Double Standards

by Judith McNaught

  "Probably nothing." Jack slid his briefcase onto the desk and removed a file that was labeled "SECURITY INVESTIGATION REPORT/LAUREN E. DANNER/EMPLOYEE NO. 98753." Jack didn't particularly like Rudy, but part of his job before he retired was to train him. Reluctantly he explained, "I just got the report from an investigation we ran on a secretary in the building."

  "A secretary?" Rudy sounded disappointed. "I didn't think we ran security checks on secretaries."

  "Normally we don't. In this case she was assigned to a top priority, confidential project, and the computer automatically reclassified her and issued a security clearance request."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "The problem is that when the investigators in Missouri checked with her former employer, he said that she worked for him part-time for five years while she went to college. Not full time, as Weatherby at Sinco assumed."

  "So she lied on her application, right?" Rudy asked, becoming interested.

  "Yes, but not about that. She didn't actually say she worked there full-time. The thing is, she lied and said she had never attended college. The Missouri investigators checked with the university, and she not only graduated, she also got a Master's degree."

  "Why would she say she hadn't gone to college if she had?"

  "That's one of the things that bothers me a little. I could understand if she said she'd gone to college when she actually hadn't. I'd presume she must have figured that a college degree would help her get hired."

  "What are the other things that bother you?"

  Jack glanced up at Rudy's rotund face, his avid eyes, and shrugged. "Nothing," he lied. "I just want to check her out for my own peace of mind. I have to go into the hospital for some tests this weekend, but on Monday I'll start working on it."

  "How about letting me check her out while you're in the hospital?"

  "If they decide to keep me in for more tests, I'll call you and tell you how to handle it."

  "It's my birthday," Jim announced as Lauren walked into his office. "Normally a secretary brings a cake for her boss, but I don't suppose you've been here long enough to know that." He sounded a little doleful.

  Lauren started to laugh. She hadn't realized how much her promise to Philip Whitworth had burdened her until now. Suddenly the weight of it was gone. "Not only did I bake you a cake, I have a present for you too," she informed him gaily. "One I made myself."

  Jim unwrapped the package she handed him, and he was boyishly delighted with the sweater. "You shouldn't have—" he grinned, holding it up "—but I'm glad you did."

  "It was to say happy birthday and thank you for helping me with… things," she finished lamely.

  "Speaking of 'things,' Mary tells me that Nick is like a keg of dynamite ready to explode at the first spark. She says you're bearing up under the strain marvelously. You've won her wholehearted approval," he added quietly.

  "I like her too," Lauren said, her eyes clouding at the mention of Nick.

  Jim waited until she had left to go upstairs, then he picked up his telephone and punched four numbers. "Mary, what's the atmosphere like up there this morning?"

  "Positively explosive," she chuckled.

  "Is Nick going to be in the office this afternoon?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "Because I've decided to light a match under him and see what happens."

  "Jimmy, don't!" she said in a low, sharp voice.

  "See you a little before five, beautiful," he laughed, ignoring her warning.

  When Lauren returned from lunch there were two dozen breathtakingly gorgeous red roses in a vase on her desk. She removed the card from its envelope and stared at it in blank amazement. On it was written "Thank you, sweetheart," followed by the initial J.

  When Lauren looked up, Nick was standing in the doorway, his shoulder casually propped against the frame. But there was nothing casual about the rigid set of his jaw or the freezing look in his gray eyes. "From a secret admirer?" he asked sarcastically.

  It was the first personal comment he had addressed to her in four days. "Not a secret admirer exactly," she hedged.

  "Who is he?"

  Lauren tensed. He seemed so angry she didn't think it would be wise to mention Jim's name. "I'm not absolutely certain."

  "You aren't absolutely certain?" he bit out. "How many men with the initial J are you seeing? How many of them think you're worth more than a hundred dollars in roses as a way of saying thank you?"

  "A hundred dollars?" Lauren repeated, so appalled at the expense that she completely overlooked the fact that Nick had obviously opened the envelope and read the card.

