by Joan Hohl
“Have you reached a verdict?”
Valerie’s thoughts splintered like shattered glass at the sardonically drawled question. What in the world was she doing? What must he think?
“I’m sorry.” Valerie raked her mind for an explanation of her odd behavior. Nothing presented itself. “Mr. Thorne, I—”
“You didn’t particularly like what you saw, did you?”
Startled, she blinked at him, then lowered her eyes. How did one answer a question like that tactfully?
“You have a very strong, determined face,” she finally managed. The laughter that erupted from him startled her and her eyes flew again to his face. Looking at him was a mistake. Friday, his smile had stunned her, now his soft laughter had a paralyzing effect. Fleetingly she wondered why, when he could produce such a delightful sound, he laughed so rarely. Abruptly, he turned and walked to the door of his office. Before entering the room he shot her an amused, meaningful look.
“Strong and determined, huh?” The grin that spread across his face could only be described as wicked. “You don’t know the half of it, sweetheart.”
Groping behind her, Valerie clutched at the desk for support. The doorway was empty now but she could still hear his low chuckle, which unnerved her even more. Making her way around the desk she dropped into her chair, staring blankly at her shaking hands. She hadn’t the vaguest idea how long she’d been sitting just staring at nothing, when the phone rang, bringing her to her senses.
With the first call of the day Valerie eased back into her normal routine. By the time she entered Thorne’s office to take dictation she’d pulled herself together enough to speak to him in her usual cool tone of voice. His first, distant “Miss Jordan” assured her that he had also reverted to form.
Before drifting off to sleep that night, Valerie replayed the morning’s scene over again in her mind in an attempt to make some sense of it. Why, she wondered sleepily, had Thorne’s closeness to her, and his taunting jibe, shaken her so ridiculously? It wasn’t as if she cared what he thought of her; she didn’t. And she was positive he didn’t give a damn what she thought about him. So then why had his face seemed to become taut with tension when he’d asked, “Have you reached a verdict?”
Unable to find any plausible answer for his attitude Valerie sought sleep. She was tired but, for the first time in the last year, she had good reason for her weariness. She had been exceptionally busy all day. The phone had rung incessantly and Thorne had required her presence at several meetings to take notes. Yawning widely she curled up on her side, dismissing all thoughts of the baffling Jonas Thorne.
Midmorning Tuesday, refreshed from a deep, dreamless eight hours of sleep, Valerie shifted her gaze from the keys of her typewriter to the woman who entered her office and felt her breath catch in her throat. The woman was not really beautiful, but she certainly was arresting. Tall in comparison to Valerie, she stood before the desk with the poise instilled by an exclusive finishing school—or a good modeling school—her head tilted slightly as she coolly studied the smaller woman. Her makeup had been applied with an artist’s touch to enhance her high cheekbones and full-lipped mouth. Every dark hair on her regally held head was in perfect place, and her brown eyes were filled with disdainful amusement as they finished their perusal of Valerie.
Feeling herself weighed, measured and found decidingly wanting, Valerie felt annoyance prick her mind. Who was this haughty woman? Careful not to let her annoyance show, Valerie responded with her most professional smile.
“May I help you, Miss—?”
“Cinelli,” the woman supplied, not bothering to return the smile. “Maria Cinelli, and I want to see Jonas.”
Who cares what you want? Valerie had to bite back the retort. So this was the ex-everything, she sneered to herself. Very impressive, I suppose, except I’m not impressed.
“Of course you do,” Valerie purred silkily, and felt rewarded by the tiny frown that fleetingly marred Maria’s smooth brow. Allowing a glimmer of her own disdain to sneak into her eyes, Valerie swept the tall, elegant form with a dismissive glance as she pressed the button on the intercom.
“What is it, Miss Jordan?”
Valerie stiffened at the smug, catlike smirk of satisfaction that curved Maria Cinelli’s lips at the impatience in Thorne’s tone.
“Miss Cinelli is in the office, sir,” Valerie answered in a neutral tone. “She would like to see you.”
