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  “Melanie,” Jill mouthed, out of breath. “Boss Man wants to see you pronto.”

  Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little early for Al to be conscious? It’s only eight-fifteen.”

  “New girlfriend. She works the seven a.m. shift at Swedish Hospital.”

  “Pity. I preferred his hours when he was dating that exotic dancer last winter.”

  “Deal with it, babe. I’ve got to copy some charts that gorgeous analyst from Product Development sent up.”

  “Anything important?”

  “Dunno, I don’t look, I just photocopy.” Jill whipped around and left the office, her skirt billowing.

  Melanie took one last mighty gulp of coffee and pushed her hands against the desk, raising herself. Hooray for Mondays.

  She traversed the cubicle corridor more slowly than Jill had, skirting the open drawer and the pile of Christmas ornaments that had been stashed in the hall for months. Luckily, the firemen hadn’t been by for their annual inspection, they’d declare the place a firetrap and close the building.

  Down in the east wing, the surroundings were serene and free of clutter. Welcome to exec-land, home of Al Plowman, Product Marketing director.

  “Melanie,” her boss said from his desk, a less than welcoming expression on his face. “Sit down.”

  Melanie sat, wondering what was wrong. “What’s going on?”

  Al frowned. “I’ll let Tommy Joe tell you.”

  He motioned behind her and Tommy Joe, otherwise known as that tall, dark and handsome guy in Product Development, stepped forward. Melanie sat, confused. She hadn’t seen him when she’d entered Al’s office. Had he been hiding behind the ficus tree outside Al’s door? She took a closer look at his saturnine features. Yes, she could believe he would go for a little bondage.

  “Hi, Melanie,” Tommy Joe said, his usually taciturn face creased into a slight smile. He cleared his throat and rustled a sheath of papers clutched in his hand. He motioned to an easel behind Al’s right ear. “May I?”

  Al nodded, scowling. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Tommy Joe reached behind Al and stuck his wad of papers under the metal clasp of the easel.

  He pushed at the back leg of the easel with his foot, trying to get it to stand. It wouldn’t hold and he struggled for a full two minutes while Melanie watched in disbelief. Finally, wiping his brow with a crisp white handkerchief, he coughed.

  “Mr. Plowman, Melanie, I’m afraid I don’t have the best news.”

  Melanie missed the rest of the beginning of his speech, horrified by the way Tommy Joe’s eyes seemed glued to her cleavage. Al didn’t seem to notice. She liked being desired, but in the appropriate time and place. The analyst was indeed a bit perverse.

  Al’s angry voice forced her back to the subject at hand. “So revenues were down twenty-three percent last quarter?” His mouth was set in a grim line. “Melanie, what are you going to do about it?”

  Melanie took a long look at the colorful, detailed graphs on the easel. The numbers looked really bad. “Maybe we can take another look at the last three products New Development suggested. I realize they were shot down, but I’m sure—”

  Al cut her off. “I don’t want anything but new ideas.”

  “It’s only been two months since you fired my predecessor and hired me. I need time.” She glanced at the graphs again, hunting for an angle.

  “Excuses aren’t what we look for in a manager, Melanie,” Al barked. “We look for results.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be so much looking at new products but fixing existing problems.” She pointed. “Graph five indicates an issue with oil odor and the samples we’ve examined show spoilage. What is going on with our products?”

  “That’s not our problem here in Product Marketing. We need to invent and sell the product, not fix operational issues.”

  “How long can we last if we’re selling garbage?” Melanie protested, her fingernails digging into the backs of her hands.

  Al cut her off with a disgusted wave of his hand. “Bottom line, Melanie. If I don’t see a big rise in revenue by December, I will hold you responsible.”

  Melanie tried to swallow her rage. Her entire career had been spent at this company and she had worked hard for this promotion. Was this some kind of setup? Her predecessor hadn’t lasted long, maybe she had been a fall guy too. It didn’t matter. Her job did. And she had less than two months to save it. But how could she fix her private life if her career was in jeopardy? She couldn’t concentrate on both.