  "You must be getting better at it," he mocked crudely.

  Inwardly Lauren flinched, but she lifted her chin. "I have much better teachers now!"

  With an icy glance that raked her from head to toe, Nick turned on his heel and strode back into his office. For the rest of the day he left her completely alone.

  At five minutes to five, Jim walked into Mary's office, wearing his gray sweater and balancing four pieces of birthday cake on two plates. He put the plates down on Mary's empty desk and glanced at the doorway to Nick's office. "Where's Mary?" he asked.

  "She left almost an hour ago," Lauren said. "She said to tell you that the nearest fire extinguisher is beside the elevators—whatever that means. I'll be right back. I have to take these letters in to Nick."

  As she got up and started around the desk, she was looking down at the letters in her hand, and what happened next stunned her into immobility. "I miss you, darling," Jim said, quickly pulling her into his arms.

  A moment later he released her so suddenly that Lauren staggered back a step. "Nick!" he said. "Look at the sweater Lauren gave me for my birthday. She made it herself. And I brought you a piece of my birthday cake—she made that too." Seemingly oblivious to Nick's thunderous countenance, he grinned and added, "I have to get back downstairs." To Lauren he said, "I'll see you later, love." And then he walked out.

  In a state of shock, Lauren stared at his retreating back. She was still staring after him when Nick spun her around to face him. "You vindictive little bitch, you gave him my sweater! What else has he gotten that belongs to me?"

  "What else?" Lauren repeated, her voice rising. "What are you talking about?"

  His hands tightened. "Your delectable body, my sweet. That's what I'm talking about."

  Lauren's amazement gave way to comprehension and then to fury. "How dare you call me names, you hypocrite!" she exploded, too incensed to be afraid. "Ever since I've known you, you've been telling me that there's nothing promiscuous about a woman satisfying her sexual desires with any man she pleases. And now—" she literally choked on her wrath "—and now, when you think I've done it, you call me a dirty name. You of all people—you, the United States contender for the bedroom Olympics!"

  Nick let go of her as if she had burned him. In a low, dangerously controlled voice he said, "Get out of here, Lauren."

  When she'd left, he walked over to the bar and poured himself a stiff bourbon, while fury and anguish twisted through him like a hundred snakes.

  Lauren had a lover. Lauren probably had several lovers.

  Regret shot through him like acid. She was no longer a starry-eyed little fool who thought people should be in love before they made love. That beautiful body of hers had been thoroughly explored by others. His mind instantly conjured up tormenting pictures of Lauren lying naked in Jim's arms.

  He tossed down his drink and poured himself another to blot out the pain, the images. Carrying it over to the sofa, he sat down and propped his feet up on the table.

  The liquor slowly began to work its numbing magic, and his rage subsided. In its place was nothing, only an aching emptiness.

  "What possessed you?" Lauren demanded of Jim the next morning.

  He grinned. "Call it an uncontrollable impulse."

  "I call it insanity!" she burst out. "You can't imagine how furious he was. He called me names! I—I think he's insane.
"

  "He is," Jim agreed with complacent satisfaction. "He's insane about you. Mary thinks so too."

  Lauren rolled her eyes. "You're all insane. I have to work up there with him. How am I going to do that?"

  Jim chuckled. "Very, very cautiously," he advised.

  Within an hour Lauren knew exactly what Jim meant, and during the days that ensued she began to feel as if she were walking on a tightrope. Nick began to work at a demonic pace that kept everyone, from his top executives to the lowest mailboys, rushing frantically to keep up with him and trying to avoid the lash of his temper.

  If he was satisfied with someone's efforts, he was coolly courteous. But if he wasn't satisfied—and he usually wasn't—he tore into the offender with an icy savagery that chilled Lauren's blood. With democratic impartiality he spread his displeasure from switchboard operators to vice-presidents, ripping into them with a caustic sarcasm that made the vice-presidents perspire and the switchboard operators cry. High-powered executives walked confidently into his office, only to slink out a few minutes later and exchange warning glances with auditors who in turn soon scurried out, clutching their ledger sheets and computer printouts protectively to their chests.

