by Nora Roberts
Relieved, she smiled. “Yes.”
“And you’ll stay the night with me, sleep in my bed?”
She sat up so they were face-to-face. “Yes.”
“Good.” He tugged on the lock of hair. “Now kiss me goodbye.”
“All right.” Testing herself, she sat up, linked her hands around his neck. The sheet slid away to her waist. Pleased, she watched his gaze skim down, felt the tensing of muscles, saw the heat flash. Slowly, waiting until his eyes had come back to hers, she leaned forward. Her lips brushed his and retreated, brushed and retreated until she felt his quick groan. Satisfied she had his full attention, she flicked open the buttons of his shirt.
“Sydney.” On a half laugh, he caught at her hands. “You’ll make me late.”
“That’s the idea.” She was smiling as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you with the boss.”
* * *
Two hours later, Sydney strolled into her offices with an armful of flowers she’d bought on the street. She’d left her hair down, had chosen a sunny yellow suit to match her mood. And she was humming.
Janine looked up from her work station, prepared to offer her usual morning greeting. The formal words stuck. “Wow. Ms. Hayward, you look fabulous.”
“Thank you, Janine. I feel that way. These are for you.”
Confused, Janine gathered up the armful of summer blossoms. “Thank you. I…thank you.”
“When’s my first appointment?”
“Nine-thirty. With Ms. Brinkman, Mr. Lowe and Mr. Keller, to finalize the buy on the housing project in New Jersey.”
“That gives me about twenty minutes. I’d like to see you in my office.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Janine was already reaching for her pad.
“You won’t need that,” Sydney told her, and strode through the double doors. She seated herself, then gestured for Janine to take a chair.
“How long have you worked for Hayward?”
“Five years last March.”
Sydney tipped back in her chair and looked at her secretary, really looked. Janine was attractive, neat, had direct gray eyes that were a trifle puzzled at the moment. Her dark blond hair was worn short and sleek. She held herself well, Sydney noted. Appearance was important, not the most important, but it certainly counted for what she was thinking.
“You must have been very young when you started here.”
“Twenty-one,” Janine answered with a small smile. “Right out of business college.”
“Are you doing what you want to do, Janine?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is secretarial work what you want to do with your life, or do you have other ambitions?”
Janine resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. “I hope to work my way up to department manager. But I enjoy working for you, Miss Hayward.”
“You have five years experience with the company, nearly five more than I do, yet you enjoy working for me. Why?”
“Why?” Janine stopped being nervous and went to flat-out baffled. “Being secretary to the president of Hayward is an important job, and I think I’m good at it.”
“I agree with both statements.” Rising, Sydney walked around the desk to perch on the front corner. “Let’s be frank, Janine, no one here at Hayward expected me to stay more than a token month or two, and I’m sure it was generally agreed I’d spend most of that time filing my nails or chatting with friends on the phone.” She saw by the faint flush that crept up Janine’s cheeks that she’d hit very close to the mark. “They gave me an efficient secretary, not an assistant or an office manager, or executive aide, whatever we choose to call them at Hayward, because it wasn’t thought I’d require one. True?”
“That’s the office gossip.” Janine straightened in her chair and met Sydney’s eyes levelly. If she was about to be fired, she’d take it on the chin. “I took the job because it was a good position, a promotion and a raise.”
“And I think you were very wise. The door opened, and you walked in. Since you’ve been working for me, you’ve been excellent. I can’t claim to have a lot of experience in having a secretary, but I know that you’re at your desk when I arrive in the morning and often stay after I leave at night. When I ask you for information you have it, or you get it. When I ask, you explain, and when I order, you get the job done.”
“I don’t believe in doing things halfway, Ms. Hayward.”
Sydney smiled, that was exactly what she wanted to hear. “And you want to move up. Contrarily, when my position was tenuous at best last week, you stood behind me. Breaking into that board meeting was a risk, and putting yourself in my corner at that point certainly lessened your chances of moving up at Hayward had I been asked to step down. And it most certainly earned you a powerful enemy.”
“I work for you, not for Mr. Bingham. And even if it wasn’t a matter of loyalty, you were doing what was right.”
“I feel very strongly about loyalty, Janine, just as strongly as I feel about giving someone who’s trying to make something of herself the chance to do so. The flowers were a thank-you for that loyalty, from me to you, personally.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hayward.” Janine’s face relaxed in a smile.
“You’re welcome. I consider your promotion to my executive assistant, with the appropriate salary and benefits, to be a good business decision.”
Janine’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”
“I hope you’ll accept the position, Janine. I need someone I trust, someone I respect, and someone who knows how the hell to run an office. Agreed?” Sydney offered a hand. Janine stared at it before she managed to rise and grip it firmly in hers.
“Ms. Hayward—”
“Sydney. We’re going to be in this together.”
Janine gave a quick, dazzled laugh. “Sydney. I hope I’m not dreaming.”
“You’re wide-awake, and the flak’s going to fall before the day’s over. Your first job in your new position is to arrange a meeting with Lloyd. Make it a formal request, here in my office before the close of business hours today.”
