Leigh Michaels - The Boss's Daughter

Dylan didn’t speak, but she thought she saw a gleam of agreement in his eyes.

“But frankly, I have a lot of things I’d rather do. So let’s make a deal. I’ll be enough of a figurehead to keep Gavin happy, but you’ll be the boss in everything but name. You can run the place as you see fit, I’ll go take on my new job, and we’ll both have what we want.”

Dylan was shaking his head.

“Why not?” Amy asked crossly. “If you’re holding out for the title of acting CEO, believe me, I’d give it to you if I could.”

“Titles never appealed to me much. And I’m not fond of being a sacrificial lamb, either.”

Amy gasped. “What on earth—”

“This plan of yours is a pretty nice setup—for you, that is. If I pull it off, you get the credit. But if I don’t, you can tearfully confess to your father that it wasn’t your fault because I was really the one at the helm all along.”

“He’d be furious at me for ignoring his wishes and putting you in charge.”

“Not as angry as he’d be if you screwed things up personally. No, Ms. Sherwood, you’re not dumping this one on me. Because if you try, I’ll hand you my keys—and quit.” He rocked a little farther back in the chair. “So what are we going to do about it?”

AMY felt as if he’d picked up the pre-Columbian statuette from her father’s desk and hit her over the head with it.

She stared at Dylan, unwilling to believe she’d heard him correctly. But his voice had been firm and absolutely level. He meant exactly what he’d said…or else he was the best poker player Amy had ever run into.

What would happen if she called his bluff? Or at least let him know that she wasn’t entirely convinced he was willing to burn his bridges so completely?

She smiled. “You won’t quit.”

His eyes narrowed, but his tone was cordial. “If you think I’m joking, try me.”

“I don’t believe you’d desert my father while he’s ill—and if you quit on me, it’s just the same as abandoning him.”

Dylan looked at her with a gleam of admiration in his dark-blue eyes. “You’re almost as good a manipulator as Gavin is, you know.”

“Besides, you can’t just walk away from this job. Okay, maybe you’re not charmed by the terms I’m talking about, but that’s perfectly understandable. I’m not delighted with them, either. But—”

“Get one thing through your head, dear. I don’t want your father’s job any more than you do.”

Doubt crept into Amy’s mind. “Don’t call me dear,” she said automatically.

“Why shouldn’t I? If we’re not going to be working together—”

“But you’d be crazy to quit now. You’ve put six months into this job, and by now you must be thinking of how you’d run the business if it was left in your hands. Any red-blooded male would. And this is your opportunity to prove yourself.”

Dylan shrugged. “I don’t happen to have anything to prove.”

“But you can’t quit.”

“Of course I can. Your father hired me, Amy. He didn’t purchase me.”

Amy’s doubts were rapidly being overwhelmed by panic. Even though she’d suggested to Gavin that he could rely completely on his assistant, she hadn’t realized how much she herself had depended on Dylan to be there as a sort of safety net. Even before she’d had the brainstorm of letting him take over entirely, she’d counted on him to lend her a hand, to bring her up to speed after her long absence.

It was bad enough that she was having to take over for her father at all. But it had never occurred to her that she might have to do it entirely by herself.

She’d been prepared for Dylan to resent her being boosted above him on the management ladder. She’d have bet her next paycheck—wherever it might come from—that he was too competitive not to object when he was passed over, especially in favor of a woman who had been gone so long she might as well be an outsider. But even then it had never occurred to her that he might actually quit.

“It never crossed my mind,” she said almost to herself, “that you might not even be ambitious enough to want Gavin’s job.”

Only when she saw his eyes grow chilly did she realize that it might not have been a wise thing to say. Come to that, she reflected, she didn’t entirely believe it even now.

But whatever his reasons were, they didn’t matter at the moment—because she simply couldn’t let him leave. At the same time, she could hardly let him see how desperate she was to have him stay, or he’d be waving a resignation letter at her any time things didn’t go his way.

“What on earth would you do instead?” she asked. “If you quit?”

His eyebrows rose. “I do have a few talents.”

“Of course,” she said hastily. “But—”

“And surely, after your dramatic exit, you’re in no position to tell me that it’s necessary to have a second job lined up before quitting the first one.”

Amy bit her lip. “No, but—”

“Especially when the boss has provoked the resignation.”

“I’m trying not to provoke you!”

“Really? I’m afraid I missed that part. And though it’s kind of you to worry about how I’ll make a living, Amy, it isn’t necessary. You just gave me three good leads. The college, the museum…Now what was the third one? Oh, yes, the magazine about antiques. Roving expert, hmm? That would look nice on my business card.”

“If you think six months in this business makes you an expert—” She saw his eyes turn to ice once more and stopped in midsentence. True as the comment had been, why take the chance of aggravating him even more? “You can’t just walk out of here, you know.”

“If your next move is to tell me that I have to give you a month’s notice, you can hardly hold me to a higher standard than you used for yourself.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “What’s it going to be, Amy?”

“What’s your hurry?” she asked irritably. “What difference does it make to you if I take a while to think about it?” Even though there was really nothing to think about—and it was apparent that Dylan knew it, too.

“Because if I’m going to be free for lunch, I still have time to make a date. So stop dithering and decide.”

Amy sighed and slid off the desk. “Get out of my chair,” she said. “I’ve got work to do.”

Dylan noted with interest that she’d landed with her neat little Italian sandals placed squarely between his outstretched feet, so close that it would be nearly impossible for him to stand up without brushing against her. He considered for a moment whether she could actually have intended to issue an invitation, and concluded that she’d been too annoyed even to think about where she was standing.

Just as well, he thought. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with his new boss, and he’d better remember it. She’d already made a few uncomfortably shrewd comments. Accidentally, he was sure, but if he’d had any idea just how astute Amy Sherwood could be without even trying, he wouldn’t have left the decision of whether he stayed or left in her hands.

But he had offered her the choice, and he couldn’t back out now without causing the very curiosity he was trying to avoid. So the key was to keep her too busy to think. Too busy to ask questions.

“What’s first?” he asked as he stood up.

Amy turned at the same moment, and his cheek brushed against the dark brown cloud of hair. Obviously, he thought with a flicker of regret, he’d read her correctly, for she leaped back, bumping into the corner of the desk and almost staggering.

He put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from losing her balance. Yes, her hair was as soft as that fleeting touch had suggested. It lay like silk over his fingers.