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she glanced up to discover he was watching her. A wary light crept into her brown eyes before she quickly looked away.
    "It's your own fault, you know." His baritone voice broke the silence.
    It was really unnecessary to ask what he meant, but she did it anyway. "What is?" she asked, widening her eyes with false innocence.
    "The fact that I take you for granted," Brandt replied calmly, leaning back in his chair with an ease she couldn't begin to emulate. "I mean, you hardly try to call attention to yourself."
    She played with a potato chip, the rosy glow in her cheeks adding a vibrancy to her face. "I meant no disrespect this afternoon on the telephone. I truly don't expect any special recognition for doing my job. I mean, it's what I'm paid for." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
    "How old are you?"
    "Twenty-three." The last bite of sandwich seemed to be stuck to her throat.
    "How long have you been working for me?"
    "Three years."
    "That long?" A brow raised in surprise. "You blend too well into the background."
    "A good secretary is supposed to," Joan replied.
    "It's never good to appreciate someone's efforts after they've left," he responded smoothly. "Which makes it difficult for me to take advantage of you now."
    "How?" The question was out before she could stop it and another fiery shade crimsoned her face.
    The lines around his mouth deepened. "I was going to ask if you would take some dictation tonight. There's little else but work to pass the hours. And this is a good time to catch up on some of the correspondence I've pushed to one side lately."
    "Of course I will. If I didn't have something to do, I would find it. I was on the last of the tapes when we came to eat." Joan seized on the offer to put an end to their disturbing conversation and quickly started gathering up the remains of their meal.
    It was after ten o'clock when Brandt stopped suddenly in mid-sentence. Joan's pencil continued its rapid pace across the paper as she jotted down the last of his dictation.
    "You must be exhausted," Brandt commented, swinging his chair to look at her. "Why didn't you stop me earlier?"
    "It didn't seem necessary," she answered, unconsciously flexing her tense fingers and loosening her death grip on the pencil.
    "From the sound of the wind, we'll have all day tomorrow to finish whatever needs to be done. I think it's time we called it a night."
    The moment had arrived that Joan had been dreading all afternoon and evening. There was no need to mention that the building only possessed one couch, the one in Brandt Lyon's office. She knew instinctively that his basically gentlemanly nature would offer it to her, but she hadn't decided whether she should refuse and insist that he take it. Either way it turned out, Joan knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep a wink.
    "Are you ready for the argument?" Brandt asked.
    "What argument?" she breathed in sharply.
    "Over which one of us is going to sleep on the only couch in the building," he answered with a completely straight face. "I know we could each sleep in a chair and solve the issue, but my mother would never forgive me if I didn't insist that you take the couch."
    "Really, I c—" Joan began, her hands raising to protest his statement.
    "Yes, you could, and you will!" The quiet authority in his voice silenced the rest of her words. "It's an order from the boss and a good secretary doesn't disobey an order."
    There was mockery in his words, but none in the voice that uttered them. Joan removed the tortoiseshell glasses that made it difficult to see his face clearly at that distance. She searched the implacable blue eyes for a tell-tale sign of amusement at the modesty that had sent her color fluctuating wildly. His intent regard forced her to lower her gaze without finding the answer.
    "If you insist, Mr. Lyon." The murmur of acceptance was drawn reluctantly from her lips.
    "I do insist, Miss Somers!"
    Strong fingers closed over the arms of his chair as Brandt pushed