Randall was not humming when he dropped the phone on his desk.
“Son of a bitch. There's an insider in this deal.” He tossed the invitation to the Beaux Arts Ball into the trash can.
Fourteen
“Kate, would you come to the conference room, please?”
She had been lost in blueprints and was startled at the buzz of the intercom. Now she quickly straightened her collar and rolled down her sleeves before heading down the hall. She couldn't interpret her boss's tone, so she wasn't sure what to expect when she walked through the conference room door.
Bruce Adler was holding an unopened bottle of champagne.
Susan Chen, Jim Mertens, her project partner, and several other senior staff members were milling around in front of a big oval table covered with catering platters and plastic champagne glasses.
“Kate!” Bruce said, waving her over. “Come join the celebration.”
“I'll be happy to. But what are we celebrating?” she asked as she walked over to her employer.
“Just a minute and everyone will know,” Bruce said. “Stand right here.” He raised his voice above the conversations. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.”
Everyone fell silent and turned to listen.
“I just received a telephone call from the lieutenant governor of the fair state of Connecticut. He has unofficially informed me that we have won the contract to design and supervise the construction of State Highway Bridge Number 3309.”
Kate gasped and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. The D.O.T. had moved incredibly quickly. They hadn't expected to hear the results of their bid for at least three weeks!
“The lieutenant governor said that they were bowled over by the brilliance of our design, the thoroughness of our proposal, and our sterling reputation.”
More applause greeted Bruce's speech. He held up a hand for quiet.
“I would like to thank Susan for heading the project up; our newest employee, Kate Chilton, for her innovative design work; and Jim Mertens for pulling together the proposal so quickly.”
Kate smiled and blushed as once again the group applauded.
“And now, let's celebrate,” Bruce said as he popped the cork from the champagne. More pops followed as the glasses were filled and refilled. Staff members introduced themselves and congratulated Kate warmly.
Susan Chen drew Kate out of the crowd. “The lieutenant governor told Bruce – off the record, of course – that we were the only firm to come up with a viable idea for keeping traffic flowing. That's why they made the decision so fast.”
Bruce walked over and refilled Kate's glass from the bottle he carried. “You do good work, Kate. Susan will continue to lead the project, but I expect you to be the on-site supervisor. We want this bridge built fast and well.”
“I'll be breathing down the construction crew's neck, day and night,” Kate promised.
“Try to avoid nights – overtime is expensive,” Bruce joked. “Here's to on-time, under-budget, and still standing in a hundred years.”
Kate laughed and touched her glass to the one he raised in a toast. “And to the commuters never noticing that they have a new bridge.”
“Hear, hear!” Bruce agreed.
Kate floated back to her desk on a cloud of champagne and success. She was going to build a bridge! Pylons would be sunk into the riverbed, steel girders would be bolted and welded together, massive bulldozers, backhoes and dump trucks would roar and strain, all to turn her drawing into solid reality. She and the construction foreman would stand shoulder-to-shoulder, creating a structure that would serve hundreds of thousands of people for decades to come. “You'd think that I was building the George Washington Bridge itself,” she laughed as she settled down to work.
“Guess what, guys. We got the job! We're building Bridge Number 3309!”
She was putting a thawed tray of lasagna she had made over the weekend into the oven as they walked through the door.
“Way to go, Mom!” Patrick shouted.
Clay gave her a high five. “I knew you'd get the job. Your design was so cool! When do you start construction?”
“Well, Connecticut has to hire a construction firm first, so I'm madly developing drawings for them to put out to bid. But they're in a big rush, so I'm hoping that it will go in a month or two.”
“That's really great,” Patrick said, doing a victory dance.
“I have to warn you both; it means more hours for me at work. I'll try to bring as much home as I can, but I'll have to be on-site a lot. I miss you, you know.”
“We miss you, too,” Clay said. “But we know this is important for a lot of reasons.”
“How'd you get so smart?” Kate asked, rumpling his hair.
“He's related to me,” Patrick said.
“Why do we have to be uncomfortable to be beautiful?” Kate asked her reflection.
She was dressing for the Beaux Arts Ball, struggling with the row of hooks on the strapless corset bra she had to wear with her gold dress. She smoothed on sheer stockings and pulled on dyed-to-match sandals.
“At least I had the sense to keep the heels low on these.”
She dropped the dress over her head and then zipped it up easily over the tight undergarment. The satin bodice began at a low square neckline and fit tightly down to the waist. Three-quarter length sleeves of silky velvet outlined her shoulders and arms. The full taffeta skirt was gathered slightly in back to give the illusion of a bustle. The only decoration was a subtle sparkle of gold beading around the neckline.
She had to admit that it was a spectacular dress. David had picked it out for her. He said the shadow of cleavage the neckline revealed gave him something interesting to think about. Kate grimaced as she wondered when her cleavage had ceased being exciting to him.
She left her neck bare, adding only a pair of Victorian earrings made of gold and set with garnets. She brushed her hair up into a soft twist at the back of her head, leaving tendrils wisping around her neck and face.
Then she tied on the mask and looked in the mirror.
