CEO's S.O.S.

by Anders, Robyn

  "Give it a rest, Tyler. You don't need to butter me up."

  "Trust me, I wouldn't say it if--uh-oh." His mother was bearing down on him. She looked angry, ready to do damage.

  "Mother, you've been avoiding my phone calls."

  "I've been quite busy now that I've been named vice chairman of the symphony society," she told him. "But Bruno insisted I return from Budapest because of some outrageous claim you were making."

  "I haven't made an outrageous claim, Mother. I've simply informed Mr. Franklin that the bonds had been delivered to him by mistake and were not yours to dispose of."

  She laughed nervously. "But I didn't dispose of them. I gave them to the symphony. I can't imagine a more practical use than that."

  "I told you that I couldn't fund the entire endowment, Mother. The business needs that money."

  His mother rolled her eyes. "Business." She turned to Courtney, ignoring Tyler. "How wonderful to see you again, darling. You look quite elegant in that gown. As if you belong in society. I've always heard that you can get off-the-rack that is almost as high in quality as custom tailored."

  "Thank you." Courtney was gritting her teeth, but Tyler had to admire her forbearance.

  "Mother, play nice."

  Eve gave both of them a dazzling smile. "Of course, dear. Ms. Zane, wasn't it? It's wonderful that you were able to join us for the evening. I'll have to make sure you're invited to join the symphony society. It is simply the cream of Philadelphia. Not to mention home to more neurotic pets than you can shake a stick at. It'll be the perfect place for you to mingle and promote your business."

  His mother should have been a general. She knew every tactic to divide her opposition, to confuse them, to blind them to her attack. Unfortunately for her, Tyler had grown up with her, knew her tricks and traps.

  "Courtney won't be joining the symphony society," he said. "It's one of the most ridiculous ideas you've ever come up with. And I won't let you give away my money."

  His mother's laughter wasn't faked--she never faked anything--unless she saw an advantage from doing so. "But you see, darling, I've already given it away. It's gone. Even if I wanted to ask for it back, I couldn't. Of course, I would never even consider something as graceless and lacking in social class as to demand the return of a gift."

  "I wouldn't ask you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with, Mother." Tyler smiled. "I'm perfectly capable of doing my own dirty work. I sent Carmela Geironela off looking for Bruno a few minutes ago but she seems to have vanished. Perhaps you could tell him I need to see him immediately."

  "I'm afraid Bruno is quite tied up until after dinner," Eve said. "Why don't you join us at the directors' table. After all, a vice-chairman does have certain privileges."

  * * * *

  Ridiculous idea? Courtney hadn't expected Tyler to actually support with his mother's proposal to invite her into the Symphony Society. And she certainly didn't think that the rest of the members would agree to include her even if Eve had meant it. Certainly Carmela's snub about pet-sitting showed where they thought she stood--below the social radar. None of that kept Tyler's dismissal of her prospects from stinging.

  "Courtney and I won't be joining you at your table, Mother."

  Tyler's tone wasn't aimed at her, but Courtney still felt its icy cold backlash around her.

  "I'll be meeting with my attorney. I'm quite certain that Bruno will regret blowing me off like this."

  Courtney was used to thinking of Tyler as the owner of a bumbling dog, possessor of a dynamite body, and a super-rich guy. All of a sudden, though, Tyler shook off those outer manifestations and showed his steel core. This was the man who had beaten the multinationals and government-subsidized businesses in one of the most competitive industries in the world.

  She couldn't help being glad that she wasn't the target of Tyler's glare.

  Eve, though, wasn't intimidated. "I hardly think Bruno will worry about your lawyers. He is, you know, senior partner in one of the city's finest white-shoe firms."

  "Goodbye, Mother." Tyler grasped Courtney's arm firmly and he tugged her back toward the door.

  Glamorous women slowed their progress, trying to drape themselves over Tyler like feather-boas draped over a courtesan. And from their casual familiarity, Courtney guessed that many of them, maybe all of them, had been intimate with Tyler in the past. She was simply the next, and most plebian, in a line of short-term flings for Tyler.

