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Pete laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided you’re giving up babes. I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Let me amend that,” Jake said, smiling. “I thought you were a particular woman.”
“Ah. A bowwow who’s developed a thing for you, huh?”
“No, she’s a definite ten.” Jake grinned, but his grin faded. “But the thing ran its course, you know? She began to hear wedding bells.”
“Oh, yeah. I know what that’s like.” Pete drank some ale. “So, you tried to end it?”
“I’m still trying. Trouble is, she’s determined. She calls. She sends me notes. She shows up at my apartment, she shows up here...”
“Well, you have a secretary, don’t you? Let her do the dirty work.”
“I have an executive assistant,” Jake said, smiling and lifting his eyebrows.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m lucky enough to employ a woman whose only goal in life is to make me happy.”
“Jake, you dog, you! You stocked the front desk with a hot babe!”
“Sorry to burst the bubble, pal, but Emily’s as far from being a hot babe as Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
Pete sighed. “Too bad. I figured her for the fox I just saw at the elevator.”
“Oh, hell,” Jake said, and the color drained from his face.
“Brunette?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Big brown eyes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Great legs? A body meant to send a man straight over the edge?”
Pete shrugged, took a drink of his ale. “Definitely and probably.”
“Probably?” Jake gave a forlorn laugh. “You’d have to be blind or dead not to notice Brandi’s figure.”
“Brandi?”
“Yeah. The lady who’s decided I’m the love of her life. I half-figured she might show up here tonight.”
“Well, she did. And the only reason I didn’t notice her shape was because it was hidden under a layer of tweed.”
“Yeah, well...” Jake stared at Pete. “Tweed? Brandi would sooner be caught during rush hour in a New York subway than in tweed.”
“Either her tastes have changed, or the woman I saw wasn’t... Who’d you say?”
“Brandi,” Jake said automatically. He frowned. “Emily wears tweed.”
“And Emily would be...?”
“I told you about her. She’s my P.A. My E.A.” Jake thought for a second, then shook his head. “Forget it. No way could it have been Emily. I mean, she’s great. She’s efficient. She’s capable. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had.” He smiled. “But a looker? No way.”
Pete gave a dramatic sigh. “See, that’s where we differ, Jake. I’ve learned to refine my tastes.”
Jake grinned. “Sure.”
“No, I’m serious. I look beyond the obvious.” He leaned forward, gave a leering smirk. “Besides, you know what they say. Still waters run deep.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Pete said smugly, “if a babe doesn’t think she’s a looker, a guy can get into her pants a lot easier.”
Jake shot to his feet. “Not into Emily’s, he can’t.” His voice was cold; he could feel the sudden tension in his muscles.
“Hey.” Pete stood up, too. “We don’t even know it’s Emily we’re talking about.”
“I’m just making a point, Archer. Forget about getting into Emily’s pants.”
“Yeah, but it’s probably not even... Jake. I didn’t...” Pete took a breath. “Listen man, no offence.”
“None taken,” Jake said, and even he could hear the lie in his words. Well, why wouldn’t he be upset? Emily was a fantastic asset. He wasn’t about to end up with a messed-up assistant on his hands. Anyway, it was all academic, he thought, and forced himself to smile. “Not that it matters. That couldn’t have been Emily. She isn’t a looker. You don’t know my Emily but I can tell you, my Emily is average—”
“Your Emily isn’t ‘your Emily,’ Mr. McBride!”
Both men swung around. Emily stood in the open doorway, her face pale except for two spots of crimson high on her cheeks.
“Oh, hell,” Jake said softly. “Emily. Emily, listen, I didn’t mean—”
“You did mean. And I don’t mind being called ‘average.’ It’s what I am.” Her hands bunched into fists, fists she hid in the folds of her tweed skirt. “But I am not your property. You may assume I have no life away from this office, but that does not give you the right to—”
