pointed out imperiously.
"Go ahead, tell me the other reasons you don't think you can work for me," he muttered.
"Haven't I made it plain? I don't approve of your business practices and I don't admire the way you run your personal life, although I freely admit that's none of my business. And, on top of all that, I couldn't possibly work for a man who has the incredible arrogance to think that he was buying a new mistress when he bought Lester's company! Besides," she couldn't help adding with a certain relish, "you wouldn't like the way I managed your new branch, anyhow!"
For some reason that seemed to startle him. "Why not? You'll manage it the way I teach you to manage it."
"Perhaps five or six years ago, Slade York, you could have molded me into the sort of employee you want. But not today. I have my own style, and while I'm more than willing to learn, I have no intention of making myself over into someone else's image. Especially when that image involves becoming another one of your women! It would be an impossible working situation."
"You're intelligent enough to adapt to my way of doing things…" he began forcefully, amber eyes slitting.
"I may be intelligent enough, but I'm not cooperative enough," she stated simply. "I have no intention of changing myself to suit any man."
"Is that why your husband left you?" he grated.
Calla whitened, but her voice, when she replied, was steady. "I do not discuss that with anyone."
His mouth tightened and for an instant she thought there was indecision in him, an unfamiliar reaction from Slade York. The man was never indecisive. Then he had the grace to look a little apologetic. "I'm sorry.
That was not a fair comment. You do have a way of provoking me, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that."
She stepped backward determinedly and, to her private relief, he let her go. She faced him from the small distance, her head high, her eyes proud and faintly contemptuous.
"I believe that concludes our little discussion, Mr. York. If you don't mind, I'm going back inside to find Lester. I intend to leave."
He watched her thoughtfully. "You can't." The words were simple and to Calla's ears had a horribly final sound to them.
"Watch me." She smiled grimly and swung around to make her exit.
Unfortunately, even as she was congratulating herself on the termination of the scene, the whole situation was thrown into mild chaos at the sight of Lester Chapman coming through the open sliding glass windows, a beaming look of approval on his handsome, middle-aged face. His wealth of silver hair gleamed in the faint light and his faded blue eyes smiled at Calla as he came forward.
"So this is where you two disappeared! Have I interrupted a meeting of a mutual admiration society? Are you both telling each other what brilliant negotiators you are?" He put a familiar arm around Calla's shoulders and aimed his perceptive blue gaze at Slade, who was frowning.
"Not exactly," Slade said dryly, his gold eyes raking the picture Calla made under Chapman's casual embrace. "Calla has just been telling me why she can't possibly stay on after you leave."
"What?" Lester glanced inquiringly down at her stiffly held figure. "I thought you wanted to remain, Calla?
Slade's counting on you to help in the transition process, at least."
"Oh, Slade's counting on much more than that," Calla said coolly.
"I detect a loaded remark," Lester said quietly, his eyes on her face.
"Ask Slade. I find myself bored with the discussion."
Without another word, Calla slipped out from under his arm and concluded her retreat, leaving the two men together on the patio. She had a last glimpse of Lester standing there, perplexed, and Slade watching her with a certain frustration, and then she was back inside the crowded country club lounge.
"I see you've lost your bodyguard for the evening," said a pleasant male voice at her elbow. "Can I convince you to go out on the dance floor with someone besides Chapman?"
Calla summoned a
"Go ahead, tell me the other reasons you don't think you can work for me," he muttered.
"Haven't I made it plain? I don't approve of your business practices and I don't admire the way you run your personal life, although I freely admit that's none of my business. And, on top of all that, I couldn't possibly work for a man who has the incredible arrogance to think that he was buying a new mistress when he bought Lester's company! Besides," she couldn't help adding with a certain relish, "you wouldn't like the way I managed your new branch, anyhow!"
For some reason that seemed to startle him. "Why not? You'll manage it the way I teach you to manage it."
"Perhaps five or six years ago, Slade York, you could have molded me into the sort of employee you want. But not today. I have my own style, and while I'm more than willing to learn, I have no intention of making myself over into someone else's image. Especially when that image involves becoming another one of your women! It would be an impossible working situation."
"You're intelligent enough to adapt to my way of doing things…" he began forcefully, amber eyes slitting.
"I may be intelligent enough, but I'm not cooperative enough," she stated simply. "I have no intention of changing myself to suit any man."
"Is that why your husband left you?" he grated.
Calla whitened, but her voice, when she replied, was steady. "I do not discuss that with anyone."
His mouth tightened and for an instant she thought there was indecision in him, an unfamiliar reaction from Slade York. The man was never indecisive. Then he had the grace to look a little apologetic. "I'm sorry.
That was not a fair comment. You do have a way of provoking me, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that."
She stepped backward determinedly and, to her private relief, he let her go. She faced him from the small distance, her head high, her eyes proud and faintly contemptuous.
"I believe that concludes our little discussion, Mr. York. If you don't mind, I'm going back inside to find Lester. I intend to leave."
He watched her thoughtfully. "You can't." The words were simple and to Calla's ears had a horribly final sound to them.
"Watch me." She smiled grimly and swung around to make her exit.
Unfortunately, even as she was congratulating herself on the termination of the scene, the whole situation was thrown into mild chaos at the sight of Lester Chapman coming through the open sliding glass windows, a beaming look of approval on his handsome, middle-aged face. His wealth of silver hair gleamed in the faint light and his faded blue eyes smiled at Calla as he came forward.
"So this is where you two disappeared! Have I interrupted a meeting of a mutual admiration society? Are you both telling each other what brilliant negotiators you are?" He put a familiar arm around Calla's shoulders and aimed his perceptive blue gaze at Slade, who was frowning.
"Not exactly," Slade said dryly, his gold eyes raking the picture Calla made under Chapman's casual embrace. "Calla has just been telling me why she can't possibly stay on after you leave."
"What?" Lester glanced inquiringly down at her stiffly held figure. "I thought you wanted to remain, Calla?
Slade's counting on you to help in the transition process, at least."
"Oh, Slade's counting on much more than that," Calla said coolly.
"I detect a loaded remark," Lester said quietly, his eyes on her face.
"Ask Slade. I find myself bored with the discussion."
Without another word, Calla slipped out from under his arm and concluded her retreat, leaving the two men together on the patio. She had a last glimpse of Lester standing there, perplexed, and Slade watching her with a certain frustration, and then she was back inside the crowded country club lounge.
"I see you've lost your bodyguard for the evening," said a pleasant male voice at her elbow. "Can I convince you to go out on the dance floor with someone besides Chapman?"
Calla summoned a
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