Closing the door softly behind him, Chris gestured for Libby to sit in one of the leather-covered arm chairs placed before his desk. Moving with the grace of a panther stalking its prey, Chris strode across the room and sat down in the massive upholstered chair from which he conducted business. His glass-topped desk, supported by two verdigris columns, was uncluttered except for a pen stand, a pad of paper, and a single, thick manila file folder placed to the side.
Libby's heart did an unbidden flip-flop as Chris trained his sharp blue-green eyes on her while she sat down opposite him. Fighting to maintain her composure despite the mounting attraction she always felt in his presence, Libby returned his gaze with cool defiance.
Chris looked as handsome and masculine as ever. A crisp, pale blue, button down shirt accented the strong lines of his face and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, as they usually were, exposing strong, muscular forearms. He wore a dark gray, three-piece suit although the jacket was carefully hung on a coat rack in the corner.
Libby watched him select a gold pen from the holder in front of him, and blushed at the unwanted memory of the passion those very fingers had incited in her. Swallowing hard, Libby hoped he couldn't detect the trail her thoughts had taken. She met his gaze, waiting for the explosion that would surely come now that he knew who she was.
With each silent second that passed by, the tension between them climbed another notch.
Chris finally spoke first, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle.
"You've been avoiding me. Why?"
Libby gaped at him incredulously. Where were the harsh words of derision? The hatred-filled epithets? The torment and anguish of betrayal revealed? His unexpected response stunned her into momentary silence.
Unsure of what to say, she tore her gaze from him to flick an imagined speck of lint off her skirt. She looked back up to find Chris studying her intently, motionless and patiently waiting to hear her explanation. His tranquil composure was making her angry.
She wanted a tiger and got a lamb.
"I didn't think because we spent one night together I had to answer to you, or anyone, Mr. Darnell. Heck, even Edwina gave me the third degree last week," Libby exclaimed. "But all this is beside the point, anyway." She stopped briefly to take a deep breath before plunging into the heart of the matter. "The name Libby Chatham is reason enough, isn’t it?"
"I've known who you were since the day I hired you to document Harte's Desire," Chris stated calmly.
The reality of the situation hit Libby with full force, tearing at her heart like a knife jab between the ribs. He'd known all along!
She'd played right into his hands, falling in love with him as he carried out what had to be a cleverly conceived plan for revenge. Here she was thinking to have the last laugh. Clearly, the joke was on her. The only emotion he'd ever felt for her was hatred for besting him in some of his real estate schemes. As if getting her to do the report wasn't enough, he snaked his way into her heart and then into her bed!
She glowered at him, her eyes flashing with the loathing and betrayal she'd hoped to see in his.
"I've been a fool, Chris. A complete, utter fool, haven't I? Oh, this is rich! You finally got back at me, didn't you? Finally got even for all those times I stood in the way of your precious plans."
Libby bolted out of the chair, heading for the door. "Well, I've had enough of these games between us to last a lifetime. I'm leaving before you can find another way to hurt me."
"Libby, wait..." Chris called to her.
She spun around, tossing her blonde mane angrily behind her. "I only got what I deserved, didn't I? You probably won't believe me, but I didn't want to lie to you; I just wanted to get your permission to use Harte's Desire and I doubted you'd agree if you knew it was Libby Chatham doing the asking. I was right, wasn't I?"
“Libby, let me…”
Libby cut him off sharply, her chest heaving with fury as she saw the silent assent in his eyes. "I'll bet your ego was bruised once again, wasn’t it, when you found out that I'd beaten you one more time? So you concocted this grand scheme to get back at me, didn't you? Hiring me to write that report for the State Office was really very clever, Chris. I even remember you asking if I had experience doing that sort of thing. Hah! You knew darn well by then I did, and plenty of it. But that wasn't enough, was it? You had to worm your way into my personal life, too. All that tender consolation as I grieved for my mother. The words of praise and thanks at the Orphanage. It was an act, wasn't it?"