“Well, then, send her in.”
“Yes, sir.” Wondering what the maximum was for murder in Pennsylvania, Valerie forced herself to face the Cheshire smile on Maria’s red lips. “You may go right in, Miss Cinelli.”
“Of course I may,” Maria taunted. “There was never any doubt of that.”
Valerie decided then and there that she hated Maria Cinelli. She may as well wear a sign on her back that reads “for sale—expensive,” she thought waspishly, as she watched that slender back glide into Thorne’s office.
The door clicked shut with what sounded to Valerie like sharp finality. Turning back to her typewriter, she tried to relieve her frustration by attacking the innocent keys.
One white sheet of paper followed another around the roller, and still the connecting door remained firmly closed. Pounding away, making mistakes at a rate she had not equalled since leaving the Paris office, Valerie tried in vain to keep the questions at bay. Is Maria pleading with him to be taken back, into his life as well as the office? Is she succeeding? What is going on in there? Valerie shook her head suddenly, fiercely. The questions were bad enough. But with the last one came a mental picture of the long white couch in Jonas’s office. The figures on the couch were tangled in an intimate embrace, and on the face of one, red lips curved in a smile of triumph.
“Oh, blast,” Valerie muttered aloud as several keys, all positioned to strike the paper at the same time, stuck tightly together. What was the matter with her? Hadn’t he as much as told her her job was secure? As to the other part of the picture, what did she care who he fooled around with? Valerie assured herself she did not care—all the while swallowing against the sick feeling that climbed from her stomach to her throat.
Thirty-odd minutes later, Valerie cast the still closed door a sour look as she left the office to go to lunch. When she returned, the door stood wide open and Thorne’s office was empty. As she circled her desk to sit down, a dark scrawl across her dictation pad caught her eye.
I’m leaving for the day. Have Charlie keep my 2:30 appointment.
J.T.
Well, that about says it all, Valerie thought tiredly. Suppressing a sigh, she lifted the receiver to call Charlie McAndrew.
By quitting time Valerie was in a mood so foul that even Janet could not tease her out of it. That mood had not changed when she reentered the office Wednesday morning. A call from Charlie McAndrew informing her that Jonas had flown to Chicago for the rest of the week did nothing to relieve her irritability. Nor did the news, imparted by Loretta at lunchtime, that Maria had also left town.
Damn Thorne and his paramour, Valerie cursed silently through most of Thursday and Friday. The weekend brought thoughts of escape. Perhaps I’ll just chuck the whole thing and hunt for another job, she decided late Sunday night, preferably in another city, or another state. Would Thorne give her a decent reference?
“Good morning, Valerie,” Thorne greeted her pleasantly as he strolled into her office five minutes after her arrival on Monday morning.
For some obscure reason his casual use of her given name set the spark to her fuse, which had become very short over the weekend.
“Good morning, sir,” she returned with icy brittleness.
The change in his demeanor was both instant and somewhat frightening.
“Something on your mind?” he asked smoothly. Then added, even more smoothly, “Val?”
“Yes,” Valerie snapped, unreasonably angered by his deliberate shortening of her name. “I want to tender my resignation.”
“Fine,” h
e snapped back, pivoting around and striding to the connecting door. “Tender it in writing.”
His mockery of her terminology affecting her like a slap in the face, Valerie flounced around the desk. Without bothering to sit down, she snatched the cover off her typewriter, rolled a sheet of paper into it, and with trembling fingers tapped out her resignation.
Still not pausing to consider the rashness of her actions, she stormed into Thorne’s office and presented the sheet of paper to him wordlessly. Moving slowly, lazily, Thorne accepted the paper. Then, after barely glancing at the contents, he tore it in half and dropped it into his waste paper basket.
“Now,” he said softly. “Suppose you sit down and tell me what in hell this is all about?”
