by Nora Roberts
Skinner nodded, accepting the opinion. “We’ll give your Mirium a shot, Mitch, and see what the reader response is like.” He let the papers roll into themselves again. “This is the first time I can remember you being this far ahead of deadline.”
“That’s because I have an assistant now.” Mitch laid a hand on Radley’s shoulder.
“Good work, kid. Why don’t you take your assistant on a tour?”
It would take Radley weeks to stop talking about his hour at Universal Comics. When they left, he carried a shopping bag full of pencils with Universal’s logo, a Mad Matilda mug that had been unearthed from someone’s storage locker, a half-dozen rejected sketches and a batch of comics fresh off the presses.
“This was the best day in my whole life,” Radley said, dancing down the snow-choked sidewalk. “Wait until I show Mom. She won’t believe it.”
Oddly enough, Mitch had been thinking of Hester himself. He lengthened his stride to keep up with Radley’s skipping pace. “Why don’t we go by and pay her a visit?”
“Okay.” He slipped his hand into Mitch’s again. “The bank’s not nearly as neat as where you work, though. They don’t let anyone play radios or yell at each other, but they have a vault where they keep lots of money—millions of dollars—and they have cameras everywhere so they can see anybody who tries to rob them. Mom’s never been in a bank that’s been robbed.”
Since the statement came out as an apology, Mitch laughed. “We can’t all be blessed.” He ran a hand over his stomach. He hadn’t put anything into it in at least two hours. “Let’s grab that taco first.”
***
Inside the staid and unthreatened walls of National Trust, Hester dealt with a stack of paperwork. She enjoyed this part of her job, the organized monotony of it. There was also the challenge of sorting through the facts and figures and translating them into real estate, automobiles, business equipment, stage sets or college funds. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than to be able to stamp a loan with her approval.
She’d had to teach herself not to be softhearted. There were times the facts and figures told you to say no, no matter how earnest the applicant might be. Part of her job was to dictate polite and impersonal letters of refusal. Hester might not have cared for it, but she accepted that responsibility, just as she accepted the occasional irate phone call from the recipient of a loan refusal.
At the moment she was stealing half an hour, with the muffin and coffee that would be her lunch, to put together three loan packages she wanted approved by the board when they met the following day. She had another appointment in fifteen minutes. And, with that and a lack of interruptions, she could just finish. She wasn’t particularly pleased when her assistant buzzed through.
“Yes, Kay.”
“There’s a young man out here to see you, Mrs. Wallace.”
“His appointment isn’t for fifteen minutes. He’ll have to wait.”
“No, it isn’t Mr. Greenburg. And I don’t think he’s here for a loan. Are you here for a loan, honey?”
Hester heard the familiar giggle and hurried to the door. “Rad? Is everything all right—oh.”
He wasn’t alone. Hester realized she’d been foolish to think Radley would have made the trip by himself. Mitch was with him, along with the huge, mild-eyed dog.
“We just ate tacos.”
Hester eyed the faint smudge of salsa on Radley’s chin. “So I see.” She bent to hug him, then glanced up at Mitch. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure. We were just out taking care of a little business and decided to drop by.” He took a good long look. She’d covered most of the colorful bruise with makeup. Only a hint of yellow and mauve showed through. “The eye looks better.”
“I seem to have passed the crisis.”
“That your office?” Without invitation, he strolled over to stick his head inside. “God, how depressing. Maybe you can talk Radley into giving you one of his posters.”
“You can have one,” Radley agreed immediately. “I got a bunch of them when Mitch took me to Universal. Wow, Mom you should see it. I met M. J. Jones and Rich Skinner, and I saw this room where they keep zillions of comics. See what I got.” He held up his shopping bag. “For free. They said I could.”
Her first feeling was one of discomfort. It seemed her obligation to Mitch grew with each day. Then she looked down at Radley’s eager, glowing face. “Sounds like a pretty great morning.”
“It was the best ever.”
“Yellow alert,” Kay murmured. “Rosen at three o’clock.”
It didn’t take words to show Mitch that Rosen was a force to be reckoned with. He saw Hester’s face poker up instantly as she smoothed a hand over her hair to be sure it was in place.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wallace.” He glanced meaningfully at the dog, who sniffed the toe of his shoe. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that pets are not permitted inside the bank.”
“No, sir. My son was just—”
“Your son?” Rosen gave Radley a brief nod. “How do you do, young man. Mrs. Wallace, I’m sure you remember that bank policy frowns on personal visits during working hours.”
“Mrs. Wallace, I’ll just put these papers on your desk for your signature—when your lunch break is over.” Kay shuffled some forms importantly, then winked at Radley.
“Thank you, Kay.”
