Page 40 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

Unfortunately, it had missed neither her camisole nor her button-up blouse.

Double unfortunate was the fact that both were made of silk and would most definitely reveal the disaster—even if she managed to get the white discoloration from the toothpaste out.

“Damn it,” she muttered to herself, reaching for a nearby washcloth to dab at the toothpaste residue.

She didn’t have time to take it off and rinse it out because there was someone at the door.

Left with long streaks of darkened and wet fabric down her front, she quickly managed to get most of the dregs of toothpaste out, but could still make out a faint chalky discoloration through the fabric.

It was the best she could do for now, though.

Rushing to the door, she was slightly out of breath when she opened the door. “Sorry. I was in the bathroom.”

On the other side of the door, Benjamin’s assistant gave her a flat once-over, but said nothing to that. “Saw the light beneath the door and figured you were up. Breakfast will be ready soon. It’ll be in the formal dining room, down this hall and to the left. Think you can make it there on your own?”

Miri nodded, gifted with a natural sense of direction as well as intimidated by Benjamin’s assistant.

A tiny smile cracking her mountain-like face, the assistant nodded. “Good. Mr. Silver is waiting.”

And then she turned on her heel and left.

For a moment, Miri stood in the doorway, staring after her.

And then she forced herself to pull it together and go out and face the day.

Mr. Silver was waiting.

Benjamin arrived first in the dining room, pleased at the spread laid out on the table. As pleasurable as their forbidden kiss had been, the sight before him was somewhat of a relief.

Breakfast was more akin to what he had meant when he’d told Miri that he would take care of her.

Growing up in Los Angeles had made him partial to farm-fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as avocados, and so he had had a state-of-the-art greenhouse installed on the estate and manned it with a staff of master gardeners.

Spending as many years in Colorado as he had now, he also had an appreciation for fresh beef and lamb—and had established an annual contract with a local rancher to buy a guaranteed percentage of his product each year to ensure he had ample supply.

Between those arrangements and the poultry contract he had with a local organic farmer, Benjamin’s table was always fresh, vibrant and flavorful—just like he liked it.

This morning was no exception.

Two enormous omelets with fresh goat cheese and basil rested in the large heated dish that was centered between the nearest two end seats of the long wooden table. The table was the focal point of the formal dining room, which, like most of the other rooms in his home, faced enormous picture windows that currently showcased the blizzard.

Around the scramble were platters of fresh fruit, bagels and lox with trimmings, rosemary lamb breakfast sausages, and large mimosas made with orange juice squeezed fresh.

A coffee and tea tray had been rolled out and prepared for them as well, and he was pleased with his staff’s presentation.

Regardless of her dietary preferences, she could find something to her liking among the spread.

Rather than sit and wait for her arrival at the table and allowing the moment and his anticipation to build toward the impact of seeing her walk in, he stood beside the fireplace—within which blazed another large fire—and watched the storm outside.

Storms, if not this strong, and well-laid fires were common features of his time spent in Colorado.

Miri was not.

In fact, as the years had gone by, company of any sort—regardless of whether it was here or in California—had become more and more rare.

As he had aged, surrounding himself with people had become less and less effective at disguising the fact that at the end of the day, the only people who cared very deeply about him were shareholders.

People were wrong when they said it was lonely on the top.

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