  By Wednesday of the following week the atmosphere on the eightieth floor had deteriorated to a strained, crackling panic that stretched its tentacles from division to division, from floor to floor. No one laughed on the elevators or gossiped at the copy machines anymore. Only Mary Callahan seemed serenely impervious to the mounting tension. In fact, it seemed to Lauren that she grew more elated with every harrowing hour that passed. But then Mary escaped the cutting edge of Nick's tongue, while Lauren herself did not.

  To Mary Nick was always courteous, and to Vicky Stewart, who called him at least three times a day, he was positively charming. No matter how busy he was, or what he was doing at the time, he always had time for Vicky. And whenever she called he would pick up the phone and lean back in his chair. From her desk Lauren could hear the lazy, seductive huskiness that vibrated in his deep voice when he spoke to the other woman, and her heart twisted every time.

  That Wednesday evening Nick was scheduled to leave for Chicago, and Lauren was eager to see him go. After so many days of tension, of being treated as if the sight of her revolted him, she felt her composure crumbling, and she restrained her temper and tears by nothing but sheer force of will.

  At four o'clock, two hours before his departure time, Nick called Lauren into the conference room to help Mary take notes during a meeting of the financial staff. The meeting was under way, and Lauren's attention was riveted on her shorthand notebook, her pen flying across the pages, when Nick's voice slashed into the proceedings. "Anderson!" he snapped murderously, "if you can tear your attention from Miss Danner's bust, the rest of us will be able to finish this meeting." Lauren flushed a vivid pink, but the elderly Anderson turned a purple hue that might be indicative of an impending stroke.

  As soon as the last staff member had filed out of the conference room, Lauren ignored Mary's warning look and turned furiously on Nick. "I hope you're satisfied!" she hissed furiously. "You not only humiliated me, you nearly gave that poor old man a heart attack. What do you plan to do for an encore?"

  "Fire the first woman who opens her mouth," Nick retorted coldly. He walked around her and strode out of the conference room.

  Outraged past all reason, Lauren started after him, but Mary stopped her. "Don't argue with him," she said, gazing after Nick with a beatific smile on her face. She looked as if she had just witnessed a miracle. "In his present mood he'd fire you, and he'd regret that for the rest of his life."

  When Lauren hesitated, she added kindly, "He isn't coming back from Chicago until Friday night, which gives us two days to recuperate. Tomorrow we'll have a long lunch out of the building—maybe at Tony's. We've earned it."

  Without Nick's electric vitality, the executive suite seemed hauntingly empty the next morning. Lauren told herself it was blissfully peaceful and that she liked it this way, but she really didn't.

  At noon she and Mary drove to Tony's, where Lauren had phoned for a reservation. A headwaiter wearing the usual formal black was stationed at the entrance to the dining rooms, but Tony saw them and hurried over. Lauren stepped back in surprise as he caught Mary in a bear hug that nearly swept her off her sensibly shod feet. "I liked it better when you worked for Nick's papa and grandpapa in the garage behind us," he was saying. "In the old days, I at least got to see you and Nick."

  He turned to Lauren with a beaming smile. "So, my little Laurie, now you know Nick and Mary and me. You are becoming one of the family."

  He showed them to their table, then grinned at Lauren. "Ricco will take care of you," he said. "Ricco thinks you are beautiful—he blushes when your name is mentioned."

  Ricco took their order and blushed when he put a glass of wine in front of Lauren. Mary's eyes twinkled, but when he left she looked directly at Lauren and said without preamble, "Would you like to talk about Nick?"

  Lauren choked on her wine. "Please, let's not ruin a lovely lunch. I already know more than enough about him."

  "What, for example?" Mary persisted gently.

  "I know that he's an egotistical, arrogant, bad-tempered, dictatorial tyrant!"

  "And you love him." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

  "Yes," Lauren said angrily.

  Mary was struggling obviously to hide her amusement at Lauren's tone. "I was certain that you did. I also suspect that he loves you."