The black mask contrasted dramatically with the gold dress, while the jewels caught the same light as the beads on the gown's neckline. Even her eyes seemed to glitter through the slits of the mask. Oliver really had an extraordinary eye. She untied the mask and walked carefully downstairs, enveloped in a rustle of taffeta against carpeting.
Brigid saw her first. “'Tis a vision you are. You look like a princess.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, twirling around to show the boys her dress. “How about with this?” she said, raising the mask to her face.
“What do you think, Gretch?” Clay asked, scratching the dog's head as he gestured toward his mother. “Maybe you need some diamonds on your collar.”
When Oliver rang the back doorbell, Clay and Patrick greeted him with compliments on his workmanship. Oliver thanked them before raising his head to greet Kate. For a moment, he was still. Then he came forward to kiss her on the cheek. “You look stunning, literally. I've never seen you more beautiful.”
“Thank you, kind sir. You look very handsome yourself,” Kate said lightly, as she moved toward the boys. “But you don't get the full effect without the final touch of your incredible mask.” She took it from Clay and held it up again. “The colors complement this dress so perfectly that I'd think you had a picture of it to work with.”
“In a way, I did. It was in my mind,” Oliver said, tapping his forehead. “I remember exactly how you looked at that dinner four years ago.”
The direction of the conversation was making Kate uncomfortable, so she turned to pick up her black velvet jacket and her satin purse. “You two listen to Brigid,” she said, dropping kisses on Clay and Patrick's heads.
“Och, they're always the best of boys,” Brigid said. “And I've missed them! You've done a fine job of mothering these two.”
Kate watched Oliver trade a joke with Clay. Her sons were so at ease with him; why
couldn't she find some passion for him in her own heart?
Randall Johnson's sardonically smiling face rose in answer to that question. She shook her head to chase it away. For the past hour, she had been pushing aside the knowledge that she had carefully arranged the wisps of her hair and added extra coats of mascara to her lashes knowing that he would be there tonight. She wanted to dazzle him with her style and beauty.
She turned her attention instead to Oliver. She had to admit that he looked very distinguished in his tuxedo. The waves of his hair glinted with golden highlights in contrast to his dark jacket. His tortoiseshell glasses gave him an air that was both intellectual and artistic. Any woman would be proud to enter a ball on Oliver's arm, she told herself. She smiled at him when he caught her gaze.
“Shall we go?” he asked, smiling back and taking her jacket to drape over her shoulders.
They talked about the Tower Design offer as they drove into the city. As they crested a hill, Kate drank in the skyline of Manhattan strung across the darkening horizon like a brilliantly jeweled necklace.
Oliver read her thoughts. “That view takes my breath away every time I see it.”
“It's truly electrifying.”
Oliver reached over to brush his fingertips across Kate's cheek. “That's how I feel about you.”
Kate sighed. Accepting this invitation really was a mistake. She would have to stop seeing him. Which was a shame. The boys would miss him so much. There was a small, practical voice in her mind that kept asking her why she couldn't just make life easy and marry Oliver. He would probably make a perfectly fine husband if she gave him time.
Kate glanced at him. He was waiting for her response.
“I'm still sorting through my feelings about David's infidelity, and I'm not in a very receptive mood right now.”
“I just want to be able to treat you as the woman I love.”
Kate looked down at her hands, clenched around her purse. She straightened her fingers. “I want to keep your friendship, but if you force this issue, I may not be able to.” She waited as the silence lengthened.
Finally, Oliver spoke. “I see. I'll be patient as long as I can.”
“I'm glad that you understand –”
He interrupted her. “I don't understand, but I've learned to wait.”
Kate swallowed. After a few moments, she changed the subject, asking him who was likely to be at the Beaux Arts Ball. Oliver answered her with ease, and the conversation remained friendly for the rest of the trip.
As they walked through the ballroom's double doors, Kate laughed in delight. Some years the Ball's decorators strove for aesthetic impact, but this time they had given their sense of humor free rein.
The columns that supported the balcony running around three sides of the room had been turned into enormous fire hydrants. The centerpieces on the tables sprouted from dog bowls and had bones scattered among the flowers. The band was seated in the entrance of a giant doghouse. Huge, sparkling tennis balls hung from the ceiling and painted paw prints tracked back and forth across the mostly-empty dance floor. “Gretchen would love this,” Kate joked.
Oliver was chuckling too. “Let's see what the silent auction has – that's always entertaining.”
The Beaux Arts Ball raised a substantial sum for charity, not just by charging for places at the dinner tables, but by auctioning donated items that were bid on by the guests. Kate and Oliver admired the elaborate, handmade dog dishes and doghouses designed and built by various architectural firms. One could have a portrait of one's pet painted by a prominent artist or purchase a “Day of Beauty” for Rover at a fancy grooming parlor. When they came to a diamond “dog collar”-style necklace, Kate laughed. “I hope that that's meant for a human.”
“I'm not sure,” Oliver said. “People can be quite crazy about their dogs.”
“Gretchen would look overdressed in that.”
“But you would look quite fetching.”
Kate groaned. “What an awful pun.”
