Christmas to commence with the wreckage. But with Valentine’s Day less than two months away, Melanie wished he’d put it off for another seven weeks. That he’d wined and dined Loretta and gifted her with some roses and chocolates before waltzing off into the sunset.
Yeah, that would have been perfect, and so much easier on Loretta and Melanie.
Melanie’s gaze landed on the note again, and she groaned. Giving advice that stayed on the right side of the line shouldn’t be so difficult. And now… Well, there was a better-than-average chance she was about to be fired.
Maybe she’d be lucky and Kurt would assign someone else as the advice columnist and let her focus on her other tasks. It wasn’t as if becoming the next Dear Abby was her lifetime goal. In truth, the only reason she’d accepted the position was to get her foot in the door. It had taken her nearly five years after earning her degree to get this job.
She’d considered herself fortunate to receive any offer. Especially with the undeniable fact that newspapers were laying off more people than they were hiring. So yes, she’d jumped at the position, even though her duties were mostly administrative in nature. Other than her column, she spent her time researching information and fact-checking for other staff members.
Swearing under her breath, Melanie grabbed the bright yellow Post-it and crumpled it in her fist. What would she do if Kurt fired her? She had little to no savings—not because she spent money carelessly, but because she didn’t earn that large of a paycheck to begin with—and between her car payment and rent, she barely managed to make ends meet.
She could ask her mother for a loan, but that might squeeze her an extra month at most. Her mom’s salon was successful, but not successful enough to support both of them for very long. Melanie tossed the balled-up note into the trash, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes in an attempt to ignore her building panic. In all likelihood, she was screwed.
“Out partying too late last night, Mel?”
The rich, melodic voice eased into her like sunshine on a cool day. The fact that such a voice came from such a man only served to irritate her more. Without opening her eyes, she said, “Not hardly. That’s your game, Jace.”
“That’s where you have me wrong. I don’t play games.”
She cracked one eye open and immediately wished she hadn’t. She’d never before come across a man who got to her the way Jace Foster did. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, tight hips, long legs, chiseled cheekbones and dark-chocolate eyes that promised long, sultry nights filled with tantalizing sex. She’d wanted him—no, she corrected herself, she’d yearned for him—from the moment they met. But dipping her toe into the water of the office’s resident playboy was a mistake she refused to make. Tenacity wasn’t the only lesson she’d learned from her mother, and Jace definitely fell in the “too” category.
“Go away,” she said, closing her eye again. “I’m thinking.”
“Go ahead and think, darlin’. I’m happy to wait…and watch.”
Melanie felt him approach, heard him slide himself up on her desk, but she ignored him. Well, she tried to. She did okay until she heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a pencil tapping. Damn it!
“I know you don’t see women thinking very often, so while I understand the appeal, I’d prefer to be left alone,” she said.
He laughed, a deep rolling sound that unhinged something tight inside of her. And how frustrating was that? “I’m supposed to tell you that Kurt wants to see you posthaste,” Jace drawled. “Did you do something to irritate the head honcho?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Since when did you become Kurt’s assistant? Are you bringing him his coffee now, too?”
“Just passing the message along, like he asked.” Glints of humor, and something else, shone brightly in Jace’s eyes. As if he had a secret. He knew something, and he couldn’t wait for her to find out what that something was. She was sure of it.
“Spill it. What’s going on?”
Jace tucked the pencil behind one ear, his longish black hair covering most of it. Holding both hands in front of him, as if giving up the fight, he said, “Go talk to the boss. We’ll talk when you’re done.”
Standing, she planted her hands on either side of Jace and leaned in close. The spicy scent of his cologne began a curl of heat deep in her belly. “What’s going on?” she repeated.
“I said—” his head tilted forward “—go talk to the boss first.” He brought one hand up, his fingers touching her temple, and the heat of it forced a tremble that began at her toes.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered. A series of shivers stole over her, and for a breath-stealing second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Here. In the middle of the workplace. And why in Heaven’s name was that idea so appealing?
Full lips turned upward at the corners in a smile that had surely charmed dozens, if not hundreds, of women before her. His fingers brushed back until they tugged gently at her hair. “I’m wondering when singed hair became the newest fashion statement, Mello Yello.”
In an instant, the desire she’d began to feel evaporated. Pushing herself away, she centered herself by crossing her arms. “Bad morning. Is it about to get worse?”
“Depends on your definition of worse.”
She angled her head toward Kurt’s office. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
Jace blinked long, sooty lashes in feigned innocence before shoving himself off her desk. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said over his shoulder as he sauntered away.
Without fully realizing it, she watched him as he walked off, his long-legged gait one of lazy sexuality. How many women had been lulled into his bed by the look of those legs in tightly fitted denim? By the crazy, heart-pumping want of unbuttoning his jeans and stripping them off of him, one leg at a time? Far too many, she was sure. And all of them had likely believed in happily-ever-afters and all too easily had visualized Jace as their knight in shining armor. Well, not her. She would never become a notch on Jace Foster’s belt.
Battling the annoyance rising up, she inhaled a mouthful of air. The sound of a throat clearing caught her off guard.
“You want to have this discussion out here, or shall we go to my office?” asked Kurt, now standing in front of her desk. “Either works for me, but you might appreciate some privacy for this conversation.”
Yep. She was going to be fired. “Your office. I was just on my way,” Melanie replied, nervous all over again. “Just let me grab my notebook—”
“Don’t need it.” He turned on his heel with the confidence of a man in charge, knowing she’d fall in behind. Not that Kurt Winslow was a bad guy, because he wasn’t. But he was most certainly the boss, and the people who worked for him respected and feared him in equal measures.
Well, except for Jace. He respected Kurt well enough but seemed to fear nothing.
She waited two beats before following, trepidation existing in every step. She’d learned within her first week of employment that the best way to deal with Kurt was to stand behind her work. He didn’t like simpering. He despised wishy-washiness. She took a careful step into his office and sent a silent prayer upward that this would be quick and relatively painless.
Kurt glowered at her from behind his desk. His too-small-for-his-face blue eyes narrowed when he saw her hovering. “Close the door behind you.”
“Can we do this later? I have to—”
“Now, Melanie. You’ve gone too far this time.”
With a sigh, she stepped farther into his office and shut the door. “I’m almost done with next week’s column,” she said, hoping if she started with the positive, she could derail the negative. The advice column was due each