The Bridal Suite. Sandra Marton
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that a fact,” he said pleasantly.
Dammit all, why didn’t Arthur step back and give her some room? Dana shoved her elbow into Arthur’s middle and shot him an angry look, but he didn’t notice. How could he, when he was staring at Griffin McKenna with the look of a deer caught in the headlights?
Dana firmed her jaw, stepped back and planted her foot firmly on Arthur’s toes. That made him move, all right, not much but enough so that now she didn’t have to inhale faint whiffs of McKenna’s cologne with every breath she took.
“It is,” she said. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. McKenna, I’ll see you back at the office.”
Griffin nodded. “Indeed you shall, Miss—oh, sorry—Ms. Anderson.”
How could the man make the correction of her name sound like an insult? Dana’s cheeks burned as she maneuvered past him and headed for the door.
Arthur stepped in front of her when they reached the sidewalk.
“Why didn’t you introduce me, Dana?”
She glared past him, at the restaurant, as if McKenna might materialize at any moment.
“The nerve of him,” she said, “the damned nerve!”
“You should have introduced us. It was a wonderful oppor—”
“Did you see him? Did you see him?”
“Of course, I saw him.”
“Don’t be dense, Arthur. I mean, did you see him? The way he stood there, with that look on his face!”
“What must he be thinking? Common courtesy demands—”
“Courtesy is uncommon, Arthur, haven’t you figured that out yet?” Dana blew a strand of streaky blond hair out of her eyes. “And that woman with him. Miss Perfection.”
“Actually, I thought she was rather attrac—”
“The polite little smile. The perfect hair. The elegant suit. The la-di-da air.”
Arthur frowned in bewilderment. “La-di-da air?”
“So ladylike. So unruffled. So—so unthreatening, to the master’s masculinity!”
“Dana, really, I fail to see what you’re so upset about.”
“That’s just the point, Arthur. You fail to see, but that’s because...because...”
Because what? What was she so upset about? McKenna had been in the same restaurant as she’d been, he’d been having lunch with a beautiful woman. So what?
“If I have to explain it,” she said loftily, “there’s no point. Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you for lunch.”
She swept past him, chin lifted, and started toward the corner. Arthur stared after her for a couple of seconds before hurrying to catch up.
“Dana, my dear, let’s not quarrel.”
“We haven’t quarreled. I just don’t see how you can let yourself be taken in by Griffin McKenna.”
“I haven’t been taken in. I just...” Arthur sighed. “Never mind. Are we still on for dinner this evening?”
“Yes. No. I’m not sure. Why don’t you phone me later?”
“Dinner,” Arthur said more firmly than usual. “All right?”
Dana sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you at seven.”
Dave Forrester, who had not yet succumbed to his afternoon ration of vodka, was lounging in the doorway to Dana’s office when she returned. He greeted her with an enigmatic look.
“Had a good lunch, did you, Dana?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Forrester grinned. “Boss wants to see you.”
Dana didn’t reply. She turned and walked down the hall to McKenna’s office, telling herself as she did that she was not about to take any more nonsense from the man and telling herself, too, that it was a good thing she’d spoken with Arthur because now she was calm, she was very calm, and nothing Griffin McKenna did or said could get under her skin anymore.
Miss Macy greeted her with a look that mimicked Forrester’s. Were enigmatic looks the order of the day?
“Mr. McKenna is waiting for you, Miss Anderson.”
“It’s Ms.,” Dana said, and stepped into McKenna’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, looking the length of the room at her, like an emperor on his throne. “You wanted to see me, Mr. McKenna?”
“Shut the door please, Ms. Anderson.”
Dana complied, then faced him again. “Mr. McKenna. If this is about our bumping into each other at that restaurant—”
“Where you eat is no concern of mine. You may eat what you wish, where you wish, with whomever you wish.”
“How generous of you, sir,” Dana smiled sweetly. “In that case, what did you want to see me about?”
McKenna smiled, too, like a cat contemplating a cageful of canaries.
“You’re fired.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Fired, Ms. Anderson. As in, clean out your desk, collect your severance pay, and don’t come back.”
Fired? Fired? Dana’s vision blurred. All the logic of the last hour fled in the face of Griffin McKenna’s self-indulgent smile.
“You can’t fire me,” she snapped. “I quit!”
Griffin tilted back his chair and laced his hands behind his head.
“Have it your way, Ms. Anderson. Frankly, I don’t give a damn, just as long as we agree that you are no longer in my employ.”
Maybe it was the way he said it, in that know-it-all, holier-than-thou tone. Maybe it was the insufferable smile, or the way he tilted back that damn chair. All Dana knew was that, suddenly, she’d reached the breaking point.
She stomped across the room, snatched a stack of papers from his desk, and flung them high into the air.
“You,” she said, “are a complete, absolute, unmitigated jerk.”
Griffin looked at Dana. She was breathing as hard as if she’d just finished a five-mile run. Her eyes blazed with green fire, and she looked as if she could happily kill him.
Something in his belly knotted. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he kicked back his chair, rose to his feet and came around the desk.
“And you,” he said, “are a woman in need of a lesson.”
“In what?” Dana said furiously. “In the fact that the world is owned by men like you?”
A dangerous smile curved across Griffin’s mouth. For the second time in her life, and the second time that afternoon, Dana wanted to step back. But she didn’t. To give way would have been a mistake.
Standing her ground turned out to be the bigger mistake. It meant that when Griffin reached for her, he had no trouble pulling her straight into his arms.
“In the fact that women have their uses, Ms. Anderson,” he said, and then he bent his head, laced his fingers into her hair, and kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WASN’T much of a kiss, as kisses went
No bells. No fireworks. No explosion of colors behind Dana’s closed eyelids.
Not that she’d deliberately shut her eyes. It had been reflex, that was all. And she certainly hadn’t expected bells or fireworks.