Diamond Girl. Diana Palmer

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      She was grinning wickedly at that thought when Regan’s office door opened and he came out into the office with curt, deliberate steps.

      “Get me the Myers file,” he said curtly.

      She had it on the desk, having just photocopied the deeds. He rattled her, though, when he used his courtroom tone on her, and she jumped up and started looking through the filing cabinet for it.

      His dark eyes went over her with distaste before they fell to the desk. His big hand moved, lifting the edge of the file folder. “Isn’t this it?” he asked, his voice sharp.

      She turned, flushing as she realized it was. “Yes, sir,” she said for lack of anything more original.

      He opened it, thumbing through it. His eyes shot up, pinning hers. “What are you doing with it?”

      “Denny dictated a cover letter on his way out,” she explained coldly, “and said to copy the deeds and send them along.”

      He tossed the file back onto her desk with a scowl. “I wish to God he’d take time to tell me when he’s already done something he’s asked me to do.”

      “He was in a hurry,” she said defensively. “He had to be in court by nine-thirty.”

      He rammed his hands in his pockets and studied her. She wished she hadn’t been standing up; that derisive going-over was embarrassing.

      “Seen enough?” she asked, angry at his bold inspection.

      “I saw enough the day I walked in the door,” he said, turning. “Is he taking that Margo woman out again tonight?”

      She felt a surge of pleasure at the disapproval in his voice. He didn’t care for Denny going out with Margo, either, by the sound of it. “You’ll have to ask him that, Mr. Cole,” she said demurely.

      He gave her a sideways glance. “So protective, Miss Dean,” he growled. “Denny’s a grown man, he doesn’t need a bodyguard.”

      “Most secretaries are protective of their bosses,” she parried.

      “You carry it to new heights.” His glittering eyes narrowed. “How long have you been here?”

      “Almost two years,” she said.

      “How long have you been in love with my brother?” he continued, and she didn’t like the mocking smile that held no trace of amusement.

      She felt her muscles contract, every one of them, and her eyes glittered behind the big frames of her glasses. “It’s hard to work that long around a man without being fond of him,” she countered.

      He stuck his big hands in his pockets, obviously enjoying himself. “Are you fond of me?” he returned.

      “Oh, just burning up with fondness for you, sir,” she replied, and grinned wickedly.

      “Is that why you were salaaming at my office door when I came in this morning?” he asked politely.

      She felt the flush coming again and averted her face before it showed, pretending to gather up the photocopied documents on her desk. “I dropped a pencil. I was picking it up,” she informed him.

      “The hell you were.”

      She glanced up at him. “Was there something else, Mr. Cole?” she asked.

      “Eager to get rid of me?” he questioned, arching his thick eyebrows. “I wouldn’t think a woman of your attributes would turn away male attention.”

      She was doing a slow burn, but perhaps she was getting angry without reason. “My attributes?”

      His dark eyes narrowed as they appraised all of her that was visible over the desk. “Small though they are,” he added with pursed lips. “Was that outfit supposed to catch Denny’s eye?”

      She clenched her jaw. “I beg your pardon?”

      “That outfit,” he repeated, pulling a hand from his pocket to gesture toward her blouse. “You’d look better in a pair of overalls.”

      She stood up, seething. “Mr. Cole, you may be one of my employers,” she began coldly, “but that gives you no right to criticize the way I dress.”

      “I have to look at you,” he replied. “Surely I have a say in the decor of my own office?”

      “This—” she indicated her clothing “—is the latest style. Pioneers wore clothes like this,” she added with pointed sarcasm.

      “No wonder the Indians attacked them,” he remarked.

      Her fingers clenched. Her lips compressed. She wanted nothing more than to attack him.

      “If you want to take my brother’s eyes away from his Latin acquisition, you’ll have to do better than that,” he persisted. “You look about twelve in that getup. And what do you do to your hair to make it stand on end like that—watch horror movies before you come to work?”

      Her fingers curled around the file folder viciously.

      “Are you such a prize, Mr. Cole?” she asked coldly.

      “Your nose is too big and so are your feet and you’re nobody’s idea of Mr. Beautiful!”

      His eyebrows arched. “This, from a woman who could qualify for the Frump of the Year nomination?”

      “Oh!” she burst out, and before she had time to think, she had flung the file folder at him, scattering paper all over the desk and the floor.

      He cocked his head at her, a peculiar smile momentarily softening his hard features. “How fortunate for you that it didn’t connect,” he murmured. “I hit back, honey.”

      “You started it!” she accused, her eyes flaming green and brilliant, changing her face so that despite the inadequacy of her makeup, she was almost pretty.

      “A matter of opinion.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it calmly, watching her hesitate before she reluctantly bent to pick up the scattered papers.

      Her fingers were trembling; her body was trembling. She wanted nothing more than to hurt him, to wound him. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such rage at any man.

      And especially her boss. She colored, remembering that. He’d be within his rights to fire her, and that would take her right out of Denny’s life, because Denny wouldn’t go against Regan. She’d seen proof of that often enough.

      She glanced up at him apprehensively as she clutched the disordered sheets of paper to her bosom and stood up.

      “Feeling apologetic?” he asked, and the cold smile told her he understood exactly why she was regretting her temper.

      She swallowed her pride. Any sacrifice, to be near Denny. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Cole,” she choked. “It won’t happen again.”

      “Poor СКАЧАТЬ