Ulterior Motives

by Laura Leone

  “My worth? What would I be worth if I simply bounced from Babel to Elite like that? Even my mother would be disappointed in me.”

  “If we’re taking personal matters into account here, I think you should consider me, too.”

  “You? What about you?”

  His eyes softened and his expression became intimate. “I’m offering you the job because you’re the best choice, and I don’t agree with the obstacles you’re worried about. But I would also like to point out that if you took it, we would no longer be competitors. We’d be colleagues, working together.”

  “And you think we’d be unbeatable,” she said stiffly.

  “Also inseparable,” he said.

  She nearly forgot to breathe as she drowned in the depths of Ross’ gaze, thinking of the two of them together, day after day, building a business, building a relationship...

  “Inseparable?” she said. “Until you go away again. And then what?”

  He frowned and looked away from her. “We’ll work something out.”

  “Oh, you’ll keep in touch,” she said sarcastically. “From where? Bangkok? Marrakech? Paris?”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said evasively.

  She was ashamed she’d believed the sincerity in his eyes for even a moment, embarrassed that she’d even briefly pictured the two of them working side by side, sharing triumphs and confidences in some idyllic work-and-play relationship. He must have proposed this a dozen times before. It must be one of his oldest tricks. Well, it wouldn’t work with her.

  “Forget it,” she said. “Forget the whole thing. I do not want to be your protégée or your paramour, and I will not let you damage my career—”

  “Damage your career? I’m trying to help it!”

  “—or ruin my reputation or my self-respect. I should have realized that this friendly invitation to lunch, like every other gesture you’ve ever made, had an ulterior motive. I was right the first time— you’re a very slippery character.”

  “Will you please try to think objectively?”

  “My entire career could depend on this contract with Keene. I had it in the bag until you showed up! I don’t care what it takes, but I won’t let you ruin this for me.” She lowered her voice when she noticed several people nearby starting to stare.

  Ross made a visible effort to regain his usual calm. “All right,” he said after a moment. “You don’t want the job. I’d like you to think about it for a while, but,” he added as she started to interrupt, “I won’t press the issue. In the meantime why don’t we try to enjoy the rest of our meal?”

  Shelley stared glumly at her plate. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  He sighed and leaned back. “Frankly, neither am I.”

  “Do you think they have doggy bags here?”

  Ross smiled in genuine amusement. “We can ask.”

  “I think I’d like to go back to work now.”

  “Yes, maybe we’d better.” Ross paid the check, assuring their waiter that there was nothing wrong with the meal. “Miss Baird has just remembered a pressing appointment with her reflexologist,” he explained.

  “I see,” said the waiter, clearly reassessing Shelley.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she chided Ross as they left the restaurant.

  “I’ve been told that before. On a number of occasions.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “I can see it’ll be impossible to be a man of mystery around you,” he said. “You seem to know every detail of my wicked, wicked past.”

  “No, just the generalities. The details were missing. But I’m dying to know if it’s all true.”

  His lips twitched. “More true than I care to admit.” They reached a street corner. “Well, here’s where we part, though not for long, I hope.”

  “Don’t get those hopes up,” she advised him. Then she added hesitantly, “I suppose you want your Pashto interpreter back.”

  “No. Keep him as a gesture of good faith. No strings attached.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  “You wound me. Oh, wait a minute. I almost forgot. Here.” He handed her a small printed card. It was an invitation. “We’re having an open house at Elite next week. I hope you’ll come. Of course, I’d been hoping to introduce you to everyone as our new—”

  “Don’t push it, Ross.”

  He shrugged. “Oh, well. I hope you’ll come, anyhow.”

  “I don’t think I’d feel comfortable.”

  “Of course you will. You’ll know lots of people there.”

  “Lots of... You’re inviting my clients, too, aren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, Ross,” she said sadly. “Of all the language schools, in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine.”

  He frowned. “I think I’ve heard that before somewhere.”

  Chapter Six

  Shelley held the telephone away from her ear as a string of sordid invective burst forth from the receiver. She smiled with smug satisfaction, blissfully aware that she was about to douse the fire.

  “Are you still there?” she said loudly into the receiver. “Okay, okay, calm down. I was just kidding.”

  The voice from the receiver sharply questioned Shelley’s legitimacy, breeding, and species. It was amazing how stress affected some people.

  “Yes. I’ve found a Pashto interpreter,” Shelley said cheerfully into the receiver.

  “You’ve found someone? You’ve found someone! Oh, my God! Who? Where? When? How?” cried the relieved interpreters’ coordinator in Washington.

  “He’s a native of Afghanistan, a professor of English literature, and an American citizen.” She didn’t add that he also looked like a desert prince from an old Technicolor movie. Sloe-eyed, bronze-skinned, and rather intimidating, Ross’ Afghan friend, who preferred to be called Tim, sat in Shelley’s office with regal bearing this cheery Monday morning.

  “And you’re sure he’s going to do the job?” prodded the woman on the phone. “We’ve got less than twenty-four hours left, Shelley. I don’t have to tell you—”

  “No, you certainly don’t. May I remind you that this is not the first time I’ve arranged a local interpreter for your contracts with the feds in this region,” Shelley said with dignity.

