The Corporate Wife

by Leigh Michaels

  “Stick around till the party starts, will you? I’m trying to finish up the Universal Conveyer bid this afternoon, so I’m likely to be running late. It won’t do for guests to find nobody at home but the butler.”

  Erin raised an eyebrow. “I can’t see that being greeted by your personal assistant would be much better, particularly when the butler in question is Jessup. But of course I’ll stay till you get there.”

  “Thanks.” His tone was abstracted, his attention obviously already on the folder he’d just opened on the desk blotter.

  Erin knew she didn’t have to try to be quiet; the deep pile of the plush carpet would muffle the heaviest of footsteps, and Slater was concentrating so hard he wouldn’t hear her anyway. But she found herself tiptoeing nonetheless. Just as she reached the door, Slater spoke, and the abruptness in his voice spun her around to face him once more.

  “One more thing, Erin.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “About Aunt Hermione’s letter. Why were you instantly positive that under no circumstances on earth would I get married?”

  *****

  There were a hundred ways she could have answered Slater’s question, and all of them were equally true. Because none of the lovelies you’ve dated in the whole year I’ve known you have lasted more than six weeks. Because sometimes I think you have to write their names under the band of your wristwatch to even remember which one you’re with. Because you’re more married to your business than you ever could be to a woman.

  Instead, Erin had mumbled something almost incoherent about him not being the sort to give in to blackmail. And, uneasily aware that she’d come nowhere close to answering the question, she’d fled the office for the anonymity of the elevator and the lobby.

  So much for thinking on her feet – the best qualification of the personal assistant. If she’d had her wits about her, she’d have thrown the question right back at him. Shall I offer Ms. Worth my best wishes on your engagement tonight?, she could have asked. That would have stopped him in his tracks and made him think better of asking silly questions.

  Unless he was actually considering marrying Cecile Worth.

  Surely not, Erin thought. He has more sense than that.

  And yet, the worthy Cecile had outlasted all the others, and there was no sign as yet that her attraction was waning. In fact, the woman seemed more certain of herself with every passing day. So far she hadn’t actually started issuing orders to Slater’s staff, but Erin expected that day wasn’t far off.

  “And it will be closely followed by me starting a job search,” she muttered. The idea of answering to Cecile was intolerable, but Erin had no doubt that once she was established as Mrs. Livingstone, Cecile wouldn’t hesitate to treat Slater’s employees as her personal flunkies.

  But not Erin. Thanks to an excellent salary, she had reserves to carry her through a few months without a job. And there were other companies, other bosses – probably not as good or as interesting as Control Dynamics and Slater Livingstone were, but...

  Erin was so preoccupied with sketching out a job search that she walked past the tiny florist’s cart in the lobby and out the door. She was retracing her steps when a voice called her name from across the lobby and she turned to see one of Control Dynamics’ mid-level advertising executives coming toward her.

  It was too late to duck into the gift shop, and if she tried he’d probably follow her anyway. “Hello, Dax.” She tried to keep her tone friendly but without enthusiasm; the last thing she needed was to encourage Dax Porter to develop any more interest in her. He was already hanging around the office more than she liked – hand-delivering things which could perfectly well have been sent through inter-office mail, telling Sarah jokes, and asking Erin out. The fact that she hadn’t yet accepted an invitation didn’t seem to faze him.

  He dropped into step beside her as she approached the wicker cart, his highly-polished wingtips clicking against the granite floor. “A pretty woman like you shouldn’t have to buy flowers for yourself.”

  “Thanks, Dax,” Erin said crisply, and smiled at the young man behind the cart. “Tonio, I need every stem you have left, I don’t care what kind as long as it’s white. And I also need you to start a delivery service outside the building, so I can stop worrying about flowers every time Mr. Livingstone throws a dinner party.”

  Tonio grinned and with practiced ease began selecting flowers from the burst of beauty on the cart and laying them carefully on a sheet of waxed paper.