  He sidestepped them all, superficially oblivious to their presence but carefully finding the almost invisible path that cut through their barriers and carried himself and Courtney out of their clutches. Just as he would sidestep her, once their relationship ended.

  When the hatcheck clerk professed problems locating his new cashmere overcoat and Courtney's wrap, Tyler abandoned the garments. "I'm sorry I exposed you to this," he muttered to Courtney as he tipped the valet three hundred dollars to overcome his momentary stupidity about where he'd parked Tyler's Mercedes. "I should never have brought you here."

  "I don't exactly fit in with that set," Courtney admitted.

  "Damned right."

  Well, she had said it herself. She shouldn't expect Tyler to argue against what was so completely obvious. Still, before tonight, he'd always managed to couch his words in compliments: to make her feel good about herself even when he had to tell her that she didn't measure up to the standards that Philadelphia society would demand of any woman who was to be more than a one-night stand. Now, perhaps because he'd already had his one night, or perhaps because she'd denied him a second night when he'd asked for it, he didn't seem to care.

  * * * *

  Tyler apologized to Courtney for neglecting her, and then dialed a conference call with Jack and Barney Garford, his corporate counsel.

  "You did what?" Barney didn't mince words.

  "It never dawned on me that having my mother a signatory on the safety deposit vault would be a problem," Tyler admitted. "After all, I had the only keys. Who would have guessed that she'd burglarize my home?"

  "The bank will have her signature on its records," Jack offered. "You'll be able to demonstrate that she accessed your vault."

  "Which will prove about nothing," Barney reminded them. "Bearer bonds are, by nature, difficult to trace."

  "Maybe," Tyler admitted. "But I have the broker statements proving I bought them. I put them in the vault the day they were delivered and the bank's records will show that. I haven't been back to the vault since. I think we can establish a pretty clear chain of custody."

  "It would be unlawful for the symphony to try to hold onto stolen property," Jack commented. "And with what we have, the case for theft would be clear-cut."

  "You're right," Barney said. "Unfortunately, there one slight problem."

  That, Tyler knew, was the secret to business. There was always a problem. The people who overcame the problems were the successes. Those who couldn't, no matter how smart they might be or how technically sound their background, weren't.

  He glanced over at Courtney who was staring out the window, looking anywhere but at him. Right now, he wasn't sure whether she was the problem, or whether she was the prize that came from identifying and solving the problem. Or both. A lot about Courtney mystified him.

  It could have been that her superficially polite ignoring of him simply meant she was just being polite, trying not to listen to his business conversation. Tyler didn't think so. Something had happened at the symphony meeting, someone had said something or done something to hurt her.

  A surge of protective feelings swelled up inside of him, surprised him, made him lose track of the conversation.

  He'd have to deal with the problems surrounding Courtney. And he wasn't going to wait until he sorted his mother out, either. He wanted Courtney, wanted her in his life and in his bed. And he intended to make that happen.

  "So what do you think?" The lawyer's voice pulled him back to the phone conversation.

  "I'm sorry, Barney. My mi
nd wandered there for a moment."

  "I said we'll have to press charges."

  "Great. The way that sonofabitch was acting tonight, I'd like to smear Bruno Franklin into the mud."

  "Franklin. What's he got to do with it?"

  "The hell? He's received stolen property."

  "Not unless we establish that the property was stolen. What we've got to do is file charges against your mother."

  That hit him in the gut. His mother could be difficult, but she was his mother. What kind of son would call the police and send them yapping after his own mother like hounds on a scent? "Well, damn. I hadn't thought about that. I need to think."

  "What's to think?" Jack demanded. "She stole two hundred million. She's sabotaging the company. We can't let anyone get away with that."

  "She's his mother," Barney said. "And we've got to remember that it's his money, not the company's money."