Rosen harrumphed. He couldn’t argue with a lunch break, but it was his duty to deal with other infractions of policy. “About this animal—”
Finding Rosen’s tone upsetting, Taz pushed his nose against Radley’s knee and moaned. “He’s mine.” Mitch stepped forward, his smile charming, his hand outstretched. Hester had time to think that with that look he could sell Florida swampland. “Mitchell Dempsey II. Hester and I are good friends, very good friends. She’s told me so much about you and your bank.” He gave Rosen’s hand a hearty political shake. “My family has several holdings in New York. Hester’s convinced me I should use my influence to have them transfer to National Trust. You might be familiar with some of the family companies. Trioptic, D and H Chemicals, Dempsey Paperworks?”
“Well, of course, of course.” Rosen’s limp grip on Mitch’s hand tightened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, a real pleasure.”
“Hester persuaded me to come by and see for myself how efficiently National Trust ticked.” He definitely had the man’s number, Mitch thought. Dollar signs were already flitting through the pudgy little brain. “I am impressed. Of course, I could have taken Hester’s word for it.” He gave her stiff shoulder an intimate little squeeze. “She’s just a whiz at financial matters. I can tell you, my father would snatch her up as a corporate adviser in a minute. You’re lucky to have her.”
“Mrs. Wallace is one of our most valued employees.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll have to bring up National Trust’s advantages when I speak with my father.”
“I’ll be happy to take you on a tour personally. I’m sure you’d like to see the executive offices.”
“Nothing I’d like better, but I am a bit pressed for time.” If he’d had days stretching out before him, he wouldn’t have spent a minute of them touring the stuffy corners of a bank. “Why don’t you work up a package I can present at the next board meeting?”
“Delighted.” Rosen’s face beamed with pleasure. Bringing an account as large and diversified as Dempsey’s to National Trust would be quite a coup for the stuffy bank manager.
“Just send it through Hester. You don’t mind playing messenger, do you, darling?” Mitch said cheerfully.
“No,” she managed.
“Excellent,” Rosen said, the excitement evident in his voice. “I’m sure you’ll find we can serve all your family’s needs. We are the bank to grow with, after all.” He patted Taz’s head. “Lovely dog,” he said and strode off with a new briskness in his step.
“What a fusty old snob,” Mitch decided. “How do you stand it?”
“Would you come into my office
a moment?” Hester’s voice was as stiff as her shoulders. Recognizing the tone, Radley rolled his eyes at Mitch. “Kay, if Mr. Greenburg comes in, please have him wait.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hester led the way into her office, then closed the door and leaned against it. There was a part of her that wanted to laugh, to throw her arms around Mitch and howl with delight over the way he’d handled Rosen. There was another part—the part that needed a job, a regular salary and employee benefits—that cringed.
“How could you do that?”
“Do what?” Mitch took a look around the office. “The brown carpet has to go. And this paint. What do you call this?”
“Yuck,” Radley ventured as he settled in a chair with Taz’s head in his lap.
“Yeah, that’s it. You know, your work area has a lot to do with your work production. Try that on Rosen.”
“I won’t be trying anything with Rosen once he finds out what you did. I’ll be fired.”
“Don’t be silly. I never promised my family would move their interests to National Trust. Besides, if he puts together an intriguing enough package, they just might.” He shrugged, indicating it made little difference to him. “If it’ll make you happier, I can move my personal accounts here. A bank’s a bank as far as I’m concerned.”
“Damn it.” It was very rare for her to swear out loud and with heat. Radley found the fur on Taz’s neck of primary interest. “Rosen’s got corporate dynasty on his mind, thanks to you. He’s going to be furious with me when he finds out you made all that up.”
Mitch tapped a hand on a tidy stack of papers. “You’re obsessively neat, did you know that? And I didn’t make anything up. I could have,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m good at it, but there didn’t seem to be any reason to.”
“Would you stop?” Frustrated, she moved to him to slap his hands away from her work. “All that business about Trioptic, and D and H Chemicals.” Letting out a long sigh, she dropped down on the edge of the desk. “I know you did it to try to help me, and I appreciate the thought, but—”
“You do?” With a smile, he fingered the lapel of her suit jacket.
“You mean well, I suppose,” Hester murmured.
“Sometimes.” He leaned a little closer. “You smell much too good for this office.”
“Mitch.” She put a hand on his chest and glanced nervously at Radley. The boy had an arm hooked around Taz and was already deeply involved in one of his new comic books.
“Do you really think it would be a traumatic experience if the kid saw me kiss you?”
“No.” At his slight movement, she pressed harder. “But that’s beside the point.”
“What is the point?” He took his hand from her jacket to fiddle with the gold triangle at her ear.
“The point is I’m going to have to see Rosen and explain to him that you were just . . .” What was the word she wanted? “Fantasizing.”
“I’ve done a lot of that,” he admitted as he moved his thumb down her jawline. “But I’m damned if I think it’s any of his business. Want me to tell you the one about you and me in the life raft on the Indian Ocean?”
