So, she’d noticed it too. Charlie relaxed and hid a smile. “I’ll come back next time in my best funeral suit. We’ll see if they like that any better.”
A faint smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Wear it with muddy boots. Then they can have the cleaning crew follow us around.” She shook her head and finally met his gaze. “Charlie, I’m real good at games. Don’t make me play them. You can come in here wearing a clown suit for all I care, but let’s do it some other time. I want to get this over with and get on with my life.”
She said that as if she expected the rest of her life not to include him. He’d correct that impression later. He could be just as stubborn as she could. Charlie leaned forward and confiscated her desk phone. “I have to call my lawyer and start working on the bank account problems. You need to find those Jacobsen files and tell me anything that’s open for public record. Look for new companies.”
She seemed relieved to be treading familiar ground. “Let me check my messages first. Believe it or not, I do have real clients.”
Charlie relinquished the phone. “Are there rules against having an affair with clients?” he asked innocently.
“Why ask?” She pushed a stray hair from her face as she hit her message button. “You’d break them anyway.”
She didn’t appear too worried about that. She seemed completely cool about the whole thing. Charlie admired her professional attitude as she jotted notes and ignored him. He had tidal heat waves surging through him just looking at her. She hid anything she felt behind her demure demeanor. Knowing her that intimately reassured him.
He enjoyed it even more when a starched rump in an Italian suit and impeccably styled silver hair rapped on the door, walked in, and raised an eyebrow at Charlie’s appearance. Deliberately not rising, Charlie stretched his Nike-clad size-fifteens out in front of him.
“Miss Albright, if I might have a word with you...” the rump said icily.
Penelope clicked off her machine and nodded. “Mr. Poindexter, this is Charles Smith, of Smith and Son Construction, a new client.” She turned to Charlie. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Smith?”
Charlie waved his hand magnanimously. “Not at all.” He turned his gaze back to the Italian suit. “Miss Albright was generous enough to show me how her software could help my St. Lucia project. If this works out, I’m recommending her to St. Philippe and his cronies back on the island. The Foundation’s accounting system could use updating.”
Charlie watched Poindexter’s spine stiffen, his eyes narrow, and his gaze shoot obliquely to Penelope as she emerged from behind her desk. He couldn’t tell if it was guilt or greed causing the reaction, but the old goat recognized Emile’s name.
Poindexter managed a nod of acknowledgment. “Miss Albright is one of our best.” He held up his hand to Penelope. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’ll come back later. I simply wanted to remind you that we have the quality-control team in next week. Your time sheet will need to be on my desk first thing Wednesday morning. It was good meeting you, Mr. Smith.” He strolled out, leaving Penny gaping after him.
She turned her amazed gaze to Charlie and he shrugged. “I’m good at games too. The old competitive instinct kicks in. If I bring in Emile’s account, do you think Poindexter will invite me to the office Christmas party?”
“I’ll invite you to the office Christmas party,” she muttered, returning to her chair. “The phone’s all yours. I’ll call up the file on the computer and work from there.” She rubbed her hand over her wrinkled brow. “What the hell am I going to put on my time sheet?”
Figuring that was a rhetorical question, Charlie copped the phone. He had employees to pay. Their groceries were more important than Penelope’s time sheet.
He called his office and listened to Sherry pour out the list of problems stacking up on his desk. He called his lawyer and left a message. As he worked, he watched Penelope frown over her computer screen, pound away at the keys, and print out stacks of material. She didn’t seem conscious of his presence. Accustomed to the kind of women who clung to his arms and hung on his every word, Charlie decided he could learn to enjoy the freedom Penelope’s independence gave him almost as much as he enjoyed watching her full lips pucker thoughtfully as she frowned at her screen.
Penelope shoved her chair back and rose just as he hung up the telephone after leaving another message for his lawyer. “I’m looking for Jacobsen’s file. What I want doesn’t seem to be in the computer.”
