Out of Hours...Office Affairs: Can't Get Enough / Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss / Bound to the Greek

Who had she been kidding, really, when she thought that her father had suddenly become all Brady Bunch?

Harry seemed to sense her preoccupation, and he broke off his recital to consider her. “Is something wrong, Claire? Don’t you like the wine?”

She stared at him for a beat, tempted to just let things slide like she always had. But suddenly she couldn’t bear the thought of pushing her own thoughts and feelings down again. Yesterday she’d admitted to Jack that she was the disappointment of her father’s life. But it didn’t have to be that way. She wasn’t a bad person—she was just different from what he’d wanted in a child. But did that mean she had to accept the crumbs from his table for the rest of her life?

“You know, I thought you’d asked me here to spend time with me, because you wanted to see me,” she said.

“Yes, of course, and that’s exactly what we’re doing,” her father said, the picture of surprise.

“No, it’s not. We’re having dinner because you want something from my boss. You’re not really interested in my magazine or my triathlon or anything else in my life.”

She tried hard to keep the tears out of her voice, but they were lurking there, giving her a husky vibrato. Her father was pulling an exasperated face, and shaking his head.

“I don’t know where you’re getting all this from, Claire. I was in town, I asked you to dinner—it was as simple as that.”

“Really? Fine, then tell me when my triathlon final is. I told you earlier, when you asked, because you were so interested in my life, so it shouldn’t be any big stretch for you to remember what I said.”

She held her father’s eye, challenging him.

“I can’t recall the exact details, but I know it’s soon…” her father began, and Claire pushed her chair back and stood up.

“I am your daughter, and I love you, but I am not going to be the only one participating in this relationship. I call you and e-mail you and offer to fly to visit you for Christmas every year, and you can’t even remember a conversation we had five minutes ago.”

Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, Claire turned to leave.

“You let me know if you’re prepared to put a bit of effort in, because I’m not going to make it easy for you anymore,” she said over her shoulder.

She walked straight out and didn’t look back.

She was proud of herself all the way home in the car. Then reaction set in. He would be so angry with her, she probably wouldn’t hear from him for months and months. She never, ever caused a fuss with him, because she knew how he hated having to deal with emotional messes. She understood, deep in her heart of hearts, that if she didn’t keep up the contact with her father, she would never hear from him. Whatever faint connection that existed between them would fade and shrivel, and she’d be utterly alone.

It was a scary thought, but she refused to take it to bed with her. She was a grown, adult woman. She had an exciting, vibrant life of her own. She was about to launch a new magazine. She had a real chance at winning the state triathlon finals. And she’d had dirty, wild elevator sex with the office playboy not twenty-four hours ago.

Never did she think that she would turn to those stolen, wanton moments with Jack as a source of comfort, but the world was a strange and amazing place. For some reason, thinking of him, going over their argument today, and the discussions they’d had in the elevator, made her feel a whole lot better. She had stuff going on in her life. She didn’t need her dad.

Inevitably her thoughts turned from what she and Jack had talked and argued about in the elevator to what they’d done, and before long she was imagining what might have happened in Jack’s office today if he’d kissed her again instead of stapling her shirt shut. What if he’d slid her shirt off, and then her bra? She would have reached for his jeans, because she’d been thinking about having him inside her ever since he’d withdrawn from her. Maybe she would have sunk to her knees and taken him in her mouth, loving the look on his face as she laved him with her tongue. And maybe he wouldn’t have been able to stand it for long, and he’d have pushed her onto that stupid, squishy couch in the corner and reached down between her legs to push her panties aside—too impatient to remove them entirely—then he’d be inside her again and—

Claire was panting into her pillow. Very resolute, she got out of bed and rummaged through her drawers until she found a pair of pajamas. She always slept naked, but these were desperate times. Pulling on underwear, and then the pajamas, she slid back into bed.

No more fantasies about Jack Brook, she warned herself.

Armored in cotton and determination, she finally drifted off to sleep.

THE NEXT MORNING she was feeling distinctly jittery about having cut off communication with her father and about seeing Jack again. First, there was that irritating thing her heart did whenever Jack was in the room—it was almost as though it missed a beat now and then, lurching around inside her chest like a drunken sailor. Then there was the powerful physical awareness she seemed to have developed for him ever since they’d gotten down and dirty. You’d think that jumping on each other would have put an end to any sexual tension, but, if anything, it was worse. Now when she looked at his strong thighs and long fingers and broad shoulders she knew exactly how devastating they could be. And, to her shame, she wanted to be devastated. Badly. Hence the fact that he suddenly had top billing in all her sexual fantasies. Slowly but surely, he was driving her crazy.

Combine that with the fact that she was almost one hundred percent certain that he wouldn’t be happy about her gift tie, and she had plenty of justification for the butterflies winging their way around her midsection.