  "Thanks, Barney." His corporate counsel wasn't known for his tact, but even he recognized how hard a decision he was asking Tyler to make.

  "I'll get back to you guys tomorrow," he promised.

  "The sooner we can get this decided, the better our chances in court," Barney said.

  "Nobody's going to do anything tonight. Tomorrow will have to do." He had other plans for the night. Important plans that had nothing to do with his business, his dog, or two hundred million dollars.

  He looked over at the beautiful woman he shared his car with. "Hungry?"

  Courtney didn't even look at him.

  Tyler had been snubbed by Saudi oil sheiks, Chinese Mandarins, and Philadelphia Brahmins. Courtney's cold shoulder was top-notch, but he was up to the challenge.

  "I'm off the phone, Courtney. I asked if you were hungry."

  She finally looked at him. "Are you sure you don't mind being seen with me?"

  He wasn't sure what he was expecting but it certainly wasn't anything like that.

  He pulled up at a red light and took the time to inspect her closely. No runs in her stockings. No major makeup disasters that he could see. Nope, Courtney looked about perfect to him, as she always did.

  Growing up with two sisters and a domineering mother had given him experience in recognizing a woman's mood, though. "I take it I said something wrong."

  "Oh, no. How could you have done anything wrong?"

  Major sarcasm. He tried to review everything he'd said that evening but couldn't think of anything that could have hurt Courtney. His mother or Carmela had sent zingers her way, but she had shrugged them off with a calmness that made Tyler admire her even more.

  "Well, I'm hungry. Are you too mad to join me at a meal?"

  Her stomach growled before she could say anything.

  He laughed. "Okay, I'm taking that for an answer. I promised you dinner tonight and you look so beautiful in that dress that I think we should go someplace nice."

  He dialed his favorite French restaurant, reserved one of the small banquet rooms so they could have a bit of privacy, and swung onto the freeway.

  * * * *

  Tyler's smile, the way he brushed his hand against her cheek, the simple way he had of commanding respect without demanding it, sent power surges through every linkage in Courtney's wiring system.

  From what she'd seen at the symphony ambush, she wasn't the only woman Tyler affected, either.

  Now that she knew how he thought about her, she should have been able to be strong, to demand that he take her to a motel or anywhere she could be away from him. For her own sanity, the last thing she needed was to spend more time with him, especially at a posh French restaurant.

  The instant they entered La Maison Français Confrérie, an attentive Maitre' d ushered them into a secluded room. Courtney sat down at the single, intimate table. A wood fire snapped in a fireplace at one end of the room, and soft strains of live music filtered in from the main dining room. It wasn't a symphony, of course, but a couple of violinists, a violist, and a cellist lent a rich texture to the evening.

  Tyler adjusted her chair as she sat, walked to his side of the table, glanced at the menu, then gave her a smile. One of his smiles that could melt an arctic icecap and could certainly melt her heart again unless she kept it protected, insulated.

  "I'm not eating snails," she insisted.

  He gave her a grin rather than his slow smile this time. "Okay."

  "Aren't you supposed to argue with me, tell me that I'd give them a chance if I wanted to get any culture at all?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you want me to do?"

  "Dammit, I'm the psychologist, not you. What I want is for you to answer my questions."

  "Okay. I don't care if you eat snails or not. They taste a lot like garlic. If that doesn't sound good to you, why should you bother trying one? Do you have negative feelings about oysters, as well, or can we dare some?"

  She started to tell him what he could do with his oysters, then realized that this might be a unique occasion in her life. The restaurant was so expensive it didn't even have prices printed in the menus. Which had to be one of those 'if you have to ask, you can't afford it' statements. She might as well relish the entire experience. Lock it in her memories to pull out and savor again, when the hurt from Tyler's words had faded and when she could gain a perspective on the time they had spent together--and the sensual side to herself that Tyler had unlocked.

  "I guess oysters would be okay."

  Tyler said something to the waiter--in what sounded like accent-free French. The waiter nodded, though, and vanished.

