The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps! Read Free Page A

workload.
    Job security just wasn’t enough anymore. Who had she been kidding convincing herself that achieving budget was the kind of professional achievement she’d been craving her whole life?
    Sigh.
    She dumped the empty tray into the sink and reached for the chopping knife.
    * * *
    When he’d set out tonight to get his way with a woman it wasn’t this woman he’d had in mind. And not this kind of way , either.
    Still, Harry considered as he flattened his palm against the firm ass presently resident inhis lap, things could definitely be worse. Maybe he could indulge Matahari, here, just ten more minutes. Spend a bit of time with a flesh-and-blood woman.
    One who was happy to see him.
    Plus, he didn’t know anyone here and he was grateful for the smokescreen while he carried out essential reconnaissance on Izzy Dean.
    Isadora.
    He’d almost pity her that if he weren’t so angry at being here.
    A diva didn’t get any less diva-ish just because she was good at her job. Or good to look at. And she was, in a lanky, Keira Knightley kind of way. The glass walls of his office had given him plenty of opportunity to conduct an assessment when she was otherwise engaged. Or when she wasn’t. And he’d used them to the fullest.
    He’d been grooming Dean to replace him when he moved on at the end of his stint, but after Wednesday’s spectacular meltdown…
    Let her walk.
    The firm could well do without high-maintenance attention seekers.
    Yet here he was, cap in bloody hand, sent to persuade her to reconsider, because she’dwalked on his watch. Which apparently made getting her back his responsibility.
    The tense anger of Broadmore’s human resources director, Rifkin, yesterday afternoon echoed back at him. Implying, but never saying outright, that Dean’s hasty departure was somehow his fault. As if her inability to accept constructive criticism and cede to authority weren’t the bulk of the problem. He’d argued that, but Rifkin had challenged him with a list of staff they’d lost since he’d come aboard and asked how they could all develop such terminal flaws after years of working together well.
    Implication: his fault.
    Harry’s interpretation: dead wood, well rid of.
    Just because someone had been around for a while didn’t mean they were still adding value.
    Even if she was the most talented person on his team.
    Then again Rifkin hadn’t seen the words on the glass of his office wall…
    â€˜Eyes forward, handsome,’ the vixen in his lap purred as if he’d been checking out her rack, not her friend serving celery sticks to the ravenous hordes. He dragged his focus reluctantly back to her eyes, which were more than a little liquor-glazed.
    He was definitely off his game.
    â€˜Are you sure you’re not uncomfortable?’ he tried, again.
    â€˜No, I’m great.’ She wiggled her butt down further, which only served to make him significantly less comfortable.
    A tiny brunette flopped down into the empty half-space next to them. Not quite big enough for her, leaving her pressed closely to him and, for half a moment, he feared his troubles had just doubled.
    But then her eyes filled with casual sparkle and she leaned around him and said, ‘All right, Tori?’
    Tori. That was what she’d mumbled while he was busy staring at Izzy Dean. And the little brunette was not a flanking assault; she was the extremely welcome cavalry.
    â€˜Fantastic, Poppy.’ Tori waved her friend’s concern away with dramatic sweeps. ‘Having a great time. Have you met Harry?’
    The brunette thrust out her hand. ‘Hello, Poppy Spencer. This is my flat.’
    Which was pretty much polite social code for ‘who are you and who invited you?’ Just because he’d been out of the scene for a few years didn’t mean he’d forgotten the rules. Shaking Poppy’shand was the perfect excuse to ease