The Secretary's Seduction

“I’m sorry,” she said, drawing a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I’m fine now. I just had something in my eye—”

“I think those are called tears, Winnie.”

She smiled faintly at his joke. It was a feeble joke but she appreciated it. “Yes, you’re right. And I’m fine now. Please, go back to work and put this out of mind.”

“Easier said than done.”

“It’s an achievable goal, sir.” She turned to face her computer, her fingers hovering above her keyboard and fixing her gaze on her computer screen she waited for him to disappear.

He did not. He remained where he stood, just across her desk, his tall, solid body a delight in Italian wool and Egyptian cotton. She could smell his fragrance, smell the tantalizing hint of musk, and her gaze slowly lifted, traveling up his white shirt, past the elegant gray and black tie to the square cut of his chin and his impressive lips. She thought sometimes she’d do just about anything to have a kiss from those lips…

And there she went again, fantasizing, like she’d spent half the night last night.

Last night she’d imagined driving around Manhattan in the back of Morgan’s black stretch limo and she was wearing something silky and clingy and they were kissing madly. His hand was cupping her breast and she was making desperate little whimpering sounds and she couldn’t get enough of his mouth, of his hands. In her dream she wasn’t stodgy old Winnie, but someone exciting, someone smart and funny and beautiful. But of course morning came and she woke and dragged herself into the bathroom for a reality-check shower.

And still he stood there, before her desk. She didn’t know what he wanted, what he was waiting for. Winnie dropped her hands back into her lap. “Do you need something, Mr. Grady?”

He was looking at her most strangely. Looking at her as if she wasn’t Winnie but someone else. The slash of his black eyebrows drew closer together and a lock of dark hair fell forward on his brow. “Yes. I want to know more about the job in Charleston. Why were you interested in it?”

Heat filled her, a warm slow heat that made her tingle from head to toe. She knew what she was, and saw herself all too clearly—slightly pudgy, rather frumpy, and prone to panic attacks—but oh, how she loved him and oh, how she wanted him. But living in fantasyland was just about to do her in.

“Change,” she answered huskily, wishing yet again she were someone else, someone with style, someone with grace, someone that men would fight to ask out. Although, really, she didn’t want men, she wanted just one man. Morgan.

What a stupid, futile wish. What a stupid, futile path she was traveling.

Sniffling, she jerked open her desk drawer and dug around for a paper clip to stop her eyes from welling yet again. She had to get a grip. She had to get on with things. Because even if she wore a red dress and put hot rollers in her hair, she wasn’t the supermodel of Morgan Grady’s world. Wake up, Winnie. Grow up, Winnie. You’re never going to be his type.

“But you like New York?” he persisted.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course she liked New York. He lived in New York. She’d love Timbuktu if that’s where he was. “Yes, Mr. Grady.”

“So the problem is here, at the office.”

Her chest felt raw, her lungs ached with bottled air. “Yes.”

His black eyebrows drew even more tightly together. “You don’t like working for me?”

Like didn’t exactly factor into it. It was more of a love-hate thing. She loved working for him but hated being a nobody. She didn’t want to be his secretary. She was dying to be his lover.

Winnie bent her head, rolled her eyes. How perfectly Ninny Winnie.

“So it is me,” Morgan repeated.

“No!” She looked up at him, emotion so strong she was sure he could see what she was feeling in her eyes. But she did need to tell him something because obviously, she was having a problem right now. Her job search. The book on her desk. Her emotional breakdown just now. This wasn’t the dependable, rational Winnie Graham he knew. She wasn’t exactly a rock this week.

“It’s not you,” she said hoarsely, ashamed that she was practically disintegrating again. “It’s me.”

He shook his head, lines fanning from his eyes, deep grooves etched beside his mouth. “I don’t understand.”

Her eyes burned and she fought the urge to sniffle. She knew her nose must be bright red and her glasses were fogging up. “I’ve fallen in love.”

There was a moment of dead silence and then a small muscle in his jaw popped. “With someone here? At Grady Investments?”

He couldn’t have sounded more incredulous. “Yes.”

It wasn’t a lie. She had fallen in love and she was in a muddle and she’d never been so emotional in all her life.

He leaned on her desk, leaned so close to her she caught another hint of spice. “He doesn’t love you?”

Her eyes burned and she swallowed hard. “Oh, no, sir. He’s not interested in me.”

“Is he married?”

She shook her had swiftly. “No.”

“Has he taken advantage of you?”

She couldn’t help blushing. “No. No, it’s not like that. The problem is, he doesn’t know I exist while I…I—”

“You what?”

“I’m crazy about him.” She averted her head, wishing she could just crawl into some city manhole and hide. “Hopelessly crazy.”

“That does sound bad.”

“It is,” she answered huskily, her voice breaking. She could feel his gaze rest on her, felt what seemed to be sympathy, and she didn’t want it from him. “Which is why I started looking for a new job. I knew this wasn’t working out and I thought change was necessary. I thought it’d be wise to put some distance between us.”

Mr. Grady looked troubled. “But if he doesn’t know…?”

“It doesn’t matter if he knows or not, I know. I know when he’s here. I listen for his footsteps, for his voice, for everything.” She bit her lip, fought for control. “But it’s too painful. I can’t do this anymore.”

