Eclipse of the Heart - By Carly Carson Page 0,73

hadn't attracted the boss after everything that had happened.

"Right." Rosie grinned. "No point denyin' he's got the hots for you."

"Had," Amanda corrected absently. "I'm fired, by the way."

Rosie gasped. "No way!"

"Yes, way. Hurry up." She waved at Rosie's breakfast. "I need to go confront Phoebe." Her own small appetite had fled.

"Wait!" Rosie waved her hands in the air. "Back up a minute. Why are you fired?"

"Never mind that now. I need to get my job back and the way to do that is to prove that someone else sent that email."

"Ugh." Rosie dropped her bagel onto her plate. "You can't confront Phoebe. She's fired, too."

"What?" Amanda's mind was so focused on what she was going to say to Phoebe, she almost couldn't process the change in direction. "What the heck?" she exclaimed. "Has he got some kind of firing fetish?"

"Say 'hell'," Amanda." Rosie snapped her fingers. "This jerk fired you after hearing you were pregnant with his child? That's insane, not to mention illegal! You should be sayin', 'What the hell is wrong with that man? Has he got some kind of a fucking firing fetish?'"

The 'f' words stumbled all over themselves as giggles bubbled up inside Amanda. She struggled to keep her composure, but when her gaze met Rosie's, they both burst into laughter.

"See, that's why I don't curse," Amanda said. "It sounds so ridiculous unless it's coming from a soldier in the field."

"Have you ever heard a soldier in the field?" Rosie demanded.

"Well, no, but I imagine they have plenty to curse about."

"So do you!"

"Shhh…" Amanda took a quick glance around, but she and Rosie were surrounded by empty tables. "I know he's a grade A jerk, but I need my job back and you need to keep yours."

"Hmph!" Rosie pouted. "That man has too much power. Even for someone who looks like he does."

"Let's deal with the problem we need to solve." Amanda shoved aside memories of Logan in his various guises – polished and handsome in a tux, tough and competent in rolled shirt sleeves and tailored wool slacks, and, best of all, heaving and sweaty over her in bed. Those days were gone. She bent her attention on Rosie. "When and why did Phoebe get fired?"

"A few weeks back," Rosie said. "I think the company got wind of her extracurricular activities."

"Extracurricular activities?" Amanda repeated blankly. "What does that mean?"

"B grade escort service." Rosie spread a dab of cream cheese on her bagel. "Plus, of course, a nasty drug habit."

"Darn it." Amanda wanted a confession. Signed, sealed and delivered. Her reason for wanting it wasn't too noble, either. Yeah, she wanted to make things right with the Molloys. But mostly she wanted Logan to know she was innocent.

Unfortunately, in order to get that confession, she'd need to track Phoebe down.

When Logan called to invite her to lunch, she refused. She was determined to get his apology for the false accusation about Daily Eats, but that didn't mean she'd ever forgive him for the way he'd responded to her pregnancy.

"Don't be childish, Amanda," he said. "We have things to discuss."

"No, we don't."

"I heard you're at the office. Did you forget I fired you?"

"I need to clear my name. I've already figured out who sent the note."

"Good. I'd love to see the proof. Let's discuss it over lunch."

She gritted her teeth silently. How did he know she didn't have any proof?

"A neutral place," he said. "Your choice."

"My choice is to be left alone."

"You don't want to hand this over to lawyers, do you?"

"There is no need for lawyers! Don't even think about threatening me."

"Amanda." He waited for a moment to pass, giving her a chance to be reasonable. She hated knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"I mean it, Logan."

"Meet me at O'Grady's at noon," he said. He hung up.

As much as she hated having to bow to Logan's demands, Amanda knew he'd follow through on the lawyers if necessary. Promptly at noon, she was standing at the busy hostess's desk in O'Grady's. Despite its name, O'Grady's was not a cozy Irish pub, but an elegant, mid-sized, upper East side restaurant.

She spotted Logan immediately, at a table on the left side of the room, a little out of the way of the bustle. The honey-colored walls and table linens framed him beautifully, with his dark hair and tanned face set off by a snow white shirt. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his gaze was bent to a stack of papers next to his