* * *
He put her off until four-fifteen, but Sydney was patient. If anything, the extra time gave her the opportunity to examine her feelings and make certain her decision wasn’t based on emotion.
When Janine buzzed him in, Sydney was ready, and she was sure.
“You picked a busy day for this,” he began.
“Sit down, Lloyd.”
He did, and she waited again while he took out a cigarette. “I won’t take up much of your time,” she told him. “I felt it best to discuss this matter as quickly as possible.”
His gaze flicked up, and he smiled confidently through the haze of smoke. “Having problems on one of the projects?”
“No.” Her lips curved in a wintry smile. “There’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s the internal strife at Hayward that concerns me, and I’ve decided to remedy it.”
“Office reorganization is a tricky business.” He crossed his legs and leaned back. “Do you really think you’ve been around long enough to attempt it?”
“I’m not going to attempt it, I’m going to do it. I’d like your resignation on my desk by five o’clock tomorrow.”
He bolted up. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your resignation, Lloyd. Or if necessary, your termination at Hayward. That distinction will be up to you.”
He crushed the cigarette into pulp in the ashtray. “You think you can fire me? Walk in here with barely three months under your belt and fire me when I’ve been at Hayward for twelve years?”
“Here’s the point,” she said evenly. “Whether it’s been three months or three days, I am Hayward. I will not tolerate one of my top executives undermining my position. It’s obvious you’re not happy with the current status at Hayward, and I can guarantee you, I’m going to remain in charge of this company for a long time. Therefore, I believe it’s in your own inte
rest, and certainly in mine, for you to resign.”
“The hell I will.”
“That’s your choice, of course. I will, however, take the matter before the board, and use all the power at my disposal to limit yours.”
Going with instinct, she pushed the next button. “Leaking Mrs. Wolburg’s accident to the press didn’t just put me in a difficult position. It put Hayward in a difficult position. As an executive vice president, your first duty is to the company, not to go off on some vindictive tangent because you dislike working for me.”
He stiffened, and she knew she’d guessed correctly. “You have no way of proving the leak came from my office.”
“You’d be surprised what I can prove,” she bluffed. “I told you I wanted your loyalty or your resignation if the board stood behind me in the Soho project. We both know your loyalty is out of the question.”
“I’ll tell you what you’ll get.” There was a sneer in his voice, but beneath the neat gray suit, he was sweating. “I’ll be sitting behind that desk when you’re back in Europe dancing from shop to shop.”
“No, Lloyd. You’ll never sit behind this desk. As the major stockholder of Hayward, I’ll see to that. Now,” she continued quietly, “it wasn’t necessary for me to document to the board the many cases in which you’ve ignored my requests, overlooked complaints from clients, tenants and other associates at the meeting on Friday. I will do so, however, at the next. In the current climate, I believe my wishes will be met.”
His fingers curled. He imagined the satisfaction of hooking them around her throat. “You think because you skidded through one mess, because your senile grandfather plopped you down at that desk, you can shoehorn me out? Lady, I’ll bury you.”
Coolly she inclined her head. “You’re welcome to try. If you don’t manage it, it may be difficult for you to find a similar position with another company.” Her eyes iced over. “If you don’t think I have any influence, or the basic guts to carry this off, you’re making a mistake. You have twenty-four hours to consider your options. This meeting is over.”
“Why you cold-blooded bitch.”
She stood, and this time it was she who leaned over her desk. “Take me on,” she said in a quiet voice. “Do it.”
“This isn’t over.” Turning on his heel, he marched to the door to swing it open hard enough that it banged against the wall.
After three deep breaths, Sydney sank into her chair. Okay, she was shaking—but only a little. And it was temper, she realized as she pressed a testing hand against her stomach. Not fear. Good, solid temper. She found she didn’t need to vent any anger by mangling paper clips or shredding stationery. In fact, she found she felt just wonderful.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mikhail stirred the mixture of meats and spices and tomatoes in the old cast-iron skillet and watched the street below through his kitchen window. After a sniff and a taste, he added another splash of red wine to the mixture. Behind him in the living room The Marriage of Figaro soared from the stereo.
He wondered how soon Sydney would arrive.
Leaving the meal to simmer, he walked into the living room to study the rosewood block that was slowly becoming her face.
Her mouth. There was a softness about it that was just emerging. Testing, he measured it between his index finger and thumb. And remembered how it had tasted, moving eagerly under his. Hot candy, coated with cool, white wine. Addictive.
Those cheekbones, so aristocratic, so elegant. They could add a regal, haughty look one moment, or that of an ice-blooded warrior the next. That firm, proud jawline—he traced a fingertip along it and thought of how sensitive and smooth her skin was there.
Her eyes, he’d wondered if he’d have problems with her eyes. Oh, not the shape of them—that was basic to craft, but the feeling in them, the mysteries behind them.
There was still so much he needed to know.
He leaned closer until he was eye to eye with the half-formed bust. “You will let me in,” he whispered. At the knock on the door, he stayed where he was, peering into Sydney’s emerging face. “Is open.”