  Trying to suppress the anguished hope that flared in her heart, Lauren turned her face to the stained-glass window near their table. "What makes you think so?"

  "To begin with, he isn't treating you the way he normally treats the women in his life."

  "I know that. He's nice to the others," Lauren said bitterly.

  "Exactly!" Mary agreed. "He's always treated his women with an attitude of amused indulgence… of tolerant indifference. While an affair lasts he's attentive and charming. When a woman begins to bore him he courteously but firmly dismisses her from his life. Not once to my knowledge has any woman touched an emotion in him deeper than affection or desire. I've seen them try in the most inventive ways to make him jealous, yet he has reacted with nothing stronger than amusement, or occasionally exasperation. Which brings us to you."

  Lauren blushed at being correctly categorized with the other women Nick had taken to bed, but she knew it was useless to deny it.

  "You," Mary continued quietly, "have evoked genuine anger in him. He is furious with you and with himself. Yet he doesn't dismiss you from his life; he doesn't even send you downstairs. Doesn't it seem odd to you that he won't let you work for Jim, and simply have you come upstairs to act as translator when Rossi's call finally comes through?"

  "I think he's keeping me up there for revenge," Lauren said grimly.

  "I think he is too. Perhaps he's trying to get back at you for what you're making him feel. Or possibly he's trying to find fault with you, so that he won't feel the way he does any longer. I don't know. Nick is a complex man. Jim, Ericka and I are all very close to him, and yet he keeps each one of us at a slight distance. There's a part of himself that he will not share with others, not even us… Why do you look so strange?" Mary interrupted herself to ask.

  Lauren sighed. "If you're matchmaking, and I think you are, you have the wrong woman. You should be talking to Ericka, not me."

  "Don't be silly—"

  "Did you see the newspaper article about the party in Harbor Springs a few weeks ago?" Lauren's embarrassed gaze drifted away from Mary's face as she added, "I was in Harbor Springs with Nick, and he sent me home because Ericka was coming. He called her a 'business acquaintance.' "

  "Well, she is!" Mary said, reaching across the table and giving Lauren's hand a squeeze. "They're close friends, and they're business acquaintances— and that's all they are. Nick is on the board of directors of her father's corporation, and her father is on Global's board of
directors. Ericka was buying the house at the Cove from Nick. She's always loved it, and she probably went up there to close the deal."

  Lauren's heart soared with sudden relief and happiness, even though her mind warned her that her situation with Nick was still hopeless. At least he hadn't taken her to his girlfriend's bed in his girlfriend's house! She waited while Ricco served them their food, then she asked, "How long have you known Nick?"

  "Forever," Mary said. "I went to work as a bookkeeper for his father and grandfather when I was twenty-four. Nick was four years old. His father died six months after that."

  "What was he like when he was little?" Lauren felt helplessly eager to learn everything she could about the powerful, enigmatic man who owned her heart and didn't seem to want it.

  Mary smiled reminiscently. "We called him Nicky then. He was the most charming little dark-haired devil you've ever seen—proud like his father and stubborn occasionally. He was sturdy, cheerful and bright—exactly the sort of little boy that any mother would be proud to have. Except his own," she added, her face sobering.

  "What about his mother?" Lauren persisted, remembering how reluctant Nick had been to talk about her in Harbor Springs. "He didn't say much about her."

  "I'm amazed that he spoke of her at all. He never talks about her." Mary's glance strayed slightly as she thought back to the past. "She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, as well as being rich, spoiled, pampered and moody. She was like a Christmas-tree ornament—beautiful to look at, but brittle and empty inside. Nicky adored her, despite all her faults.

  "Right after Nicky's father died, she walked out, leaving Nicky with his grandparents. For months after she left the house, he watched out the window, waiting for her to come back. He understood that his father was dead and couldn't come back to him, but he refused to believe that his mother wasn't coming back either. He never asked about her, he just waited for her. I mistakenly thought his grandparents wouldn't let her come, and frankly, I blamed them for that—unfairly, as it turned out.