  Tommy Joe spoke up. “Melanie, you’re going to a conference tomorrow, right?”

  Melanie nodded. “A bath and beauty product conference.”

  “Maybe you’ll get some great ideas there.”

  She grimaced. You’re not much help, Tommy Joe.

  Al looked reflectively at the two of them. “Tommy Joe, what’s your schedule for next week?”

  Tommy Joe looked confused. “Why, sir?”

  “I’d like you to attend this conference with Melanie.”

  Melanie opened her mouth to protest then shut it. She didn’t want the man who had just been promoted to her old job shadowing her in her new one. She feared this meeting was a warning that she could be easily replaced. But maybe Tommy Joe could be a better ally than enemy.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” she said. “There’s always too much for one person to digest at these conferences.”

  Al nodded approvingly. “Good teamwork, Melanie. That’s the way to go about this. Tommy Joe can offer a fresh perspective. Did you know that his brother runs Wicked Oil?”

  “Aren’t they our direct competitors?” Melanie asked as sweetly as she dared, remembering the horoscope oils at Blithe Books & Baubles.

  Tommy Joe picked up his charts. “Nah, they own the Midwest market. And it’s a big market.”

  After shoving the easel into place behind Al’s desk with a scraping noise that made Melanie wince, he left the office as silently as he had come in. It had to be something about the shoes. Ninja shoes.

  Melanie watched as he disappeared behind the ficus tree. Ninjas were warriors. Were they into black magic and other naughty games as well?

  Chapter Two

  “Jack,” Rob said into the headset of his cell phone as he opened the door of his hotel suite. “How did your conversation with Professional Massage go?”

  “Great,” his executive VP said. “We’re good to go. But they want to meet with you before they start talking final numbers.”

  Rob kicked away the newspaper lurking on the floor then rustled around inside the mini-bar until he found a dark imported brew. He did his best to ignore the hotel’s idea of medieval décor, tacky imperial purple draperies and ornate, pointy furniture. “I’m not going to help Grandfather sell the company.” Rob bent the cap of his bottle off with the bottle opener and took a swig.

  “Aw, c’mon, Rob,” Jack wheedled. “Don’t be bitter. Everyone wants to meet the famous Whipmaster.”

  Rob tossed back half the bottle. As his oldest friend, Jack O’Brien should know better than to torment him with that. “The Whipmaster is Grandfather, not me. I never posed for one of those god-awful magazine ads.”

  “You’d never know it. You look just like the old man in his prime.” Jack chuckled. “Seriously, Rob, you’re going to have to meet them. You’re the CEO now.”

  “Maybe if I hold them off long enough, I can talk Grandfather out of selling. Why don’t you come down to Vegas so I can get back to Seattle and talk to him again?” Rob sat on his purple couch.

  “Sorry. Bombshell quit today and the shit has hit the fan.”

  “She quits about once a month. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Rob felt something poke him in the leg. He stuck his hand into his pocket. Shari’s massage oil. He dropped the amber bottle into his open briefcase, which lay on the coffee table. There’s nothing like an attractive nurse to send a man’s mind toward fantasy. Rob didn’t need to ask why his grandfather had force
d Bombshell, the LeatherWorks nurse, to wear the old-fashioned nurse’s white dress when most corporate nurses wore slacks and a sweater.

  Rob had asked her out a couple of times since she seemed like a sweetheart as well as being gorgeous, but she had turned him down with a smile, saying she didn’t date anyone she worked with. He recalled more than one midnight fantasy in which it turned out she had a sister who would date him, but no such luck.

  “Not this time, Rob. She left screaming, and I do mean screaming, ‘sexual harassment’.”

  Rob scoffed. “And who was doing the harassing?”

  “Your grandfather.”

  Rob laughed aloud. “Thanks, Jack. I needed the laugh. He’s eighty-two, for Christ’s sake.”

  Rob could hear Jack’s sigh through the telephone wire. “The judge would probably say the fact he’s wheelchair-bound just gives him a better shot at pinching her ass.”

  “Grandfather wouldn’t do that. It’s just the way he talks. He’s stuck in the past and to today’s woman his language is often offensive.” He smiled. “Sounds like I’d better get back.”

