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Mara pushed open the door to her office and saw the object of Lynda’s dismay seated regally behind Mara’s desk, pen in hand, running through a stack of ledgers.

“It’s all right,” Mara stated stiffly to the confused receptionist. “Mr. Kennedy has my permission to be in my office . . . and . . . er . . . see any documents that he wishes.”

Relief flooded the girl’s features. “Thank goodness,” she murmured as she hustled down the hallway back to her desk.

Mara felt her temper heating and braced herself against the closed door to the office before she confronted Shane.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she inquired, eyeing him suspiciously. “You have Lynda half out of her mind with worry that she’s done something wrong.”

Shane tossed the ledger he had been studying onto the desk top. “What?” His attention was finally focused on Mara.

“I said that Lynda has strict orders not to allow anyone in here without my permission. I’m surprised that you got away with it—much less bribed the accounting department out of the bookkeeping ledgers.”

“I like to get to work early. I didn’t know when you would get in, and I didn’t want to wait.” Once again he looked down at the stack of manila-colored ledger cards. A scowl creased his dark brows.

“So you just decided to take over my office . . .”

“For the time being.”

Mara was becoming exasperated and found it difficult to hide the fact. She crossed the room, tossed her purse into a nearby closet, and marched over to the desk. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing,” Mara suggested, and stood near him.

Perhaps it was her condescending tone of voice that galled him, but whatever it was, he picked up a stack of ledgers and waved them in the air arrogantly. “How can you possibly expect to run a company this way?” he charged, his black eyes igniting.

“What do you mean—what are you talking about?” Mara asked, stunned.

“I mean that I don’t know how you can expect to compete effectively in the marketplace when you’re working under such burdensome and antiquated systems in the office. It’s no wonder that Imagination is in the red!”

“I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed by all of this,” Mara stated, motioning to the stacks of records that covered her desk, “but I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” She couldn’t hide the hint of sarcasm and anger that tinged her words.

“What I’m saying is that you’re trying to dig a well with a teaspoon . . .” The confusion and smoldering indignation in her gaze begged him to continue. “What I’m trying to say is this—Toys are a big business, and in a recessive economy any toy company, Imagination included, has to be not only innovative but also technologically advanced. You can’t be so bogged down with paperwork that you’re ineffective.”

“You’re saying that Imagination needs to modernize?” she guessed.

“Right.”

“And . . . I suppose you think that the first step would be to purchase a computer?”

“You need the accuracy and speed that only a computer will give you . . .”

“What I don’t need is someone, especially an owner of a computer company, to tell me how to spend money that I don’t have!”

“You can’t afford not to invest.”

“Spoken like a true salesman,” she quipped curtly.

“I’m serious, Mara. How many people do you have working in your accounting department, aside from Hammel?”

“Three.”

“And the combined salaries and benefits total over thirty thousand dollars annually?” he guessed.

Mara nodded thoughtfully.

“A good microcomputer would cost you less than a third of that and would supply you with reports on inventory, financial statements, product costs . . .”

“Save your breath.” She fell into a nearby chair. “I’ve heard it all before. It’s just that I haven’t had the time or money to convert to a computer. No matter what you say, it’s an expensive investment.”

“I don’t see that you have much of a choice.”