Griffin nodded wisely. That was the way he hoped it looked, at any rate, but he couldn’t be sure he was pulling it off. What in hell was the old guy babbling about?
He liked Charlie. But his mind was on other things. Like putting on a good showing at the convention that started tomorrow in Miami. Like landing a couple of big accounts with Data Bytes’s new financial database program, to put the company back in the black.
Like figuring out why a woman as gorgeous as Dana Anderson should be so impossible.
Griffin frowned. Why waste time thinking about her? She was gorgeous, yeah, but she was nothing but a pain in the rear. If only she’d admit she didn’t know everything, and do what she was told.
Not that he could imagine that happening. The perfect Ms. Anderson taking orders? And from a man? He almost laughed.
Still, there had to be some guy out there, somewhere, who could tame her. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it to turn all that anger and fire and single-minded determination into passion, the sort of passion beautiful women were meant to experience.
“...Just said that the two of ’em were pretty little things. I suppose her poodle is, too.”
Griffin dragged his thoughts back to Charlie. The poor guy was really worked up, but about what? Griffin was no closer to an answer now than he’d been when the old fellow first came bustling through the door five minutes ago, with the ferocious Miss Macy snapping at his heels. The woman was a leftover from prior management and insisted on defending the door to his office with the zeal of a junkyard dog, despite all his reminders that Data Bytes’s employees were free to see him, anytime, anyplace, about anything.
“...Wife’s sister had a poodle once. Nasty little thing it was, all teeth and a bark high enough to make your ears ring.”
Griffin nodded in sympathy. He leaned forward, picked up his pen and scribbled a note on the pad Macy had centered neatly on his desk blotter.
“Early retirement package for Macy?” he wrote. “Put junkyard dog out to pasture.” Which was a mixed metaphor if ever he’d seen one. It was just that Charlie kept going on about dogs...
Griffin focused his attention on the old man who surely deserved it, considering that he’d made it past Macy, and with his mop and scrub bucket still in his hands.
“...Best come straight to you, sir, seein’ as you said there was an open door policy. Right?”
“Right. Absolutely.” Griffin cleared his throat. “Although, actually, I’m not quite certain what the problem seems to—”
“Well, sir, the young lady thinks I insulted her and maybe even her poodle. And I didn’t.”
Griffin rubbed his hand across his forehead. This was what came of defying your own advisors, all of whom thought he was crazy to go in and spend a couple of months at the helm of each company he purchased. He’d always disagreed...until now.
“Who knows what she’ll do? Complain to you, I s’pose. All this nonsense I read, about sexual harrass...whatever.” Charlie looked stricken. “She had this real angry look in her eyes—green, they are, and cold as can be.”
An icy draft seemed to waft across the back of Griffin’s neck. “She has green eyes?”
“Yes, sir. It had been on the tip of my tongue to tell her they were the color of emeralds but, thank the saints, I never got that far. Anyways, I thought I might do well to come and talk with you.”
“And the lady’s name?” Griffin asked, though he knew. Dammit, he knew.
“Her friend called her—did I mention there were two young ladies, Mr. McKenna?”
“Yes. Yes, you did. What did her friend call her, Charlie?”
“Dana. And if I never see the woman again, it’ll be way too soon. You understand, sir?”
Did he understand? Griffin smiled tightly as he rose to his feet and offered Charlie his hand.
“I hope I did the right thing, comin’ to you, sir,” Charlie said. “I don’t want to get the girl—the woman—in any trouble, you understand.”
“Wipe her from your mind, Charlie. You won’t have any more problems with Dana Anderson.”
“You’ll have a talk with her, will you? Tell her I didn’t mean to insult her dog?”
“Indeed,” Griffin said as he eased the old man out the door and shut it after him.
Oh, yes. He’d have a talk with Ms. Dana Anderson. Damn right, he would. The woman was trying to make Dave look bad, and now she’d upset a nice old man. She was Trouble with a capital T, and eliminating trouble was what Griffin did best.
Whistling softly between his teeth, he strolled to his desk. His glance fell on the note he’d made about Macy. With a sigh, he grabbed it, crumpled it up and slam-dunked it into the wastepaper basket.
Macy was a dragon, but she was a dragon who knew how to do her job.
Dana Anderson was a different story. Let her go make life difficult for somebody else. Let her bake cakes, or sew curtains, take dictation or type letters, let her do a woman’s job instead of storming into the business world and making trouble. And if she couldn’t accept her rightful place in life, then she could go find a bunch of leftover female twit-heads from the seventies, rip off her bra and burn it.
Griffin caught his breath. An image filled his mind. He saw Dana standing beside a blazing fire, her green eyes locked to his as she let down that mass of streaked golden hair and then, with heart-stopping slowness, took off not just her bra but every stitch she wore, until she had nothing on except her own soft, rose-flushed skin.
Naked, she’d be even lovelier than he’d dreamed. And yes, dammit, he had dreamed of her, though it galled him to admit it.
Griffin shut his eyes. The image was so real. He could feel the heat of the fire and hear the soft beat of drums somewhere off in the darkness of the night. He could see Dana smile, then run the tip of her tongue across her lips. Her hands lifted; she thrust them into her hair. Her head fell back and she began to dance. For him. Only for him...
Griffin blinked, cursed, and grabbed for the telephone.
“Miss Macy,” he barked. “Send Dana Anderson in here, on the double.”
“Mr. Forrester’s here. He wants to see you, sir.”
“All right, send him in. And then get hold of the Anderson woman.”
“Of course, sir.”
Griffin sat down. He’d give Forrester five minutes, although, to tell the truth, the man was becoming an annoyance. Still, there was no harm in a little delay. In fact, it would make what came next all the sweeter, when he finally gave the blonde with the green eyes and the disposition of a wet tabby cat exactly what she’d been asking for.
Smiling, he tipped back his chair and put his feet up on his desk.
The mere thought of the Anderson babe cooling her heels on the unemployment line was enough to make his day.
CHAPTER TWO
DANA was neck-deep in work.
Unfortunately, none of it was hers. She was too busy fixing up Dave’s disasters to pay any attention to her own stuff.
Her tiny cubicle was crowded with files, and her desk was strewn with papers. Memos fought for space with a clutter of computer disks and Styrofoam cups. “The Neat Freak,” Dave had dubbed her long before he’d gotten his promotion, but neatness had gone the way of the dodo bird. How could you be neat, when the world was crashing down around your ears?
She’d