by Gail Hewitt
Tom looked even more uncomfortable. "Well, after you turned up engaged yesterday — which hadn't been shown on the original report — Jack Holt went back to the drawing board and dug a little deeper, and I want to ask you something."
"Yes?" she lifted her eyebrows, irritated again.
"Is it true that WHT has been sold and that you'll be leaving in a couple of months?"
"Or sooner, if I can find another job. And don't blame your security person for not ferreting that out. Bill Holmes only told me a couple of days ago, at lunch, with Christmas carols playing in the background."
"What a stinker," he said sympathetically.
"I thought so," she agreed.
"And also," here he began to look even more embarrassed, "is it true that your mother is ill and still living in the house on West Paces, the one that I visited?"
"Now look," she told him, "that is totally non-germane to anything in which you're involved. I don't see what gives you the right . . ."
He waved his hand dismissively. Evidently he, like those around him, accepted that the billions gave him the right. "I'm bad, evil, wicked, agreed, but it's done. Just tell me – do you really want to keep your mother in that house on West Paces?"
"Sure, if I can manage it, but you evidently already know that the situation is increasingly complicated."
"And, obviously, you need a job to do that, a well-paid job."
She nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.
"It occurred to me while we were discussing TTI just now that your background makes you perfect for a job I'm about to fill, a very important job. I need someone to work on the piece that involves the participation of the local community, particularly parents and teachers. It calls for strong communications skills and experience with community affairs. It's a huge job, and a difficult one. It's also well-paid." He named a number that was twice what she was making at WHT. "Full benefits, of course, including a signing bonus, performance bonuses and an executive loan program with a low interest rate. This is very demanding work, and I want everyone to know how valued their contribution is."
"Nice," she said, impressed.
"The full scope of the position is set out in there somewhere. The scope of every position is in there, they tell me. " He nodded toward the large binder. "You'd have staff, of course. It's all in there. Try the Table of Contents under staff requirements."
"Are you offering me a job?" For some reason, she found the idea slightly alarming.
"I'm sorry. I thought I'd made that clear," Tom said. "The only thing is you'd have to start ASAP, preferably by the first of the year, and you'd have to hit the ground running because we've had a couple of things get accelerated schedule-wise. Do you have any sort of contract with WHT that would interfere with that time frame?"
Maggie shook her head slowly. "I think they'd be relieved to have me resign. Bill Holmes is feeling guilty."
"Well, how about it?" he asked, nodding toward the binder.
"You're really serious?" she asked.
He nodded.
"This is a very important thing you're doing with TTI, Tom. I'm not sure I'm the most-qualified person you could find."
Tom pulled another sheet from the briefcase and looked at it. "This is your CV, and from my perspective, you look pretty ideal. Your degrees are in communication. You developed training programs at BellSouth." He glanced at the CV. "Accelerated fast track — officer prep, I assume? You'd have been the fresh face guaranteeing current relevance? Typical. The last couple of years at BellSouth, you worked on community initiatives for them and the Chamber of Commerce. Then, in the last eight years, since you left BellSouth, you've been developing and trialing corporate and nonprofit seminars and training programs for WHT. Is all that true?"
"Well, yes, but . . ."
"Did we miss anything? Any job in between any of that? Any ghosts in your closet?"
"Well, no, but . . ."
He looked at her earnestly. "All very respectable and credentialed, which makes you ideal for this purpose because good paper credentials are important when you're doing something totally off the wall like what we're attempting. Just as important, I trust you. You're probably about the only person I knew before . . . well, before I went west, who hasn't tried to approach me for some kind of favor. The only thing I wonder about . . ."
He paused, looking at her appraisingly.
"Yes?" She found she really wanted to know.
"Have you ever wondered what it would be like not just to work outside the box, but to explode the box, to go so far past it that even the debris of the box disappears behind you?"
"Sure," she told him, "but those are dream jobs, once-in-a-generation, once-in-a-lifetime jobs."
"And I've just offered you one," he said, starting to grin. "So how about it?"
He waited for a second. When she didn't answer, he went on. "Or maybe you think Sonny Boy would disapprove." He reached over and lightly tapped the solitaire, and she instinctively pulled back.
"Don't call him Sonny Boy," she said absently. "He's a businessman. He'd understand."
"So how about it?" he repeated.
"Let me read the binder."
"We're leaving as soon as they say it's safe," he warned her, "which I presume will be when this ground fog lifts and it stops snowing. I'd like to take your answer with me. In fact, I'd like to take you with me back to New York. If you're going to join us, I want you to meet the rest of the team and get up to speed as quickly as possible."
"Let me read the binder," she kept her voice cool. Inside, however, she began to feel excitement building. This sounded like an incredible opportunity. Moreover, on first hearing it sounded like the answer to all her professional and financial problems.
"I'll get back to you by tomorrow," she said, as they shook hands.
"Make sure you do," he told her. "If you're not interested, I've got other people to talk to." He gave her an appraising look. "The only thing I'd suggest if you do decide to join us — and I hope you won't take this personally — is that you shouldn't dress so corporately. Our shop is less formal, younger in attitude, I guess you'd say, and an outfit like that would scare them to death. They'd think you'd come to audit them."