  “No. No, I realize that.” The woman sounded a little sheepish now.

  “We’re finishing up the final paperwork now. I anticipate no difficulties and can assure you that everything will go smoothly at this end.”

  “Good. Thank you,” the woman said. “And... Shelley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Those things I said earlier? I didn’t mean them personally.”

  “No, of course not,” said Shelley, her ears still ringing.

  She replaced the receiver in its cradle with an amused smile and turned her attention to Tim. His dark eyes shone with similar amusement. “You have a wicked sense of humor,” he said. “Like Ross.”

  “Only when I’m provoked,” she replied. “Do you have any further questions about the job?”

  “No. You’ve explained everything with admirable precision,” Tim said gallantly.

  “Thank you. And thank you for coming so far to do this little two-day job for me. The interpretation fee won’t even cover your expenses. How can I ever repay you?”

  “There is no need. I’m doing this as a favor to Ross,” he assured her. Tim’s earnest eyes and soft voice mitigated his appearance and made him seem approachable.

  “If it’s not prying, may I ask why you’re doing this for him?”

  “I owe him a favor.”

  “It must have been a very great favor,” Shelley prompted.

  “It was.” That’s what Ross had said. Shelley didn’t want to give the subject up that easily, but Tim smiled and shook his head. “I promised I would never tell anyone what he did for me. I can only tell you that he’s the truest friend a man can have, and that I would have achieved none of my accompli
shments if it weren’t for Ross and his generosity of spirit.”

  Shelley stared at him. “That’s certainly a novel point of view,” she said at last.

  “Ah, you’ve heard that he’s a cad, a bounder, a rogue.”

  “Something like that,” Shelley admitted, amused at Tim’s lexicon.

  “You will only hear this kind of castigation from those who do not know him well, or those who are envious of him—for he is a man who appears to have everything.”

  “And doesn’t he?” she asked curiously.

  “But surely you should know, as the woman he is doing this for,” said Tim in surprise.

  “I... don’t know him well, Tim, and frankly I’m convinced he has an ulterior motive for helping me like this.”

  Tim smiled. “He said you would say that.”

  “What else did he say?” she pounced.

  “Nothing.”

  Shelley frowned.

  “But surely a perceptive woman like you has seen the man of great needs and great gifts that lives beneath Ross’ exterior.”

  “Well, I... uh...” Shelley stumbled over her words for a few moments before deciding to give it up. She shrugged eloquently.

  “Then you have barely scratched the surface, Michelle Baird. Which is a shame, because surely you deserve more. And so does he.”

  Intrigued, and rather eager to get some concrete information instead of cryptic comments, Shelley asked, “Have you eaten yet, Tim? The least I can do is take you to lunch.”

  “I am meeting Ross shortly. He said to be sure to ask you to join us for lunch.” Tim smiled. “He said you would refuse.”

  Shelley nearly said yes. She wanted to know what Ross was like with an old friend. She wondered whether he would openly exhibit the qualities that Tim so clearly admired in him. But common sense prevailed. Particularly now that Ross was trying to buy her away from Babel, she couldn’t afford to be seen lunching with him again. So she declined Tim’s invitation with regret.

  As Shelley bade Tim goodbye and showed him out the front door, both Francesca and Wayne stared with open curiosity.

  “How did you find him so fast?” Wayne asked.

  “Tanner,” Shelley said shortly.

  “Ross Tanner?” Wayne asked with astonishment.

  “Yes.”

  “That was a very beautiful man,” Francesca said, referring to Tim.

  “Yes,” Shelley agreed.

  “There have been some very remarkable men coming here lately,” Francesca said with satisfaction.

  “Yeah,” said Wayne unenthusiastically. “Oh, for the good old days when women used to come here.”

  Shelley smiled and returned to her office. Wayne followed hot on her heels, with Francesca right behind him.

  Wayne wanted to know why Ross had done them such a favor. He examined all the possibilities. Was this a ploy to get Shelley interested in working for him? Was he trying to get them to lower their guard for some nefarious purpose? Was Tim indeed a competent interpreter of Pashto?

  “Stay tuned for the answer to these and other questions,” Shelley murmured, “same bat-time, same bat-channel.”

  “You’re not contributing,” Wayne complained.

  “Maybe he just cares about Shelley,” Francesca said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Wayne snapped.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Shelley indignantly.

  “He’s a businessman, Shelley. A shrewd, cunning, relentless, insidious—”

  “The man’s a fiend!” cried Shelley.

  Wayne looked at her in silence for a moment. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”

  “Who, you?” She sat down at her desk. “I think that instead of speculating wildly, you should ask him personally.”

  “When do I ever see him?”

  “This Thursday. He’s holding an open house at Elite. I say we go find out what he’s up to.”

  Ten minutes later Wayne left her office, rubbing his hands together and planning how he would cleverly trick Ross into revealing all his secret plans and schemes. Shelley shook her head in amusement. Wayne hoped one day to run Babel’s central accounting office in New York. He still had some maturing to do before he got there, she reflected.

