The boss is on the warpath.” Yanked from her thoughts by that familiar Brit voice, Taryn glanced up to find Roman Lyons poking his head into her office. She lowered her pen to her desk. “Guthrie?” “No. The younger Mr. Hunter. Grapevine says he’s headed this way.” Sending a fortifying wink, Rowan bowed off for the relative safety of his own office while, holding her swooping stomach, Taryn siphoned down a breath. Remarkably, after the wine incident last night, she and Cole had parted on amicable terms. Back here to collect her car, once again she’d offered to pay his laundry bill. Cole had declined then had said in a low sure voice that they’d talk more tomorrow. Well, tomorrow was here and, unlike her normal self, Taryn was positively shaky. Discussing recipes on the drive back from the restaurant, she’d given the impression that she’d regained her customary cool, but remaining composed whenever Cole Hunter was around was more difficult than killing a blaze with a thimble of water.
