The Boss's Daughter. Leigh Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Or perhaps he wasn’t surprised that she’d turned up, but he was bracing himself for what she might do.

      Dylan stood up slowly, with a grace which looked effortless. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but the fact that he’d discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt emphasized his powerful build and made her feel very fragile. Or was that just her imagination at work?

      Not that she was fantasizing about Dylan Copeland’s body, Amy told herself tartly. Any inclination she might ever have had in that direction had dissipated within a week of his coming to work for Gavin—when it became apparent that Amy amused rather than intrigued him. It was just the uncomfortable position she’d suddenly found herself in that was making her feel so brittle, not some overwhelming masculine appeal of Dylan’s.

      “Good morning, Amy,” he said mildly. “It’s a surprise to see you here. Last time you set foot in this office, you told your father you wouldn’t be back until hell froze over.”

      “Is that what I said? I didn’t remember, exactly.”

      “Not a very original expression, I must say. I was disappointed in you, because even under those circumstances I expected you to come up with something much more striking. But it seemed to make your point adequately.”

      “And of course you were listening to every word.”

      “I could hardly help it,” Dylan pointed out. “People in west Texas might have had to strain to hear you, but for anyone who was closer than that it was no effort at all. Have a seat and tell me why you’ve come back.” He sat down again.

      “You weren’t expecting me?” Amy walked across the room and perched on the corner of the desk closest to him, pushing aside a pre-Columbian statuette that her father used as a paperweight. She’d chosen the position very carefully, so she could look down at him. “I thought perhaps Gavin had phoned to warn you I was on my way, and you’d come in to clear out the personal things that you’d already moved into his desk.”

      “I see you still have an imagination. What a nice picture you’ve created of me—the moment I heard your father was tethered to a heart monitor, I made a slick play for his job.” He leaned back in Gavin Sherwood’s chair, appearing completely at ease.

      “You’re twisting my words. That’s not what I meant.”

      “Wasn’t it?” he said dryly. “So you’re here to take over. And whose idea was that, I wonder. Hasn’t the job hunt been successful?”

      He’s just trying to needle you, Amy told herself. And he’s succeeding. “Are you volunteering to advise me about which offer I should accept? Because if that’s the case, I should warn you—”

      “That you’d rather flip a coin, I suppose.”

      “Coins don’t have enough sides.”

      His dark eyebrows arched. “More than two? You are in demand, I see.”

      Amy held up a finger. “One, the art museum is considering me for a position as assistant curator in the textiles division.”

      “Only an assistant?” Dylan murmured. “I’m disappointed.”

      Amy ignored him and put up a second finger. “Two, I’ll probably be asked to join the art faculty at the college.”

      “You should hold out for the dean’s job.”

      She waggled her hand at him, three fingers extended. “And third, I could be the new roving expert for Connoisseur’s Choice.”

      “A stuffy old magazine about antiques and collectibles.” Dylan shrugged. “No wonder you’re coming back here instead.”

      “Look,” Amy said. “It’s already apparent that you’ve got a chip on your shoulder about me being here. So let’s get one thing straight. It wasn’t my idea to come back, because I don’t want this job. As far as I’m concerned, Gavin should have turned the whole works over to you till he’s back on his feet. You’ve been his personal assistant for six months now, and if you can’t run this business on your own for a while he ought to fire you.”

      “Thank you,” Dylan said.

      His tone was meek, but Amy saw a glint in his eyes that she thought must have been anger. But why should she be surprised? Of course he was irritated that Gavin had preferred to trust her—despite her long absence from the business—instead of him. And since Gavin wasn’t around, of course Dylan was taking that irritation out on her.

      “At least,” he went on, “I think there may have been a compliment buried somewhere underneath all that.”

      Amy wasn’t listening. She had suddenly remembered what Beth had said—Maybe there’s another way.

      And maybe she didn’t have to turn herself into twins in order to have it all.

      “I’ve got a proposition for you,” she said suddenly.

      Dylan looked around the room. “Perhaps there’s something in the ventilating system,” he mused. “Because propositions seem to be part of the atmosphere in this office.”

      Amy willed herself not to turn pink. “I’m certainly not talking about Honey’s kind of proposition. Gavin’s got a fixation that I’m the only one who can run this place, which is absurd.”

      Dylan didn’t speak, but she thought she saw a gleam of agreement in his eyes.

      “But frankly, I have a lot of things I’d rather do. So let’s make a deal. I’ll be enough of a figurehead to keep Gavin happy, but you’ll be the boss in everything but name. You can run the place as you see fit, I’ll go take on my new job, and we’ll both have what we want.”

      Dylan was shaking his head.

      “Why not?” Amy asked crossly. “If you’re holding out for the title of acting CEO, believe me, I’d give it to you if I could.”

      “Titles never appealed to me much. And I’m not fond of being a sacrificial lamb, either.”

      Amy gasped. “What on earth—”

      “This plan of yours is a pretty nice setup—for you, that is. If I pull it off, you get the credit. But if I don’t, you can tearfully confess to your father that it wasn’t your fault because I was really the one at the helm all along.”

      “He’d be furious at me for ignoring his wishes and putting you in charge.”

      “Not as angry as he’d be if you screwed things up personally. No, Ms. Sherwood, you’re not dumping this one on me. Because if you try, I’ll hand you my keys—and quit.” He rocked a little farther back in the chair. “So what are we going to do about it?”

      CHAPTER TWO

      AMY felt as if he’d picked up the pre-Columbian statuette from her father’s desk and hit her over the head with it.

      She stared at Dylan, unwilling to believe she’d heard him correctly. But his voice had been СКАЧАТЬ