Holding the Dream Page 0,40

unexpected enough to knock him back. Before he could make the grab, she was sailing past him.

"Just a damn minute. I haven't finished."

"You go to hell," she shot back over her shoulder, causing several customers to glance around nervously as she stormed out of the office. She sent Margo one seething glare before slamming the front door behind her.

"Well." Struggling with a smile, Margo handed a bagged purchase to a wide-eyed customer. "That's thirty-eight fifty-three out of forty." Still smiling, she handed over the change. "And the show was free. Please come again."

With the wariness of a man who understood trouble when it stared at him from sultry blue eyes, Josh approached the counter. "Sorry about that."

"We'll deal with sorry later," she said under her breath. "What did you do to upset her?"

Just like a woman, he thought, to take the woman's side. "I tried to help her."

"You know how she hates that. Why, instead of taking your head off, did she storm out of here looking like she was going to take someone else's head off?"

He sighed, scratched his chin, shuffled his feet. "She'd finished taking my head off. Now she's going for Byron's. He sort of suggested that I help her."

Margo tapped coral-tipped nails on the glass counter. "I see."

"I really ought to call him, give him some advance warning." But when Josh reached for the phone on the counter, Margo laid a firm hand over his.

"Oh, no. I don't think so. We wouldn't want to spoil Kate's advantage."

"Margo, it's only fair."

"Fair has nothing to do with it. And you're going to be too busy waiting on customers to make personal calls."

Now he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Duchess, I've got a meeting in a couple of hours. I don't have time to help you out around here."

"Thanks to you, I'm shorthanded." Knowing that that wouldn't get her very far, she let her shoulders slump. "And I'm feeling a little tired."

"Tired?" Panic came on wings, "You should get off your feet."

"You're probably right." Though she felt strong as a horse, she scooted a stool over to the cash register and perched on it. "I'll just sit here and ring up sales for the next hour. Oh, Josh, darling, be sure to offer the customers champagne."

Enjoying herself, she slipped off her shoes and prepared to watch her adorable husband handle a storeful of customers.

The only show she would have preferred to witness was the one that would be starting shortly in the penthouse office of Templeton Monterey.

* * * * *

The first analogy that came to Byron's mind was that of a wild, possibly rabid, deer charging.

Kate cut through his shocked, protesting assistant like a sharp knife through quivery jelly, snarled like a feral she-wolf, and might very well have delivered the knockout punch of a flyweight champ if Byron hadn't signaled his assistant to retreat.

"Well, Katherine." He barely missed a beat when she slammed the door with a resounding crack. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip off your meddling nose and stuff it in your flapping mouth."

"As much fun as I'm sure that'll be, would you like a drink first? Some water? You're a bit flushed."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She sprang toward the desk, smashed her palms down on its polished, and just now crowded, surface. "What possible right do you have to mix in my business? Do I strike you as some weak-willed, empty-headed woman who needs a man to defend her?"

"Which one of those questions would you like me to answer first? Why don't I take them in order?" he said before she could shout again. "You know exactly who I am. I didn't mix in your business any more than any tentative and concerned friend would, and no, no indeed, I don't see you as weak-willed or empty-headed. I see you as stubborn, rude, and potentially dangerous."

"You haven't got a clue how dangerous, pal."

"That threat might have more weight if you'd take off those filing tips. They spoil the image."

A strangled sound erupted from her throat as she looked down and discovered the brown rubber tips still on her fingers. Smooth and quick, she ripped them off and threw them at him. Just as smooth, just as quick, he caught them both before they hit his face.

"Good arm," he commented. "I bet you played ball in school."

"I thought I could trust you." For reasons she didn't want to analyze, thinking of that made her