  “No dice. I’ll think of something. You concentrate on coming up with a way to talk your grandfather out of selling.”

  “You mean you don’t want him to?” Rob’s grandfather had once given Jack a second chance, but when John Black was gone, Jack could move on to a better job at a larger company. He had the skills. Rob had never understood where his insecurity came from.

  “Of course not. Executives will be the first to go under new management.”

  “They won’t be that dumb. Your job is safe. Give Bombshell a raise and get her back to work. Grandfather needs a nurse and those temp services cost a fortune.”

  Jack grunted. “You want me to bribe her?”

  Rob shut his eyes. “It worked last time. And while you’re at it, do what you must to dissuade Grandfather from selling, since I’m not there. You’ve always been good with him.”

  “You mind putting that in writing? I could use owner-management skills on my resume.”

  * * * * *

  “Brisa, I don’t know if I want to go through with this.” Melanie focused on ironing the new yellow miniskirt she had just finished hemming.

  “What can you do, cuz? If you quit your job the way I quit mine they might not take you back. Not when you have a successor salivating in the wings.” Brisa, sometimes known as Bombshell ever since her high school cheerleading days, stretched out her long, lightly tanned legs on Melanie’s bed and leaned back against the lavender Indian print pillows.

  Melanie shot a glance at her cousin. “Get your shoes off my bed!”

  “Sorry, love.” Brisa kicked her sandals off and let them drop to the floor. “Maybe this won’t be all bad. You can seduce ol’ tall, dark and handsome and you won’t even have to change the sheets afterward.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Melanie said absently.

  “You’re backsliding,” Brisa announced. “I thought you had a wild and crazy Melanie under development.”

  “It’s hard going with my job in trouble. I’m more likely to take a whip to Tommy Joe than sleep with him,” Melanie muttered, tossing the skirt into the open suitcase on the floor next to her.

  “Calm down,” Brisa laughed. “I guess those raunchy gifts I’ve been buying for you from the company store are finally going to be used?”

  Melanie waved a hand, almost burning it on the iron. She frowned and switched it off. “I had a tarot reading as a birthday present from Jill. Madame Lois said my soul mate would be into S & M. Or something like that.”

  Brisa put a manicured hand to her mouth. “You’re kidding!”

  “It’s not like I believe that stuff,” Melanie protested.

  “Maybe not, but think of the fun you could have.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes in Brisa’s direction. “I actually bought a tarot deck yesterday, but I’m afraid to give myself a reading. Think the Devil card would come up twice?”

  “If Tommy Joe isn’t your man, maybe it’s someone from LeatherWorks. There’s this guy named Tim who’s kinda cute. And he’s definitely a fan of our product line, judging from his leather and metal wardrobe.”

  “He sounds like just my type, Brisa,” Melanie said sarcastically.

  “At least he’s the opposite of Gerald.” Brisa made Melanie’s ex’s name sound like a pus-filled sore.

  “I’m past needing a man who’s twenty years older to hold my hand. But I think your friend Tim is a little advanced for me. There’s wild and then there’s unstable.”

  “There’s always the Whipmaster.” Brisa grinned.

  “Who?”

  “The Whipmaster is LeatherWorks’ owner. You’ve seen the ads, right? But his grandson runs day-to-day operations now and he’s inherited the nickname. He’s, oh,” Brisa considered. “About thirty, blond, movie star handsome, deep dark eyes, great physique. But conservative, unlike Tim.”

  Even though the description didn’t match the one from her reading, he still sounded scrumptious to Melanie, especially since she doubted anyone truly conservative would run a sex toy company. “And with that hunk around you still want to quit?”

  Brisa sighed. “I’m thinking I might not go back this time.”

  “Really? You’ve never said that before.” How was Brisa going to take care of herself and her son Ethan?

  “I know.” Brisa turned over and tucked her chin into her palm. “I might go back into hospital work.”

