The Harder They Fall (4 page)

Davidson was definitely heterosexual.

But who was she to voice her opinion on the matter? she thought, as she looked at the chart and motivational poster. So, Michael Davidson had decided that spouting platitudes would be inspirational? What a wonderful idea. Darcy spun and left the room, in search of poster board and a pen.

Michael glared at the poster
on the wall beside his chart.

Q: What Is Six Inches Long, Two Inches Wide, And Makes Men Act Like Fools?

A: MONEY.

—Anonymous

Tacking up his next chart, Table Turnover Ratios, Michael swore under his breath. He had no doubt who’d put up that poster. He tore it down.

The next day another one had taken its place.

The More I See Of Men, The More I Like Dogs.

—Germaine de Stael

He stalked out of the break room. This was war, all right. All-out war.

Darcy crossed her arms
belligerently while she watched Davidson tack up yet another chart. This one was titled Breakage Chart. And beside it, where her quote about men and dogs had once hung, was yet another stupid platitude.

Happiness Is A By-Product Of An Effort To Make Someone Else Happy.

—Greta Palmer

Darcy snorted. “If you want to make this someone happy, you’ll disappear, Davidson.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Likewise, Wel—” He stopped, looking past her. “Wellington.”

Darcy turned and found Wendy behind her. Wendy’s big blue eyes went wide, probably in shock over Darcy’s impertinence. Darcy didn’t care. She was too angry to care. She turned back to him, scowling. “What are you going to do, put gold stars by the winners?”

The next day there were gold stars by the winners’ names. He’d pasted three beside Darcy’s name on the Breakage Chart.

Davidson smiled at her as he departed from the break room.

Wendy sighed. “What a waste of hunky male.”

Darcy wanted to scream. Instead she turned to Wendy with an innocent smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Davidson’s not all that great.”

“Are you blind, woman?”

“Did you know he adds extra padding to the shoulders of his suits?”

“No!”

Darcy nodded. “And don’t tell anyone, but I’ve heard he wears lifts in his shoes.”

Michael glanced down
at his checklist. “If we start buying our wine in quantity from our select vintners for
all
of the restaurants, instead of allowing each restaurant to order for itself, we’ll save a bundle.”

Tom Murphy nodded. “I suggested that to Ed many times. He didn’t want to be bothered.”

Checking off the item, Michael moved his pencil down the list. “Ditto with the desserts. We can save plenty by contracting with Sweet Nothings.”

Tom frowned. “You mean, give up the desserts currently on the menu?”

“Right. Sweet Nothings makes damn good desserts.”

“Our desserts are what got us where we are, Davidson. That’s what Welham’s first became famous for. I think changing that would be a big mistake.”

“You’re right,” Michael said, after some consideration. He crossed that item off his list. “Ed made his name creating some of those offbeat recipes.”

“Ed didn’t create them.”

Michael looked up. “Oh. His wife, then.”

“Nope, not Jeannie, either.” Tom smiled slightly. “Darcy created them.”

“Darcy?” Michael repeated dumbly.

Tom’s grin grew wider. “That’s right. I think she was ten when she created the coconut cheesecake.”

“You’re kidding. That’s Welham’s biggest seller.”

“That’s right. She can’t cook worth a damn, mind you. But she knows how to throw flavors together. It’s almost uncanny. Most of the desserts, and a few of the entrées, Darcy created.”

Michael tried to adjust to the news, and failed. Until that moment, he’d have guessed that Darcy Welham was a useless ornament in the scheme of things. A beautiful ornament, to be sure. But useless nonetheless.

If Darcy realized what a positive effect she’d had on the success of Welham’s, no wonder she wanted to hang on to the restaurants so badly. Well, that wasn’t his problem. His problem was getting Ed Welham to part with them.

He looked down at his list, dismissing the twinge of guilt that pricked him. “About the uniforms . . .”

“What about them?”

“I like them, don’t get me wrong. On the men they’ve got just the right touch of class. But on the women, I don’t know.”

“What would you change?”

Michael looked up. “Something more . . . feminine, I think. Not sexy, but feminine.”

Lips twitching, Tom said, “I’m surprised you’ve noticed.”

Michael frowned. “How could I help but notice?”

“Well, I’ve overheard a few complaints from some of the female employees. Apparently, they don’t think you notice enough.”

Chuckling, Michael sat back. “Are you referring to the rumor that I’m gay?”

A startled hiss rushed from Tom’s lips. “You know about that?”

“Of course.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look too upset.”

“Upset?” Michael laughed. “Are you kidding? I’d encourage it if I knew how.”

“Why?”

Sighing, Michael said, “It saves me a lot of hassle. I don’t believe in mixing business and pleasure. Unfortunately, some women don’t give a damn what I believe. So, this is just . . . easier.”

“I hate to tell you, but Darcy doesn’t believe it for a second,” Tom told him. “In fact, I think her exact words were, ‘If that man is gay, I’m Jessica Alba.’”

Something rocked his system every time Michael heard Darcy’s name. Something that irritated him thoroughly. That
something
was physical desire. Beyond all reason, he was attracted to the woman who was trying to ruin his career.

The females grumbling about his lack of interest were right on the money. He had no interest whatsoever in any of them. His feelings concerning the women’s uniforms stemmed solely from his desire to see Darcy Welham in something other than slacks, vest and tie. He realized it was a totally unbusinesslike craving; and that, in itself, was enough to make him furious with her.

