Taking the Score by Kate Meader

Author:Kate Meader [Meader, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2016-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“This is exactly what I meant by mooching, Brody.”

Emma stared at the array of pretty skirts and blouses and camisoles, not to mention the inordinate supply of skimpy lingerie and beautiful heels. Brody sat in one of the white leather armchairs, in weathered Levi’s and a button-down oxford, sporting a laptop on his knee and an air of unbothered-by-it-all. Kevin lay curled up at his feet, playing adoring lapdog instead of his usual ball of hiss.

Her cat was getting comfortable. She’d have to do something about that.

Realizing that she had a problem—no clothes but the crumpled suit she’d been wearing when summoned to the penthouse yesterday morning—she’d resolved to go out to her usual thrift store this morning armed with her last twenty bucks. As much as she’d love to work in Brody’s butter-soft tees, it was not an option. That’s when her boss presented another option, the kind that only richer-than-Trump people could indulge.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Your clothes were destroyed, and as much as I’d love to have you waltzing around the office naked, there’s probably some pesky Human Resources regulation against it. Just pick a few outfits to tide you over for the week.”

She let her gaze skitter back to the clothes and the two—because God forbid one should be enough—personal shoppers Brody had summoned to replace her wardrobe. They gave encouraging, bleached-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives smiles.

Everything was her correct size. “How did you know they would fit?” she asked them, fingering the label of a beautiful green suede skirt.

Before Colgate and Crest could answer, Brody chimed in. “I took a look at the shredded remains and asked for two sizes down. You have terrible taste in clothes, and you dress like my grandmother. I should have given you a clothing budget months ago so you could present a more professional face to our clients.”

“I am professional.” She stroked a silk bra, unprofessionally, enjoying the sensuous slide of it against her skin and trying not to let his casual words about her frumpy clothing bother her. “I just don’t dress like the rest of the office staff looking to grab the attention of Texas’s gift to Chicago.”

“Is that what they call me?”

“That’s what they call all of you. Like you have no idea how much heat you’re packing.”

He smirked at that.

Determined to wipe it off, she added, “Of course all the girls think you’re gay.”

Smirk, out. The male representative of the personal shopping pair regarded Brody with renewed interest.

“Why would they think that?”

“You don’t date. I manage your schedule and not once have you asked me to book a restaurant, make an excuse, or send apology flowers. No breathy admirers have ever called because they can’t get a hold of you on your cell.”

“So I keep my personal life personal. And I think we’ve dispelled the gay notion, don’t you?” He gave her a look of such heat it’s a wonder she didn’t melt into a gooey puddle of hormones on the spot.

She coughed, eager to recover her balance and send him off his.

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