. “You gave it your best shot, Libby. I admired your resolve in the woods and in the mine, but you’re not who I need while Charlise is gone.”

  You’re not who I need. The blunt statement took her breath away.

  “And our physical relationship?” Now her entire body shook. She tightened her arms around herself, trying not to splinter into a million tiny pieces of disbelief and wounded embarrassment.

  “One night does not make a relationship. We were great in bed, but I’ve already told you how I feel about marriage. If you stay in Silver Glen, and you and I continue to end up in bed, things will get messy.

  “Messy...” She parroted the word, her thought processes in shambles.

  “You have to go home, Libby. Your instincts were good about that. Silver Glen is not the place for you, and I’m not the man you want. It’s better to put an end to this now with no harm done.”

  Somewhere, she found the strength to smile evenly, even as jagged, breathless pain raced through her veins and threatened to cripple her. It was a hell of a time to realize she was in love with him. She inhaled and exhaled, calling upon all of her acting skills. “I can’t say I’m surprised by your decision. I never really thought you were going to give me the job anyway.”

  He must have seen through her layer of calm. For the first time, something in him cracked...visibly. For a split second, she could swear she saw agony in his eyes. “Libby...” He took an impulsive step in her direction and reached for her arm.

  She jerked away, backing up so quickly she nearly lost her footing in the loose gravel. “No. Just no. Please take me back to the hotel. I have plans to make.”

  The return drive seemed endless. In front of the Silver Beeches Lodge, Patrick rolled to a halt and locked all the car doors with one click. His chest heaved. “Libby...” he said her name again.

  But his time she had no escape route. He leaned across the console and tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her to him for a hard, desperate kiss. It took guts and fortitude, but she didn’t respond. At all.

  When he finally released her and sat back, she slapped him hard across the face. In seconds, his cheek bore the dark red mark of her fingers. “You’re a selfish, heartless jackass, Patrick Kavanagh...and an emotionally stunted shell of a man. I don’t ever want to see you again...not even if your face is on a Wanted poster. Go to hell.”

  Seventeen

  Patrick had known it was going to be bad...but not that it would hurt so damned much. He unlocked the doors and watched Libby exit his car and his life in one fell swoop. His throat tight, he lowered the window and called her name urgently. “Libby!”

  She never hesitated...never turned around.

  * * *

  Patrick struggled through the next several days as if the hours were quicksand threatening to pull him under. Though he found a replacement for Charlise—a male grad student in desperate need of extra cash who was willing to work for five months and then go back to chipping away at the course work for his degree—Patrick felt no sense of relief.

  He went through the motions of preparing for his first outdoor adventure group, but the tasks that normally energized and excited him felt burdensome.

  Even worse, he was forced to hide out from his family. He knew his mother well. She had surely put two and two together by now. As Libby’s champion, she would have his hide for hurting her.

  Even a scheduled trip to LA, a city he normally enjoyed, was torture. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Libby sitting at the conference table in her stylish black dress, handing out advice to sk
ittish executives.

  Far worse were the two nights he spent in a California hotel, flipping channels when he couldn’t sleep. Libby was everywhere. In the big king-size bed, the marble tiled shower, the love seat that was a close twin to a certain settee in New York.

  As much as he wanted to avoid facing the music in Silver Glen, he quickly wrapped up his assignment and headed home. His mother’s birthday was in two days. Zoe and Cassidy were coordinating a huge bash in the ballroom of Silver Beeches. Though Liam and Maeve had run the lodge together for years, Maeve had finally decided to step down and devote herself to her rapidly expanding crop of grandchildren.

  There was no possible way for Patrick to miss such an event. Nor did he want to. But it went without saying that Libby would be in attendance, as well. Even thinking about the possibility of seeing her again made him hard. He hadn’t slept worth a damn since she ran from his car.

  He relived that moment time after time. In every way he spun the conversation, the truth was, Libby was probably right. But even if he had it all to do over again, he didn’t think he could change. The prospect of loving her was too scary.

  What if he let himself love her and something happened to her? He had watched Dylan come apart at the seams. Fortunately, Mia was on her way to a complete recovery, but even so, Dylan was probably hovering over her, making sure she obeyed doctor’s orders.

  Patrick was following the only possible path. He had to keep his distance. He wouldn’t let love destroy him.

  At last, he came up with what he decided was a rational, well-thought-out plan. He would go to the Silver Dollar—surely Libby had finished moving in by now. And she wouldn’t have left town yet—not without taking a few weeks to make some plans about her future and to look for a place to live in New York. He would track Libby down in her upstairs apartment over the saloon and discuss how they would comport themselves during Maeve’s celebration.

  His heart beat faster at the thought of seeing her again. She wouldn’t be able to call him out on the validity of his visit. Neither one of them wanted to hurt or embarrass Maeve.

  To mitigate his nervousness and postpone the inevitable, he stopped downstairs in the bar first. It was midafternoon on a Friday. Only a handful of customers lingered after what would have been a predictable lunch-hour rush.

  Dylan was behind the bar doing something with the cash drawer. He looked up when Patrick approached. “Howdy, stranger. I thought you’d left town. Nobody’s seen or heard from you all week.”

  “Been busy.” He sat down on a leather-topped stool.

  Dylan poured him a beer. “You want to go in with Mia and me for Mom’s birthday gift? We were thinking about getting her a three-day visit to that new spa over in Asheville...with the works. It’s not something she would buy for herself.”

  “Sounds good. Just tell me how much I owe you.” He drained half of his beer and felt his chest tighten. “Do you happen to know if Libby is upstairs at the moment?”

  Dylan frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she lives here now, doesn’t she? I thought you might keep track of her comings and goings.”