"Libby, you've got this all..." Chris tried in vain to interrupt, but she wouldn't let him.
"No," she commanded, throwing up her hands to stop him. "Let me finish what I have to say so I can get out of your office, and your life, forever."
"I apologize for deceiving you in the beginning. I was wrong to do that, and I admit it. But you carried out this plan for revenge too far." She raised her eyes to his and forced back the tears welling there.
"I fell in love with you, damn it!" Libby's voice shook with emotion. "It's one thing to get back at me professionally, Chris. That I can understand. But to attack me personally is unforgivable, and making love to me was the final insult.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I hate you."
Libby glared at him, her heart pounding. Chris was a frozen statue behind the desk, his expression carefully shielded as Libby vented her anger and frustration.
"You win," she hissed. "I surrender." She shook her head in disgust. "And feel free to use one of those ten tickets you so generously purchased for the fundraiser. You can bet that I wouldn't be caught dead in any building that you owned. Historic or otherwise!"
Libby turned on her heels and headed unerringly for the door.
“Libby, hear me out!”
Ignoring him, she gave the knob a half turn then swung around angrily to face him for the final time.
"I have one last question, Chris. Why wouldn't you let me take some of the rose bushes from the garden at Harte's Desire's? What interest in them could you possibly have?"
Chris studied her with measured concentration. "I have my reasons, Miss Reed. And if you would care to come back in here and sit down, we could discuss them—and us—calmly and rationally, like two adults."
For a brief moment Libby was tempted. Was there a chance they could salvage something from this charade they'd both played? His eyes bored into her very soul and she felt herself succumbing to his calm logic. God knows she should hate him for what he'd done to her, and yet, somehow, she still loved him. Still wished there was a way to overcome the lies and deception denying them the chance for a true relationship.
But right now she hated herself more. This mess was really her fault. If she'd never deceived him or if she had at least come clean before accepting the assignment, she wouldn't be in this predicament now. How he must loathe her to undertake such a soul-wrenching plan for retaliation. Maybe she deserved it, but she didn't have to stay here a minute longer and let him gloat any further over his sweet victory.
"As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Darnell, we have nothing else to discuss." She jerked the door open and scowled at him. "Have a good day."
Closing the door with a loud slam, Libby emerged into the hallway, shaken but relieved. It was over. They were over.
Cheryl looked at her contritely. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Libby ignored her remark and headed back down the long hallway, shoulders squared and chin held high.
She was keenly aware of the heads that turned to follow her progress to the elevator. She punched the down button as though her life depended on it and waited impatiently for the doors to open, ignoring the small crowd of Darnell Development employees who gathered to stare at her.
When Libby finally entered the hushed sanctuary of the elevator, she sagged against the brass rail on the far wall as the doors closed in front of her. With the back of her hand, Libby wiped a tear trickling down her cheek and sadly watched the floor numbers light up in descending order, car
rying her ever further from the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Christopher Darnell stared at the closed door for a full minute after Libby's angry departure. Letting out a tired sigh, he swung his chair around, propped both feet unceremoniously on the window sill and gazed at the Philadelphia skyline without really seeing it.
Their meeting had been a disaster, he conceded. He, the master of negotiation and persuasive speech, hadn't been able to get so much as a word in. He, who prided himself on thoroughly studying every opponent to know their habits, financial status, and favorite foods so he could anticipate their willingness to deal, had miserably underestimated Libby.
Over the years, he'd accumulated a whole folder full of information about her. The real estate deals he'd lost because of her, newspaper clippings about her and her projects, reams of financial data showing the dollars he'd spent to fight her as well as the profits he'd sacrificed because of her interference. The overstuffed folder was sitting on his desk now. He'd glanced through its contents earlier and wondered anew how they'd avoided meeting each other before Harte's Desire.