"Noted," she said, "but I don't think I have any cowboy boots."
He grinned. "God, it's good to see you again. I could use a friendly face without an agenda. Don't disappoint me."
Fortunately, the seminar session that afternoon included a writing exercise that required an hour. As the participants wrote about the kind of life they thought they'd have to live to achieve their goals, Maggie went through the TTI binder Tom had left with her.
The more she read, the more interested she became. Tom's plan sounded not only workable, but inspired. It was based on the concept of using talent scouts in each high school and middle school to spot students with some special gift — the brainy, of course, but also those with high organizational or planning skills, an innovative mindset, or leadership abilities. The selected students would be interviewed by Tom's assessors for a totality of qualities known to indicate high potential at problem-solving. Those selected to enter the TTI program would continue their regular schoolwork, but would simultaneously be groomed and tutored to take part in community-development activities. When they reached college age, they'd be given all-expenses-paid university scholarships to develop specific skills and knowledge sets, and in the summers they'd go home to do full-time, paid internships in local business and government. After college, they'd be required to return to their communities to work for five years in sponsored positions capable of facilitating positive change in any institutions wishing to utilize their expertise. Throughout the entire process, they'd participate in regular TTI conferences where knowledge and techniques, as well as real-world experience, would be shared. After the five years, they'd be free to leave the TTI program and do what they wanted, stay or go, without penalty. Those who agreed to stay another five years would receive a bonus pa
yment. As for the role that her position would play in the process, she thought the binder was a little vague, but she gathered that she would communicate the criteria for student selection to the teachers and counselors who'd serve as talent scouts. She'd also devise motivation strategies directed toward the parents whose children were selected. She'd also be involved with incenting scouts and selectees and for some of the information gathering Tom had mentioned.
She shut the binder and thought about what Tom was trying to do. Was it a workable program? On the face of it, it appeared to be. Was he going about it in the right way? From the description of those responsible for putting the initial program together, he seemed to have made a genuine attempt to surround himself with first-class brains.
Now he was asking her to be part of that group, to fill, in fact, one of the most important of the staff positions. It was flattering, and it was potentially very lucrative. With this income, she could almost certainly keep the financial side of things stable long enough to allow her mother to remain in the West Paces Ferry house as long as the doctor felt it was benefiting her. And she could marry Miles with a clear conscience.
It wasn't, however, that side of things that at this moment gave the job its greatest appeal. What Tom was trying to do was trailblazing. It sounded like something of which her father would have approved. It was certainly something that her BellSouth experience in community work convinced her would benefit the entire area. If it could be made to work in the way that Tom envisioned, it could change the economic-development landscape in north Georgia forever and make a difference in the lives of hundreds, even thousands, of young people who might otherwise never have a chance to use their abilities to the fullest.
She was so absorbed that she'd almost forgotten where she was and jumped when Kimberly tapped her on the shoulder. The seminar participants were beginning to turn in their writing assignments, some handwritten, some emailed, and the next hour was spent discussing them. After Maggie distributed the next-morning assignments and everyone left, she handed over all the paperwork to Kimberly and let her go for the day. Alone in the Lakeside Room, she walked over to the big windows and stared at the icy lake, then at the path that led around its end toward the Executive Lodge. She wondered what the conference was about this afternoon — she had a feeling that, wherever Tom was, a conference was inevitable. He'd always had that high energy level. Now, his money and position made it possible for him to demand the same physical and psychological commitment from others.
She thought about Tom's comment regarding boxes. Maybe she was ready to step outside the tidy box in which she'd spent her professional life. The only issue was, did she want to do it with an old boyfriend at the helm. Would that pose a problem? She suspected that Tom, who'd already shown a tendency to bossiness when she first knew him, was by now a full-fledged control freak. His comment about her clothes was a pretty good indication that he had not changed. How would it be to work with — no, be realistic, work for — someone you'd once known in a very different context? Given their personal history, would he be more or less controlling as far as she was concerned? She thought she was capable of treating him as a standard-issue boss. Was he capable of treating her as a standard-issue associate?
It was a tricky proposition, she knew. She'd once watched two of her best friends, themselves friends since kindergarten, become mortal enemies after enduring the disagreements that arose during a joint business venture. She suspected that it would be even more difficult for former lovers to treat each other with normal business respect and consideration. Would there always be patronizing assumptions or a hint of "should have, if only" recrimination in their attitudes?
Then she realized what she was doing, and gave what her mother would have considered a highly unladylike snort. She was in no position to be picky. Her financial situation made a job, a well-paid job, essential. It was a bonus — a big bonus, to be sure — that such a job would also give her the confidence to marry Miles.
Of course, she'd take Tom's job. She'd be a fool not to.
