Free Nothing Personal by Rosalind James Page B

there’s nothing to stop us. See, I read the policy, I didn’t just sign it. Brownie points for me.”
    “Good for you. And I’m sure you read the next paragraph too, about unwelcome advances. You’re allowed to ask once, and now you have, and I’ve answered.” She kept her tone even. She didn’t need to make another enemy here.
    He put up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right. I get it. But for the record, any advances you want to make would be welcome. Just to put it out there.”
    “It’s out there . Next item. Job description for your new marcom person. Let’s work it up, I’ll polish it and run it by you, and I’ll post it this afternoon.”
    To her relief, he picke d up the cue. Well, nobody could have called him stupid. A little persistent, maybe, but that was his job.
    They were deep into it when she heard the single knock at the half-open door, and saw Alec stepping inside. He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of today’s slacks—black, hugging his . . . physique very nicely indeed, and worn with a silvery-gray shirt that did wonders for his hair and skin.
    Oh, yeah, he was doing something with his wallet too. He pulled out a twenty, waved it in the air. “Any changes?”
    “ Mmm . . . no,” she admitted, his mock-concern teasing a smile from her.
    He p ut the bill back into its slot within the slim strip of black leather and shoved the whole thing into his back pocket again. “Too bad I didn’t set the terms better, but I’d say the next lunch is on you.”
    “It’s on the company credit card either way,” she pointed out. “All goes into the same category in the general ledger too. Which limits the scope of your victory considerably.”
    “ But I have the satisfaction of winning. Which is never to be underestimated.” He smiled down at her. “Got your energy bar today?”
    She reached into her desk drawer, waved the pale blue-wrapped packet triumphantly.
    “Not enough. Got to eat it too,” he reminded her.
    “Gotcha, boss.” She sketched a salute.
    He laughed again, then looked at Brandon. “Got a couple minutes later on? I had a flash on a visual in the shower this morning that I think is going to knock some socks off at the show next month.”
    Desiree had a flash on a visual of the shower that threatened to knock her socks off right now. She was suddenly very aware that she wasn’t wearing any. Socks, that is. That only a pair of very tiny underwear lay between . . . her . . . and Alec’s hand, should it choose to make its way under her skirt, up her thigh.
    Which it wouldn’t.
    “Sure,” Brandon said. “Soon as I’m done here.”
    Alec nodded again, rapped a farewell on the office door with a knuckle, and was gone.
    “That was cozy,” Brandon remarked.
    “What?” Desiree wiped the foolish smile off her face. “Just a joke.”
    “Having lunch with me isn’t appropriate, but having lunch with him is?”
    “Because you weren’t appropriate,” she pointed out. “I told you.”
    “And he is.”
    “What did he say just now that was inappropriate? That he wouldn’t have said to you?”
    Brandon snorted. “That’s his technique. Dude’s had more tail than a peacock. And that’s how he gets it. All casual and fun, just like that.”
    “Which is a totally inappropriate thing to say,” she replied sharply. “Let’s get back to this. Make sure you’re all set up by the time of that show, so you can knock some socks off.”
     
    But, she let herself remember once Brandon had left, dinner had been good. If it had been inappropriate, that had just been her traitorous imagination, getting away from her. Nothing Alec had done. Nothing at all.
    He’d called a cab before he’d even ridden down the elevator with her, and it had been waiting by the time they’d left the lobby. Which had been awfully nice , and the place he’d taken her had been even nicer.
    North Beach. More white tablecloths, more waiters. She’d have been impressed by how well