“So you’ll show up on her doorstep?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I think that might be going beyond the call of duty. Unless there’s another reason you want to keep her here, other than her ability to work her tail off.”
Chaz thought that over, deciding that Brenda was right. He was letting an employee dictate his actions, actions that might appear as desperate. As for a reason for wanting to keep Kim, beyond chaining her to her desk...his body had made it pretty clear that he was interested in more than her work ethic. The intensity of their attraction that had led to the kiss couldn’t be ignored, and hadn’t lessened one bit.
It was a double-edged sword. If he went out of his way to keep her at the agency, his actions tonight might hurt her reputation. If she walked out, taking those big clients with her, the agency might tank.
This was an impossible situation that he had to try to put right.
“You’re right,” he said to Brenda. “She has to decide for herself, without further interference, what she will do next. Feelings have no place here.”
Brenda thought that over with her head tilted to the side. She searched his face. “Feelings, huh?”
He shrugged.
She sighed loudly and opened her purse. Removing a piece of paper and a pen, she scribbled something and handed the paper over.
“If you tell her I gave this to you, I’ll tell her you lied. Three guesses as to whom she will believe.”
After a hesitation, she handed him something else. It was a tiny tape recorder just like the one Kim had used to record their conversation.
Chaz glanced at her questioningly.
“I taped something in case Kim and I needed a laugh later,” Brenda said. “You might want to listen to the tape before finding her. It might help with that lawsuit business and save everyone some serious damage.”
Chaz pocketed the recorder. “Does this mean you’ll trust me to set things straight?”
“Hell, no. It’s bribery for you to leave me out of whatever happens from this point on.”
Chaz decided right then that he really did like Brenda Chang.
“Will she shoot me if I show up at her place?” he asked.
“I would.”
He smiled. “I suppose following her seems desperate.”
“Completely.”
“Okay then, wish me luck.”
“Boss, you are so going to need it,” Brenda declared as Chaz headed for the street.
* * *
Kim’s feet were killing her. Stilettos required a lot of downtime and motionless posing, not trotting down New York sidewalks, contrary to what TV shows might have everyone think. The shoes were impossible, especially on the icy sidewalk.
She waved down an oncoming taxi, waited until it stopped, then ran in front of it to cross the road, assured of not getting hit when the taxi blocked traffic. The driver grumbled, and might have extended one finger in a rude gesture. She didn’t wait to see.
Thankfully, her apartment was around the corner from the agency, at the end of the block. Though close in terms of actual distance, she’d still have to soak her feet when she got there, and also work with her fractured ego.
The heels made sharp pecking sounds on the sidewalk as she threaded her way between other pedestrians. She’d left the office without her coat, and the red dress garnered a few stares and catcalls from men she passed.
“Imbeciles.” What kind of man gave a woman a whistle on the street that she could hear?
She was shivering, but she’d had to get out of the agency building. Since Monroe had followed her into the hallway, he might have continued to the office. If he had pushed his way into the elevator with her, filling the tiny, confined space with his musky, masculine maleness, there was no way to predict what might have happened. Plus, there were cameras.
Any more time spent in Chaz Monroe’s sight would be bad, and how much worse could she feel?
She walked with her gaze lowered, having set up her mental block against the windows in the stores she passed that were decorated with December finery. Some of them presented animated holiday scenes. Others showcased giant trees decorated with everything under the sun that could fit on a branch. It was especially important she didn’t view these things in entirety; not after dealing with Monroe.
She was already on edge.
With great relief, she made it down the block without seeing a single Santa suit on a street corner—a sight that would not only have filled her with the old regrets, but also reminded her of what she had told Monroe.
She wanted Santa....
Yes, she had told him that.
Well, okay. So she had been impulsive enough to use Brenda’s ridiculous excuse in a moment of panic and extreme need. Therefore, could she really blame Monroe for thinking her an idiot?
She wanted Santa. Jeez...
Feeling sicker, Kim rushed on. She nodded to the doorman of her building and whisked by without the usual benign chitchat. Six floors up and down one long hallway, and she was home free. No one had followed her. No pink slip waited on the floor by her door.
Kim stood with her back to the wood as the door closed behind her, only then allowing herself a lungful of air. She really did feel sick. Tonight she had been possessed by her mother’s teachings. She’d been set back a few years with the flick of a tape recorder switch.
“There’s no going back. No taking it back,” she muttered.
The guilt tripled with her second breath of air. Even from the small front room, not much larger than her cubicle at work, she smelled the cookies she had dared to bake the night before.
Christmas cookies.
Her first disloyal batch.
The damn cookies might have been some kind of terrible omen. She had looked up the recipe in secret, and baked them as her first baby step toward freedom. Now her new boss had whispered fantastical things in her ear without realizing how much she’d love to participate in Christmas festivities, and how much it hurt to think of actually doing so.