  “Another party?” Dax said. “If you can call it a party when it’s business – and a pretty dull business at that.”

  Erin gathered up the bundle. “That dull business is what pays our salaries,” she reminded. “Tonio, if you can take the bill up to Sarah, she’ll make sure it’s paid right away.”

  “Sorry,” Dax said. “I didn’t mean to insult your precious Mr. Livingstone.” He snagged a red rose from a water-filled cup and presented it to her with a bow. “For the woman who’s always buying flowers, here’s one just for you.”

  How could she refuse a gesture of apology, even one which she suspected was half-intended to be mocking? Erin took the rose, admiring its deep color, its heavy fragrance. “It’s very thoughtful of you, Dax.”

  He was pulling out his wallet as she crossed the lobby. Erin looked down at the rose with true appreciation – because paying for the flower had slowed Dax down just enough that he couldn’t manufacture an excuse to join her.

  *****

  If the worthy Cecile really thought Slater’s apartment was stodgy, the woman needed her head examined, Erin thought as she said hello to the doorman in the lobby and took the art-deco elevator to the top floor. Though the building had started life more than a hundred years ago as a department store, the process of converting it had created luxurious homes which boasted not only every possible convenience but the light and air and space which no builder could afford in modern construction. Where else could one have a living room with an eighteen-foot ceiling, as Slater did?

  When she had time, Erin loved to lean over the balcony rail outside Slater’s front door and look up at the stained glass dome, only a few feet overhead, which sent rays of colored light cascading down through the atrium to the department store’s old crest, still inlaid in the mosaic-tile floor eight stories below.

  But today there was no time. She rang the bell and shifted her burden of flowers to a more comfortable angle.

  Jessup opened the door, and a wave of relief crossed his normally-impassive face as Erin stepped into the marble-floored foyer. “I knew I could rely on you, Miss.”

  “What’s gone wrong?”

  “The flowers, of course. And then the caterer showed up without the extra waiter we asked for. Said the man just didn’t come to work today, and they didn’t have a substitute. They’ve always been so reliable before; we’ve never had a problem.”

  “And with ten for dinner, you could use a hand. I’m afraid I’m no good at actually serving, because I’d stick my thumb in the duchesse potatoes for sure. But I can keep things organized in the kitchen so you can concentrate on the dining room.”

  “That would be most helpful, Miss. Of course –” Jessup’s voice was dire. “There’ll be something else go wrong before the party’s over. Things always happen in threes, Miss. But now that you’re here…”

  Erin feigned horror. “You’re relying on me to prevent disaster? But I was relying on you, Jessup!” She laughed at his stern frown. “Come on, things will be all right. Start making me a list of what needs to be done in the kitchen while I take a stab at the flowers.”

  He’d been right; the centerpiece which had been delivered looked as if it had been left to sit without water for hours. She was weaving the last of Tonio’s carnations and mums into the arrangement when Jessup came quietly into the dining room.

  “Miss Reynolds, I’m very much afraid the guests will be arriving any minute.”

  Erin turned the centerpiece around so she could ins
pect it from all sides. “And Mr. Livingstone’s not here?”

  “He came in a few minutes ago, and he’s changing clothes. But Miss Worth hasn’t arrived.”

  Erin checked her wristwatch. She’d definitely told Cecile when the party would start, and it was well past the time when a careful hostess would have been ready for her guests. “She’s probably been held up. There’s disaster number three, Jessup, so now you can relax. Drinks in the living room?”

  “The tray is already in place. I’ll clear the debris here, Miss.” Jessup set the centerpiece on the table and began gathering up loose stems and discarded flowers. “If you’d like to freshen up…”

  Erin glanced down at her off-white linen suit, too crumpled from a day at the office for easy restoration. “Do you honestly think it’ll do any good?” she asked, but she meekly followed his directions toward the bedroom wing.