Then there was her father. Why had she laid down the gauntlet like that? Why couldn’t she have just eaten her dinner like a good girl and maintained the status quo? Really, it was getting to the point where she shouldn’t be allowed out without a keeper.

She spent the time before her first meeting with Jack and Hillcrest Hardware looking up whenever anyone walked near her office, and jumping every time her phone rang. She felt like a sitting duck, waiting to be ambushed by Jack from one side, or her father on the other.

By a quarter to ten, she had talked herself around to a reasonable state of calm. If her father was going to make contact with her, it wouldn’t be for some time. He’d want to leave a nice long buffer between her angry words and any future conversation to ensure she was calm and over whatever madness had had her in its grip. As for Jack—Well, she had no choice but to be ready to face him, tie or no tie.

Except he didn’t come. As the time drew closer to 10:00 and her appointment with Hillcrest, she had to use stronger and stronger arguments for not reaching for the phone to confirm Jack’s presence. She had to trust him; he was a successful, experienced executive; he wouldn’t bail on her. On the last count she couldn’t be so confident, however. They’d fought almost every time they’d been alone together for more than five minutes. There was a chance he’d see this as an extension of their battle of wills.

At 10:00 on the dot her assistant Tom told her that the Hill-crest executives were in the foyer. Caving at last, she reached for the phone and called Jack’s office. The moment Linda picked up the call she knew Jack had hung her out to dry.

“Jack, is that you?” Linda demanded anxiously.

Claire took a moment to remind herself not to shoot the messenger. “No, Linda, this is Claire Marsden. I have a ten o’clock with Jack and Hillcrest Hardware, but I’m guessing that I’m going to be handling this alone…?”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone, then, “I’m sorry, Claire, but your appointment isn’t in Jack’s diary. I guess you made it with him directly. Otherwise I would have called you earlier to let you know…he seems to be running a little late today….”

The usually competent and professional Linda sounded extremely rattled, but Claire didn’t have time to deal with the other woman’s concern for her no-good, lazy, sneaky boss. The big rat was probably relaxing somewhere, lazing around enjoying his self-appointed long weekend.

Ending the call as nicely as possible, she headed in to take on Hillcrest and his honchos.

It wasn’t a pleasant meeting, mostly because Hank Hillcrest managed to convey his deep skepticism about the appointment of Jack Brook to the magazine. The old man’s repeated references to the “so-called Jack Brook,” as though she and Morgan had made him up, became almost more than she could bear during the one-hour torture session. Somehow she managed to placate her client, spinning a yarn about Jack flying back in from a big-game safari in Africa and his flight being delayed. By the time she’d finished, Hank Hillcrest was so intrigued she began to suspect she’d have to cough up a genuine lion’s head trophy just to shut the man up.

At last she shook hands with the now-cheerful Hillcrest executives and saw them out into the foyer amid assurances that she would bring Jack out to meet them at their head office next week.

No sooner had the elevator doors closed on them than she let her smile drop. She couldn’t remember ever being so furious with anyone. She was so angry, in fact, that she was a little scared of herself, and she deliberately took the stairs to Jack’s floor in order to give herself some time to calm down. Her shirt was already clinging to her thanks to the tense meeting, and she slung her jacket over her arm as she exited the stairwell and made her way purposefully to Linda’s desk.

Linda was looking harried, and she glanced up at Claire distractedly. Almost as though she was talking to herself, Linda explained that she’d managed to reschedule all but one of Jack’s meetings, but she still hadn’t heard from him.

“Probably too scared to turn up now,” Claire suggested coolly.

Linda gave her an impatient look.

“You don’t understand. Jack has never ever done anything like this before. I know he looks casual and laid-back, but he’s always punctual, he always meets his deadlines and he always lets me know what’s going on. I’ve worked for him for two years now, and this has never happened, ever. I’m worried.”

Which made two of them, because as Linda spoke an awful image of Jack’s stupid red sports car wrapped around a tree popped into Claire’s brain.

“I take it he’s not answering his home line or his cell phone?” she ventured reluctantly.

“His home line just rings out, and his cell phone goes straight through to his voice mail.”

She saw the worry in Linda’s eyes and patted the other woman’s arm reassuringly.

“Have you checked his office? Maybe he left a note or something in there and forgot to put it on your desk.”

“I had a quick scout around, but nothing struck me,” Linda said doubtfully.

As one they turned toward Jack’s closed office door, and, at Linda’s nod, Claire stepped forward and pushed it open. Jack’s desk was a mess, which didn’t seem too unusual, but she couldn’t fail to see the tie she’d sent him strewn on the floor like an old sock.

She automatically bent to pick it up, smoothing the silk through her fingers as she continued surveying Jack’s desk. Linda frowned at the tie, curious.

“What’s a tie doing in Jack’s office? He never wears a tie. I wonder if…?” Linda’s startled eyes connected with Claire’s, and Claire could see the other woman was busy constructing an Agatha Christie plot.