  Dylan wiped his hands on a clean bar towel, his expression troubled. “She’s not living upstairs, man.”

  “But she was planning to move her stuff here from the hotel. She told me.”

  “Libby stayed for one night. Then she went back to New York.”

  * * *

  Patrick made some excuse to his brother and departed, scraped raw by the look of sympathy on Dylan’s face. Patrick felt hollow inside. Life had kicked the heart out of him, and it was his own fault. He hadn’t really thought Libby would leave. Granted, he’d told her to go back to New York, but he’d assumed Maeve had helped her get a more suitable job here in Silver Glen while Libby decided if a return to the big city was the right thing to do.

  Why would she go back to New York and the friends who had shunned her after her father’s arrest?

  His stomach curled as he imagined innocent, openhearted Libby living in some roach-infested apartment in a bad part of town. Possibly in actual physical danger.

  God, what had he done?

  He raced home and packed a bag. Then he lay awake almost all night to make absolutely sure he knew what he had to do. This was his mess. He was going to make it right. Fortunately, the jet was not in use the next day.

  In a moment of absolute clarity, he saw the arrogant blunder he’d made. He’d been so entrenched in the notion that he had no business marrying anyone, he hadn’t seen how much he was hurting the one woman who meant the world to him. He loved her. Right or wrong. And he couldn’t let her go.

  He filed his flight plan and was airborne before 8:00 a.m.

  LaGuardia was busy. He had to execute a holding pattern until he was given permission to land. By the time he made it into the city, it was almost noon. He took care of several errands, then checked into the Carlyle and left on foot to walk to Libby’s old building.

  His idea was far-fetched, but it was the only hope he had of finding her. Fortunately, the doorman was the same old guy Libby had hugged with such fierce affection.

  The man recognized Patrick right away. Patrick’s plan called for bold-faced confidence.

  Patrick smiled. “Hello, there. I’m hoping you can help me. I’ve come to see Libby and surprise her at her new place, but somehow I lost the address she gave me. Do you perhaps remember what it is? I know the two of you are close.”

  The elderly gentleman stared at Patrick for the longest time, leaving no doubt that he saw through Patrick’s lie. But at last, he relented. He reached in his pocket and took out a scrap of paper. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Patrick jotted down the information in the note app on his phone and sighed in relief. At least he knew where to start. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your help.” He pulled a folder from his pocket and handed it to Clarence. “This is an open-ended reservation at my family’s hotel. For a two-week stay. You’ve meant a lot to Libby, and she wanted you to have this.”

  Hopefully, the tiny white lie would buy him goodwill in both directions.

  Clarence smiled broadly. “Tell Miss Libby thank you. And I’ll talk to her soon. This is mighty nice. Mighty nice.”

  Unfortunately, the new apartment was not in walking distance. Patrick was forced to grab a cab and slowly make his way downtown in rush-hour traffic. Contrary to his worst fears, the address pointed him toward TriBeCa...and a trendy collection of redesigned lofts.

  This was far beyond anything Libby could afford right now. Had she found a man...an old friend willing to take her in? His gut cramped at the possibility. He took the elevator and rang the bell for 2B. Moments later, he heard footsteps. But nothing happened. There was a security peephole in the door.

  Taking a chance, he stared straight at it. “Open up, Libby. I know you’re in there, and I’m prepared to stand out here all night.”

  * * *

  Libby leaned her forehead against the door and fought back tears. To peek outside and see Patrick in the flesh decimated her hard-won composure. She’d thought she had herself under control.

  Turned out, she was wrong.

  She cracked the door open, but left the chain on. “Why are you here?” she asked, her tone carefully dispassionate. Obviously it wasn’t to declare his undying love for her.

  “Maeve’s birthday party is tomorrow night. Are you planning to be there?”

  The hand behind the door, the one he couldn’t see, clenched in a fist. “No. It’s too expensive to fly and I don’t have a car.”

  “You’re willing to disappoint your mother’s good friend...the woman who has done so much for you?”

  She was getting tired of trying to read his mood through the crack. But she knew him well enough not to let him in. “Maeve will understand. S
he knows my financial situation.”

  “I brought the jet to pick you up, so money is not really an issue.”

  “I said I’m not going. Goodbye, Patrick.”

  He stuck his large leather shoe in the opening, foiling her attempt to shut him out. “Now who’s being selfish and emotionally stunted?”

  Had her words actually wounded him? Why else would he remember them almost verbatim? What would it take to make him leave her alone? And more importantly, what would it take to convince herself she hadn’t fallen in love with him?

  “What do you want?” she asked. Her heart was in shreds, and she didn’t have the will to fight. The past few days had almost done her in. She wanted the man on the other side of the door with every fiber of her being. But she wasn’t going to beg. Her dignity was all she had left.

  “Please let me in, Libby.”

  She glanced behind her at the clock on the wall. Spencer would be home soon. This awkward confrontation couldn’t last too long. “Fine,” she said. “But only for a moment. I have things to do.”

  After disengaging the chain, she stepped back and let him come in. The dimensions of the loft were generous, but Patrick’s size and personality made an impact, even so.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “Yes, sorry.” But she wasn’t sorry at all. And she wasn’t going to offer to cook for him.

  “This is quite some place.”

  “Yes. It’s very nice.”

  “I thought all your friends dropped you when your dad went to prison.”

  “Spencer was doing an eighteen-month stint with the Peace Corps in Bangladesh. Manhattan society news travels slowly over there.”

  “And now Spencer is back and took you in?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your future employment?”

  “Zoe loaned me some money. I interviewed today for a position as a personal shopper at Bergdorf Goodman. Turns out I have skills in that area. As soon as I’m able, I’ll be paying her back...”