Elves. Snow. Packages in red ribbons. She might have given her right index fingernail to join in everything going on around her, and had been slowly inching in that direction.
Then she kissed Chaz Monroe.
She hung her head. Her apartment smelled like a sugar factory. Worse yet, she wanted her place to smell like him. Like Monroe, companionship, sex, holiday glitter and all the other things her mother had shunned so harshly. You’d think she’d know better. Someone looking in on her life might expect her to just wipe the slate clean and start over, now that her mother was no longer in the picture. Who from the outside would understand?
If she tossed the cookies, would things change? If she marched into the kitchen and got rid of the little doughy stars and trees, would time reset itself backward so that she’d have another chance to get things right?
Monroe was a jerk. He had to be. Because if he wasn’t, then she was.
Tossing her purse to the floor, Kim staggered to the couch and threw herself onto it, face-first, listening to the side seam in her tight red dress tear.
* * *
Chaz glanced at the paper, then up at the tall brick building. This was it. McKinley lived here, and he was going to trespass on her space and privacy because tonight he felt greedy. He wanted a showdown to get this over with once and for all.
She lived in a place that was a lot like his on the outside. He didn’t know her well enough to gauge her decorating skills, but figured martini glasses wouldn’t be one of her prominent fixtures.
In truth, he didn’t really know Kim at all and was relying on the concept of animal attraction to nudge him into doing what he’d never done before—plead his case a second time.
He offered a curt but friendly nod to the doorman
and went inside. The doorman picked up the lobby phone and dialed apartment 612.
“Yes?” she answered after a couple of rings.
The doorman spoke briefly, then handed the phone over.
Hearing Kim’s voice left him temporarily tongue-tied, something so unlike him that he almost hung up. He thought about the napkin with the brunette’s number on it crumpled up in his pocket. Calling that number might have taken his mind off Kim McKinley for a few hours.
So, the fact that he was standing here meant he was either acting like a madman, or a man possessed. Maybe even like a sore loser refusing to give up on the outcome he wanted. Those flaws made him see red. And in the center of that puddle of red was Miss Kim McKinley, the cause of all this.
“Delivery for Kim McKinley, advertising queen,” Chaz said to her over the line, managing to keep his voice neutral. “I can’t be sure, but from the feel of the package, I think it contains an apology.”
A short span of silence followed his remark. His heart beat faster. What was he doing here, anyway? Had he just uttered the word apology?
“This only adds to the harassment, you know,” she eventually said. “I believe stalking might be a felony.”
“Yes, well, what’s one more year behind bars when there’s so much at stake?”
“None of this is funny, Monroe.”
“No, it isn’t. At least we agree on something.”
“You can’t come up.”
“Then maybe you’ll come down.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you sorry?”
After another hesitation, she said, “No.”
“Not very convincing,” Chaz remarked. “It’s that gap between what you say and what you don’t say that keeps me wondering what you might really be thinking.”
More silence. A full twenty seconds, by his calculation. Chaz lowered the phone to keep her from hearing his growl of disappointment, then thought better of it. With the phone so close to his heart, she might be able to hear how fast it raced. She’d know something was up.
“You just don’t get the picture,” she accused. “I don’t know you at all.”
“You know me well enough to want to prosecute me for minor indiscretions. Also, I did say I’m willing to take on an added year in the slammer if you think I need it after we hash this out.”
“Can I have that in writing? About the slammer?”
“I’m fresh out of pens.”
“How convenient.”
“You do have a tape recorder, though,” he reminded her. “It’s possible you’re using it now.”
Silence.
“You don’t know how persistent I can be, Kim. Lawsuit or not, blackmail or whatever, I still have to take care of business while the fate of that business rests in my hands. Don’t you have a sympathetic bone in your body? Can’t you put yourself in my place?”
“I was supposed to be in your place.”
“Water under the bridge, Kim. How long can you hold that against me?”
Another silence ensued. Chaz held his breath.
“Let me speak to Sam,” she said.
“Sam?”
“The doorman. He’ll come if you call.”
Chaz called out to the man, and he ambled over and took the phone.
“Yep,” Sam said to the receiver, nodding. “Yep. I certainly will, Miss McKinley.” Then Sam hung up the phone.
“What did she say?” Chaz asked.
“I’m to take something as collateral, then send you up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Miss McKinley wants me to hold something as ransom, in order for you to visit her apartment. You can pick that item up again when you come back downstairs. I have instructions to call the police if you don’t pick it up within the hour.”
“Like what?” Chaz said. “My wallet?”
“The value of that as collateral depends on what’s in it,” Sam said without missing a beat.
“Who do I call if I come back and you’re not here with my wallet?” Chaz asked.
