that bad?â
He didnât immediately reply, but from the grim set of his mouth she could guess what he was thinking. Finally he allowed, âSheâs onlyâwhat? Twenty-two? Thatâs pretty young.â
She knew she should let it go at that. But somehow, she couldnât. âYou didnât answer my question.â
His expression turned pained. âLook, Iââ He paused, then admitted, âIâm sorry. I know youâre loyal to your sister. But the simple fact is, sheâs not working out.â
It was much worse than that, though Ross didnât say so.
The real truth was, Trish Taylor was driving him right up the wall.
He probably should have known the girl was hopeless from the first. But then, he was accustomed to working in a major firm, where Personnel carefully screened applicants before he ever talked to them.
At first meeting, sheâd seemed bright; sheâd lacked experience, but heâd thought she would learn fast. And she was attractive. When heâd interviewed her, sheâd worn a nice dark blue business suit; her looks, heâd decided, would be a real plus in terms of an office image. How could he have known that as soon as Trish Taylor had the job, sheâd go back to the too-short denim skirts and the dangling Lily Mae Wheeler-type earrings she obviously preferred?
And her office skills?
She didnât have any. The girl had graduated frombusiness school in Bozeman. Her résumé had claimed she knew shorthand and typed sixty words a minute. Unfortunately, she couldnât seem to decipher her shorthand after she took it. And heâd seen her type. He could type faster, using only two fingers. She was always losing filesâin her desktop computer and in the row of legal-sized file cabinets that lined the wall to the right of her work area.
Lynn was looking down into the amber depths of her brandy. âMaybe if you talked to herâ¦?â
God, he did not want to discuss this with her.
But she wouldnât give it upâany more than she would look into his eyes right then. âRoss. Have you talked to her?â
âYes. I have.â
Heâd talked to Trish, all right. More than once. A week ago heâd finally told her frankly that sheâd better concentrate harder on her workâor look for another job. It hadnât done any good.
Ross knew the main problem; heâd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to know it. Trish Taylor had a flaming crush on him. Instead of doing her job, she spent her working hours gazing off into nowhere with dreamy eyes, blushing every time he asked her to bring him a file and scheming over new ways to get him chatting about his private life.
Secretary falls for boss. The oldest cliché in the book. Except the way the cliché usually went, the secretary actually knew how to type. And she also had the tact and grace never to let her feelings show unless she received some indication that they might be returned. Not so with Trish Taylor.
And Lynn still wasnât looking at him.
âAre you going to stare into that glass forever?âhe asked, trying for a light tone and not succeeding all that well.
Lynn made herself look into his eyes again.
This is totally inappropriate, she told herself. Inappropriate and unacceptable. I should not be standing here in this manâs bedroom, sipping his brandy, while he tells me heâs going to fire my sister any day now.
âI think weâd better go back downstairs.â She spun on her heel and headed for the hall.
âLynn.â
She froze, but she didnât turn around.
He spoke to her back. âThere is nothing at all between your sister and me. Iâm her boss and sheâs my employee. And thatâs all.â
âItâs none of my business.â She tried to start walking again.
And again he said, âLynn.â
âWhat?â She whirled back to face him then, glaring.
âDo
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