From Boss to Bridegroom by Victoria Pade Page B

thanked Sadie for dinner, urged Max to do the same and left.
    But if she thought her stress for the evening was over when she stepped out into the cold night air to cross the few feet of sidewalk to her own town house next door, she was mistaken.
    Because an hour later, just as she was coming down the stairs from reading Max to sleep and tucking him in, there was a sharp knock on her front door that she somehow knew didn’t bode well.
    She took a deep breath and decided if Rand had changed his mind and decided to fire her tonight instead of tomorrow she’d just as soon get it over with.
    So, with her shoulders once again squared, she crossed the small entryway at the foot of the stairs and opened the door.
    Sure enough, Rand was outside, leaning one shoulder against the jamb as if she’d kept him waiting, his arms crossed over his expansive chest.
    She hadn’t taken notice of what he had on before, but she did now. Tan slacks, navy blue blazer, navyblue V-neck sweater over a cream-colored shirt with the collar button left open. As good as he looked in his expensive suits, he looked even better in the more casual attire.
    Except that his handsome face was still a thunder-cloud.
    â€œChange of plans?” she asked, not bothering with a greeting.
    â€œJust thought I’d stop by before I went home and find out why you lied to me,” he answered, his voice even deeper than usual and so low there was no chance of it waking Max. So low it was even more ominous than had he been shouting.
    But even though he wasn’t likely to wake the neighborhood, she still didn’t want to do this on the front stoop so she stepped aside and formally invited him in.
    When he was inside she closed the door and led the way into the living room to the left of the foyer. It was the one portion of the house that had no boxes left to be unpacked and the furniture positioned where it would stay.
    Lucy went to the bean-pot lamp on the antique oak end table beside her overstuffed plaid sofa and turned it on.
    â€œWould you like to sit?” she asked.
    But when she turned to see where Rand had landed she found him the same way he’d been outside—leaning a shoulder against the archway between the entry and the living room, his arms once againover his chest, his weight slung on one hip and his expression an expectant, direly solemn mask as he waited for an answer to his question.
    So Lucy cut to the chase.
    â€œI didn’t lie to you,” she said, taking her own stand behind the overstuffed chair that matched the sofa. “I just didn’t tell you about Max. As long as my being his mother doesn’t interfere with the job you’re paying me to do, he’s none of your business. And since I haven’t heard any complaints, I assume my having a child hasn’t caused a problem, has it?”
    Rand ignored the challenge in her tone. In fact, he seemed to ignore what she’d said. “I don’t like being lied to.”
    â€œNo one does. But you left it up to me, and I just opted to leave out the fact that I’m a parent.”
    â€œOmission is still a lie in my book.”
    â€œWell, in my book it’s an omission. And had you not come to dinner tonight, you would never have known there’d been one because I don’t let Max interfere with my work. As you’ve seen for yourself.”
    â€œI need you later than five in the evening and you won’t stay so you can get home to him. What do you call that?”
    â€œI call it a nine-hour workday if it starts at seven-thirty and I only take half an hour for lunch. I think that’s sufficient.”
    â€œNot if I need you longer.”
    Why had that sounded more personal than professional? Maybe she was just imagining it.
    â€œI’m not your permanent secretary, remember? I’m just the fill-in. You can stipulate whatever you like when you hire someone else, but with me this is the way things are. If you