  Thursday arrived in the midst of a busy week at Babel. Tim had successfully completed his job for Shelley and headed back to California. The interpreters’ coordinator in Washington thanked Shelley for her help in the affair. She also confided to Shelley that she was about to hand in her resignation and move to Vermont; her analyst said the stress of her job was bad for her. Shelley also met again with Keene International, who still vacillated about their choice of language center.

  “It’s getting warmer. Don’t you think it’s getting warmer?” said Wayne as he and Shelley walked to Elite that Thursday afternoon.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Another week or two and I won’t need a jacket.”

  Wayne opened the door to the Elite offices for her. She had to admire the new decor. The walls, floors, ceilings, and furniture were all done in complementing pastels, while several prints and vases stood out in bold, vivid color. It was simple, but the overall effect was one of elegance and affluence. Shelley sighed glumly. This would all look great in Babel’s lobby.

  So would Ross, she realized with a sweet rush of sensation as her eyes met his. He returned his attention to the people he was talking to, but the mutual awareness which had plagued them since their first meeting was already flowing between them.

  She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t disappointed that he hadn’t called her, hadn’t tried to see her, hadn’t tried to change her sensible decision to stay away from him. But she wasn’t much good at lying. Now that he was here, just a few steps away, her eyes feasted hungrily on the sight of him.

  His black hair gleamed with healthy highlights, his tall, muscular body cut an impressive figure in his dark suit, his eyes sparkled with flirtatious amusement, and he exuded an aura of easy magnetism.

  Wow, she thought.

  “Wow,” said Wayne. “Look how many people are here.”

  There were indeed quite a lot of people. A significant number of them were Shelley’s clients or potential clients. Common sense started intruding again. It would be gauche and discourteous to do combat with Elite at their own party, but she needed to keep her clients from getting ensnared in Ross’ silken web. This called for subtlety. She was sorry she had brought Wayne along.

  “Shelley, I’m so glad you could make it.” Ross came over and clasped her hand warmly in his. He was on his worst behavior today. His eyes danced with delight, and she could see mischief and mayhem in their depths.

  “Just trying to be polite to the underdog,” she said sweetly. “You’re making such an admirable effort here after sliding downhill for so long.”

  He grinned, enjoying her sally. “We appreciate your moral support,” he said gravely.

  “Wow, is that real champagne?” Wayne asked, looking at the refreshment table.

  “Is there any other kind?” Ross asked.

  “Imported,” Shelley murmured, eyeing the bottle being opened. The cork flew out with a discreet pop. “You must have quite a budget.”

  “I do. And, of course, I can arrange for the new director to have access to a healthy entertainment budget,” Ross added meaningfully.

  “Who’s the new director?” Wayne asked.

  Ross eyed Shelley with merciless delight. “I was frankly hoping—”

  “Since Chuck has only just resigned, I’m sure it will take time for you to consider the prospects. Perhaps a transfer in from another Elite school?” Shelley gave him what she hoped was a look of bland curiosity.

  “I have the perfect prospect in mind. You know that,” he reminded her with insufferable innocence.

  Shelley did her best to look blank. She had decided that her life would be less complicated if no one knew about Ross’ offer. She could have killed him for bringing it up again, especially here and now. “Are y
ou pleased with the turnout today?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes. It’s too bad you didn’t come earlier. We had quite a crowd.”

  “More than this?” Wayne asked.

  “Lots more,” Ross assured him, and named visitors from a dozen big companies, some of whom currently did business with Babel. “We’re closing the doors soon,” he added, looking at his watch.

  “We meant to come earlier, but it was just such a busy day,” said Shelley.

  “Being so understaffed can’t make your job any easier,” Ross said persistently.

  “We can handle—” She stopped abruptly and looked across the crowded room, recognizing a familiar voice. Several teachers from her school, including Ute, the German teacher, were laughing and chatting with some Elite teachers. It was bad enough that her clients were here, but so was her staff! And Ross had a reputation for hiring away good staff from his competition.

  “Will you excuse me, please?” Shelley said stiffly and walked away.

  Ross kept his eyes on Shelley as she made her way toward the teachers from her school. He had wondered how quickly she would notice them in the crowded lobby. Faster than most people would, he had guessed, and he was right.

  Shelley’s accountant, Wayne, the rather likeable epitome of a callow youth, distracted him briefly. Ross listened politely to the blond man, hiding his amusement. With what Wayne no doubt believed was skillful subtlety and preternatural cunning, he started pumping Ross about his immediate plans for Elite.

  Ross deftly avoided a number of the questions and responded to the rest with blatantly false information. He was good at verbal sparring—it was one of his best skills—so he was still able to devote most of his concentration to Shelley.

  He was disproportionately pleased she had come and hoped she had missed seeing him as much as he had missed her. He wondered whether she was glad he had stayed away from her lately. He hadn’t done it to be noble or to honor her wishes, and he was pretty sure she knew that. He doubted that she knew, however, that he’d stayed away because she’d spooked him.

  “Are you considering any new teaching methods?” Wayne asked.

  “Hmm, yes,” Ross said absently. “The latest thing out of Paris is language instruction through hypnosis.”