Indecent Suggestion - By Elizabeth Bevarly Page 0,66

wouldn’t participate as much in the creative side of their work, where the two of them had been so good together. And although they’d be performing the same job, they’d each oversee different projects now. They wouldn’t see nearly as much of each other at work as they used to.

Still, it was good news, Becca reminded herself. Right?

Now, as she stayed late at work on a snowy Friday evening two weeks after That Night, sitting alone in the boardroom of Englund Advertising and gazing out the windows that surrounded her on two sides at the rapidly falling snow outside, she was thinking about That Night again.

And she still didn’t quite know what to make of it.

She should be working on the Bluestocking account, she told herself. Turner had offered to stay late with her, but she’d made him promise to go home. There was no reason they both needed to be here. She was just going over sales figures and projections that he’d already gone over himself, and tomorrow they were going to compare notes on the company’s demographics and how they seemed to be affected from one area of the country to another. It was a one-person job, for the person who hadn’t done it yet, and that person was Becca.

Besides, she’d kind of looked forward to being here by herself after hours. She was perfectly safe in the office this time of night, not to mention the place was quiet and peaceful and all hers. And the weather outside was frightful. The roads would be clear enough to travel later, when she was ready to go home, after the salt trucks had made their rounds, and she didn’t relish driving while the snow was falling so thickly. As beautiful as it was out there, she’d just as soon wait until the storm had passed.

Still, she sighed with something akin to longing as she looked out the windows at the high-rise across the way, its offices lit up here and there from one floor to the next with the late-burning lamps of other late-working people. All around her, the Indianapolis skyline sparkled amid the fat, furiously falling flakes, as if some snow fairy jacked up on Ritalin had cast down fistfuls of diamonds along with the frantic flurries. Becca might as well have been the only human being allowed into this magical winter wonderland.

Suddenly, for no reason she could name, she felt very, very lonely.

She pushed the strange sensation away and went back to the figures that lay before her on the table. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there studying them when she heard the buzzer that heralded the arrival of someone in the outer office. She wasn’t alarmed by the sound, however, since the only people who had access this time of night were the security guards and a handful of other employees who had keys to the place. But when she heard Turner’s voice greeting her softly from the boardroom door behind her, she smiled.

“Hi,” she said as she turned in her chair.

He still wore his work clothes of earlier in the day, but they were rumpled and disarrayed, his white shirttail spilling free from the waistband of his dark blue corduroys, his necktie completely undone and hanging unfettered from a collar unbuttoned to the third button. But then, Becca’s work clothes weren’t any tidier than his were. Her slim, tobacco-colored skirt was wrinkled, her cream-colored blouse was unbuttoned at the cuffs and neck, not to mention untucked. She’d also discarded her jacket a long time ago and kicked off her shoes, as well, to get more comfortable.

Turner looked comfortable, too, she thought. And also pretty sexy.

And he was holding a bottle of scotch in one hand, two highball glasses in the other. Since she recognized the cobalt color of the latter from the bar on the first floor of the building they frequented, she assumed he’d acquired the scotch there, too. Which was some feat, since the bar didn’t have a package license. He must have sweet-talked one of the bartenders into turning a blind eye.

Probably that bottle blonde named Jessica, Becca thought uncharitably. That tramp. She’d always made it clear she’d do anything for Turner. That tramp. She’d even crashed the office Christmas party last year with a sprig of mistletoe, Becca remembered, and she’d deliberately sought out Turner to corner him with it. That tramp.

Had she mentioned Jessica was a tramp?

But then, Turner wasn’t with Jessica right now, was he? Becca reminded