Figuring out a course of action made him feel marginal y more in control, but not by much. He was just ignoring what real y mattered, which was how they dealt with this situation. Rand knew what he wanted but he also knew it didn't make sense. He didn't have a clue what Cil a's play was going to be. It was one thing to say everything was cool beforehand. After was a whole different bal game.
More than anything, what was important was having a conversation with Cil a, figuring out their next step.
Rand squeezed his eyes shut again. Later. He'd think about that one later. For a moment, just for a moment, he al owed himself to simply close his eyes and enjoy holding her, savoring the feel of her body against his. Just to imagine for a moment how it would be if they could make it work.
And the next instant, Cil a was shaking his arm. "Rand, wake up, it's after seven."
"After what?" He looked at the clock and cursed. Adrenaline surged through him as he yanked the covers back. "I've got an eight o'clock cal with Ken on the London project." He was out of bed and across the room before he realized it, feeling as if his body was stil behind him, under the covers and fast asleep.
"We can work this," Cil a told him rapidly, flipping on the bathroom light. "Let's get showered and I'l drive you to your house to change. Where do you live?" She turned on the water.
"The Wilshire Corridor. Look—" he rubbed at his eyes "—I'l get a cab. Go ahead and take your time getting ready."
"What planet do you live on? It takes half an hour to get a cab in L.A., if you're lucky. I can be ready in fifteen. Come on."
She tugged him into the stream and he cursed at the stil cold water. This wasn't what he'd planned. He'd planned to wake her before he left and have a talk. Or at least, plan to have a talk.
He knew, though, what they said about best-laid plans.
He had to hand it to Cil a, she was as good as her word. Most of the women he'd been involved with took an hour or more to get ready, and a rush job didn't happen much faster. Cil a, though, was a pro. She combed her hair back into the slick boy style, zipped through her makeup and slipped into a stretchy outfit that didn't require ironing—and did some very salutary things for her figure.
He was tying his shoelaces even as she finished.
"Al right," she said, grabbing her handbag, "let's get you where you're going."
She was an efficient driver, aggressive enough to deal with the cutthroat morning traffic without being stupid. Stil , they didn't reach his building until nearly twenty of eight. Cil a pul ed up into the loading zone and shifted into neutral. "Okay, you want to make this, you've got about five minutes to change. I'l be waiting."
Rand hesitated. "I real y need to take a cab in."
"There is no way you're going to get one at this hour."
And his temper got away from him. It was directed at her, at the situation they found themselves trapped in, but most of al at himself. "I know what you told me, Cil a, but I am not walking into that building with you late and with anybody who happens to be there before us noticing that my car was already in the garage."
A few seconds went by. Cil a turned off the ignition and leaned back to look at him. "Okay," she said careful y, "cal it a wild stab but I'm guessing that this is about much more than being late to work."
"I could give a shit about being late to work," he snapped. "What I am concerned with is my reputation at the company, and yours. For chrissakes, we just did about the most idiotic thing we could do." He tried to ignore the little flicker of hurt that he glimpsed in her eyes.
"You weren't this bothered about it in the board meeting," she said, her voice careful y neutral.
"Oh, come on. When we slept together then we didn't know what we were doing. What was the point in being ticked? This is different. We know who we are now—and so does everybody else in the Danforth building. We should have known better." He should have known better. No matter how much she pushed, he should have been able to say no. He shouldn't have taken the chance.
And he shouldn't stil ache for her now.
"Rand, relax," Cil a said, even as tension vibrated in her words. "Who's going to know?"
"What, you think no one's going to notice when we walk in and your hair's wet?"
Her chin came up at that. "No, if we're smart, I don't think they wil ."
"Cil a, people always see more than you expect, especial y when it's you, the Danforth daughter."
"It's none of their business what I do," she retorted. "What should matter is whether I get the job done."
"And you're being naive if you think that's the way it works," he shot back. "Maybe you're a Danforth and no one's going to mess with you, but I don't have that luxury. And if you think your daddy's not going to care that I'm sleeping with his daughter then you're nuts."
And that quickly, her eyes lit in long held fury. "Don't you dare give me that crap," she hissed. "You think I've got it easy because I'm a Danforth? I've had to work twice as hard to get anywhere because of it. My father blows off everything I do. The rest of them think I'm getting a free ride, so every boss I've ever had has set the bar doubly high.
