The Secretary’s Seduction Read online

  Winnie reached into her top right desk drawer and scooped out her wallet before taking the elevator to the forty-second floor, and changed to the express elevator that whisked her to lobby level in less than ten seconds. It was a drastic free-for-all in her tummy and she swallowed hard when the elevators slid open a second time.

  Life with Morgan Grady was a bit like riding the Tower elevators: a giddy ride up and down but nothing solid in between. Yet after six months of wild rides, she was ready to get off. She wanted a job with decent hours, solid benefits, and an elderly boring boss so she could sleep again at night.

  Outside, Winnie drew a short breath, momentarily blind sided by the heat and noise. As she walked to the hot dog vendor on the comer, a truck roared past, followed by a dozen streaking yellow cabs, half leaning on their horns.

  Winnie bought a can of icy soda and popped the top on her way back to the Tower's entrance. It was mid-afternoon and Manhattan's skyscrapers had already reduced the light into little grids of sun and shadow on the sidewalk.

  When she announced she was moving to New York to work, her family had predicted she wouldn't survive a month. Instead she'd lasted over four years.

  She didn't particularly want to leave Manhattan now, but she needed distance from Morgan and all her impossible, outrageous fantasies. At night she dreamed of him over and over and it only made reality worse. Morgan Grady would never go for her. He dated socialites, models and actresses. Not pudgy secretaries who stuttered when nervous.

  The Tower's revolving glass door turned and a woman Winnie only knew as Tiffany, joined her on the sidewalk in front of the building.

  "It's that time of day," Tiffany said, tapping out a cigarette and lighting up. She was tall, slender, with lots of blond highlights in her hair. She looked like the type that had tried to model in high school. "Just three more hours."

  Winnie felt a stab of envy. "You go home at five?"

  "Most of the time. If I'm lucky." Tiffany dragged on the cigarette and exhaled. She cast Winnie a bored glance. "Where do you work?"

  "On the seventy-eighth floor."

  "The seventy-eighth?" Tiffany's eyebrows arched, her interest piqued. "Then you must work for Grady Investments.'

  Suddenly Winnie didn't feel like talking anymore.

  Women always wanted to be friends with her if they thought it'd get them closer to Morgan Grady. "Yes," she answered, voice clipped.

  "So what's he like?" Tiffany persisted.

  Winnie pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. "Who?"

  Tiffany let out a little laugh, her pink-painted lips parted. "Very funny. Morgan Grady, silly. You work in his office. You must have met him. What's he like ... I . mean, really, what's he like?"

  "Busy."

  "Of course. He's huge. He completely dominates the investment world. Everyone pays attention to his market forecasts.'

  Winnie forced a small, tight smile. "Isn't that nice?"

  "But the part I find most amazing, is that he's not just this brilliant brain in a glass jar-he's gorgeous, too." Tiffany sounded positively giddy. "No wonder he's been named New York's Sexiest Bachelor twice in a row. He's sexier than sin. I'd kill for a moment alone with him."

  "And I should just kill myself," Winnie muttered beneath her breath, feeling painfully inadequate. Living on the periphery of Morgan Grady's world was about as excruciating a thing as Winnie had ever experienced. Thank God she'd soon be working somewhere else. Maybe then she'd get some self-esteem back.

  Tiffany had a one-track mind. "What's he like as a boss?"

  "Let me loan you my book, Never Work for a Jerk, and then you tell me what you think."

  Tiffany giggled. "Is there really such a book?"

  "Yes."

  Tiffany laughed even harder. "And you have a copy?"

  "No, not yet. But I plan on buying it soon." Tiffany was laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes. "I had no idea you were so funny," she cried, tapping her cigarette. "Who would have thought?"

  "Yes, who would have thought?" A voice coolly cut in. It was a deep voice, husky and distinctly male, a voice Winnie knew far too well. "She's a woman of many hidden talents."

  Winnie felt ice water flood her limbs. Mr. Grady! "And her next job," he continued dryly, "will be working as a standup comedian".

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT COULDN'T be. He couldn't be here. He didn't hear her say that...did he?

  Paling, Winnie turned to discover Morgan Grady behind her, a black trench coat thrown over his arm, his long dark hair almost tidy.

  "Mr. Grady," she whispered, her mouth drying. "Heading out?"

  He gazed down at her, his expression curiously hard. ''I've been trying to reach you."

  Heat surged to her cheeks. "I came down for a soda."

  "I see."

  There was a moment of strained silence between them, something that had never happened before. He'd always talked; she'd always listened. He'd never been silent with her before. "Did you want something?"

  "You had a phone call from a Mrs. Fielding. She said it was urgent. I left the number on your desk."

  Winnie couldn't remember Mrs. Fielding and wondered what could possibly be urgent. "Thank you."

  His dense black lashes lowered, his mouth compressed. "Next time you might want to remember to take this," he added, extending his arm to reveal her small pager.