  Less than a minute later, the wine steward brought in two bottles of wine, one red, the other white, opened them, poured a splash into two wineglasses, and waited.

  "Would you do the honors?" Tyler offered.

  He looked serious, as if he really thought she could tell good wine from bad.

  She nodded. "Why not?"

  The wine steward looked anxiously as Courtney sipped the white wine.

  It was crisp and cool, with a hint of some fruit flavor at the very back of her mouth. "Very nice," she said.

  The steward nodded seriously. "We've had good luck with that white. And the red?"

  She looked at Tyler but he just looked back at her with the same trust and respect that the wine steward probably put on like a uniform. Only in Tyler's case, it was real. Real or a darned good fake.

  "If you like it, it's good. If you don't like it, it's bad," Tyler suggested.

  Could it be that simple? She knew people took classes in wine-tasting, spent thousands of dollars improving their palate. If she hadn't heard Tyler say that it would be ridiculous for a woman like her to even think about joining the symphony society, it would be easier to take him seriously.

  She took a swallow of the red wine.

  It felt like velvet in her mouth, rich and deep and expensive.

  "Wow."

  The wine steward practically burst from his tuxedo. "I am so glad you approve. My father laid it down when he first came to work here at La Maison Français Confrérie. We have only a few bottles left. I'm proud that the two of you will be able to enjoy one."

  The steward bowed as he backed toward the door. "I'll leave you alone, then. Bon appétit."

  Tyler poured wine into their glasses, then lifted the white in a toast. "Here's to washing that symphony nonsense out of our systems."

  She had raised her wineglass halfway to her lips in an unconscious echo of Tyler's movement before his words penetrated. Could he really think she'd be happy that he'd slammed her in front of his own mother?

  Courtney didn't understand men. Starting with her own father and her brother, she'd struggled to comprehend their needs, their anger that seemed to explode out of nowhere, engulfing everyone around them. But still, how could anybody be simultaneously as understanding and as cruel as Tyler?

  "Let's have it," he demanded before she threw the wineglass to the floor and stormed out into the cold.

  "What?"

  "You know what. I said somethin
g wrong and I hurt your feelings. I want you to tell me what I did. I think we're friends, Courtney. I think you owe it to your friends to let them know when they screw up. That's the right thing to do, don't you think?"

  This was something else beyond her experience. Her brother had never been willing to listen when she'd tried to help him with his drinking problem. She'd only rarely dared confront her father when he had made up his mind about something.

  She stared into Tyler's eyes. Could she trust him? Would he explode if she told him how hurt she'd been? Or might he laugh at the idea that she even considered herself important enough, classy enough to belong to something like the Symphony Society and not just a servant who offers sex benefits?

  She took a deep breath. Darn it, she was going to take a chance with honesty. If that scared Tyler away, as it frightened her father and her brother, that was his problem, not hers. And he was right. They had spent enough time together, enjoyed both lovemaking and sharing moments like the one with Barton and Harvey at the pond to think of themselves as friends. So why not let him know how he'd hurt her? Maybe he would treat the next woman he dated with a bit more respect.

  "You asked for it. I am mad. I'm pissed because you said a person like me would never fit with the Symphony Society after your mother was nice enough to invite me to join it."

  There. She'd said it, admitted her anger out loud. Her psychology professors would have been proud of her if they'd known.

  Surprise and befuddlement crossed Tyler's face. At first. But then, they were replaced by what she'd feared more than anything: amusement.

  He chuckled. At her. At her simple desire to fit in.

  "You son of a bitch." She grabbed a dinner roll and heaved it at him.

  He snatched the roll from the air before it hit his face, and set it on his bread plate. "Come on, Courtney, you don't understand."

  "I understand perfectly. I'm good enough to sleep with, but you don't want me getting any fancy ideas about being part of your hoity-toity society."

  His smile vanished as completely as if it had never been. "Is that what you think? That I think you're not good enough to be part of that group?"