He'd planned on waving the heavy folder in front of her before symbolically dumping the entire thing in the wastebasket. Chris had decided to tell Libby that what happened in the past between them didn't matter anymore. He was willing to let go of the adversarial history they shared to start with a clean slate. They could get to know each other without the old baggage weighing their relationship down.
But most of all, he wanted to tell Libby how much he loved her.
Thoughts of her had consumed him, beginning the minute he left her house, during the long plane trip to London, and lasting the entire week he was away from her. There was barely a moment he didn't miss her impish grin, her proud determination, or the thousand other ways she touched his soul.
She loved him once. Could she love him again?
Chris was sorry Libby misinterpreted his note. He thought she'd want to talk about their feelings and the way their intimacy had solidified a love they could share.
She looked as stunning as ever, he reflected. The dusty rose color of her silk blouse and matching tailored skirt highlighted her creamy complexion and accented her figure to perfection. Her hair, cascading in blond waves past her shoulders, seemed to shine with a brilliance of its own and framed her pretty, intelligent face. She wore only a bare minimum of make-up and he knew she'd be just as radiant wearing none at all. By the look of her curvaceous legs, made all the more so by the leather trimmed high heels she wore, it was obvious she was still going to the gym. Chris chuckled at the memory of their workout together. Lord, but she was feisty.
How he'd wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both senseless and out of breath.
Two pigeons landed on the ledge outside Chris's window, pecked at some unseen tidbit, then flew away when Chris tapped his foot against the glass.
Didn't Libby know by now he wasn't one to be so easily dismissed? Sure, she was mad at him and rightfully so. They'd been like two spiders caught in the same tangled web of deceit. He was willing to put all that aside. Was she?
He had one more chance to convince her. Maybe. Thank heaven he'd already put part of the plan into motion. And according to Edwina, things were progressing nicely. Right according to schedule. If Libby hadn't gotten so hot-headed this afternoon, she'd be sitting here learning all about it, and his love for her, right now. Instead, she'd stormed out the door like a bull elephant on the march.
He'd need help from Libby's secretary. What was her name? Connie? Edwina would know. Somehow he had to get Libby to attend the dinner dance at Harte's Desire. She'd already vowed never to set foot there again, so it wouldn't be easy. But he'd find a way. He could be as persistent, stubborn, and pig-headed as she was.
She'd stopped him from getting what he wanted before. But not this time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Libby! Pick up the darn phone and talk to me!"
Connie's voice, loud and urgent, rang out over the speaker on Libby's answering machine.
"I know you're home. And if you won't talk to me on the phone, I swear to God I'll come over there and make you talk to me in person. It's an absolute disaster here and I need you now," Connie continued persistently.
Hitting the stop button on the TV remote control, Libby reached over and lifted the handset.
"This better be important, Connie Garrett, or you will be looking for a new job come Monday morning," Libby grumbled, annoyed that Connie's call had come just when the movie was getting interesting. "I'm in the middle of a great movie, and I've already told you that wild horses and the President himself couldn't drag me to Harte's Desire tonight. So what's the crisis over there?" Libby demanded.
"I know you don't want to be here tonight, Libby, and I know you sent me in your place to handle whatever might come up. But this is more than I can manage."
"What could possibly be more than you can manage?"
"I swear, Lib, it's a catastrophe of the tenth magnitude over here. The hot water heater isn't working, so the caterer thought she'd just heat some water on the stove. But then she discovered that the stove's not working either. You know how old it is. Seems the electricity on the first floor is out and if I didn't know better, I'd say Christopher Darnell was out to sabotage us."
"Anyway," Connie continued, "We've got at least two hundred and fifty very hungry people here and we can't serve them cold food. The caterer's in a real snit and I don't know what to do."
Libby scratched her head, straining to find a solution that didn't require her presence.