Sam looked dramatically aghast at the suggestion. “I have a drawer right here, and I’ll lock it up, minus whatever you see fit to give me for keeping it safe. If you prefer, I can give the wallet to a neutral third party.”
“What kind of doorman are you?”
Sam held out his hand, palm up. “The kind that cares about his wards.”
Chaz fished for his wallet, took out a wad of cash and his credit cards, then handed a twenty-dollar bill and the wallet to McKinley’s private watchdog.
He held up the rest of the cash. “Just in case I have to buy off anyone else between here and her apartment.”
Sam grinned and pressed the elevator button for him. “Apartment 612. Have a nice night.”
The elevator was slow and bumpy, but Chaz stepped out on the sixth floor. He found number 612 a few doors down, its oiled wood glowing in the light from the wall sconce beside it.
As he waited to knock, he pondered further what Kim’s home would be like, half dreading finding out. Personalities were reflected in a person’s surroundings. If she preferred chintz chairs, mounds of pillows and draperies with fringe, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Run away, maybe. After all, he didn’t want to marry McKinley. He just wanted to...
Well, he wanted to...
God, would she have a cat?
He’d be a dog guy, himself, if he had any time or space for pets.
And it was perfectly clear that what he was doing with all this ridiculous speculation was trying to talk himself out of this next meeting with her after getting this far.
Fingering the tape recorder in his pocket, he knocked softly.
“Yes?” she called out.
“Monroe. Not completely broke, I might add, because Sam showed a little mercy. I think he recognized your real intention, which was to put me in my place.”
“Say what you wanted to say and then go away.”
“From here, with the door between us? What would the neighbors think?”
The door opened a crack. Kim’s face appeared behind a stretched brass chain. “Go away, Monroe. We have nothing further to say to each other tonight.”
“Then why did you let me come up?”
“To tell you that to your face.”
He noticed right away that she looked smaller. She had ditched the red shoes, but still wore the red dress that glowed like liquefied lava in the light from the sconce.
“If I let you in,” she added, “it might ruin my lawsuit. So why are you here?”
“You’re a challenge I have to take up.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment, or are you merely the type of person that needs to win at all cost?”
“Winning isn’t everything,” he countered. “The need to understand you is why I’m here.”
“What part of none of your business don’t you get?”
“You kissed me,” he said, wondering why he’d brought that up again. He’d kissed other women, for heaven’s sake.
“So?” she said.
“Was it me or the game you might be playing that made you do it?”
She closed the door. He heard it seal tight.
“Would you prefer I spoke about holiday clauses here? How about if I mention Santa, and how you made that sound in the bar?”
The door opened again, not quite as widely, showing off Kim’s exquisitely creased expression. “That’s not funny.”
Chaz shrugged. “What more have I got to lose?”
“How about your job?”
“Okay, Kim. But remember, you forced me to do this.”
From his pocket, Chaz pulled out the tape recorder Brenda had handed him. He had listened to it on the way over, and bookmarke
d a starting point in case of just such an instance as this, figuring Brenda wouldn’t have handed the tape over if it wasn’t something useful to his cause.
He hit Play. Brenda’s voice came from the tiny speaker.
Tell me about it. But first you have to dish about whether Monroe really does have a nice ass. You didn’t think he was hot? That’s the word going around. H-o-t, as in fan yourself.
Yeah? Did you hear anything about the man being an arrogant idiot?
No. My sources might have left that part out.
I don’t actually care about the nice ass part, Bren, preferring not to notice an area that I won’t be kissing.
Don’t be absurd, Kim. No one expects you to kiss anyone’s backside. It isn’t professional. What happened?
I’ll have to start over somewhere else, that’s what. Monroe won’t let me off the hook. He expects me to explain everything. He’ll expect me to cave.
As Chaz fast-forwarded slightly, he said, “I don’t think Brenda knew she was recording that. She had been making notes for herself on a project.”
He held the recorder up and pressed Play again.
If you don’t want to tell Monroe the truth, you have about an hour to formulate a reason he’ll accept in lieu of the truth. Fabricating illusions is what we do on a daily basis, right? We make people want to buy things.
Chaz pocketed the recorder. “Then there was something about shoes and therapy and a Santa fetish.”
Kim stared at him through the crack.
“Also, I believe that seducing me was mentioned, which might tend to negate that harassment suit and the blackmail you might have planned on using to get me to back down.”
Kim looked very pale, in stark contrast to her red dress.
“So, there is no Santa fetish?” he asked. “You made that up?”
Now she looked sick, and he felt bad. But he wanted her to let him in. He needed to get that far for reasons he did not want to contemplate.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “What do you want?”
“You and I tending to that Christmas party by working together.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“That’s the point. I want to understand. Until you can help me do that, we’re back to square one.”
The Boss's Mistletoe Maneuvers Page 7