Page 43 of Her Boss, Her Rancher: Sunrise On The Ranch

She slipped out of the main foot traffic thoroughfare and leaned against the closed iron-grated windows of an electronics shop. Her lungs worked like bellows, her breath condensing on the crisp air. She closed her eyes at the sting of tears.

She’d wanted everything she’d experienced at the Covington ranch—a successful business, a house that was a home and family inside those four walls.Family.She had no idea how to make it happen. Sure, she could get pregnant, but that wasn’t the type of family unit she wanted, craved, needed. Those three factors, down to the last emotional kernel each word held, had roused her dreams of having a family of her own one day.

She’d wasted enough time waiting to be sure of her next step, had spent far too long worried about being wrong again. She had to reclaim her life and put her goals in motion once more and assume responsibility for every aspect of life. Starting now.

Emma rejoined the heavy foot traffic and rounded the corner to her office building, absently greeting the doorman. Filing into the next available elevator, she called out, “Fourteen,” when someone near the button panel asked for floors.

The elevator started its way up, depositing her on the fourteenth floor. Her company held one half of this floor. There were three additional floors above her, and while she’d busted her butt to get where she was today, yet it had always hovered near the back of her mind that she wouldn’t be content until her company worked out of the top floor.

After this morning’s revelation, the whole idea seemed wasteful. Life was more than which floor a person occupied, what her bank ledger showed, how profitable her company was on Dunn & Bradstreet, and more. This was just one more thing that would change—this insane pursuit of perfection. She didn’t know what she’d expected would happen if she ever attained it. Maybe her parents would contact her from the great beyond to share their approval and pride?

“Not likely, Graystone,” she murmured, walking down the hall.

Footfalls silent on the plush carpet, she entered Suite 1410. Immediately the sound of her footsteps changed, her heels now clicking across the marble-tiled lobby, past reception with a friendly good morning and down the hardwood halls to her corner office.

“Hey, Sabra,” Emma said, holding out the extra coffee she’d carried in for her personal assistant.

“You brought me a caramel soy mocha latte. Therefore, I am your willing minion on this crisp Monday morn,” the woman intoned, eyes closed in bliss.

Emma laughed. “We should do a little career planning. I’ve left you behind this desk too long.”

Sabra’s eyes flashed wide. “What? Oh. Oh! That would be great. I’m available at your convenience. Just say when.”

It felt good to leave the other woman grinning. What followed wasn’t going to be nearly as pleasant. “Do me a favor and ask Michael to come down, would you? I want to talk to him before the day gets any older.” Sabra opened her mouth to comment, but Emma gave a single shake of her head. “I don’t want you to get involved in what might turn ugly. Please make the call and tell him I want him in my office in the next five minutes.”

The raw emotion of Emma’s request made Sabra move quickly and quietly to her workstation.

With heavily moderated movements, Emma crossed her office and stared out the nearest floor-to-ceiling window. Below her, sidewalks teamed with people, the street was full of black and yellows and street vendors hawked coffee and pastries to those who’d missed breakfast. The city was so alive, and she pulled on its energy as she mentally composed the very things she’d put off saying for months.

A sharp knock preceded the opening of her office door before she had a chance to offer an invitation to enter. Michael Anderson strode in, his face passive, his eyes not. “Before you say anything, you should know that I’m well aware you’ve been working on what’s supposed to be a closed account.”

“I’m going to assume you’re referring to the Covington account, though I’m not sure why you’ve taken such a personal interest in how I handled it.” Emma slipped into her chair and crossed her legs, casually resting her elbows on her armrests and steepling her fingers in front of her.

“I had my doubts about giving you that account in the first place, and my doubts were confirmed. After your frankly unethical behavior at the ranch, my legwork was the only thing that saved the firm extreme embarrassment.”

Did he know what had happened between her and Cade? Had hefollowed up with the Covingtons under the pretense of ensuring their satisfaction and found out what had really happened? It was the only way any of them might have spoken about her involvement with Cade.The thought didn’t sit right with her, though. The Covingtons kept their family issues to themselves and, for a very short time, Cade had made her part of that group. No, there had to be a different reason he’d claimed she’d behaved inappropriately. Maybe one of the cowboys had talked? But their loyalty ran deep, too. Perhaps a contractor? In the end, it didn’t matter. She had a card up her sleeve, too.

“I had my doubts about you, too. So I asked our accountant to pay special attention to your reports over the last few months.”

He shut the door with more force than necessary before storming forward, planting his fists on her desk and looming over her.

Before he could speak, she leaned her chair back and let a small, indifferent smile play over her face. “Power moves don’t impress me, Michael. They never have. Take a seat or get out,” she said with soft assurance.

He slowed his breathing and pushed off her desk. He stood and straightened his jacket and tie before gracefully sinking into one of the chairs opposite her. “I’m sure he found my work to be without reproach.Yourbehavior, on the other hand, was a direct contradiction to the hard line you and I agreed we’d take regarding personal involvement with clients. I’m your vice president, Emma, and you owe me an explanation.”

“And just what, exactly, do you believe you know about my behavior?” she asked, her tone far less moderated, far more lethal than she’d intended. When he didn’t respond, Emma focused on her fingertips, fighting to keep them pressed together to disguise the fact her hands shook. “Given the fact you’ve worked for me for seven years, I’m quite shocked you have nothing to say. Or maybe it’s just easier to foster gossip behind my back before you actually try to take me out with it.”

Michael stared at her, his face cold, fine lines showing at both the corners of his thinned lips and narrowed eyes.

She might have bought the cold shoulder of offense if sweat wasn’t already beading at his hairline, or if the foot he’d crossed over his knee hadn’t begun to vibrate rapidly, rhythmically. Those two things revealed everything she needed to know. “Your tells give you away.” Dropping her hands, she pushed to stand and walked around her desk. Closing in on him, she rested one hip on the corner and let a leg dangle, her hands gripping the desk’s edge. “Go on, say it to my face.”

He tugged at his shirtsleeves and stood, moving to put the chair between them so he was farther out of her reach. “When I was reviewing your binders, I found the letter. The one that outlines your failure to operate in good faith.”

A letter.The impact of that simple statement rocked her so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Fighting to remain completely neutral, she vowed to herself to get that letter back. First? She was going to deal with this SOB.

Leaning toward him, her bared teeth were more threat than smile. “You’re going to produce that letter immediately, or I’ll be filing a professional complaint with the Global Alliance for Public Relations and Communications Management before lunch.”

“You can’t file against your own employee,” he sputtered. “You’ll implicate the firm.”