Oliver laughed and guided her toward the table where the place cards were lined up in alphabetical order. While Oliver searched for theirs, Kate scanned the array, noting that “Randall Johnson and Guest” were seated at Table 3 and had presumably not arrived yet, since their card was still waiting for them.
She found herself torn between envy and curiosity about the “guest.”
“We're at Table Fifteen,” Oliver said, tucking the card into his breast pocket. “Ted and Gina should be there, too. And I'm hoping that Paul Desmond and his wife were able to come.”
The ballroom began to fill up. Kate and Oliver danced and talked and danced again. To her surprise, Kate was enjoying catching up with David's former business associates. After he died, she hadn't had the time or opportunity to socialize with the architectural crowd.
As they circulated, Kate could not keep herself from surreptitiously checking on Table Three. She even scanned new arrivals and was disappointed when Randall was not in their midst. The fizz of excitement began to go flat.
They sat down for dinner and discovered that Paul Desmond had indeed made it to the ball. Kate had a long conversation with him, and was reassured that he would continue in C/R/G's tradition of dealing well and fairly with clients.
The diners were picking at the remains of dessert and coffee when Frank Peltier appeared beside Oliver's chair. After Frank had described his new office in minute architectural detail, and expressed his personal condolences on David's death, he asked Kate to dance.
Surprised, she rose and moved to the dance floor with him. As they chatted, she sensed that he was moving her in a specific direction. “I was under orders to bring you back to my table,” he explained as he stopped dancing and led her between the diners.
As they approached Table Three, a tall, sandy-haired man rose and offered her his hand. “Kate Chilton, a pleasure it is to meet you. I'm Tom Rogan. I work with Randall Johnson at RJ Enterprises.”
She did a fast scan of the table, but Randall had not arrived while she was on the dance floor. As she shook hands with Tom, she caught his look of assessment. Without speaking, Kate raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“A friend of Randall's is a friend of mine,” he said with a disarming grin. “And I wanted to meet the woman with the impressive resumé.”
“Resumé?” Kate repeated, frowning.
“Phil Gabelli sent it along to RJ Enterprises. But alas, someone had beaten us to you.”
If Tom Rogan had read her resumé, Randall must have seen it too. Now he knew more about her than she was comfortable with.
Her discomfort became acute when an unmistakable voice sliced through the babble of conversation around them.
“Frank, how many mules did you have to ride to get here? Tom, you look like a waiter in that tux.”
Tom responded, “You look like a cardsharp with all those diamonds flashing. I thought that you weren't coming because you couldn't get a date.”
“My date just came with the wrong man.” Randall knew that Kate had heard him because he saw her spine stiffen. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I had to beat Prince Charming to the glass slipper.”
In fact, he had not intended to come. A little over an hour ago, he had been sitting in his office at Eagle's Nest. When he realized that he was reading the same contract for the third time, he threw it across the room. He felt better so he picked up the next file and hurled it across the room, too. He swiveled around and stared out the window at the lights of Manhattan and then abruptly got up and strode into his bedroom.
Stripping out of his casual clothes, he ripped his tuxedo out of the closet. As he was stabbing diamond studs through the starched pleats of his formal shirt, he looked at himself in the mirror and said in disgust, “You're a damned fool.”
He had muttered another curse when he arrived and saw Kate standing beside Frank Peltier. He trusted Frank's discretion, but he knew that Kate could get you to talk about things you wouldn't ordinarily. He hoped that she
would not make any connection between Frank and Tower Design.
Kate turned to him and pointedly held out her hand. “Hello, Randall. I'm glad that you didn't miss the ball completely. The decorations alone are worth the price of admission.”
Randall took her hand and held it as he let his eyes rove over her.
She had the Gretchen mask perched on top of her hair and yet she still managed to look like a duchess. The mask somehow emphasized the regal tilt of her head and the slender line of her neck. His gaze moved to the shadow between her breasts and he enjoyed the way her suddenly indrawn breath made the shadow deepen. When she pulled her hand away abruptly, he raised his eyes slowly to her face and let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He wanted to drag her into a private corner, slide his hands up under those billowing skirts...
Kate watched in fascination as Randall's smile changed into a look of pure lust. The people standing around them faded into a blur of color as she caught her breath. She knew what he was thinking. She was thinking the same thing...
“There you are, Kate. I thought that you might need a guide back to our table.”
Oliver's voice was tight with annoyance, but Kate was grateful to him for breaking the pull of Randall's gaze. He held out his hand to Randall. “I don't believe that we've met. I'm Oliver Russell.”
“Randall Johnson.”
The two men shook hands so briefly it seemed more like the quick salute of two fencers. Oliver slid his arm conspicuously around Kate's waist. “I think that we've done some work for one of your subsidiaries, Pharmatech.”
Randall nodded. “Did you work on the new lab?”
“We weren't the original architects. We got called in to do some exterior adjustments because the neighbors weren't happy.”
“I just visited there a couple of weeks ago. You did a fine job.”
Kate listened with growing incredulity. Oliver had never mentioned that he had worked on one of Randall's buildings. And Randall had never mentioned that he had seen C/R/G's work. She did not for a minute believe that he hadn't known exactly who the architects were at Pharmatech.
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