In Bed with the Boss

Especially one with her boss.

Even if he did have the bluest eyes in Chicagoland.

But then again, it was just a dance. No big deal….

He held out his hand. She settled the light chain strap of her bag more securely on her shoulder and put her hand in his. His lean fingers closed around hers. Warm. Strong. Good.

Too good.

It was another slow one. Hank seemed to have picked all slow ones. A real romantic, that Hank.

Tom pulled her into his arms. Shelly tucked herself into him—not too close, just enough that she could feel his body’s signals as he led her.

Neither of them said a word. That suited Shelly just fine. It was…lovely. A few brief moments out of time. One hand enclosed hers, the other fitted itself possessively on the curve of her lower back. Shelly closed her eyes and cleared her mind of thought, enjoying the sweet strains of the old, romantic song. And even better than the music was the heat of Tom’s body, so close to hers, the light caress of his big hand at her back, the occasional rough brush of his cheek against her temple.

It was over much too soon. A fast number came on next.

Hank groaned, “What about my list? That one’s not on my list.”

Everybody laughed, more of them crowding forward onto the floor, fast-dancing to the heavy rock beat of the new song.

Tom dropped his hand from her back. But he didn’t let her go. The fingers of his other hand stayed firmly wrapped around hers. He led her off the floor.

She was far too content with going wherever he felt like taking her. Not smart, and she knew it. Professionally speaking, she really ought to break up this twosome they somehow seemed to have formed. It was one thing to spend a little social time with her boss.

And something else altogether when it started feeling like a date, when she found herself imagining what it might be like to kiss him, to walk down a summer street in the heat of the evening, holding hands with him. To…

Uh-uh. Enough. Not going there. No way.

She slowed her steps and gently pulled her hand free of his. He turned back to her with a questioning frown.

“Ladies’ room.” She mouthed the words and stuck a thumb back over her shoulder.

He shrugged and nodded.

She turned and left him, quickly, before she found some excuse to stay.

In the ladies’ room, she freshened her lip gloss and brushed her hair. It didn’t take long. But if she went back out too soon, Tom could be waiting where she’d left him.

She entered a stall, feeling kind of silly, but wanting to give Tom plenty of time to find someone else to hang with. When it finally got too ridiculous just standing in there, she emerged and washed her hands.

As she was reaching for a towel, Lil came out of one of the other stalls.

“Hey, Shel. Havin’ fun?” She put the oddest emphasis on the word fun.

Was it some kind of dig? But the other assistant met her eyes in the mirror, a friendly smile on those plump red lips.

“Yeah,” Shelly said. “I am. A real good time. You?”

“Fabulous.”

Out in the bar, the party was still in full swing. Shelly caught sight of Tom, over at a corner table with some of the other execs from the finance department and a couple of guys she was pretty sure were from down in accounting. She started to turn and go the other way, but Tom spotted her and signaled her over.

She went to him, aware of a rising feeling in her chest, wishing she wasn’t so glad that he’d caught her before she made her escape. The others made room for her, leaving the chair beside him empty.

Shelley sat down next to her boss.

“I was beginning to wonder if someone had kidnapped you.” He leaned close as he spoke to her, though he didn’t really need to.

The noise level seemed to have faded down a few notches in the last half hour or so. The bar wasn’t so crowded. People had left to catch their trains home, and those that remained talked more quietly—over at the bar, and around the tables.

She smiled at him, her widest, warmest smile. “Nope. Not kidnapped. Right here, safe and sound.”

“It’s a relief. I can’t afford to lose another assistant. I might not be so lucky next time finding a replacement.”

They looked at each other, the eye contact drawing out longer than she should have allowed it to.

Then Jessica Valdez, one of Tom’s managers, brought up the interior-design issues they were having at The Taka San Francisco. The rest of them started talking at once—offering complaints, suggestions and even a few solutions. The guys from accounting really got into it. Riki, the internationally acclaimed designer, was on everyone’s bad side.

“Never trust a guy without a last name,” grumbled one of the accountants.

“Maybe Riki is his last name,” joked a junior finance exec.

“Two names,” said one of the finance managers. “A guy should have two names. First and last. It’s fiscally irresponsible to try getting along with one. Not to mention damned pretentious.”

Tom called a halt to the subject after a while. “I know it’s an issue. And you all know I’ll be dealing with Riki face-to-face on Monday. And Thursday, I’ll get with Robby.” Robby Axelrod was in charge of construction on the Kyoto site. “See what we can do about the cost problems there.”

A few minutes later, Verna and Hank came over to say goodbye. Shelly got up and gave Verna a hug. “Send me a postcard.”

Verna grinned. “I promise. I’ll keep in touch. And thanks for the party. It was terrific.”

Tom got up, too, and walked the couple to the door of the bar. When he came back to the table, everyone else started making going-home noises.

Since Shelly had taken charge of the party when she moved up the date, she went ahead and played hostess. She stuck around till the last stragglers called it a night. Finally, she flipped out her shiny new TAKA-Hanson credit card and paid the tab.

Tom took the padded bench in the vestibule and waited for Shelly to head for the door.

She seemed surprised to see him there. “Hey. You didn’t have to wait.”

He rose. “Can’t have my favorite assistant wandering out onto Clark Street alone.”

She gave him a laugh. He really liked her laugh. “I think it’s totally safe, Tom.”

“You never know.”

She lifted her slim wrist and glanced at her watch. “It’s not even nine.”

“Almost dark. Could be dangerous.”