  Winnie moved to take the pager from him but tensed as fingers brushed his palm and a sharp current of sensation sizzled through her. He was angry. In her five and a half months with him he'd never displayed any emotion and yet now he was angry.

  Quickly, to hide her confusion, Winnie clipped the pager to the waistband of her skirt even as Tiffany dropped her cigarette, stubbing it out with the spike of her high heel.

  "Mr. Grady, " Tiffany murmured, her voice dropping an octave as she held out her hand.

  He hesitated, turned ever so slightly, and smiled a cool quizzical smile. It was a smile he must have practiced for moments like this, when he needed to put distance between himself and others without appearing aloof. The smile was a little slow, a little crooked, and made his rugged jaw wider, his cheekbones stronger. "We've met?"

  "Once," Tiffany answered archly. Her smile stretched as his hand closed around hers, her cheeks glowing with the faintest touch of pink. "Well, we sort of met. You had business with one of the firm's partners and I notarized the paperwork."

  "Ah." Morgan's teeth had never looked so straight or white and he continued to hold her hand in his. "You work with Jeff."

  "Yes. He thinks the world of you. We all do."

  A black limousine slid next to the curb, and the driver shifted into neutral but the car remained on, engine idling. Morgan Grady released Tiffany's hand, glanced at the limo, and then back at Tiffany. "I must run, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss-"

  "Saunders. Tiffany Saunders. And I work with Jeff."

  "On the sixty-third floor, right." He smiled again, and Winnie could see why women melted at his feet. There was something in his eyes, something in his energy and intensity that made you feel-however brief that you were special. That you were the only one alive.

  Winnie sucked in a painful, self-conscious breath. He'd never looked at her once that way.

  He'd never even gotten her name right.

  A lump filled her throat and Winnie wished with all her heart she'd never worked for Morgan Grady.

  Mr. Grady started for the waiting car, conversation forgotten, and no goodbyes necessary. Move on, seemed to be his unwritten motto, no time to linger, no patience for niceties. Just move on to the next thing on the agenda.

  But suddenly he stopped and turned back. It was muggy hot, the muggy hot of New York in late June when the air felt thick and yellow, yet he looked coolly elegant in his black suit and shirt.

  She wondered how he did it, how he handled the heat and pressure without sweating or wilting or fading.

  How did he predict the market before the market knew what
it was going to do?

  How did he juggle dozens of complicated, million and billion dollar deals without worrying, panicking, overeating?

  She didn't know. She couldn't know. He was nothing like her.

  Mr. Grady was staring at her now, his high tanned brow slightly furrowed. "Are you job hunting, Miss Graham?"

  It was the last question she expected from him, the absolutely last thing she expected him to say, and Winnie wobbled in her sensible heels.

  She reached for a handkerchief from her pocket and came up with nothing. Instead she gripped the pager in her perspiring hand. Good Lord. Did he know about her job interview, too? Or was it just a joke, a follow-up to his comedian remark moments ago?

  Winnie blinked, swallowed, and blinked again, her glasses fogging slightly, her thoughts spinning in no logical direction.

  What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to answer that?

  "No," she blurted at last, cheeks darkening. "Of course not."

  His eyebrows lifted. He stared at her hard, his lips twisting ever so slightly.

  Her blush deepened. She felt like a willful child with a hand caught in the cookie jar.

  "Of course not," he echoed softly, mockery in his voice. "I'll see you later," he said.

  "Right."

  Then he turned away and climbed into the back of the waiting limousine.

  Tiffany silently disappeared into the lobby of the Tower's building leaving Winnie alone on the sidewalk.

  For a long moment Winnie didn't move, her heart thumping hard and fast. What had just happened out here? What did Mr. Grady mean?

  Finally she shook off her fear, threw away her lukewarm soda and returned upstairs.

  Winnie worked until dinner and then when she'd done all she could for the day, turned off her computer and took the subway home.

  She was back at the office the next morning at six thirty. As usual she was the first of the administrative assistants to arrive and Winnie made it her job every morning to turn on the office lights, check the thermostat and get the coffee brewing.

  Coffee percolating, Winnie left the employee break room and headed toward the back office suite, flicking on lights as she went.

  She arrived at Mr. Grady's office and froze.

  Mr. Grady was already in, he was sitting at his desk, and his door was ajar. He never left his door ajar. He was a man that preferred privacy always.

  She stood there, transfixed, listening to him type, his fingers tapping away at his computer keyboard.

  Something was wrong. The door shouldn't be open. He shouldn't be at his computer yet. He should still be reading his papers. What had happened? Was it something to do with the press? She'd had three calls yesterday from various media sources, or was this more personal? Did this have anything to do with ... her?

  The tapping on the keyboard briefly stopped and Winnie felt the strangest, most physical sensation shoot through her. She could feel him.