  Melanie folded a selection of bright, tight, ready-for-mischief clothing and placed it in the suitcase. When Brisa quit her job at Harborview Medical Center three years ago, she was so physically and emotionally exhausted she swore she’d never go back. It hadn’t surprised Melanie that she’d burned out as an ER nurse. There were few tougher ways to make a living.

  “Will you go back into the ER?” Melanie hoped not.

  “Probably not, but I’m tired of giving insulin shots to that rude old man. LeatherWorks can be a fun place to work, but being the owner’s almost-private nurse is hardly challenging.”

  “Why did you keep quitting?”

  “Sexual harassment.” Brisa said the loaded phrase casually as she inspected her fingernails.

  Melanie stared at her cousin. “You never told me that.”

  Brisa leaned into her hand and closed her eyes. “It was always minor stuff. I just made a joke about it and quit for a day, but it got old. You’ve seen the uniform the old man makes me wear. And too many guys with arrested development are hanging around when I have to run over to the plant. The idea of a blonde in a nurse’s uniform turns them all on. The constant ‘let’s play doctor’ jokes and touching wears thin.”

  “They’re all like that? You should have played doctor,” Melanie deadpanned. “Stuck a few needles into them. That would have taught them a lesson.”

  It sounded like Brisa’s life had been wilder than Melanie had realized. She wanted light and fun and sexy, not demeaning and degrading. The LeatherWorks guys were men to avoid. She’d stick with Tommy Joe for her spice.

  * * * * *

  Rob rested his half-empty beer bottle on his forehead. It soothed his headache. As he drifted, an image of the Bombshell’s luscious frame came to mind, a thoroughly unproductive thought that sent his blood pooling in the wrong direction.

  He hoisted his lazy ass off the couch and padded into his bedroom then shuffled though his suitcase until he found a pair of swim trunks. After pulling them on, he grabbed his room key and headed for the outdoor pool. A swim might clear his head. He had a lot of thinking to do about his future.

  Rob squinted into the sunlight. Las Vegas showed off its shiny summer best and heat poured down from the sky. Light reflected into the pool’s blue water, making it shine like a second sun.

  He dropped his towel and key onto a free lounge chair and shoved his moccasins underneath. When a couple of chattering kids popped over the rope marking the closest lane, he dove cleanly into one end of the Olymp
ic-sized pool.

  Rob was thrilled to be in the water again. He much preferred to use his muscles instead of merely building them and had a swimmer’s build, unlike his notorious grandfather, who had once sported the stocky physique of a carnival sideshow strongman.

  Grandfather had the carnival barker’s sense of salesmanship too. In public, you’d never know he came from a long, sober line of blacksmiths. Legend had it that the family had been working with leather and metal a long time. But Grandfather had created a persona the Blacks had to live with, despite their conservative lifestyle.

  And now it had come to this. Another generation in the sex business. Rob wanted to make changes, but his grandfather wanted the business sold. Rob didn’t want to walk away from a business that had been in the family for years. And there were sixty-two employees as well. What would happen to them? They were like family too.

  The problem had faced him for two years. How do you convert the most profitable arm of a business to something more respectable? Erotic fantasy costuming and wholesale sheet leather, the other two arms of the business, weren’t enough to keep everyone employed.

  “Robbie!” A sultry female voice called, pulling Rob out of his reverie. He swam to the side of the pool.

  “Come out of there and give me a hug, you bad boy!”

  Rob reluctantly complied. Anita had been the star of an advertising campaign for LeatherWorks a couple of years before, when he’d taken a shot at removing the Whipmaster image from the product. Sales had increased when his products had been featured in one of her movies, but many customers had written to say they preferred the old company image, so the Whipmaster remained.

  As he rose from the pool, Anita flung her arms around him. Rob gently hugged her, trying not to soak a bikini meant more for show than for swimming. As soon as his arms were around her, Anita moved her hands down Rob’s back and gave his butt a squeeze.

  Rob jumped back.

  Anita giggled at his reaction. “Don’t do that, baby. You might fall in.”

  Rob chuckled lightly, as expected. “A little water won’t hurt me.”

  Anita pouted. “But it might hurt this suit. I’d love for you to get me wet, sweetie, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”