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Jake strolled into his office, stopped, and swung towards her. “Oh, Emily?”
“Mr. Mc ...? I mean, Yes, Jake?”
“While you’re remembering things, remember not to wear tweed tomorrow.”
Her face creased in puzzlement. “I beg your pardon?”
“Tweed,” he said patiently, jerking his chin towards her. “That’s what that stuff you’re wearing is called, isn’t it?”
Emily glanced down at herself. “Well, no,” she said slowly, “actually, it’s not. Tweed is nubby and coarse. This is just a heavy wool worsted—”
“How about silk?” Jake said, before she could treat him to a dissertation on fabrics.
“How about it?” she said, looking at him with caution.
Jake sighed. He was starting to regret the deal they’d made. First, for reasons he couldn’t figure out, he’d teased her about helping her with the boots and he’d seen that she’d taken him seriously. Now she was staring at him as if he’d asked her if she had anything in her closet made of chain mail.
“Silk,” he said. “You know, that soft stuff made by silk moths?”
“Silk worms, sir. Yes. Yes, I do.”
“A dress?’
“A suit. But—”
Jake sighed again. “A suit. Well, that figures. Okay. Wear it tomorrow.”
Emily furrowed her brow. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, through his teeth, “tweed—”
“Wool worsted.”
“Whatever. It won’t go over, tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow...?”
“Internet Resources is giving a cocktail party. You penciled it into my appointment book.”
“I remember, sir. Jake. But what does that have to do with me?”
“Emily, Emily, what a short memory you have. Our plan? For you to meet men? You’ll go with me.” He smiled. “Actually, there’s an even better thing tonight but...” His voice trailed off. But, you’re not dressed for it, he’d almost said, but why hurt her feelings? “But, considering the weather, I wouldn’t want to see you having to ride the subway all the way to... Where is it you live again? Brooklyn?”
“Tribeca,” Emily said stiffly. “Mr. McBride—”
“Tribeca,” he repeated, as if she’d said she lived in Outer Mongolia. “Too bad. Tonight’s affair—”
“What affair?”
“The one I’ve been talking about. Cocktails and dinner, for United Broadcasting. I thought they might call it off, because of the weather, but I spoke with one of the V.P’s a while ago and he said—”
“No!”
“Yes. I just told you, the Veep said—”
“No, I am not going with you tomorrow night.”
“Of course you are. That’s the plan, remember? You network, I’ll introduce you around--”
“Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean, absolutely not?” Jake straightened up and walked towards her. “We agreed this was a good plan.”
“Well, it isn’t.” Emily tucked her socks into a desk drawer and quickly pulled on her boots. No socks; she wasn’t going to leave herself open to that problem again. She stood up, put on her coat and buttoned it. “I’ve thought about your idea, Mr.... Jake. And I just don’t see myself meeting men that way.”
“Ah,” Jake said, and folded his arms. “Of course. You’d rather meet them through ads in magazines.”
She could feel color rising into her cheeks. “Whatever I choose to do, it isn’t your concern.”
“Meaning. I should mind my own business.”
“Meaning, I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”
“Listen, Emily—”
“Why should it matter to you, who I go out with?”
Why, indeed? “Because I’m your employer. I’m your friend.”
“We have never been friends, sir,” Emily said politely “That’s as it should be. You’re my employer, as you said. I am your employee. That has always been the extent of our relationship.”
She was right. She was his P.A. His E.A, She wasn’t his friend. But, dammit, that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about her welfare.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about your welfare,” Jake said with self-righteous indignation. “I’d much rather know the men you date than worry about you meeting up with the Boston Strangler.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes... Look, Mr. McBride. Jake.” Emily put her hands on her hips and tried her best not to glare. “You’re blowing this out of all proportion. I don’t go it with men.”
