“That’s what makes you so good together,” Barbara countered.
“And I saw the way he looked at her,” Jan inserted thoughtfully. “Now tell us what happened and let us figure out the next strategy.”
Stephanie swallowed and shrugged. “If you must know, he kissed me.”
“And you’re complaining?”
“No, he was!”
“What?” All four looked at her as if she’d been working too much overtime.
“He kissed me, then immediately acted like he’d committed some terrible faux pas. The way he was looking at me, one would assume that I’d kissed him and he didn’t like it in the least. He was angry and unreasonable, and worse, he insulted me with an apology.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him never to let it happen again.”
A chorus of moans and groans followed.
“You didn’t!” Jan cried. “That was the worst thing you could have said.”
“Well, it was his own fault,” Stephanie flared, angry now. She’d been furious with him, and with herself. She’d liked it—in fact, she’d wished he had continued kissing her.
“Did you like it—the kiss I mean?” Toni looked at her hopefully.
Once again, Stephanie pretended to find her black coffee enthralling, and she centered her gaze on it. “Yes.”
“How do you feel about Mr. Lockwood?”
“I... I don’t know anymore.”
“But if he’d asked you to dinner, you would have accepted the invitation?”
“Probably.” Stephanie remembered the exhilaration in his eyes when he’d learned he’d gotten the permission of the French government to establish a branch of Lockwood Industries there. He worked so hard, and gave so much of himself to the business, that Stephanie experienced a sense of elation just watching him. She was happy for him and pleased to have played a small part in his triumph.
“But you can’t give up.”
“It was Jonas who did that,” Stephanie said sharply.
“But he hasn’t. Don’t you see that?”
Stephanie glanced around the table, thinking her co-workers were playing some kind of joke on her. “I don’t see it. Not at all.”
“She hasn’t read enough romances yet,” Jan said, defending her friend. “She doesn’t know.”
“Mr. Lockwood is definitely attracted to you,” Barbara claimed, with all the seriousness of a clinical psychologist. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have reacted to the kiss the way you described.”
“I’d hate to see how he’d react if he didn’t like me,” Stephanie said sarcastically. “I’m sorry, but it just isn’t going to work. I’ll even admit to being disappointed; he’s not so bad once you get to know him. In fact, I might even have enjoyed falling in love with him.” She admitted this at the expense of her own pride.
“It’s hardly over yet,” Maureen told her emphatically.
“Whose move is next?” Jan asked, looking around the table, seeking an answer from her peers.
“Mr. Lockwood’s,” Toni and Maureen said together, their heads nodding in unison.
“Definitely Lockwood’s.”
“Then I fear we’ve got a long wait coming,” Stephanie informed them, finishing her coffee. “A very long wait.”
“We’ll see.”
That same afternoon, Stephanie was typing at her desk when Jonas entered her office. He leaned heavily on his cane, waiting for her to notice him before he spoke.
Stephanie was aware of him the second he entered the room, but she finished the line she was typing before she turned her attention to the company president. Ignoring her pounding heart, she met his gaze squarely, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on her.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lockwood,” she said crisply. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Miss Coulter.” He paused and looked into Potter’s office. “Is your boss available?”
Jonas had to know that he wasn’t.
“Mr. Potter’s in Seattle.”
“Fine. Take a letter.” He pulled up the chair and sat beside her desk.
Stephanie reached automatically for her steno pad, then paused. “Is Miss Westheimer ill again?”
“She was healthy the last time I looked.”
“Then perhaps it would be better if she took your dictation.” She raised her chin to a defiant angle, thinking as she did that her behavior would upset her friends. But she didn’t care. She wouldn’t let Jonas Lockwood boss her around even at the cost of a good job. Stephanie’s hold on the pencil was so tight that it was a miracle it didn’t snap in half.
“Address the letter to Miss Stephanie Coulter.’’
“Me?”
“Dear Ms. Coulter,” he continued, ignoring her. “In thinking over the events of last evening, I am of the opinion that I owe you an apology.”
As fast as her fingers could move the pencil, Stephanie transcribed his words. Not until her brain had assimilated the message did she pause. “I believe you already expressed your regret,” she said stiffly. “You needn’t have worried, I didn’t take the kiss seriously.”