An Unacceptable Ultimatum
To Maggie's surprise, Miles wasn't waiting in her room at the end of the afternoon's session. Then she remembered, she'd said she'd come to him. She wished she had something different to wear. The series of uniforms with which she traveled were fine when all she was doing was going back and forth to sessions, only changing for dinner at night when that seemed appropriate, but the sudden eruption of a personal life made that regimen inadequate. She went over to the desk and opened the hotel binder that described facilities and services, and flipped to the tab marked "Shopping." She was remembering correctly. There was a boutique in this building, located somewhat discreetly at the far end of the first floor. Its offerings weren't exactly what she expected. This was designer stuff, the kind of thing she hadn't bought in years. She looked around, perplexed. She was feeling more positive about the future in terms of money, but not this positive. Even the garments on the sales rack were pricey.
The sales associate, a motherly sort of woman looked at her sympathetically. "It's all rather expensive, I'm afraid. I've told them they need to offer a greater variety and range of prices. Especially given what's going on with the economy, many guests simply aren't willing nowadays to spend this kind of money on casual wear."
"I really need something, and this is beautiful," Maggie admitted, "but it's just not in my budget."
The woman thought for a moment. "Well, there's always the 'questionable returns' bin. What are you looking for, exactly?"
"Something casual for after hours – some sort of long skirt or pants and a top. I was thinking about something in a soft fabric. I'm stuck in these stiff suitings most of the day."
"Give me a minute," the sales associate said. She disappeared through a door at the back and reappeared with a folded maroon-colored shirt and tan pants. "I think this would fit you, the colors should work with your complexion, and you're trim enough to wear it."
Maggie took the pieces and unfolded them. The shirt was of a silky fabric, loose and flowing. "It's a poet's shirt," Maggie said in surprise. "I didn't know the style had come back. I like it, and the pants are leggings. These are beautiful. What makes them questionable?
The saleswoman sighed.
"We have a 'no questions' return policy, which I think is a mistake. A guest who's here frequently uses us as a lending library for clothes. She'll wear something a time or two, then bring it back and complain about the zipper or the buttons or the hemming, and we take it back. Usually we just have the things dry-cleaned and put them on the sales rack at the front, but the leggings have a stain that didn't remove. It's small and you can't see it when you're wearing the top, but our policy is to send damaged garments to the charity shop in the next town. If you don't mind the stain, you can have the outfit for $50. The sale would be final, of course. Would you like to try it on?"
Ten minutes later, Maggie was back in her room, showering, the new outfit laid out on the bed. Hair damp and curly, face devoid of makeup, she was slipping into the shirt when her cell rang. It was Miles.
"Just making sure you're on your way," he teased.
"I'm dressing."
"I'd like to be helping with that," he said. She could picture his grin.
"Yeah, well . . . " she said, picking up the leggings. "So if I come up in a couple of minutes you'll be there with bells on?"
"Goes without saying," he assured her, "but it doesn't matter. You can get in either way. I had Thomas Beverly make duplicate card keys for our rooms. I've got one to your room, and you've got one to mine. Just look in the envelope in the drawer of the table on your side of the bed."
She slid open the drawer, and there was the envelope.
"That's interesting," she said. "I didn't know they'd do that, make key cards just because someone asked them to."
"Well, they know me, and Bev knows we know each other."
"I'll bet he does," she said wryly.
"What does that m
ean? Are you mad because I had duplicate card keys made? It was just the sensible thing to do. I got tired of tracking down your room attendant and getting Bev to okay his letting me into your room."
"I'm not mad," she said, no longer feeling quite as lighthearted. "It's just a surprise, that's all. I'll be up in a couple of minutes."
She slipped the envelope into the side pocket of her clutch, feeling ill-at-ease. It was undoubtedly nice having someone think about her and try to make things easier for her. It was just that she'd been on her own for so long that it was odd to have someone suddenly appearing in her life, especially in unexpected parts of her life. If she weren't enjoying herself so much, it would be easy to resent some of Miles' assumptions. Still . . .
She was just being silly, she told herself. She'd have to get used to having someone express affection by doing things for her. She didn't think it would be too hard. Humming, she headed for the little elevator that went up to Miles' suite.
She half-expected him to be standing there, the door open, when she arrived, but he wasn't. She knocked. No answer. She pulled out the key card. When the door opened, he was emerging from the bedroom, in his sock feet and wearing a tee and jeans.
"I decided to change," he said apologetically.
"Me too," she said, feeling guilty at having wondered if his not answering the door had been a test of sorts, to see if she'd use the key. It wasn't that at all, she realized. He'd just been in the middle of changing, pulling jeans over narrow hips, tee over well-toned abs. He really had a great body, she thought, reaching out for him.
"Love the outfit," he told her, lightly running his hands over the shoulders of the shirt and down onto her breasts, making her shiver. "Just not for long," he added, hands moving to the buttons of the oversized shirt.
An hour later, spent, they were lying side by side in the big bed, arms and legs entwined.
"If you knew how long I've wanted to be with you, like this," he whispered. "Didn't you guess?"
"I knew you had to be interested. Otherwise, why show up everywhere? I mean, you showed up in places that don't even have airports. It was too much to be coincidental. But you never made a move, never really said anything, so I thought maybe I was just an object of curiosity."