by Laura Leone
It was worse than a new client.
“Ross!” she exclaimed.
“Hello, Shelley. I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” he said as he surveyed the confusion.
Wayne stopped arguing with the deliveryman and gaped at Ross. “Ross Tanner?”
“Yes. Word travels fast around here, doesn’t it? Makes me feel so welcome, like one of the family already. You must be Wayne Thompson?” Ross said pleasantly, oozing upper-crust charm.
For once, Wayne was robbed of speech. He just nodded and accepted Ross’ proffered hand.
Francesca’s eyes widened when she recognized Ross. Although she kept sending Shelley meaningful glances, she was on the telephone to the Babel school in Los Angeles and couldn’t take time out to comment.
“What are you doing here?” Shelley asked Ross.
“Yeah,” said Wayne with a regrettable lack of couth.
Ross glanced at Wayne, a subtly assessing glance, before saying to Shelley, “There’s a business matter I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Business?” Shelley repeated. He was a competitor, not a client. “What kind of business?”
“It’s... delicate. I would prefer to discuss it in private.”
“Ma’am, I need to get going,” said the deliveryman.
“You can’t leave behind a dozen boxes of Mandarin grammar books that don’t belong to me,” Shelley argued. “Just wait a few minutes and we’ll sort this out with the LA school. Please.” She turned back to Ross. “I’m really busy—”
“You should have made an appointment,” Wayne said as if he had just found a clever loophole.
“Considering the strained relationship between the Babel and Elite schools in Cincinnati, I suspected your appointment calendar might be full if I called ahead,” Ross said.
Shelley clutched the report about Ross to her chest, feeling absurdly guilty about it. “We wouldn’t refuse you an appointment just because we’re competitors,” she said with dignity. “If you’ll give me a few minutes to sort this out, then we can go into my office to discuss your business.”
“Great. I’ll just have a seat over here,” Ross said agreeably.
Shelley deplored the seats in the lobby, since they were squat and uncomfortable, and most people looked ridiculous sitting down on them. Ross, however, slid onto his chair with graceful ease and lounged there like an indolent panther, watching them all with an enigmatic expression that Shelley suspected concealed amusement.
She, Wayne, Francesca, and even the deliveryman stared at him as if they were waiting for his permission to go about their business.
“Don’t mind me,” he said politely. He settled back and let his eyes rest on Shelley.
“Shelley,” Francesca said, “the director in LA says he hasn’t ordered any Mandarin books.”
“What? Give me that,” Shelley said, taking the phone from Francesca.
“Hello, this is Shelley Baird,” she said into the receiver. “Well, your school number is on all of the boxes. Yes. School number 112... . But it must be your number. It’s always been your number.”
Shelley looked up as two more people came into the lobby. She heard one of them, a young blond man with a Scandinavian accent, tell Wayne they were from the international students’ union at a local college.
“Just a minute,” Shelley said into the receiver. She introduced herself to the blond boy who had spoken. “Have you found a Pashto speaker?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes. Right here,” said the boy proudly.
“Great! Let me finish this and I’ll be right with you.” She spoke into the receiver again. “I’m sorry, what were you saying? Oh... Oh. I see. Well, why did they do that? I see. All right. Well, thanks for your help, we’ll get right on it.”
Shelley hung up the phone and turned to Francesca. “For reasons no one understands, headquarters changed the numbers of all the schools out West last week. LA thinks those books are supposed to go to Portland, Oregon, but he says we’d better call first and ask. Will you please do that, Francesca?”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the delivery man, “but I can’t wait around—”
“Where are you going on your vacation this year?” Shelley asked him.
“What?”
“Your vacation. Where are you going?”
“Well... Mexico.”
“Ah! Sir, if you’ll wait around till we find out where those boxes are going, and if you’ll then get them out of here, we’ll give you three complimentary Spanish lessons.”
“Well, I... Three free lessons, did you say?”
“Absolutely. Just think of it. You’ll be able to check into your hotel, order food in restaurants, ask directions, and barter over prices. You can eliminate all the normal hassles of a tourist in a foreign culture. If you’ll just give me a hand here.”
“I can learn all that in just three lessons?” the deliveryman asked dubiously.
“I give you my personal guarantee,” Shelley assured him. “We offer private lessons with the most modern, intensive, successful instruction in the field.”
The man hesitated for another moment, weighing his options. Finally he said, “Well, I like your face, ma’am. I don’t think you’d try to snow me. You’ve got a deal.”
“Thank you,” said Shelley, shaking his hand. “Wayne, will you please get this gentleman three lesson vouchers and arrange a schedule for him? Now,” Shelley said, turning to her newly found Pashto speaker, “let me explain the situation to you, sir. I’m Shelley Baird.”
Shelley offered her hand to the man. He stared at her uncertainly for a moment before taking it in a brief handshake. She waited for him to offer his name. When he didn’t, she said, “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.”
He stared at her.
Shelley looked uncertainly at the blond boy, then back to the Afghan man. “What is your name?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you speak English?” Shelley asked slowly.
The man smiled shyly and responded, “Are with numb English.”