She stalked out without giving him a chance to reply. Okay, so maybe he had to teach her to share a little better. He could live with that. Charlie reached for the phone book. Now was the time for a few more interesting calls.
***
By the time Penelope returned to her office, Charlie was apparently speaking with Raul. Figuring Raul must be using Beth’s cell phone, Penelope flipped through the pages of the file she’d found, seeking the information she needed while listening to Charlie’s end of the conversation with half an ear. Charlie had puckered his forehead in thought, but he didn’t seem in any panic, so she assumed the van was safely on its way to Disney World without incident.
With delight, she discovered a list of Jacobsen’s interconnected corporations and began jotting notes. The man had his fingers in almost every development pie on the south coast. And Charlie thought his corporation was bigger? He must be dreaming.
“Shit.” Charlie slammed the phone down and glared at it.
Penelope’s stomach did a nervous jig as she looked up at him. “Are they all right?”
Startled as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone, he glanced up and attempted a smile. “The kids are bouncing up and down, your brother-in-law is barking commands, and Tammy isn’t speaking to Raul, if that counts for anything.”
“And Beth’s singing,” she finished wryly. “It’s how she deals with stress.”
“I think I heard ‘I Will Survive’ in the background,” he admitted with a slightly bigger grin as the tune registered.
“But something’s wrong,” she prompted him.
He raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “Before Raul pulled his disappearing act a week or so ago, the office trailer on the island was ransacked several times while Raul was out. Or with Tammy,” he said grimly. “When he took to sleeping in the trailer with a shotgun, someone tried to set fire to it—while he was inside. They sabotaged his truck and piped raw sewage into the drinking water. His watch and the cash drawer were stolen on one of the nights the trailer was ransacked. He wasn’t aware the bank account had been emptied, but he figures the thief must have taken blank checks at the same time.”
“How did his watch end up on a body in his hut or tree house or whatever you called it?”
Charlie’s shoulders slumped. “That’s where the story gets sticky. Raul’s positive Emile found out about him and Tammy. It got so Tammy couldn’t leave the house without someone with her. When she did slip away, she thought she was being followed. After the fire at the trailer, Raul didn’t dare meet her in the jungle again for fear she would get hurt. He didn’t know the tree house had been burned, but it’s obvious the same thief who ransacked the trailer and stole his watch had to be the one who died in the fire. He may have been lying in wait for them. Besides Tammy, the only people who knew about the place had to be whoever was following Tammy and whoever hired him. Since Emile is the only person with a reason or the resources to have Tammy followed...”
“That connects Emile with the thief and the sabotage,” Penelope finished with a sigh. “Not good.”
The intercom buzzed and they both jumped. Chuckling nervously, Penelope hit the button.
“You have a delivery, Miss Albright,” the receptionist announced. “I can’t get away from my desk right now.”
“I’ll be out in a minute, Rachel.” Penelope sat back in her chair and watched the man across from her with sympathy. Betrayal by family had to hurt the most. She tried to distract him with what she hoped was a more cheerful topic. “D
id you get the bank account situation straightened out yet?”
Charlie’s jaw muscles tightened more. “I can’t reach my lawyer. He isn’t returning my messages.” He stood up. “I’ll go get your delivery. I have some thinking to do anyway.”
Penelope’s eyes widened as Charlie strode out as if he owned the place. Clients didn’t do that, not unless they were powerful men accustomed to running whatever office they entered, and then they didn’t go pick up deliveries for the peons working for them.
She was engrossed in note-taking when Charlie returned. She could almost sense his step as he shut the door and crossed the room, but she didn’t look up from her task until he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. In surprise, she lifted her eyes and encountered a crystal vase glittering in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Spilling from the vase were a dozen perfect sweetheart roses in an assortment of colors. She dropped her mechanical pencil in astonishment.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Charlie whispered from somewhere beside her, but she could scarcely tear her gaze from the roses.
