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between his brows.

      “Yes, sir.”

      He was still staring at her, eyes narrowed slightly. “On Friday.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “During the shareholder’s meeting?”

      She had his full attention now and she felt oddly warm, and very uncomfortable, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I’ve found a replacement,” she said, her voice cracking, her composure cracking. “She’s highly qualified, shorthand, word processing, data processing—”

      “No. Sorry,” he cut her mercilessly off. “Reimburse yourself for the ticket from petty cash and leave me a copy of the ticket voucher.”

      Mr. Grady picked up the phone again and rapidly dialed a new number. Clearly he was done talking. “And those faxes, Winnie, you’ll see to those immediately?”

      Morgan Grady watched the rigid lines of Winnie Graham’s back as she marched from his office, her sensible one-inch black heels clicking across his floor, her dark glasses sliding low on her nose.

      “Shut the door, if you would,” he added pleasantly, picking up the phone again.

      She reached for the doorknob and her brown tweedy blazer gaped, exposing her severe cream blouse with the wing collar. The tweedy blazer wasn’t appropriate for the heavy heat of June, and the cream blouse didn’t flatter her complexion, but then, nothing she wore was fashionable and that suited him just fine. Work was work. Pleasure was pleasure. The lines never crossed.

      Yet he couldn’t help noting a faint tremor in her hand and he’d have to be a moron to not recognize that she was upset.

      Well, that made two of them.

      He knew exactly why she wanted the day off Friday and it made him madder than hell.

      Miss Graham, his quiet unassuming Miss Graham had an interview scheduled on Friday in South Carolina.

      His assistant was looking for another job when she was needed here. When he needed her here.

      The press were digging into his past, looking for tidbits as if it were King Tut’s tomb. They were making calls, investigating leads, trying to find out if Morgan Grady was really the fairy-tale story he appeared to be.

      Morgan smiled grimly. Fairy-tale life? Hardly. But the details of his past belonged to him and even now, twenty-five years after being adopted, he still knew the stigma that came with being from Roxbury instead of Beacon Hill.

      The Gradys were saints, he thought, swallowing hard. They’d known from the beginning who he was, where he came from, and they’d taken him in anyway. They’d made him one of them. Gave him their name, their love, their security, and it had been wonderful, but now the spotlight was intensifying and the heat was becoming unbearable. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his past, but he didn’t want Big Mike to take any credit, or get the attention, or savor his son’s success.

      The only way to juggle the pressure of personal and professional was to keep a tight rein on his emotions, to remain focused, to stay on schedule.

      And no one but no one was better than Winnie Graham at keeping him on task.

      She knew her job. She was the best damn secretary he’d had in years, and after going through a half dozen in less than a year, he’d like to keep her, thank you very much.

      Morgan stared at the closed door for a moment, remembering the pinched expression at Miss Graham’s mouth and briefly considered calling her back in.

      But what would he say then? I know you’re job hunting and I don’t want you to leave? Absolutely not.

      He was the boss. She was the executive assistant. He made the decisions. She implemented them.

      Impatiently he reached for the phone, placed another call, feeling the intense pressure he’d been under for months. In the last year his business had skyrocketed. Work was nothing short of insane. The sheer volume, and value of the deals, staggered him.

      Winnie Graham couldn’t leave. He needed her. Depended on her. Give Miss Graham Friday off? Not a chance.

      Back at her desk, face still burning, Winnie numbly copied and faxed the documents Mr. Grady gave her before swiftly sorting through the afternoon’s e-mails accumulating in her in-box.

      She worked on automatic pilot, answering the most urgent e-mails, forwarding what was necessary and printing out the spreadsheets required even as her mind raced.

      She couldn’t, wouldn’t, miss the job interview.

      She could go back in and argue about leave time again, or she could just not show up Friday morning. It wasn’t as if Mr. Grady didn’t have other secretaries on the staff able to cover for her. Grady Investments was made up of a team of seventeen, which included the two assistants for the research analysts and the two assistants for the traders.

      She was not essential on Friday. Any one of the other assistants could take notes, pour coffee, and smile grimly. Although the other secretaries would probably be delighted to assist Mr. Grady, she reflected, gritting her teeth in disgust. Everybody loved Mr. Grady.

      Including her.

      There, the truth. She’d admitted it at last. The reason she couldn’t stay: Winnie couldn’t bear having her heart stepped on anymore. It was time to get smart. Time to think about self-preservation.

      Winnie’s head began to pound and her stomach chose that moment to rumble. She’d just started a new diet—her third attempt this summer—and she still hadn’t gotten used to working from lunch to dinner without the midafternoon cookie or candy bar. What she needed was some fresh air and something cold to drink.

      Winnie reached into her top right desk drawer and scooped out her wallet before taking the elevator to the forty-second floor, and changed to the express elevator that whisked her to lobby level in less than ten seconds. It was a drastic free-for-all in her tummy and she swallowed hard when the elevators slid open a second time.

      Life with Morgan Grady was a bit like riding the Tower elevators: a giddy ride up and down but nothing solid in between.

      Yet after six months of wild rides, she was ready to get off.

      She wanted a job with decent hours, solid benefits, and an elderly boring boss so she could sleep again at night.

      Outside, Winnie drew a short breath, momentarily blindsided by the heat and noise. As she walked to the hot dog vendor on the corner, a truck roared past, followed by a dozen streaking yellow cabs, half leaning on their horns.

      Winnie bought a can of icy soda and popped the top on her way back to the Tower’s entrance. It was midafternoon and Manhattan’s skyscrapers had already reduced the light into little grids of sun and shadow on the sidewalk.

      When she announced she was moving to New York to work, her family had predicted she wouldn’t survive a month. Instead she’d lasted over four years.

      She didn’t particularly want to leave Manhattan now, but she needed distance from Morgan and all her impossible, outrageous fantasies. At night she dreamed of him over and over and it only made reality worse.

      Morgan Grady would never go for her. He dated socialites, models and actresses. Not pudgy secretaries who stuttered when nervous.

      The Tower’s revolving glass door turned and a woman Winnie only knew as Tiffany, joined her on the sidewalk in front of the building.

      “It’s that time of day,” Tiffany said, tapping out a cigarette and lighting up. She was tall, slender, with lots of blond highlights in her hair. She looked like the type that had tried to model in high school. “Just three more hours.”

      Winnie felt a stab of envy. “You go home at five?”

      “Most of the time. If I’m lucky.” Tiffany dragged on the cigarette and exhaled. She cast Winnie a bored glance. “Where do you work?”

      “On

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