Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger: Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger

Caitlin’s stomach growled, loudly, into the silent office.

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Hungry again?”

“My stomach’s funny that way. You’d think since I ate so much yesterday, it’d still be satisfied.”

He frowned. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday?”

That wasn’t quite what she’d meant to say, but now that she thought about it, she’d only snacked last night on the last of a stale bag of pretzels. She’d never gotten to dinner.

Then, this morning, she’d skipped breakfast because of her missing car, not to mention an empty fridge. What with bus hopping, she’d been too upset to eat anything, not that she’d had much choice by then.

Joe sighed at her silence, took her arm and pulled her up out of her chair. They headed for the door. “Come on,” he said gruffly.

“Where?”

“To feed you, dammit.” They were in the hallway, walking at his pace, which was nearly a run for Caitlin in her heels, when her stomach growled again.

Joseph’s own stomach tightened as he remembered all too well what hunger felt like. “How did you make it this far without a keeper?” he demanded abruptly.

Under his hand, her arm went rigid. So did the rest of her. “I had one, but he died.” She yanked her arm free and met his steady gaze. “Remember?”

Yeah, he remembered. And now she was looking for another keeper. He refused to be it. Horrified that he’d nearly fallen into that position because he’d felt sorry for her, he backed up a step. Distance. He desperately needed distance.

“Don’t worry, Joe.” Her smile was brittle. “Even if I wanted another ‘keeper,’ you’d be the last man on earth I’d choose.”

Heels clicking, hips swaying, attitude popping, she moved away from him, down the hallway.

Out of some sick need to continue sparring with her, he followed her.

The elevator ride was silent and awkward, with her throwing mental daggers and him deflecting them. When the doors opened, she left without a word.

Again he followed.

Outside the office building, she took a deep breath, then jumped a little when she saw him. “Do you miss him?” she asked suddenly.

He didn’t have to ask who, and yes, God, how he missed him.

The streets were filled with lunch-hour traffic, both motorists and pedestrians. The crowd was busy, noisy…and impolite. People shoved past them, around them, mumbling and grumbling as they went on with their day.

“Do you?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.” He swallowed past the familiar stab of pain. “I miss him a lot.”

She nodded and watched the people. The light breeze tossed her short skirt about her incredible thighs. Joseph’s unhappy thoughts shifted and he concentrated on her body. When she crossed her arms tightly over her middle, her full breasts strained against the material of her jacket, making serious thought difficult, if not impossible.

“I do, too,” she admitted so quietly he was forced to lean closer. Now her exotic, sexy scent teased him, and he inhaled deeply, torturing himself.

“But I don’t understand…why did he do this to me?”

Edmund had served her a direct hit, and Joe felt uncomfortable with her grief and confusion, because he was just as grief stricken and confused.

“You were friends with him,” she said. “You were friends, but we aren’t.”

She was fishing. She needed, yearned…and he ached for her, but he’d never told a lie in his life, not even to save someone’s feelings, and he wouldn’t start now. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him, accepting his silent admission that no, they were not friends. “I want us to get along.”

How to tell her that he didn’t? That he “got along” with very few people, and he liked it that way. That the only reason he ever “got along” with a beautiful woman was to “get it on.”

“I don’t want to be someone you have to babysit.”

“That’s good. Because I don’t babysit,” he said.

“You were dragging me off to feed me,” she pointed out, ignoring a nasty remark from a harassed-looking woman who had to walk around them on the sidewalk. “I work for you from eight to five, but what I do before or after shouldn’t be your concern.”

“Then eat, dammit!”

“Yeah, that sort of…um…reminds me…” She bit her lip. “How often do we get paid?”

All his annoyance fled as he stared at her. His stomach suddenly hurt. “Are you that out of money?”

She paused. Shrugged. “Sort of, yeah.”

Damn. “Today. You’ll get paid today.”

“I don’t want your pity. I just want to know when we get paid around here. Weekly, biweekly, what?”

“Don’t,” he said harshly, and when she flinched he lightened his tone with effort. “I know what it’s like to be hungry, to not eat because there’s no food.” He rubbed his belly, almost feeling that bone-gnawing hunger from his youth all over again. God, he hated this. A little panicked now, because she made him feel things he didn’t want to, he shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out whatever bills he had in there, slapping them into her palm. “Take this. It’s an advance.”

Horrified, she glanced downward, then pushed the money back at him. “No. I’m not the local charity case.”

“Take it.” He shoved the money into her jacket pocket. A mistake. Through the material, he could feel her warm flesh.

“I told you yesterday that I can do this,” she said a little shakily as she backed away from him. “I can handle being on my own just fine. I don’t think you believe that, but it’s true, and I’m going to prove it to you.” As she took another step back, she enunciated each word. “I can take care of myself.”

“Wait,” he called out when she turned and took off down the street.

Of course she didn’t wait. She never did as he asked.

He could have caught her easily. In those ridiculously high heels, she was hardly moving faster than a quick stroll, but he knew she needed to be alone. She’d resent him intruding now. It would hurt her pride. And he knew all about pride.

Still… He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he just kept doing it. He hated how that made him feel.

Why, Edmund? he wondered for the umpteenth time. Why have you done this to me?

Vince came up beside him, watching Caitlin disappear into the crowd. “You have such a touch with women, Joe,” he said dryly.

“Hey, most of them like me.”