  She’d never before gone beyond the more public portions of Slater’s apartment, and she had to admit to being intrigued. The living and dining rooms, with their enormously high ceilings and dark oak moldings, bore the tasteful touch of a master designer, complete with Oriental rugs and elegant furnishings. They were showpieces, but they were also as comfortable as such formal spaces could be. Still, she doubted Slater spent much time there.

  She presumed the room opposite the dining room, on the other side of the grand foyer, was an office, but on her other visits the doors had always been closed. When she’d arrived earlier, they’d once more been sealed off, the room silent and mysterious as always. Now she was surprised to see that the rich wood panels had been pushed partway back into the wall pockets, and the temptation to take a look was more than she could bear.

  Beyond the half-open doors lay a wonderland, and Erin’s eyes widened in astonishment. Though there was a desk in the center of the room, this was far different from the efficient and uncluttered office where Slater spent his days. This room, like the more public ones, was two full stories high, and a spiral stair led halfway up to a balcony which ran around all four sides of the room. The walls on both levels were lined with bookshelves. Many were fitted with glass doors, and behind them gleamed rich gold trim on leather bindings.

  Musty old books, Cecile had called them – and for someone who didn’t appreciate the beauty not only of old leather bindings but of the words housed inside, this room might well seem dull.

  Erin took a deep breath, savoring the scent of supple leather and old ink and fragile paper.

  The occasional shipment to the office had given Erin no idea of the true extent of Slater’s collection. Even the thousands of old and no doubt rare editions didn’t fill the space. Most of the shelves were open, pleasantly stacked with an assortment of books so random and eclectic that it was obvious this was no designer’s showcase library but the real thing, well-used and loved.

  “One thing’s sure,” she said to herself. “Cecile doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it.”

  She wondered if Slater would recognize a bad one.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Erin did what she could with limited resources, but she still felt sadly inadequate when she left the guest bedroom with her makeup refreshed and her skirt smoothed as best she could. A lacy camisole to substitute for her tailored blouse would have helped, as would a splashier pair of earrings and a nice gold necklace. As it was, she was going to stand out wildly against the other women in the group. And what would be worse – letting them feel insulted because their hostess hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion, or telling them that the real hostess hadn’t even bothered to show up?

  In something close to desperation, Erin checked every drawer and closet shelf in the entire guest room closet, hoping that somewhere in the miscellaneous clutter which usually built up in guest rooms – left-behind magazines, odd bits of jewelry, an overlooked scarf – she might find something useful.

  There was nothing to be found but an empty laundry bag. Either Jessup was extremely conscientious about returning things to their owners, or Slater’s overnight guests had been a pathologically neat bunch.

  Or else, she thought wryly, the visitors most likely to leave things behind – the feminine ones – don’t use the guest room.

  “And just what would you expect?” she mocked herself. Only a fool would assume that Slater’s female friends were platonic ones.

  She almost ran headlong into Slater himself at the library door; just as she hurried toward the living room he stepped into the hallway and turned to pull the doors closed behind him. He was immaculately dressed in a perfectly-fitted black tux, and he looked as if he’d had all afternoon to make sure every detail was in place.

  Erin thought he was looking at her a bit oddly – but of course, he wouldn’t have expected her to be in the private wing.

  “Thanks for staying till everything’s taken care of, Erin.”

  “Is Cecile here, then?” Relief surged over her, followed instantly by droll humor. This was the first time she’d felt even a twinge of eagerness to see the worthy Cecile.

  The living room was mere steps away; rather than answering, Slater strolled down the hall. At the column-flanked archway which separated living room from foyer, he paused, surveyed the empty room, and said, “Apparently not.” He turned to Erin and one dark eyebrow quirked upward.

  “She knew to the minute when she was expected,” Erin said, and then forced herself to stop. She had no reason to feel responsible for Cecile’s tardiness, but the surest way to cause herself trouble was to act defensive. If it appeared she had something to feel guilty about, Slater might even think she’d arranged this non-appearance to make Cecile look bad.