“Hey, Mik.” Keely breezed in wearing a polka-dotted T-shirt and shorts in neon green. “Got anything cold? My fridge finally gave up the ghost.”
“Help yourself,” he said absently, “I’ll put you on top of the list for the new ones.”
“My hero.” She paused in the kitchen to sniff at the skillet. “God, this smells sinful.” She tipped the spoon in and took a sample. “It is sinful. Looks like a lot for one.”
“It’s for two.”
“Oh.” She gave the word three ascending syllables as she pulled a soft drink out of the refrigerator. The smell was making her mouth water, and she glanced wistfully at the skillet again. “Looks like a lot for two, too.”
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Put some in a bowl. Simmer it a little longer.”
“You’re a prince, Mik.” She rattled in his cupboards. “So who’s the lucky lady?”
“Sydney Hayward.”
“Sydney.” Her eyes widened. The spoon she held halted in midair above the pan of bubbling goulash. “Hayward,” she finished. “You mean the rich and beautiful Hayward who wears silk to work and carries a six-hundred-dollar purse, which I personally priced at Saks. She’s coming here, to have dinner and everything?”
He was counting on the everything. “Yes.”
“Gee.” She couldn’t think of anything more profound. But she wasn’t sure she liked it. No, she wasn’t sure at all, Keely thought as she scooped her impromptu dinner into a bowl.
The rich were different. She firmly believed it. And this lady was rich in capital letters. Keely knew Mikhail had earned some pretty big bucks with his art, but she couldn’t think of him as rich. He was just Mik, the sexy guy next door who was always willing to unclog a sink or kill a spider or share a beer.
Carrying the bowl, she walked over to him and noticed his latest work in progress. “Oh,” she said, but this time it was only a sigh. She would have killed for cheekbones like that.
“You like?”
“Sure, I always like your stuff.” But she shifted from foot to foot. She didn’t like the way he was looking at the face in the wood. “I, ah, guess you two have more than a business thing going.”
“Yes.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets as he looked into Keely’s troubled eyes. “This is a problem?”
“Problem? No, no problem.” She worried her lower lip. “Well, it’s just—boy, Mik, she’s so uptown.”
He knew she was talking about more than an address, but smiled and ran a hand over her hair. “You’re worried for me.”
“Well, we’re pals, aren’t we? I can’t stand to see a pal get hurt.”
Touched, he kissed her nose. “Like you did with the actor with the skinny legs?”
She moved her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t in love with him or anything. Or only a little.”
“You cried.”
“Sure, but I’m a wienie. I tear up during greeting card commercials.” Dissatisfied, she looked back at the bust. Definitely uptown. “A woman who looks like that, I figure she could drive a guy to joining the Foreign Legion or something.”
He laughed and ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll write.”
Before she could think of anything else, there was another knock. Giving Keely a pat on the shoulder, he went to answer it.
“Hi.” Sydney’s face brightened the moment she saw him. She carried a garment bag in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. “Something smells wonderful. My mouth started watering on the third floor, and…” She spotted Keely standing near the worktable with a bowl cupped in her hands. “Hello.” After clearing her throat, Sydney told herself she would not be embarrassed to have Mikhail’s neighbor see her coming into his apartment with a suitcase.
“Hi. I was just going.” Every bit as uncomfortable as Sydney, Keely darted back into the kitchen to grab her soft drink.
; “It’s nice to see you again.” Sydney stood awkwardly beside the open door. “How did your murder go?”
“He strangled me in three takes.” With a fleeting smile, she dashed through the door. “Enjoy your dinner. Thanks, Mik.”
When the door down the hall slammed shut, Sydney let out a long breath. “Does she always move so fast?”
“Mostly.” He circled Sydney’s waist with his hands. “She is worried you will seduce me, use me, then toss me aside.”
“Oh, well, really.”
Chuckling, he nipped at her bottom lip. “I don’t mind the first two.” As his mouth settled more truly on hers, he slipped the garment bag out of her lax fingers and tossed it aside. Taking the bottle of wine, he used it to push the door closed at her back. “I like your dress. You look like a rose in sunshine.”
Freed, her hands could roam along his back, slip under the chambray work shirt he hadn’t tucked into his jeans. “I like the way you look, all the time.”
His lips were curved as they pressed to her throat. “You’re hungry?”
“Mmm. Past hungry. I had to skip lunch.”
“Ten minutes,” he promised, and reluctantly released her. If he didn’t, dinner would be much, much later. “What have you brought us?” He twisted the bottle in his hand to study the label. One dark brow lifted. “This will humble my goulash.”
With her eyes shut, Sydney took a long, appreciative sniff. “No, I don’t think so.” Then she laughed and took the bottle from him. “I wanted to celebrate. I had a really good day.”
“You will tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s find some glasses that won’t embarrass this champagne.”
* * *
She didn’t know when she’d been more charmed. He had set a small table and two chairs on the tiny balcony off the bedroom. A single pink peony graced an old green bottle in the center, and music drifted from his radio to lull the sounds of traffic. Thick blue bowls held the spicy stew, and rich black bread was heaped in a wicker basket.