“No.” This time she had to laugh, though the reaction in her stomach had more to do with heat than humor. Curiosity pricked at her so that she met his eyes, then looked quickly away again. “Why don’t you and Rad go home? I have another appointment, then I’ll go and explain things to Mr. Rosen.”
“You’re not mad anymore?”
She shook her head and gave in to the urge to touch his face. “You were just trying to help. It was sweet of you.”
He imagined she’d have taken the same attitude with Radley if he’d tried to wash the dishes and had smashed her violet-edged china on the floor. Telling himself it was a kind of test, he pressed his lips firmly to hers. He felt each layer of reaction—the shock, the tension, the need. When he drew back, he saw more than indulgence in her eyes. The fire flickered briefly, but with intensity.
“Come on, Rad, your mom has to get back to work. If we’re not in the apartment when you get home, we’re in the park.”
“Fine.” Unconsciously she pressed her lips together to seal in the warmth. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“Bye, Rad, I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay.” He lifted his arms to squeeze her neck. “You’re not mad at Mitch anymore?”
“No,” she answered in the same carrying whisper. “I’m not mad at anyone.”
She was smiling when she straightened, but Mitch saw the worried look in her eye. He paused with his hand on the knob. “You’re really going to go up to Rosen and tell him I made that business up?”
“I have to.” Then, because she felt guilty about launching her earlier attack, she smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can handle him.”
“What if I told you I didn’t make it up, that my family founded Trioptic forty-seven years ago?”
Hester lifted a brow. “I’d say don’t forget your gloves. It’s cold out there.”
“Okay, but do yourself a favor before you bare your soul to Rosen. Look it up in Who’s Who.”
With her hands in her pockets, Hester walked to her office door. From there she saw Radley reach up to put a gloved hand into Mitch’s bare one.
“Your son’s adorable,” Kay said, offering Hester a file. The little skirmish with Rosen had completely changed her opinion of the reserved Mrs. Wallace.
“Thanks.” When Hester smiled, Kay’s new opinion was cemented. “And I do appreciate you covering for me that way.”
“That’s no big deal. I don’t see what’s wrong with your son dropping by for a minute.”
“Bank policy,” Hester murmured under her breath, and Kay let out a snort.
“Rosen policy, you mean. Beneath that gruff exterior is a gruff interior. But don’t worry about him. I happen to know he considers your work production far superior to your predecessor’s. As far as he’s concerned, that’s the bottom line.”
Kay hesitated a moment as Hester nodded and flipped through the file. “It’s tough raising a kid on your own. My sister has a little girl, she’s just five. I know some nights Annie’s just knocked out from wearing all the badges, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“My parents want her to move back home so Mom can watch Sarah while Annie works, but Annie’s not sure it’s the best thing.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to know if accepting help’s right,” Hester murmured, thinking of Mitch. “And sometimes we forget to be grateful that someone’s there to offer it.” She shook herself and tucked the file under her arm. “Is Mr. Greenburg here?”
“Just came in.”
“Fine, send him in, Kay.” She started for her office, then stopped. “Oh, and Kay, dig me up a copy of Who’s Who.”
Chapter 6
He was loaded.
Hester was still dazed when she let herself into her apartment. Her downstairs neighbor with the bare feet and the holes in his jeans was an heir to one of the biggest fortunes in the country.
Hester took off her coat and, out of habit, went to the closet to hang it up. The man who spent his days writing the further adventures of Commander Zark came from a family who owned polo ponies and summer houses. Yet he lived on the fourth floor of a very ordinary apartment building in Manhattan.
He was attracted to her. She’d have had to be blind and deaf not to be certain of that, and yet she’d known him for weeks and he hadn’t once mentioned his family or his position in an effort to impress her.
Who was he? she wondered. She’d begun to think she had a handle on him, but now he was a stranger all over again.
She had to call him, tell him she was home and to send Radley up. Hester looked at the phone with a feeling of acute embarrassment. She’d lectured him about spinning a tale to Mr. Rosen; then, in her softhearted and probably condescending way, she’d forgiven him. It all added up to her doing what she hated most. Making a fool of herself.
&nb
sp; Swearing, Hester snatched up the phone. She would have felt much better if she could have rapped Mitchell Dempsey II over the head with it.
She’d dialed half the numbers when she heard Radley’s howl of laughter and the sound of stomping feet in the hall outside. She opened the door just as Radley was digging his key out of his pocket.
Both of them were covered with snow. Some that was beginning to melt dripped from Radley’s ski cap and boot tops. They looked unmistakably as if they’d been rolling in it.
“Hi, Mom. We’ve been in the park. We stopped by Mitch’s to get my bag, then came on up because we thought you’d be home. Come on out with us.”