What now, Molly wondered. She could hear Ridge Sinclair ranting and raving for at least five minutes before he stormed out of his office and into his secretary's domain, rage seething from every pore of his body as he stopped at her desk.
"Is everyone who works for me incompetent?" he yelled at Molly as she sat at her desk, typing. "Or is it just you?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Sinclair, are you talking to me?" Molly looked up with confusion in her expression.
"You bet your sweet bottom I am. I told you in no uncertain terms I wanted the Carlton account finished, typed and on my desk before you left last night, and it's still not there. Where did you learn your skills, in a kindergarten class? I need that report and I need it now, Miss Sheridan, not whenever you decide you want to work on it."
Molly stood up slowly. Breathing hard, she faced him with a challenge, her whole body a mass of angry nerves and her gaze burning a hole in him.
"I will get it for you now, sir." She seethed, walking past him into his own office as he followed her.
Lifting his jacket and a pile of newspapers that she flung on the floor at his feet, she picked up the file he'd asked for with shaking hands.
"Here it is, sir, right where you told me to put it last night before I went home," she seethed, then threw the file at him and watched as the papers fluttered through the air like snow.
Ridge stared back at her in total shock. His mild-mannered secretary had turned into a raging tigress. She'd always been so quiet before, nothing like the angry woman before him now.
"I guess I should apologize," he conceded, then smiled sheepishly like a little boy having to admit he was wrong.
"It wouldn't do you any good, because I wouldn't accept it," she told him in a voice just barely above screaming and not concealing her rage.