Shelley felt disappointed but not very surprised. She had been through false starts before when looking for interpreters of unusual languages. As she had told the coordinator in Washington, she wouldn’t find someone overnight. Nevertheless, she didn’t appreciate having her time wasted. She turned again to the blond young man.
“Didn’t I specifically say that I need an Afghan who is an American citizen and speaks fluent English?” she said patiently.
“Well, his English is a little slow—”
“It’s a little non-existent. If he can’t tell me his name, how do you expect him to give accurate simultaneous interpretation of complicated legal language?”
“Well, perhaps...”
“And where are his citizenship papers?”
“Um.”
“I appreciate your help,” Shelley said diplomatically, “but my instructions were clear and specific. If you ignore them, I’m afraid you simply waste your time and energy. Not to mention my own.”
The boy sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Baird. We thought it might be good enough that he spoke Pashto. Better luck next time, eh?”
Shelley smiled politely, not wanting to offend someone who possessed good intentions, even if they were misdirected. Besides, he might be able to help her in the future.
Shelley showed them to the door, then turned to face Ross. His eyes watched her with an interest that she sensed was purely professional in this instance. She resented his presence during such a chaotic day, not wishing him to see her operation at anything less than peak efficiency. On the other hand, he of all people should know that this was a complex business that seldom provided a calm—or dull—day.
Francesca was on the phone to Portland, making arrangements to ship them their Chinese books. Wayne was shuffling some papers on Francesca’s desk, a transparent excuse for staying in the lobby to study Ross. Ross was unperturbed by Wayne’s ill-concealed interest in him, and he returned Francesca’
s glances with a flattering, slightly flirtatious expression.
He certainly did dress up the lobby, Shelley reflected.
The door opened again behind Shelley. She turned to see a German teacher enter the arena.
“Guten Tag, Shelley,” the woman said.
“Guten Tag, Ute. Wie geht’s?”
“Was ist das?” Ute asked, surveying the disorder in the hallway.
“It’s a long story,” Shelley said. “You’re early today, aren’t you?”
“Ja. I have come early because I must speak with you about something.”
Shelley glanced at her watch, hoping she would have time for both Ute and Ross before her next appointment arrived. “Of course, Ute. I have agreed to see this gentleman first, if you don’t mind waiting.”
Ute looked at Ross. Her expression reflected what Shelley had come to accept as a normal female reaction to his presence. Although Ute was a married woman awaiting the arrival of her third grandchild, her face lit up with a fascinated smile as she introduced herself to Ross. He stood up and took Ute’s hand.
“Sehr erfreut. Ich bin Ross Tanner,” he said, surprising Shelley.
“So,” Ute said with interest, “Sie sind Herr Tanner. Wie geht es Ihnen?”
“Danke gut. Und Ihnen?”
“Shelley,” Francesca interrupted. “Portland wants to speak to you. They say they didn’t order Mandarin books. They ordered Cantonese books.”
Shelley sighed and took the receiver. While she talked with the director of the Portland school and patiently explained that the mistake wasn’t her fault and she didn’t know who was responsible, she was aware of Ute and Ross carrying on an animated conversation nearby. Shelley had already demonstrated the extent of her German vocabulary, so she had no idea what they were saying. Ross’ German was obviously fluent, and she wondered where he had learned it. She had the impression that that was what Ute was asking him.
“Yes, I’ve examined the contents of the boxes. According to the English on the cover, they’re definitely Mandarin and not Cantonese,” Shelley told the distressed director in Portland. “Well, I’ll send these back to distribution. You’d better give them a call and explain the problem. No, I don’t know why these things always happen to you.”
Shelley hung up the phone with a rueful smile. However bad her day was, it sounded as if the director in Portland was having a worse one. Shelley shook her head. She really liked this job, but she hated the bureaucracy involved in such a big organization.
Once off the phone, Shelley caught Ross’ eye. They’d better get this conversation under way before something else happened. He tore himself away from an enamored Ute, evidently saying he had enjoyed chatting with her, and followed Shelley into her office.
Shelley sat at her desk and put the faxed report about Ross Tanner behind her, out of view. She had intended to be all business, but curiosity got ahold of her.
“Where did you learn to speak German so well?” she asked.
“I worked in the Elite school in Munich early in my career.”
“What other languages do you speak?”
“French and Arabic. The French doesn’t really count, though. I was raised bilingual. My mother’s French. I spent a lot of my childhood over there.”
“I see.” That would probably explain his educated, carefully neutral accent, particularly if he spent most of that time in France among friends and relatives who didn’t speak English.
“You look lovely today,” he said in a more personal tone of voice.
“You look quite... well, you know... you always do.”
“Thank you, I think,” he said dryly.
Shelley cleared her throat. She suddenly had a vivid mental image picture of the two of them locked in each other’s arms on Saturday morning. She couldn’t have something like that happening here in her office.
“I thought you said you came here to discuss business,” she reminded him.
“Actually, I did. I just find you so distracting.”
“Sublimate,” she suggested.
“Very well.”
