Backfire. Metsy Hingle
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think again.
Madeline whirled around at the sound of the door opening and watched the rodent himself walk in holding a plastic foam container with two cups on top. Her heart did a quick tap dance that she steadfastly ignored. Instead, she decided to give the chauvinist a dose of his own medicine.
It’s payback time, McAllister, she thought silently, and made a point of looking him over the same way he had done her the previous day. Taking her time, she noted the scuff marks on his shoes, the smudges of something that resembled grease on the gray slacks that matched the jacket she had seen hooked behind the door. Enjoying herself, Madeline flicked her gaze over his white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, to the opened collar which had lost its crispness as well as the tie that any self-respecting hotelier would have had neatly knotted around it.
She made a deliberately slow sweep over his chin and stamped down the questions and flicker of empathy the scar aroused. She continued her blatant perusal, resting momentarily on that wicked mouth of his that seemed to want to kick into a grin, before lifting her gaze to meet his.
The blue eyes that looked back at her were gleaming with amusement that matched the smile spreading across his lips.
Madeline gritted her teeth. The man was insufferable, she thought, irked that he had found her once-over tactics amusing, while she had found his so unnerving. “You’re late,” she told him, deliberately looking at her watch.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. There was a problem with one of the water heaters, and I went to give maintenance a hand.” He kicked the door shut and walked over to the desk.
“I didn’t realize you were a plumber,” she said coolly.
He shrugged, the ice in her voice having no effect on him. “Not all of us are born into the hotel business, Princess. Some of us have to work our way up. It’s not a bad way to learn all the ins and outs of making the business work.” He set the container down and removed the two cups from atop it. “My first hotel job was as a busboy at fifteen. I moved up to waiter the following year. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
Wary, Madeline picked her way across the carpet and sat down in the chair he had indicated. She crossed her legs and caught the quirk of his lips as his eyes followed the movement. Madeline tugged on the hem of her skirt and wished the thing were several inches longer. “Mr. McAllister—”
“What about you?” he asked, taking his seat. “What was your first hotel job?”
“Front desk clerk,” she answered without thinking.
“Lucky you. I didn’t get to work the front desk until I was in college.”
Well, that certainly put her in her place. But not for the life of her would she admit to him that she would have preferred to wait on tables as he had, but her father had refused to allow her to do so. “I’ve got a news flash for you McAllister, I may not have bussed tables, but I’ve worked at least a dozen other lesser positions in this hotel, from catering assistant to file clerk, and not one of those positions was ever handed to me because my father owned the hotel. I’ve worked darn hard to become director of sales, and I was appointed to that position because I’m good at what I donot because of who my father is.”
“No need to get all prickly, Princess. I was making a statement, not an accusation.”
“You certainly could have fooled me, Mr. McAllister.”
Chase smiled. “You know, you’re the only person I know who can manage to say my name so prettily and still make it sound like an insult. Since we’re going to be working together, why don’t we dispense with the formalities? You call me Chase and I’ll call you…”
She glared at him, daring him to call her Princess again.
“…and I’ll call you Madeline.”
Refusing to respond to his sexy little grin, Madeline leaned forward slightly. “Are we going to be working together, Chase? I wasn’t at all sure we would be. In fact, I had the distinct impression you were hoping I would quit.”
“Can’t imagine why you’d think that.”
“It probably had something to do with your none-toosubtle comments yesterday about needing ‘capable’ people in the sales department.”
“You didn’t think I was subtle? I thought I was being subtle.”
“Let me put it to you this way. I’ve come across steamrollers that were more subtle than you.”
He paused, seeming to give it some thought, then shrugged. “Subtlety never was one of my virtues. But that’s okay, I’ve got lots of others.”
“Obviously humility isn’t one of them.”
Chase laughed. “Afraid that’s one of the virtues the good brothers at St. Mark’s didn’t succeed in teaching me. For some reason, I equated being humble with being subservient, and I never much liked taking orders.”
“How interesting,” Madeline returned. “Neither do I.”
“Know what I think?”
“I don’t have any idea what you think, Chase. And to be quite honest, I’m not the least bit interested.”
He smiled again, and Madeline was hard-pressed not to respond to that engaging curve of his lips. “I think you’re just too sensitive. Otherwise, why would you jump to the conclusion that my comments were directed toward you?” he asked, popping open the plastic foam container.
The scent of warm blueberry muffins wafted across the desk. Madeline’s mouth watered, reminding her that she had worked through lunch to complete the sales forecasts he had requested and she still hadn’t eaten. She tugged her attention back to him. “Just a guess. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’ve been demanding reports from my department nonstop since you got here.”
“Like I said, you’re too sensitive. I’ve been requesting reports from all the departments, not just yours. Want one?” he asked, nudging the box of muffins toward her.
Madeline thought of the skirt to her green suit, remembering how snug it had felt going on that morning. Just smelling those sugar-laden muffins would probably add an inch to her hips. “No thanks,” she finally managed to say. She held out the file she had brought. “Here are the last six months’ sales figures for my department and a forecast for the next six.”
Chase took the folder and set it aside and went back to the muffins. “These things are addictive,” he said, peeling back the paper wrapping. He sank his teeth into the muffin and the expression that crossed his face was one of pure ecstasy.
Madeline shifted uncomfortably in her seat. No wonder the women in the hotel were fussing over him, the man made something as simple as eating a muffin look like a sensual feast. “If you’d like to go over the projections—”
“In a minute. How about some coffee? I brought an extra cup up from the restaurant.” He pushed the offering toward her. “Go ahead, I had them put sugar and cream in both of them.”
Madeline pulled off the plastic top and took a sip. “I thought most Yankees drank their coffee black.”
“I suspect most of them do. But then, I’m not a Yankee. I’m a Southerner, just like you.” He started in on another muffin.
Madeline arched her brow. “I understood you were from New Jersey.”
“I live in New Jersey now,” he said, reaching for another muffin. “But I was born in Mississippi. Sure you don’t want one of these?”
“Maybe just half.”
Chase divided the muffin in two and slid the paper napkin with her portion over to her. He popped the other piece into his mouth.
“I would never have guessed. About your being from the South. You don’t have any trace of a Mississippi