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"We're just having a conversation, sweetheart." Burke shrugged, dismissing her answer before she gave it. "Everyone thinks the two of you are sleeping together already. Do you really think your word will be taken over mine?"
"Do you want to test that theory?"
He didn't move toward her beyond a slight tilt of his upper body. A harsh edge dug into his expression, and when he spoke, it was through tight lips. "Question is, do you?
Burke turned on the balls of his feet and left the office. Alone again, Jewell dropped into her chair and held her burning face in her hands.
When the hell did everything go so wrong?
* * *
Benjamin threw back another shot of whiskey. It warmed his tongue and burned his throat all the way down. Unfortunately, it did little to clarify anything for him. He stared at the facets of the Waterford Crystal decanter on the lamp table beside him. Artificial light cast from the lamp played on its angles and peaks, momentarily mesmerizing him.
He took a deep breath and set his tumbler beside the vessel. If drinking half the contents hadn't cleared his thinking yet, neither would the other half. One of the few things he had ever learned from Jonathan Roth was the answers to life's problems were never found at the bottom of a bottle of liquor. Benjamin saw his father fail in his search far too many times to leave any doubt.
Today was the first day in all his years at Bulwark he hadn't put in a full day. Not once had he called in sick, left early, or taken a vacation day.
Never before had he run from a fight, either. The fight today was one he could not win and had no business starting in the first place. Jewell was right. He was being an ass. The only thing he could do was walk away.
No, he could have admitted he was wrong. He could have apologized. Benjamin only started the fight in the first place to get her into his office. To see her and maybe catch a hint of her perfume as it drifted in the air. But he was a Roth, right? Roths don't apologize. They don't ask. And they are never, ever wrong! Was that another lesson he'd learned from his father?
Jewell didn't deserve his anger and frustration. The only thing she had ever done was be the most competent EA of any at Bulwark, and be so completely desirable he could think of little else. The last three weeks had been sheer hell.
Since the night of the Bulwark dinner party, Benjamin thought of nothing but Jewell. Never had a woman looked so beautiful as she had been that night, and as cliché as that statement sounded, he believed it. Every set of male eyes in the place was on her, and Benjamin was glad to be the one standing at her side.
But she wasn't just beautiful. Jewell Kincaid was intelligent and witty. He didn't have to pull the conversation along or fill in the gap where her input might have lacked. She was beauty and brains wrapped in one utterly feminine package. Were there any woman in the world compatible enough to devote a relationship to, it would be Jewell.
Compatible enough?
Benjamin shot up off the couch and paced the Oriental rug spread out in front of his fireplace. Where the hell was that coming from?
He remembered the infuriated look on her face that morning. Her outburst and the outrageous example she'd made by plucking imaginary numbers from thin air and throwing them in his face, now made him smile. No woman, or man for that matter, had ever dared come back at him like that. Her indomitable courage was highly admirable. Besides, wasn't that the reason he'd fought tooth and nail to get her? Benjamin was sick of cowering, nervous people who backed down whenever he raised his voice to speak or hand to sign. If they expected an ogre, that's what he gave them.
For three weeks he had pushed her hard. In the back of his mind, he realized it was to drive her out. If he pushed hard enough, she would quit. If she quit, she would no longer be an employee of Bulwark and other possibilities would be open to him. That explained only part of his nasty mood. The other, much larger part, was born of pure sexual frustration.
It was obvious now she wouldn't be shoved out. Jewell was too strong-willed and self-confident to let that happen. Leaving would be accepting defeat, and Jewell wouldn't do that. They couldn't go on like this. She was the best executive aid he'd ever had, and could ever hope to find. Benjamin was an idiot to want to get rid of her.
He would just have to get over his pounding libido and idiotic pride and get on with the job at hand. There was only one way to fix things now.
Benjamin went to his bedroom, took a quick detour through the kitchen for a cup of black coffee, and stepped into the giant glass and stone shower stall in his bathroom. Cold water assaulted him, making his heart beat faster and clearing his muted senses. The icy barrage did little to cool his thoughts of Jewell.
He stepped out of the shower onto the Italian marble floors. The elegant and expensively decorated bathroom opened into a carefully decorated bedroom in sage and white. The details of the room went ignored.
Benjamin walked into his bedroom, towel in hand. The darkness outside his window shocked him. How long had he sat on that couch and pondered Jewell? It had to have been hours. Paying little attention to what he grabbed, he dressed and ran a quick comb through his damp hair.
With resolution in his step, Benjamin went downstairs to get the keys to his car. He opened his contacts in his phone as he headed for his garage, and viewed his Maps app to Jewell’s address. He’d only partially paid attention the night of the party when he was a passenger. Within minutes, he had his silver Lexus out of the garage and he drove through the quiet streets of Boston.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jewell curled up in the corner of her couch, a pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream in one hand and the remote control in the other. Despite the fact midnight quickly approached, sleep eluded her. Too many thoughts raced in her head when the lights went out and the apartment was silent.
How was she going to find another job? How could she explain leaving Bulwark? That was inevitable. Benjamin alone had enough reason to let her go. But there was no doubt in her mind that if Kevin Burke wanted to, he could push for her termination as well. Yes, he made crude sexual comments, but that was beyond the point. The truth was that he had been at Bulwark much longer, and held much more respect, and while it wasn't right it was the way things were.
She tugged at the hem of her cotton shorts as she tried to get comfortable. They were her favorite pair, but she only dared wear them around the house because they were far too short to be worn in public. Some women might have gone out in them, but Jewell couldn't bring herself to do it. She saved short shorts and tank tops for bedtime and midnight television viewing.
With a press of the power button, her countertop-sized television came on in the middle of an old horror flick. She flipped back her loose hair and dug into the ice cream with her spoon. Jewell almost wished Ruby would wake up. At least then she'd have some company.
The knock on the door came at a tense moment in the movie, and Jewell jumped, choking on her mouthful of ice cream. She shook her head and glanced at the clock on the television. Who could be at her door at eleven-thirty at night? And how did they get into the building? A nervous flutter hit her stomach. Her movie gave her lots of possibilities, none of them good.
