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feelings?”
    No feelings at all, she thought, but decided not to say it. “Fresh sheet,” she said. “We’re colleagues, marginally friendly. And you’ll stop pestering me about having dinner or taking trips to the West Indies.”
    He took her hand. “I’ve missed you, Kate. Missed touching you. All right,” he said quickly when he saw her eyes narrow, “if that’s the best I can do, I’ll take it. I appreciate your accepting my apology.”
    â€œFine.” Struggling to be patient, she tugged her hand away. “Now I’ve got work to do.”
    â€œI’m glad we worked this out.” He was smiling again as he walked to the door.
    â€œYeah, right,” she muttered. She didn’t slam the door behind him. That would have indicated too much emotion. She didn’t want Roger the slime Thornhill, to get the idea there was any emotion inside her where he was concerned.
    But she did close the door, quietly, purposefully, before sitting back down at her desk. She took out a bottle of Mylanta, sighed a little, and chugged.
    He had hurt her. It was demoralizing to remember just how much he had hurt her. She hadn’t been in love with him, but with a little more time, a little more effort, she could have been. They had had the common ground of their work, which she believed could have served as a strong foundation for more.
    She had cared for him, and trusted him, and enjoyed him.
    And he had used her ruthlessly to steal one of her biggest clients. That was almost worse than discovering he’d been jumping from her bed to her client’s bed and back again.
    Kate took another swig from the bottle before recapping it. She had, at the time, considered going to Larry Bittle with a formal complaint. But her pride had outweighed whatever satisfaction she might have gleaned from that.
    The client was satisfied, and that was the bottom line at Bittle. Roger would have lost some ground, certainly, if she’d filed a complaint. Others in the office would have distrusted him, pulled back from him.
    And she would have looked like the whining, betrayed female, sniveling because she had mixed sex and business and had lost.
    Better that she’d kept it to herself, Kate decided and put theMylanta back in her drawer. Better that she’d been able to say, straight to his face, that she had put the whole incident behind her.
    Even if it was a lie, even if she would detest him for the rest of her life.
    With a shrug, she recalled her data. Better by far to avoid slick, smart, gorgeous men with more ambition than heart. Better, much better, to stay in the fast lane on the career track and avoid any and all distractions. Partnership was waiting, with all the success it entailed.
    When she had that partnership, had climbed to that next rung, she would have earned it. And maybe, she thought, just maybe, when she reached that level of success, she would be able to prove to herself that she was not her father’s daughter.
    She smiled a little as she began to run figures. Stick with numbers, pal, she reminded herself. They never lie.

Chapter Three
    The minute Kate walked into Pretenses, Margo scowled. “You look like death.”
    â€œThanks. I want coffee.” And a moment alone. She headed up the curving stairs to the second floor, found the pot already brewing.
    She knew she hadn’t slept more than three hours, not after poring over every detail in the report from the detective back east. And every detail had confirmed that she was the daughter of a thief.
    It was all there—the evidence, the charges, the statements. And reading through those papers had killed the faint hope she’d hidden even from herself that it had all been some sort of mistake.
    Instead, she had learned that her father had been out on bail at the time of the accident and had instructed his lawyer to accept the plea bargain he’d been offered. If he hadn’t been