Leigh Michaels - The Boss's Daughter

Beth picked up a box and nestled the pseudo-Sevres figurine into it. “It makes a lot of sense,” she said slowly.

Amy’s jaw dropped. “From whose point of view? I’ve spent more than two months cultivating new job possibilities, but now that I’m finally getting nibbles you think I should be pleased about turning them all down so I can fill in for my father?”

“If the people who have offered you jobs really want you, surely they’ll wait. A few weeks, you said? They’d have to wait that long if they hired someone who had to give notice before leaving a job.”

“The museum would wait,” Amy mused. “And probably the college, too. But the magazine…I don’t think the editor of Connoisseur’s Choice will have much patience, and I can’t blame him. He needs a replacement for his roving expert before long.”

Beth shot her a shrewd look. “So you have made up your mind which job you want.”

Amy frowned. “I guess I have,” she said slowly. “I didn’t even know that I was leaning in that direction, until it was snatched away from me.”

“So you’re going to come back?”

“Do I have a choice? He’s still my father.” There was no need to go into the rest of it, she thought. The Sherwoods’ divorce settlement was not the world’s business.

“Talk to the people at the magazine. You might be surprised.” Beth sealed the box with tape and set it aside. “Or maybe there’s another way. Something you haven’t thought of yet.”

“Like turning myself into twins?” Amy said.

She went on up to the sixth floor, to the corner occupied by the executive offices. The lights were on, but the rooms seemed to be empty. Her father’s personal assistant was nowhere to be seen. Amy hesitated outside the half-open door of Gavin Sherwood’s corner office, remembering what had happened the last time she had come into this room. Her father, with Honey…The scene had scorched itself into her mind, and it still had the power to make her face burn with anger and embarrassment.

Don’t dwell on it, she told herself. It’ll only make the job harder. She gave the door a push and went inside. Two feet into the room, she stopped dead.

Behind her father’s enormous desk sat a man, dark head bent over an open drawer. Even half-hidden as he was by the desk, there was no mistaking the power and fitness of that lean frame. He looked up almost casually as she came in, but as his gaze fell on Amy, she thought she saw his body tighten, as if every muscle was coiling, ready for action.

Was he surprised to see her, then? If he hadn’t been warned, he must be even more startled at her sudden appearance than Robert and Beth had been. After all, neither Robert nor Beth had actually been a witness to that climactic confrontation between Amy and her father, while Dylan Copeland had.

Or perhaps he wasn’t surprised that she’d turned up, but he was bracing himself for what she might do.

Dylan stood up slowly, with a grace which looked effortless. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but the fact that he’d discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt emphasized his powerful build and made her feel very fragile. Or was that just her imagination at work?

Not that she was fantasizing about Dylan Copeland’s body, Amy told herself tartly. Any inclination she might ever have had in that direction had dissipated within a week of his coming to work for Gavin—when it became apparent that Amy amused rather than intrigued him. It was just the uncomfortable position she’d suddenly found herself in that was making her feel so brittle, not some overwhelming masculine appeal of Dylan’s.

“Good morning, Amy,” he said mildly. “It’s a surprise to see you here. Last time you set foot in this office, you told your father you wouldn’t be back until hell froze over.”

“Is that what I said? I didn’t remember, exactly.”

“Not a very original expression, I must say. I was disappointed in you, because even under those circumstances I expected you to come up with something much more striking. But it seemed to make your point adequately.”

“And of course you were listening to every word.”

“I could hardly help it,” Dylan pointed out. “People in west Texas might have had to strain to hear you, but for anyone who was closer than that it was no effort at all. Have a seat and tell me why you’ve come back.” He sat down again.

“You weren’t expecting me?” Amy walked across the room and perched on the corner of the desk closest to him, pushing aside a pre-Columbian statuette that her father used as a paperweight. She’d chosen the position very carefully, so she could look down at him. “I thought perhaps Gavin had phoned to warn you I was on my way, and you’d come in to clear out the personal things that you’d already moved into his desk.”

“I see you still have an imagination. What a nice picture you’ve created of me—the moment I heard your father was tethered to a heart monitor, I made a slick play for his job.” He leaned back in Gavin Sherwood’s chair, appearing completely at ease.

“You’re twisting my words. That’s not what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it?” he said dryly. “So you’re here to take over. And whose idea was that, I wonder. Hasn’t the job hunt been successful?”

He’s just trying to needle you, Amy told herself. And he’s succeeding. “Are you volunteering to advise me about which offer I should accept? Because if that’s the case, I should warn you—”

“That you’d rather flip a coin, I suppose.”

“Coins don’t have enough sides.”

His dark eyebrows arched. “More than two? You are in demand, I see.”

Amy held up a finger. “One, the art museum is considering me for a position as assistant curator in the textiles division.”

“Only an assistant?” Dylan murmured. “I’m disappointed.”

Amy ignored him and put up a second finger. “Two, I’ll probably be asked to join the art faculty at the college.”

“You should hold out for the dean’s job.”

She waggled her hand at him, three fingers extended. “And third, I could be the new roving expert for Connoisseur’s Choice.”

“A stuffy old magazine about antiques and collectibles.” Dylan shrugged. “No wonder you’re coming back here instead.”

“Look,” Amy said. “It’s already apparent that you’ve got a chip on your shoulder about me being here. So let’s get one thing straight. It wasn’t my idea to come back, because I don’t want this job. As far as I’m concerned, Gavin should have turned the whole works over to you till he’s back on his feet. You’ve been his personal assistant for six months now, and if you can’t run this business on your own for a while he ought to fire you.”

“Thank you,” Dylan said.

His tone was meek, but Amy saw a glint in his eyes that she thought must have been anger. But why should she be surprised? Of course he was irritated that Gavin had preferred to trust her—despite her long absence from the business—instead of him. And since Gavin wasn’t around, of course Dylan was taking that irritation out on her.

“At least,” he went on, “I think there may have been a compliment buried somewhere underneath all that.”

Amy wasn’t listening. She had suddenly remembered what Beth had said—Maybe there’s another way.

And maybe she didn’t have to turn herself into twins in order to have it all.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she said suddenly.

Dylan looked around the room. “Perhaps there’s something in the ventilating system,” he mused. “Because propositions seem to be part of the atmosphere in this office.”

Amy willed herself not to turn pink. “I’m certainly not talking about Honey’s kind of proposition. Gavin’s got a fixation that I’m the only one who can run this place, which is absurd.”