"I'm pretty sure Jim Baxter was coming tonight, Connie. Remember him? The electrician who wired the office for me? Why don't you track him down and see if he could take a look at it? Maybe it's only something minor, like a blown fuse.” Libby relaxed slightly, thinking she'd gotten a reprieve from a potentially damaging mishap.
"That's a good idea, Lib. See? I knew you'd come up with something," Connie responded. "But there's another problem that, uh, I have no idea how to resolve."
"Another problem? What else could possibly go wrong?"
"Well…you see…there's this crane here."
"A crane?"
"Yeah, a crane with a big, black wrecking ball hanging off of it."
"Did I hear you right? A crane with a wrecking ball?"
"Yep."
"Where?" Libby's voice was climbing higher with each response.
"It's, uh, in the driveway to the back. Between Harte's Desire and the carriage house. Believe me, it's huge. Gotta be six stories high--it towers over Harte's Desire! Somebody said the wrecking ball dangling from the cable must weigh about two-tons. Anyway, you can imagine what everybody’s saying. Actually, a lot of them are plenty mad that Christopher Darnell would be so blatant about his plans for the mansion, what with tonight being the fundraiser and all. Honestly, Libby, I don't know what to do about it."
Libby's heart started racing, slamming furiously against her chest in rage. The nerve of that man! He had absolutely no sense of timing, or fair play. There was no excuse for having the crane there at all. Why, the mansion wasn't supposed to come down for at least another month or two. Or had he lied about that to placate her and the historical society?
Libby braced herself against the couch, the movie quickly forgotten in her mounting anger at Chris's latest bold move.
"Is he there?" Libby asked tightly.
"Who?" Connie countered.
"Who else? Darnell."
"Uh, yeah, I saw him around here somewhere, Lib. By the way, he looks great tonight. All decked out in a black tux which fits that gorgeous body of his like a glove with a..." Connie's description came to a screeching halt as she realized she was composing a vivid portrait of the very man Libby vowed never to mention again.
"Can the pep talk, Connie. He's still a snake no matter what he's wearing. You're sure he's there?"
"Absolutely."
"Did you confront him
about the crane?"
"Sure did. He just shrugged his shoulders when I asked him what we could do about it and said there must have been a 'tiny misunderstanding' in the scheduling office."
"He calls a menacing two-ton black ball attached to a sixty foot crane a 'tiny misunderstanding'?" Libby asked incredulously. "I can't believe it. No, I can believe it. Where Christopher Darnell is concerned, anything is possible."
Libby let out a huge sigh. Her perfectly planned gala was turning into a nightmare.
"Well, he can't get away with this, Connie. Not if I can help it." She snorted with indignation. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
"That's great, 'cause I have no idea what to do. Oh, and Lib?"
"Yes, Connie?"
"Why don't you take two minutes to change out of those cut-off jeans I'm sure you're wearing and throw on a dress or a skirt?" Connie suggested hopefully. "There's a great party going on over here and I really think you'd feel out of place if you didn't show up in something festive. Who knows, you might even decide to stay and have a good time with the rest of us."
Now how did she know she had jeans on? Libby wondered. Was she that predictable? But Connie was right. As chairperson and organizer of the event, she probably should appear as presentable as possible, even if it was only for a two minute confrontation with Chris.
"OK, but I'm not staying any longer than I have to," Libby replied tersely.
"Wait, Lib," Connie cut in urgently. "One more thing. Come in through the front doors into the entrance hall, OK? One of the caterers who overheard me talking to you just told me Chris is in there greeting people as they arrive so that's where you'll find him. Pretty cheeky of him, huh?"
"At least he'll make an easy target. See you soon!"
Libby hung up the phone and dashed upstairs to her bedroom and started stripping her clothes off. Rummaging through the closet, she decisively pulled out a strapless linen dress. It was a bright, almost shocking, pink and Libby knew Chris would not be able to pretend he didn't see her. She chuckled. Wearing it would almost be like waving a red flag at a bull. Good. She was primed and ready for a fight.
Harte's Desire Page 18