He studied her for a long silent moment and then shook his head. “Fine. Tell me his name and I’ll fire him.”

Winnie nearly fell off her chair. “Mr. Grady!”

“I’m not going to let one of my most valuable staff members ruin her career.”

“You can’t blame him!”

“I don’t. But I’m also not going to stand by and watch you walk out because some guy here is knocking around your heart. If you can’t stand coming to work because Mr. Heartbreak works here, then give me his name and let’s get this over with.”

She couldn’t believe he was serious. He’d fire someone because she wasn’t happy here anymore? “You can’t be serious.”

“He’ll get an excellent severance package.”

“Mr. Grady!”

“And the best references.”

“No.”

“I want his name.”

“No.” Her phone rang and she looked at the handset where the number and name of the caller flashed. “It’s Shipley’s Bank again,” she said, heart hammering, hands shaking and yet incredibly grateful for the interruption.

“His name, Winnie.”

Her phone rang again. She tensed, muscles tightening everywhere. When the phone rang a third time she couldn’t keep silent. “I’m going to answer. Do you want to take the call or should I take a message?”

He didn’t say a word, his dark blue gaze locked with hers. He didn’t look angry as much as determined, jaw jutted, expression intense.

Winnie reached for the phone, “Mr. Grady’s office, may I help you?”

He gave his head a slow shake and mouthed the words, “This isn’t over, Winnie,” before returning to his office.

He remained sequestered in his office on the call with Shipley’s Bank for nearly two hours before leaving directly for a meeting across town.

After he left, Winnie let out a long sigh of relief. She’d been sitting on pins and needles the past two hours and wanted nothing more than to get a break herself. She opted for a rare luxury—lunch out, heading down the street to her favorite deli two blocks away.

But not even a lunch out could erase her worry. Business and pleasure didn’t mix. Careers were destroyed over office romances. It’d be disastrous for her to remain at Grady Investments much longer. She felt it in every bone of her body.

Winnie walked slowly back to the Tower’s building, trying to ignore her reflection in the mirror-glass building fronts but it was impossible to deny the black glasses, beige blouse, hair scraped back from her face which screamed, uptight. Make that uptight, unsatisfied virgin.

Yes, an uptight, unsatisfied virgin. That’s exactly what she’d become.

Winnie stopped and stared at her reflection and hated what she saw. This wasn’t her. This isn’t how she felt on the inside. On the inside she was madly passionate, daring beyond measure. On the inside she wanted everything and was willing to risk all—

On the inside.

There lay the problem. No one knew about Winnie on the inside. No one saw the fun side, or adventurous side of her. No, she kept that side buttoned down and pressed back because once upon a time she decided if she wasn’t going to be popular and sexy and fashionable then she damn well better get respect.

Respect. Augh! Respect was fine for seventy-year-old matriarchs, but she was twenty-five. She had no social life. No dates. No romance.

No wonder.

Impatiently Winnie reached up and undid the top button of her stiff blouse. She didn’t want to be uptight. She didn’t want to be unsatisfied. She didn’t want to go through life without ever experiencing anything.

Winnie unbuttoned the next button. Checked her reflection again. Still boring, still a virgin, still really really not sexy.

And let’s face it, two buttons unfastened on a beige blouse were not exactly a makeover. What she needed was a miracle. What she wanted was a life-changing experience.

She’d give up everything, she thought, if for one week—no, make that a month—she could look like Tiffany from the sixty-third floor. Sexy, curvy, sensual. A woman that made men hot. A woman that made men melt.

Crossing the lobby Winnie’s sensible heels clicked loudly on the floor. She pressed the elevator up button and waited. A moment later the elevator doors opened. People streamed out. Winnie stepped back to let the others pass. As she moved out of the way, Tiffany Saunders grabbed Winnie’s arm.

“Hey,” Tiffany cried, latching onto Winnie’s sleeve as if they were life-long friends. “I just heard the news. It must be nuts upstairs!”

“What news?”

“About Morgan Grady. News Weekly’s Man of the Year. Isn’t it incredible?”

Winnie blinked blankly. “But Mr. Morgan isn’t Man of the Year, he was Sexiest Man—”

“No, no. This just happened. The magazine doesn’t hit the stands until tomorrow but it was announced on the noon news broadcast today. The media are everywhere. They’re swarming upstairs—” Tiffany broke off, eyes widening. “You didn’t know? Where’ve you been?”

Winnie’s throat dried. “Out to lunch.”

“Well, honey, you better check in because your Morgan Grady is Man of the Year.”

The express elevator to the seventy-eighth floor always left Winnie’s stomach at her feet, and today was worse than ever.

Stepping off the elevator, she walked into a frenzied sea of reporters and carefully picked her way through the crowd to the reception desk. The young receptionist at the front desk, flagged Winnie down. “Thank God you’re here,” the receptionist choked. “They won’t go away and they just keep arriving and I don’t know what to do.”

“They’re here for Mr. Grady?”

“Yes. It’s about the Man of the Year award. The phones keep ringing—” She was interrupted by the telephone and her face crumpled as she sat down again to take the call.

Winnie sized up the crowd. Tiffany was right. It was bedlam in here. Every reporter from every paper and TV station must have a representative in the reception area.

Poor Mr. Grady.

The receptionist hung up the phone. “So what do I do, Winnie? How do I get rid of them?”

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