Denise Jenkins loomed over him from a height of maybe five and a half feet. Her hair had pulled free of her ponytail in dark, silky locks and hung limply around a face red with exertion, while her sleeveless tank top was plastered to her firm body with the same sweat that slid down her slender neck in droplets. Her fingers were locked around the handle of her racquet, the knuckles white as she gasped for air through an open mouth. He envied her the energy required to sink down onto her haunches and give him a smug smile. She was gorgeous.
“Don’t you...just hate...to be bested...by a woman?” she asked between puffs of breath.
He left his racquet on his chest and managed to stack his hands beneath his head. “Naw,” he said panting for air. “Not me.” He took another puff. “I love a woman who-” and another puff can hold her own.”
“Hold her own?” She finally released her grip on her racquet and used it for support as she pushed up to her full height. “I beat you...in case you weren’t counting.”
“I was counting,” he said, managing to push himself up onto his arms, the heels of his hands braced against the floor. “Next time I’ll be sure I’m fresh.”
“No next time,” she said flatly. “You had your shot. One’s all you get.”
Morgan came up to balance one forearm on a knee. “Afraid I’ll take you if we play again?”
She shook her head, catching the rubber band as her thick, shoulder-length hair slid free. “You aren’t listening. We won’t play again. And if I find out that you’ve used my name to get into the gym again, I’ll report you.”
He chuckled. “You do that. But it kind of begs the question, doesn’t it?”
“What question?”
“Was it skill and stamina or pure luck?”
She pointed a stern finger at him. “I beat you fair and square.”
“Agreed. But can you do it again?”
She went down on her haunches once more, her weight balanced easily on the balls of her feet this time. “You just don’t get it, do you? We’re not chums, you and I, bashing a ball around the court in a friendly game. We’re landlord and tenant and nothing more.”
“That’s easily corrected,” he said smoothly. “How about dinner?”
Her face went perfectly rigid before she pushed up to stand over him again. “No, thanks.”
“Aw, come on, Denise. What’s a guy got to do to get on with you?”
She gave him a bored look and turned away, saying, “I’m not in a dating mode, if you must know. My job takes up most of my time.”
“I used to be like that,” he said cryptically, leaning back and crossing one ankle over the other. That piqued her interest enough to make her glance over one shoulder.
“Oh, really? What happened? You miss the big promotion?”
He just grinned at that. “Why don’t you come to dinner and find out?”
She rolled her eyes and moved toward the door. “I have enough to do just keeping up with my own career, thank you. Oh, and by the way—” she turned back to smile at him “—your dog has a habit of leaving large, smelly gifts on my front walk. See to it that he stops, will you?” With that she opened the door and strode through it, leaving him weak and disappointed. Worse yet, he was discouraged. He was fresh out of ideas how to get next to Denise Jenkins—ideas and, it seemed, opportunity.
Denise closed the door to Chuck’s office and took a deep breath, carefully keeping her facial expression stern. It wouldn’t do to show the staff that old Chuck had managed to get to her. Again. Man, she’d like to push a fist into that smug, jowly face.
Looking hot today, honey. The coolest ones in the boardroom are the hottest in the bedroom. Soften the blow and flash him a little something when you do it.
She closed her eyes momentarily, dreading what she had to do. Trust Chuck to make her his hatchet man and to insult her in the process. For five cents she’d file a sexual harassment suit against him. But then she could kiss goodbye any chance of advancement, and she’d worked too hard to lose out now. Squaring her shoulders, she strode smoothly through the secretarial pool and into one of several nondescript corridors that opened into cubicle after cubicle, each as cell-like and cramped as the last. When she reached the one she sought, she rapped lightly on the empty door frame and waited for the young man inside to look up and smile at her.
“Ms. Jenkins!”
“Ken, I need a word with you please.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
Denise would not allow herself to smile, though the impulse to soften the blow, even to derail it, was strong. “Not here. Meet me in my office. Five minutes all right?”
She watched the implications sink in and tried not to think that Ken Walters was a young married man with a baby. According to Chuck, that was the problem. Ken wasn’t giving it his all. He’d let family concerns get in the way of business. Never mind that the baby had been born prematurely with a heart ailment and this after Ken and his wife had already lost one stillborn child. It was true that Ken hadn’t exactly set sales records, but surely that was understandable given the circumstances. Sales were all that counted in this business, but had it been her call to make, she’d have transferred Ken to a less stressful job until he felt able to give it his all again. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her call-just her task. She strode back to her office, viciously determined to do what she could for Walters.
He barely gave her time to get off the phone. She was just hanging up the receiver when he opened the door and walked in, not bothering to have himself announced by her secretary and, thereby, letting her know that he was well aware what was coming. She didn’t beat around the bush. He obviously didn’t want that.
“I’m sorry, Ken. I know it’s unfair, but I have to let you go.”
He paled and ducked his head, balled hands going into his trouser pockets. “Damn it!”
She hit the button on the intercom. “Betty, bring in that letter the moment it’s ready.” She turned back to Ken Walters. “Sit down. I’m having my secretary prepare a letter of recommendation, and I’ve taken the liberty of making an appointment for you with a business acquaintance in Rogers.” She smiled lamely. “Didn’t think you’d mind.” She pushed at him a piece of paper on which she’d written the details, trying to ignore the look of amazement on his face as he gingerly lowered himself into the indicated chair and pulled the paper toward him. It seemed to take forever for him to read the few words written there.
Denise cleared her throat and went on briskly. “I know insurance will be a problem because of your baby’s preexisting health problems, but I’ve taken that into account. I happen to know that both companies use the same insurer, and I’ll do what I can—quietly—to see that you’re fully covered.” For the first time, she let herself smile. “Just don’t blow the interview. I’ve opened the door but getting inside is still up to you. Understood?”
Ken Walters carefully folded the paper and slipped it into his coat pocket before looking up, eyes beaming gratitude. “It’s a shame,” he said quietly, “that no one around here knows what a nice person you are. You must have to work very hard at keeping it hidden.”
She gulped, surprised by the lump that rose in her throat, and said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to anyone.”
Nodding, he got to his feet. “Don’t worry. I won’t blow your cover.”
She smiled indulgently at that, fingers templed against