He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “To tell you the truth, I was wondering if she wasn’t the one to start the rumor.”

Tom grunted. “That just goes to show how little you know about Darcy. She’d never start a rumor like that. “

Michael grunted right back at him. “She started the rumor that I wear elevator shoes,” he retorted, still feeling the insult.

Tom waved. “That was just a little joke.”

Pointing at the man, Michael said, “I overheard her talking to one of the waitresses in the break room. I heard Darcy tell the girl I have big ears.”

Tom did a poor job of stifling a snort of laughter.

“And that my nose is too long,” Michael added, his indignation growing. “And that I pad the shoulders of my suits!”

By this time Tom’s laughter had turned to guffaws. He slapped his knee. “Well, it’s the least you deserve after posting that Breakage Chart.”

Michael opened his mouth, but the crashing of the office door against the wall interrupted him. He winced, praising God that he wasn’t standing behind it this time.

Darcy stood on the threshold, her eyes blazing green fire. Her chest heaved with indignation and the hand she pointed at him shook. But what really caught Michael’s attention was her hair. For the first time, he saw it out of a bun. In thick, glossy waves, it fell nearly to her waist.

“I have a bone to pick with you, Davidson,” she said, her voice low and shaky.

Michael regulated his breathing and slapped a bland expression on his face. “It wouldn’t be the same bone your customer nearly choked on yesterday, would it?”

He knew it was an unfair attack on her, because Darcy certainly hadn’t stuffed the bone down the man’s throat. In fact, she’d surprised Michael by quickly and easily performing the Heimlich maneuver on the customer, effectively saving his life. Still, Michael felt a strange need to distance himself from her, to keep the wall of antipathy firmly in place. If he didn’t, his only other option would be to stand up and walk over to her, tangle his hands in that thick fall of hair and kiss those full, sassy lips.

He settled for the standing part, tossing his legal pad on Tom’s desk.

“You slimy, no-good reptile,” Darcy breathed, taking a jerky step into the office. “How could you?”

“Now, Darcy,” Tom said, scrambling to his feet. “Just relax.”

Michael understood the concern in Tom’s voice. When agitated, Darcy Welham was a tall, blond, nuclear bomb.

Darcy ignored him, her eyes trained murderously on Michael. “If I had a gun, I’d shoot your condescending hide from here to Baltimore,” she threatened.

Only if you were
aiming for Tom,
Michael
thought, but decided not to say. Something in the gleam of her wild eyes told him she was seriously upset. He had no idea what he could have done to cause it. But if whatever had upset her was indeed his fault, he knew he’d do anything to take it back, make it right.

Females in distress were his downfall. Even females he didn’t like. It was his one major weakness, one he’d developed at the ripe old age of eight, when his old man had deserted the family, leaving Michael to care for his mother and sister.

“Tom, would you excuse us for a minute?” he said quietly. “I think Darcy and I need to talk privately.”

Tom almost tripped over his feet in his eagerness to comply. Michael waited until he heard the click of the door before asking, “Okay, Darcy, what’s this all about?”

She stalked toward him. Michael resisted an overwhelming urge to shield himself behind Tom’s desk.

Stopping mere centimeters away from trampling his Ferragamos, she plopped her hands on her hips. “As if you didn’t know, you . . . you—”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Darcy,” he said quickly, before she could formulate a list of new names. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Unfortunately, her eyes filled with moisture. “Everyone knows,” she choked out.

“Don’t cry!”

Obediently, she blinked back her tears.

Breathing relief, he asked, “Everyone knows what?”

“Who I am,” she whispered miserably. “You told them who I am, and now everyone hates me.”

His heart reached out to hers. He took her shoulders. “It wasn’t me, Darcy.”

She either didn’t hear him, or decided to ignore him. “For the first time in my life I felt accepted somewhere, like I honestly had friends. And you
ruined
it.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “It wasn’t me. I haven’t discussed your connection to Welham’s with anyone here except Tom.”

For some dumb reason, he felt desperate to make her believe him. How could she even
think
he’d do something that blatantly cruel? True, he had every intention of taking the restaurants from her, but that was strictly business. And she’d benefit, anyway. She’d be one rich young lady when the deal went through.

“Who else could it have been? No one but Tom knows. And I
know
Tom would never tell anyone.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Darcy, but it wasn’t me. I swear it.”

Her lush lips trembled. “It doesn’t matter. They h-hate me now.”

The heartache in her eyes nearly sliced him in two. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Without thinking about it, he slid his hands over her collar, lost in the glistening green of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly.

“What am I going to do?”

He didn’t know if she was actually asking him, or just wondering out loud. And he didn’t have a clue how to answer her because, at the moment, he was struggling with what
he
was going to do. He was going to kiss those trembling lips.

Michael cursed softly before settling his mouth over hers. He glimpsed her startled expression, heard the soft intake of breath, but that didn’t stop him. He was way beyond clear thought at the moment. All he wanted, all he cared about was her lips, soft and parted beneath his.

His gut clenched tightly at his first taste of her. She tasted like a sexy combination of mint and woman. He cupped her neck, his thumbs skimming over her jaw. Tilting her head he slanted his lips over hers and coaxed them farther apart.

Her hands clutched his suit, and Michael braced himself for her to shove him away. She didn’t. Instead, a little sigh sounded in her throat and her lips grew more relaxed and malleable beneath his.