Ross tilted his head to one side and studied her for a moment. An aura of feminine sexuality surrounded her, even in a business setting. She could certainly use it to her advantage, as Charles had intimated, yet it seemed to be quite unconscious and natural. Charles had suggested—no, specifically stated—that Shelley used all her attributes in an unprofessional way to ensure her professional success. Since that was a type of competition that Charles obviously wouldn’t enter into, it could explain Shelley’s remarkable success this past year and exonerate Charles.
If it were true, Ross wouldn’t have to fire Charles and thus throw a middle-aged man out of work. Yet the thought of Shelley behaving as Charles claimed disturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. Now, looking at this small woman with her ivory skin, her tumbling copper hair, and her candid gray eyes, he felt stronger, more compelling needs stir inside him. And so he wanted her to convince him it wasn’t true.
He felt caught in the middle, confused and uncertain. This was all the more disturbing because it was unfamiliar and uncharacteristic. In the past he had been headstrong, rebellious, selfish, and careless, but never indecisive. Could he be losing his touch? He frowned, willing himself to take charge of the situation, to use that combination of ruthlessness and charm that had always been his strength.
Shelley watched Ross curiously for a moment, aware he was fighting some sort of an internal battle. She wasn’t vain enough to assume he was having that much trouble sublimating his attraction to her, so she watched for some clue about his dilemma. It must involve her, or he wouldn’t be here.
A subtle change came over him in that moment. When he spoke again his tone was polite and had lost all trace of intimacy. His eyes flattered her, but they were no longer warm and admiring.
“I’ve come across evidence of some rather unprofessional disagreements between you and Charles,” he said.
Shelley narrowed her eyes. “Is this about the time I swore out a peace bond on him?”
“Peace bond?” Ross heard the obvious surprise in his own voice.
“Ahh,” said Shelley, “I can see it’s not. He managed to keep that a secret, didn’t he?”
Years of experience made Ross recover his sangfroid almost immediately. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it.”
“I called the police because I felt Chuck had y gone too far that time, and I didn’t want to deal with it myself.”
Ross suddenly had a feeling this conversation wasn’t going to be anything like what he’d planned. “What do you mean?”
“There were other incidents, of course.”
“What sort of incidents?” Ross asked coolly. His mind was working furiously as he listened to Shelley with an expression of polite interest.
“Well, shortly after I first arrived and started picking up new business, Chuck started making crank phone calls to my office day in and day out. It got to the point where we didn’t even want to answer the phone anymore.”
“What makes you think it was him?”
“I mentioned it to him one day when I saw him having lunch in a restaurant near here. One look in his eyes and I knew he was responsible for it,” she said with certainty.
“That’s sheer speculation.”
“I also thought I recognized his voice,” Shelley said. “What’s more, our office opens an hour earlier than Elite and stays open an hour later, but we only got these calls during Elite’s business hours.”
“That can hardly be considered evidence,” Ross pointed out.
“No, I realize that. But I walked over to Chuck’s office the next day and told him that if I received one more crank phone call from anyone, I’d call the police and report him.” She paused. “End of crank calls.”
Ross absorbed this in silence for a moment. “I see. But that doesn’t—”
“Then, believe it or not, Chuck started sending spies over here. Once every two or three weeks
, someone would make an appointment with me, then demand to see every inch of the school and ask all sorts of detailed questions that had nothing to do with language tuition. They were pretty easy to spot, and even easier to get rid of, but I was getting pretty annoyed.”
“I’m afraid I find that as unlikely as the crank phone calls,” Ross said, attempting to get control of the conversation. “Surely the police didn’t issue a peace bond based on your vague suspicions.”
Shelley felt hurt for a moment that he was so skeptical of her convictions. But he was the man from Elite, and that was exactly why she had decided not to get involved with him.
“No, of course not,” she said. “Last October I signed another big client Chuck had been after. He made all sorts of threats—privately, where no one else could hear him—about ruining my business. Then someone broke in here one night.”
“Broke in?” Ross repeated. This was serious.
Shelley nodded. “They didn’t take any money or valuable materials, but they did take my client address book, my list of teachers’ phone numbers and—get this—my schedule board. It took us two weeks to get everything back to normal efficiency.”
“That was when you called the police?” Ross had to wonder why Charles hadn’t mentioned any of these unpleasant incidents to him while he’d been defaming Shelley’s character on Saturday.
“Yes. I asked them to pay him a visit. I swore out a peace bond on Chuck and made it very clear he’d be in trouble with the law if he ever came near me or my school again.”
“Jesus,” Ross breathed, staring at Shelley. He had intended to question her until he had satisfied himself about the truth or falsehood of Charles’s accusations. All he had now were more accusations, this time aimed at his own employee. And Shelley’s accusations were largely as vague and as difficult to confirm as Charles’s.
“Have there been any other... problems you’d like to tell me about?” he asked. If she would offer something he could easily prove or disprove...
Shelley’s cheeks reddened slightly as she considered whether or not to tell him about Chuck’s latest offense, “It’s... a little embarrassing, actually. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone else. Maybe... well, you’re his boss, Ross, am you’re obviously a gentleman. Maybe you can tell him to knock it off.”