She’d received dozens of bouquets during high school and college and her modeling career. Men flashed them like diamonds, expecting a lot in return. Red hothouse roses had the same hard, scentless uselessness as diamonds.
The perfumed fragrance of the roses in front of her filled the room, and rainbows danced with the light through the crystal. This bouquet was alive with color and light and scent. She’d never seen anything so perfect in her life.
“It’s okay if you don’t like them,” Charlie said flatly, moving away. “It was the best I could do at the last minute. The florists were sold out days ago. I had a friend with a nursery put these together, but they’re scarcely those big things the florists have. Sorry.” He dropped into his leather chair and reached for the phone again.
Penelope choked on any reply she could have made. She couldn’t remember anyone actually caring whether she liked her roses or not. They just expected her to jump with joy because they’d spent a lot of money.
Gently, she touched a velvet yellow petal. She must be out of her mind to get weepy and sentimental over a stupid rose.
“They’re the most gorgeous roses I’ve ever seen, Charlie,” she finally whispered as he punched the buttons of her phone as if it were his personal enemy. He’d wear the numbers right off if he hit them any harder.
He flashed her a bleak smile and shrugged as the person on the other end apparently answered.
She’d hurt him, actually hurt this arrogant man who had pushed her around for days. She’d insulted him, dumped fish bait over his head, smacked him, and heaven only knew what else, and he’d cheerfully proceeded without complaint. But he hadn’t been able to offer her a flashy present, so he thought her silence meant she was rejecting his meager gift. Stupid man.
She hadn’t realized it was Valentine’s Day. She hadn’t received a Valentine’s gift in years. It was one more holiday she’d written off her list and pretended didn’t exist. She wished she had something to give Charlie in return. The roses had melted a great big puddle in the vicinity of her long-absent heart, and she ought to return the favor.
What the hell was she thinking? Penelope closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wanted to express affection for this man who had turned her life upside down and inside out? Was she mad? She could be unemployed shortly if she had to turn in a time sheet with no billable hours. Charlie’s grand gesture only delayed the inevitable.
She opened her eyes again, and a tiny rainbow danced across her desk blotter.
“Penelope.” Charlie’s voice was almost apologetic as he hung up the phone. “I have to leave. I’ve got to pay my employees somehow and I’m not making any progress from here.”
Steeling herself as best as she could, she looked up and met Charlie’s eyes. She saw regret there, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t want him thinking she was ungrateful for the flowers, and she owed him a favor in return.
She pointed at the chair from which he was rising. “Sit. Give me your bank account numbers and your lawyer’s name.”
A wrinkle appeared between his eyes as he reluctantly withdrew account cards from his wallet and handed them over. “There’s a lien on them. You can’t take anything out. What are you going to do?”
“Give your employees a Valentine’s present,” she announced sweetly, reaching for the phone.
She jerked it from his hand as he tried to grab it back and continued hitting buttons. As the person on the other end answered, she turned away from Charlie. “Hi, Celia, put me through to Marshall, would you?”
She sensed Charlie warily sitting back in the chair. She couldn’t very well admit she was doing this for him. She didn’t want to admit he was getting to her. She couldn’t afford any kind of relationship right now, and certainly not one with a man like Charlie. But she wanted to do this anyway. Idly, she stroked a fragile yellow petal as she waited for someone to pick up the phone on the other end.
“Hi, Marshall, how’s Gloria? How did you place in the tournament?” She hated these little social games, but they worked. Besides, she liked Marshall and Gloria, even if they were golf nuts. She grimaced at the news that they’d placed out of the running, offered sympathetic noises, then finally launched into her reason for calling.
“I have a client who’s run into a little problem with bank liens, and his attorney is out of town. If we don’t get it untangled today, his employees won’t be paid. We could probably do a personal loan and open a new account, but the IRS gets a little antsy when we play around like that. If I fax the info over to you, could you take care of it for me?”