  Erin thought dryly, If I had engineered this, I’d have taken care to provide myself with better clothes!

  The doorbell rang, and a couple of minutes later Jessup appeared in the archway with the first guests. Erin thought the butler looked a bit frazzled. Perhaps, even though he’d been the one to suggest she should prepare herself to play hostess, he was only now recognizing the situation’s implications. If Erin was occupied with the guests, she could hardly be any help in the kitchen.

  If he’s right that bad news comes in threes, Erin thought, Jessup’s working on his second set of the evening.

  All eight of the guests had arrived and Jessup was serving hot hors d’oeuvres in the living room when the bell rang once more. Erin froze for an instant, forced herself to smile at the guest whose last sentence she had only half-heard, and then set her wine glass down so she could take the silver tray from Jessup’s hands. “I’ll take care of this, Jessup, while you answer the bell.”

  He gave her a speaking glance and crossed the foyer, leaving the living room doors half-open. Cecile Worth fluttered in, shrugged her satin cape to the floor so Jessup had to bend over to retrieve it, and rushed across the foyer. Ignoring the guests, she went straight to Slater. “Darling, I’m so sorry to be late. I do hope I haven’t missed anything?” She managed to offer her cheek to be kissed and at the same time give the room a professional survey. “No, I see I haven’t,” she added very softly, before raising her voice once more. “How elegant that you’ve acquired a maid – oh, no, it’s just little Erin. I’m so sorry, dear, for mistaking you for something you aren’t.”

  I, on the other hand, Erin thought grimly, have never suffered any illusions about what you really are. She handed the silver tray back to Jessup, murmured to the guest she’d been talking to, “Perhaps sometime we’ll have a chance to finish our conversation, Mrs. Brannagan,” and excused herself.

  A few minutes later, in the kitchen, Erin gave the soup kettle a last, almost violent stir and sent fragrant broth surging over the side. She swore and grabbed the corner of her apron to mop up the mess.

  Jessup handed her a damp cloth. “The best method,” he said without looking directly at her, “would be ground glass in the oysters. If she notices it at all, she’ll think it’s just sand, and it’ll kill her very painfully.”

  Erin laughed. “Thank
s for the tip. I’ll keep it in mind.” With her sense of humor back in proportion, she poured consommé into a china tureen, garnished it with herbs, and moved on to the next item on Jessup’s list.

  By the time dinner was finished, she had a much greater respect for caterers, waiters and butlers. “And I wasn’t even dealing directly with the consumer,” she said. “I don’t know how you do it, Jessup. I’m going home this minute to put up my feet.”

  Jessup set the remainder of the chocolate torte on the counter. “Mr. Livingstone asked me to give you a message, Miss. He’d like to talk to you afterward.”

  Erin could think of a dozen possible topics, none of which she really wanted to tackle at this hour. “Has he considered the office, in the morning?” she asked. “That’s enough afterward to suit me.”

  “I don’t think that was what he had in mind. They’ve almost finished dessert, and these parties don’t generally last long after that. If you’d like to wait in the library, I’ll bring you some tea.”

  Erin wavered, and surrendered. She didn’t much care where she rested her feet; she might have a problem with getting up again once she sat down, but she’d deal with that later. And she might never get another excuse to look more closely at Slater’s books.

  “Add a slice of that torte,” she bargained, “and I won’t even notice how late the party lasts.”

  Despite the coziness of the book-lined walls and the overstuffed furniture, the library felt chilly – a combination, Erin thought, of its windowless position toward the center of the building and the dark, cold glass of the skylight overhead, frosted to provide soft daytime illumination while filtering out the harsh rays which might harm the delicate books. Jessup lit the gas log in the fireplace, and Erin settled contentedly in front of it with her torte, her cup of tea, and a biography of Napoleon which happened to be lying on the floor beside her chair with a slip of paper protruding from chapter twelve.

  But it wasn’t long before she’d abandoned dessert, drink, and chair to survey the treasures which surrounded her.