His soft tone didn’t fool her for a second. Suddenly all the annoyance drained out of Valerie, and she felt utterly tired, and unbelievably stupid. What had he done to earn her disdain, really? The words, “Get rid of her,” slithered into her mind, and Valerie realized with a shock that she had, in a way, been trying to punish him for them ever since. But what did they have to do with her, for heaven’s sake? Had she designated herself the champion of her entire sex? A swift image of Maria’s smirking face brought an equally swift answer to her question—not very likely.
“I’m waiting, Valerie.” Jonas’s sharp tone nudged her into alertness. But what could she say?
“I—I think it would be best if I left your employ,” she told him weakly.
“Best for you—or me?”
“For me.”
“Why?”
Why? Why? Because the idea of you and Maria together sickens me, that’s why. Maria or any other woman. Valerie stiffened visibly as the truth hammered its way through the mental defenses she’d erected. God! She had to get out of here. But first she had to tell him something.
“Advancement,” Valerie clutched at the first thought that came to mind.
“Strange.” His tone, softly musing this time, was belied by his coldly calculating expression. “You didn’t strike me as being a career woman.” He paused, his eyes measuring her. “What sort of advancement?”
“W-What do you mean?” Valerie was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze.
“I mean, what are your goals? Your long-range goals? What do you want out of life?”
“Want?” Valerie repeated confusedly.
“Yes, want,” Thorne probed relentlessly. “From life, eventually?”
Where, she wondered, had she lost the thread of this conversation? It was obvious Thorne was no longer talking about her job. Unable to figure out his purpose, Valerie answered truthfully.
“The same as most women want, I guess. A home, some contentment. Children.”
“Children!” Thorne repeated in feigned astonishment. “That will be difficult to manage, won’t it?”
“Why should it be?” Valerie bristled.
Leaning back in his chair, Thorne ran a lazily assessing glance over her. “Well, a mate is required to produce children. Not a husband, necessarily, but a man.” His thin lips curved mockingly. “And the word’s around that you’re off men.”
Hot anger seared through Valerie, the power of it making her shake. Clenching her hands into tight fists she stood up just so she could look down on him.
“There will be a husband.” She pushed the words through her teeth. “I intend my children to have legitimacy as well as a father.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Thorne applauded. Goaded beyond caring what she said, Valerie went on the attack.
“And what do you want from life?”
Thorne didn’t bat an eye. “A son,” he replied instantly. “An heir to all this.” He waved his hand to encompass the building.
“But I thought you already had an heir!” Valerie exclaimed. Janet had told her that though Thorne was now single, he had been married once. Although the union had been short-lived, it had produced a child.
“That’s correct, I have.” Thorne nodded. “A daughter.”
Valerie blinked in surprise. Why had she thought he was different? Because of Janet and a number of other women who had advanced according to their talent and ability? But then, conferring advancement on employees was not quite the same as conferring an entire company on a daughter.
“And a daughter isn’t good enough?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Thorne retorted. “I’d have been proud to have her take over in time, if she had been interested. The sad truth is, Valerie, my daughter’s interest in this firm is totally centered on her monthly allowance check, nothing more.”
“I’m sorry,” Valerie murmured, blushing.
“So am I,” Thorne returned. He shrugged. “That’s the way it goes.” He ran his eyes over her again as he slowly stood up. Then, as if coming to a sudden decision, he shocked her speechless by quietly asking, “Would you consider being my son’s mother?”
Valerie felt her mouth drop open slightly. She was powerless to close it. Had she heard him correctly? Apparently she had, for he repeated his question. Beginning to shake her head, she opened her mouth to answer him. He didn’t give her the chance.
“I’m not suggesting anything clandestine, Val.” His smile twisted strangely. “I also want legitimacy for my child. I’m asking you to marry me.”
“But why me?” she blurted out.
“Why not?” Thorne countered.
“We barely know each other, that’s why not,” Val cried.
“Does anyone ever know anyone else?” Thorne questioned. “You just told me what you want. You know me well enough to be assured I can give it to you. And I assume you are physically capable of giving me what I want.” His eyebrows, arched, “Right?”
Valerie nodded in automatic response.