She smiled as she hung up. Charlie still eyed her suspiciously, but he waited instead of commenting.
“Have your secretary fax the lien documents to this number.” She pushed the card from her Rolodex across the desk. “Marshall is a pricey attorney who knows all the nooks and crannies at the courthouse. He’ll shove those spurious liens down someone’s throat before the day’s over.”
Charlie reached for the phone with a smile of admiration. “You play this game well, don’t you? Golf?” This last he asked with a quirk at the corner of his lips.
Penelope shrugged. “If that’s what it takes.”
“How good are you?” Catching Sherry on the first ring, he gave her the fax number and repeated Penelope’s orders.
Penelope waited until he hung up to reply. “Not bad. It’s a silly game, but I have a good eye.”
“Football’s more fun,” he said hopefully.
“Football’s cold.” She didn’t have any intention of elaborating, but before Charlie could argue, the phone rang and she grabbed for it. The voice asking for Charlie sounded panicky.
Charlie took the receiver when she handed it over, frowned at what he heard, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell him I’m on-site and you left a message. Send him to the hotel project if he persists.”
Penelope waited as he hung up. With a grimace, he threw back his shoulders and glared out the window. “That was Sherry again. Emile just arrived at my office.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“He could just be looking for Tammy,” Penelope reminded him.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
There was a knock on the door, and Rachel stuck her head in.
She smiled dreamily at Charlie as she handed Penelope a parcel. “This just came by special messenger. Could I bring you more coffee, Mr. Smith?”
“This is fine, thanks.” He nodded at the cup he’d scarcely touched since Rachel brought it in earlier.
“You didn’t play with the Dolphins at any time, did you?”
“Rachel,” Penelope cut in, lifting her eyebrow pointedly.
“Sorry.” With an unapologetic smile, she retreated.
She shouldn’t be so irritated with the receptionist’s blatant admiration of Charlie. Rachel flirted with all the good-looking men who passed her desk. Penelope had always laughed at her
before. She wasn’t laughing now as she tore into the package.
Charlie got up and stalked the room. His restlessness was beginning to rub off on her. She could hope Beth and the kids were safe, but she didn’t know it. For all she knew, Jacobsen had located the suite Charlie’s company used in Orlando, and he was waiting for them. Or Emile could have brought his hired thugs with him and could be even now tracking them down. Men who murdered to get what they wanted could have more contacts than she knew. What the devil did she know about murderers anyway?
The brown paper finally fell away and Penelope gasped in surprise at the familiar gold box inside. “Godivas! Who on earth would send me Godivas?” A box this large would require a bank loan to buy and a detox center to recover from.
“There should be a card,” Charlie muttered. “It’s not as imaginative as getting the liens off my account, but it’s the best I could do at short notice.”
Penelope flipped open the gold card. Don’t eat them all in one place. Love, Charlie. Love, Charlie. It was just a cliché he’d thought necessary for a Valentine gift, but she was still amazed that he’d remembered the day at all, especially with the pressure he was under. His generosity and thoughtfulness overwhelmed her.
“It’s the spirit of competition, isn’t it?” she asked consideringly, lifting the lid and selecting her favorite truffle. It melted in lush rivers of raspberry and dark chocolate on her tongue as Charlie turned and glared at her.
“What’s the spirit of competition?” he demanded.
“If I do something for you, you’ve got to do something better. That’s what we have in common.”
He opened his mouth to reply, shut it again as he watched her savor the chocolate, then reluctantly grinned. “Okay, maybe. Now can we get out of here?”
“Out of here? Where to? And why?” She offered him the chocolates, trying to behave as if this were a normal business conference. But Charlie’s restlessness was rasping against her already ragged nerves.
“My stepfather knows who you are. Jacobsen must know you work here. Sooner or later, one of them will show up, and I don’t want you around when they do.” He tore the wrapping off a plain chocolate.
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