  Her brain told her that he hadn't left his desk but her body was reacting totally different. The fine hair on her nape rose. Her skin prickled. Her body felt incredibly sensitive all over. She'd never been so keenly aware of him before. It was almost as if he was standing right here next to her, touching her.

  Heat banded across her cheekbones. She drew a slow breath. She was being overly dramatic, she lectured herself, forcing herself to action.

  Winnie headed for her desk, took off her lightweight trench coat and hung it on the hook next to the filing cabinet before moving to her desk. As she rolled out her chair she spotted a book with a lime green cover lying in the middle of her desk. She didn't remember leaving a book on her desk last night. She always left her desk clean, virtually spotless.

  She moved closer, lifted the book. Never Work for a Jerk.

  She dropped the book as if she'd been burned. Good God. The book. It was the book. The book she'd mentioned to Tiffany. He'd gone out and bought her a copy.

  Winnie sagged into her chair, sitting down in a heavy heap, her purse falling to her feet. He was going to fire her. That's why his door was ajar. He was waiting for her to get here so he could give her the ax.

  It wasn't supposed to go like this. She'd been the one looking for a new job. She'd been the one hurt. It was her feelings that had been trampled. And yet had he ever badmouthed her? Had he ever publicly insulted her? Had he ever insulted her even in private?

  Why had she said what she'd said to Tiffany? Why had she let her emotions get the better of her? What was the saying? Open mouth, insert foot? Well, it was more like, open mouth, insert body. She felt really, deeply embarrassed.

  The small intercom on her desk made a faint clicking sound. "Miss Graham, when you've a minute, I'd like to see you."

  Her heart jumped. She couldn't make herself move, unable to find enough strength in her legs. But she couldn't ignore him. She was already in trouble. She might as well get this over with, go face the firing squad.

  Winnie rolled away from her desk and stood up, pressing her blue pleated skirt smooth, making sure every pleat fell straight. It was her smartest skirt, the one she wore when she needed to feel extra crisp, extra professional. If ever there was a day she needed it, it was now.

  The intercom clicked again. "Oh, and Miss Graham, you don't need to bring the book with you."

  Morgan watched Winnie enter his office, her eyes wide behind her dark glasses, the black frames resting halfway down her straight nose. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair that faced his desk and folded her hands across the notebook and pen she'd brought with her.

  He struggled to be civil. "Good morning."

  "Good morning, Mr. Grady."

  He leaned back in his swivel chair. "How are you?"

  Her lashes fluttered behind the lenses of her glasses. Her lashes were long and they brushed the glass. "I'm fine, thank you."

  Her voice sounded firm, decisive, every inch the competent secretary he'd been relying upon these past six months.

  She swallowed hard. "About the book-"

  "I don't want to discuss the book."

  A pulse had begun to beat rapidly at the base of her throat. "You don't?"

  "No. I knew you wanted it, so I bought a copy for you. Happy Secretaries Day."

  "That was back in April, Mr. Grady."

  "Better late than never." He sat forward, touched a button on his keyboard and checked the European market before it closed. His gaze skimmed the various stock prices before sitting back again.

  "I have to be able to trust my staff," he said after a moment, grateful his voice could sound so calm when he didn't feel the least bit calm, and hadn't since overhearing her flippant remark yesterday in front of the office building.

  His perfect secretary was a fraud.

  Until now he'd thought of her as a future Miss Robinson, Miss Robinson being his first executive assistant and hands down, the best. Miss Robinson was tidy, precise, efficient, intelligent, controlled. She was always one step ahead of him and practically anticipated his every need before he even knew the need himself.

  Miss Robinson had been with him for seven years, and retired eighteen months ago, just before he bought out Bradley Finance in a friendly acquisition. Trying to fill Miss Robinson's shoes had been impossible and he'd gone through assistant after assistant until he inherited Winnie Graham through the Bradley acquisition.

  He hadn't thought he'd like Miss Graham, hadn't expected anyone who hid behind large dark glasses and a mass of pinned-up braids to be as effective as his esteemed Miss Robinson but Winnie Graham wasn't just good. She was great. She was the future Miss Robinson, the superlative secretary who knew what he wanted before he even wanted it.

  "I need to trust you," he said. "You have complete access to me. You know details about my personal life, my family, my finances. If you're going to talk to Tiffany from the sixty-third floor, what's to say you won't talk to a friendly reporter?"

  Her head lifted and her unblinking gaze met his. He watched as she adj
usted her glasses. "Because I won't," she answered crisply.

  "But you did yesterday-"

  "And it was a mistake!" She rose from her chair.

  She'd never interrupted him before, never contradicted him and her passionate response surprised both of them. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grady, I feel terrible about what happened yesterday. It was careless of me, but I honestly didn't mean anything by it-"

  "Are you looking for a new job?"

  Her lips parted and color seared her cheeks but no sound came from her mouth.