Impressive. And a little-no, a lot-daunting. But she wasn’t about to let him know how nervous he made her. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Well?” He glared at her again. He really was very good at that. “Who the hell told you that you could move into my room and turn it into some female lair?”

The best defense, Margie had always believed, was a good offense. A lawyer she’d once worked for had taught her that, and she’d always found it to work.

“Your grandfather did,” she answered with plenty of heat of her own. “You remember, the lonely old man you never visit?”

“Don’t you start on me about my grandfather. You don’t have the right.”

“Really?” She marched right up to him, every step fueled by the anger she’d harbored for Hunter ever since she first came to work for his grandfather. “Well, let me tell you something, Captain Hunter Cabot, I earned the right to defend your grandfather the night he had his heart attack and I was the only one at his bedside.”

He flushed. Anger? Or shame?

“Why were you at his bedside, anyway?”

Margie huffed out an impatient breath. She shouldn’t be having to explain any of this. Simon had promised her that he would talk to Hunter before he came home. But this surprise arrival had thrown everything off.

“I’m Simon’s executive assistant.”

“His secretary?”

“Assistant,” she corrected. “I was here. With him, when he had the heart attack. We tried to find you, but, big surprise, you were nowhere to be found.”

“Just a damn minute…”

“No,” she countered, stabbing her index finger at him, “you had your say; now it’s my turn. You’re never here. You hardly call. Your grandfather misses you, blast it. Why, I can’t imagine-”