Flirting With the Boss

He leaned toward her and rested his forearms on the table. “It slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” Sorry that the memory could still bother her even a little.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might have had a good reason for leaving?”

“No. I was fourteen.”

“And now you’re twenty-four. A grown-up. Isn’t it possible something came up that took precedence over the plans I made with you?”

She looked at him, remembering. She’d waited hours on her front porch for him to pick her up as promised. Every time the phone had rung, she’d raced inside to see if it was him. But it never was. What was so important that he couldn’t even call to let her know he wouldn’t be there? It took a long time for her to grow up enough to see that she’d been nothing but a sappy dreamer, and he’d duped the dope. And now it didn’t matter.

“Sure, it’s possible,” she said.

“Your sincerity is underwhelming.” A muscle contracted in his jaw. “So I have to conclude that either you blow things out of all reasonable proportion. Or—”

She knew she was going to regret asking. “Or what?”

“I’m paying for what another guy did to you. Just a shot in the dark,” he said shrugging.

And that was another shot too darn close to the mark, she thought. “You’re not paying for anything. Speaking of which,” she said, “what do I owe you for dinner?”

He put a credit card on the check and signaled the waiter. “Nothing. Better late than never. Consider it your post-punishment meal.”

“Thank you.” She stood up. “I have to go now.”

She walked through the restaurant not much caring whether or not he followed. It was irritating to realize he could be right. Her animosity just might be out of proportion to his crime. Her inner child could be throwing an unwarranted melodramatic tantrum. So the best solution was to give her inner child a timeout.

She drew in a deep cleansing breath when the evening air hit her. The sun had set and a breeze cooled her cheeks. Behind her she heard the door to the restaurant whisper open. The hair at her nape prickled, and she knew Max stood there.

He stopped beside her, holding his suit jacket by one finger after slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll take you back to your car.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

When she reached out to open the car door, his hand brushed hers as he grabbed the handle and let her inside. Why did he have to be a gentleman? Worse, why did she have to feel warmth and that tingle from his slight touch?

She wanted him to be bad to the bone. She needed him to have a sleazy rap sheet she could add to. So far, all she had on him was standing her up, leaving without saying goodbye and ignoring his grandfather. That was unforgivable. She couldn’t understand why he’d rebuffed the older man’s attempts to patch up their relationship. And seeing the soul-deep hurt on the face of the kindly man who’d been like a father to her made her angry.

They drove in silence to the company parking lot and Ashley directed him to her small compact in the far corner. He stopped the BMW beside it.

“Ashley?”

She opened the door. “What?”

“Are you going to look for him?”

She didn’t need to ask who he meant. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

“I think the sheriff is probably right that he’ll turn up when he’s ready.”

“But?” she asked, feeling he had more to say.

“I’m action-oriented. If there’s a problem, I fix it.”

“So what are you saying?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m saying that it’s getting late. The professionals need to do their thing. But if there’s no news by morning, I’m going to look again on my own.”

She turned her head and met his gaze in the harsh overhead light. She thought she saw a flicker of something in the depths of his blue eyes. “You’re concerned about him, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re trying to pretend you don’t care.”

“That takes too much energy,” he denied. “After I see him, I’m gone. The sooner he’s found, the better.”

“Okay.” She slid out of the car, then rested her hand on the door to slam it. Hesitating, she caught her top lip between her teeth.

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes it is. Why?”

“If you’re not doing anything, would you help me look for him?”

“Why?” she asked again.

“Because you know him. And I have a feeling you’re going to do it anyway. We could pool our resources. Two heads are better than one.” He smiled suddenly, and she felt the power of it all the way to her toes. “I’m staying at the estate.”

“Thanks for the breaking news.”

“If I don’t call to let you know he’s turned up, meet me there.”

Against her better judgment she said, “Okay.”

Chapter Three

The next morning, Ashley parked her little car in front of the Caines’ impressive English Tudor-style house. Her heart pounded and she told herself it was all about her surroundings and not the prospect of seeing Max Caine’s smile. She hadn’t heard from him and that meant there’d been no word from the senior Mr. Caine. Concern trickled through her though she told herself there was no cause for it.

After sliding out of the car, she stared at the brick-lined steps leading to the double mahogany doors with beveled leaded glass ovals in the center of each.

“Motivation for higher education,” she mumbled.

Ten years ago she’d been grounded for nearly flunking her first year in high school. She’d taken summer classes to repeat algebra and history. Every day on the way into town, her mother had driven her past the Caine estate and told her she could have a house like this if she worked hard and went to college. The visual aid was seriously effective in convincing Ashley to put her nose to the educational grindstone.

If not for her unfortunate brain seizure in her senior year, aka falling in love, at this moment she’d be well on her way to achieving her goals. Romance had convinced her never to give up anything for a man.

She rang the doorbell and waited. Several moments later her ring was answered. Max stood there in worn jeans that fit his lean waist, hips and thighs like a second skin and a biceps-hugging black T-shirt that made him look every inch the rebel she remembered. His exploits were legendary. Especially the cherry bomb in the gym bathroom, climbing in Rita Mae Whitmire’s bedroom window while her father stood guard on the front porch, and letting the air out of Sheriff Kent’s tires.

She swallowed. “Good morning.”