No Nice Girl by Perry Lindsay

tray.
    â€œWhat’s all this?” protested Kenyon sharply. “I didn’t order food.”
    Phyllis said apologetically, “I did, Mr. Rutledge. You only had a glass of milk and a sandwich for lunch and you’ve been working terribly hard all day. I think you’ll be able to work more efficiently if we take a little while off and eat a real dinner. I do hope I ordered something you’re fond of.”
    Kenyon looked at her a trifle uncertainly, but she was busy clearing a table for the waiter and helping him to arrange the dishes, all hot beneath their metal covers or iced according to their nature.
    â€œWell, I must admit that looks tempting,” said Kenyon, and sniffed appreciatively as Phyllis lifted one of the covers and a savory smell drifted forth.
    â€œI’m so glad,” said Phyllis, smiling at him warmly. “I was afraid you’d think I’d been—well, officious in ordering dinner without consulting you. But it worries me when you drive yourself so hard, Mr. Rutledge, and—well, it is part of a good secretary’s duties to see that the boss takes care of his health!”
    â€œAnd you do a very good job of it, I’m sure,” said Kenyon politely, as he unfolded his napkin and looked hungrily at the food.
    Phyllis poured the cocktails, and Kenyon sniffed appreciatively as she lifted her glass in a little gay gesture of a toast.
    He relaxed a bit, and she saw that he was enjoying himself. Her spirits rose and she began to talk, lightly, gaily, of things that had no connection whatever with the office. Of things that made him notice her, not merely as an office automaton but as a woman with interests ofher own, with pleasures and troubles and problems that were a million miles removed from the office.
    When he laughed, she was delighted; when he looked at her with interest warm in his eyes, she knew that she was winning. Oh, it wasn’t easy, but it was going to be worth it.
    The blood drummed in her veins, and her face took on a soft flushed look, her eyes were dewy. Kenyon studied her curiously, and when her heart leaped because of the look in his eyes, that leaping was reflected in her faintly increased color and in her eyes.
    â€œYou know, it’s funny,” said Kenyon suddenly. “We’ve been working together more than five years, and yet I have the curious impression that I’ve never really seen you until this moment.”
    She laughed softly. A laugh that was intimate, almost caressing; a laugh that spoke of the singing of her blood and called to some instinct within him that made him feel younger and gay and somehow very virile.
    â€œThat’s because from nine until five I’m an extremely efficient employee,” she told him lightly. “But now we’re relaxing a little. And maybe it’s because I’ve never looked upon you as merely my employer.”
    â€œNo?” asked Kenyon warily, and she cautioned herself that she must go more slowly. “I wonder why. I hope I haven’t been unbearable as an employer.”
    â€œOf course not,” she assured him hastily, once more with that warm, almost caressing little smile. “It’s just because—well, I’ve always admired you rather a lot, and working as closely as we have—” She let it lie.
    â€œHmm!” said Kenyon noncommittally. He scrubbed out the tip of his cigarette and stood up, holding out his hand to her as though he had reached a decision. “Supposewe continue this—er—highly interesting conversation in slightly more comfortable—er—circumstances.”
    Again she gave him that low, intriguing laugh and put her hand in his, and he drew her with him over to the deep-cushioned couch of pale leather and chromium that matched the modernistic chairs and furnishings of the office.
    Phyllis sank down in a corner of the couch, drew one knee thoughtfully beneath her, and leaned forward to accept