“Well, then.” He forged ahead before she could voice a protest. “Why not join forces and each supply the other’s wants?”
“Because I don’t—” She got no further.
“I know you are still hanging on to the memory of a dead love,” Thorne stated coldly. “But if you are ever going to achieve your goal you’re going to have to let go sometime. For your own sake, I think the sooner you let go, the better.”
Valerie was trembling from the cruelty of his advice. Gritting her teeth she began, “Mr. Thorne—”
“Jonas.” Again he would not let her speak. Striding around the desk he grasped her arms with his big hands. “You’re going to have to face cold, hard reality sometime, Val. I’m giving you the opportunity to face it comfortably, from behind a protective cushioning of wealth.” He smiled at her widened eyes. “Yes, Val, I’m a wealthy man, and I’m willing to make you a full partner. All you have to do for it is produce one son.”
“You can fill a field with daughters, while hoping for a son.” Valerie repeated one of her father’s sayings, feeling like an idiot even while she spoke.
“I won’t ask you to go that far,” Thorne drawled. “If you are wise, Valerie, you’ll consider your answer very carefully. You said your plans include a husband. Well, as far as husband material goes, I’m probably the best thing going.”
Chapter 5
You damned arrogant fool! he silently berated himself.
She was going to say no. And it was his own fault. The best thing going, indeed! Jonas watched the play of emotions on Valerie’s face for several long seconds then, when she still did not speak, he released her arms and strode to the window to stare out, his jaw clenched so hard the bones hurt.
God, he wanted her! The sun glaring off the hoods and roofs of the rows of cars parked in the building’s rear lot was an assault on the eyes and he narrowed his lids against it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman quite this badly. And she was going to say no. He knew it and the frustration of that knowing clawed at his guts.
He’d never taken time to regret his decisions. He’d never had time for regrets of any kind. But right now, this minute, he was sorry as hell that he’d indulged Janet by bringing Val back w
ith him. I should have left her in Paris, he thought savagely. Left her to wallow in her grief and self-pity.
Sliding his hands into his pants pockets, Jonas massaged his knotted upper thighs with the tips of his fingers. What the hell kind of man had he been, this Etienne, this dead lover of Val’s?
Fingertips dug painfully into taut muscles as a picture formed before his eyes, obscuring the sight of lot, cars and even the brilliant sunlight. In the picture Val lay with her glorious black hair spread out around her head. Her breathtaking violet eyes were softened by love and her white arms and whiter legs encircled the shadowy form of a faceless man. Dead or not, Jonas hated the thought of that faceless man.
“Mr. Thorne?”
The soft, hesitant sound of Val’s voice dissolved the mirage. Releasing his breath slowly, silently, Jonas turned to face her. “Yes?” At that moment he was sure he knew exactly what a man facing a firing squad feels.
“Could I have some time?” His fingers dug yet deeper as he watched her wet her lips. Had she done that on purpose?
“How much time?” Jonas cursed himself for his cold tone when he saw her wince.
“Until—tomorrow morning?”
A reprieve, and he hadn’t even heard the phone ring when the governor called. Reprieve hell! He felt like he was hanging on a very sharp hook. Why don’t you tell her to get out of your life and get it over with? he advised himself mockingly. Because I still want her, that’s why.
“Of course,” he answered coolly. “Would you like the rest of the day to yourself?” Say yes, please, he pleaded silently, and get out of my sight so I can think straight.
“No.” The sun struck glinting blue lights off her hair as she shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”
That’s easy for you to say. Jonas watched the smooth movement of Val’s body as she walked to the door. Your mind’s been numbed by grief and your body’s immune to arousal. The door closed with a final-sounding click. I wish I could say the same for my body.
With a grim smile of self-mockery pulling at his lips, Jonas walked to his desk and lowered his long frame into the padded chair. Resting his head against the back of the chair, he lifted one hand to massage his temple. Lord, he was tired, and he didn’t like that. He was hardly ever tired, at least not at this time of the morning. And he could never remember being this kind of tired.