"You know how I got my position as buyer?" she demanded. "When the spot came open and I applied, they told me I wasn't seasoned enough, even though I'd been assistant buyer for four years and an intern for four years before that. Not seasoned enough," she repeated, her cheekbones stained an angry red. "So I sent in a résumé under a fake name and I got a cal back the next day. They were thril ed with me. And then they found out who I real y was."
That wasn't even the first time she'd pretended to be someone else to escape the Danforth legacy, he realized, and he saw the stakes were far higher than he'd ever guessed. "And now they trust you enough to give you the Annex."
She gave a bark of humorless laughter. "Give me? They didn't give me a thing, except a baby-sitter. Even they had to admit that I made sense, but what did they do? They yanked you out of Europe to watch me because my father stil thinks I'm his little girl who can't get out of her own way.
Dammit," her voice rose in a passionate torrent, "I got a dual business and design degree from UCLA. I got an M.B.A., with honors, from Pepperdine business school. Al I want is to be given a chance to do what I know how to do. So don't tel me I'm getting an easy ride with my name.
If you're scared to take a chance then fine, but don't use me as your excuse."
Hurt burned in her eyes, and betrayal, he saw. And regret swamped him. "Look, I—"
"Go upstairs and cal your cab, Rand," she said icily, starting up the car. "I've got to get to work."
* * *
CILLA SAT AT HER COMPUTER, staring at the columns of inventory and sales figures and trying to make herself care. Normal y, she got a charge out of reviewing the figures, analyzing the data to extract the trends, the successes, the failures. Now, she could barely make herself concentrate, as her fight with Rand kept playing over and over in her head. How could he understand so little, have so little faith in her? Al right, so maybe sleeping together wasn't the best decision in the world, but he'd been there, too. There was no reason they couldn't deal with it, no reason it had to hurt them.
Of course, that wasn't what stung. What real y stung was knowing that he, too, thought she got an easy ride by being her father's daughter. If Rand, of al people, didn't understand what she was about, then how could her career at Danforth ever work? Not for the first time, she wondered about working elsewhere, but how could she translate what she knew how to do except to the competition, and every iota of her rebel ed against that idea.
She pul ed out a sheet of paper and began sketching garments, as she always did when she got upset about work. She sketched and dreamed about a career as a designer.
But she came back to the same answer she always did: business was what she did best and she belonged at Danforth. The thing to do was tough it out, prove herself even if she had to do it fifty times over. Eventual y, she'd prevail. The Annex was one smal step on that rocky path.
And if Rand's words had hurt her that morning, then she needed to put them aside and move on.
How, of course, was the question. She wasn't sure what was worse, the prospect of working with him or the prospect of being without him. She supposed it underscored his point about the foolishness of getting involved with a co-worker. When things went south, it just made everything harder. You didn't always get to choose, though.
She wanted him and she wanted him a thousand miles away.
Wearily, Cil a set her drawing aside and took another look at her figures.
A knock sounded on her door. She looked up and a smile spread over her face. "Uncle Burt," she said with genuine pleasure.
He came in, comfortably padded and looking distinguished for al that. "How's my bril iant girl doing?"
"I've had more bril iant days, that's for sure," she told him rueful y, "but I'm fine, I'm fine." Burt Ruxton was like a second father to her, sometimes more like a father than her own. Just being around him was a comfort, with his perpetual kindly good humor. "Just a little stressed out over making everything work."
Ruxton sat in her client chair and shifted a little, making it creak. "Don't be. If we hadn't been sure you could do it, we'd never have given you the project."
"Real y?" She couldn't help pushing. "And you didn't give it to me because I was a Danforth?"
He snorted. "Are you joking? We had people in there arguing against giving it to you for precisely that reason."
"What did you think?"
"What I always think. That you'd do us proud." He gave her a wink and Cil a was swamped with the sudden urge to weep. She fought it off but it must have shown because he frowned in concern.
"Hey, now, what's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm sorry, I'm just stressed out a little."
"I see. So, would you care to keep an old man company at lunch? I came to see your father but I guess he's out."
"He had to go to the New York office for the day," Cil a told him. "Spur-of-the-moment meeting with East Coast distribution."
"That's what happens when you're the big cheese. If you're like me, you get to hang around and go to lunch with pretty girls. Come out with me," he urged. "Take a break."
She might as wel , Cil a thought. It wasn't as if she was getting a thing done as it was and an hour of Uncle Burt's company would do her good. She pul ed her handbag out of her desk. "You're on."
"Good. You can regale me with tales from the trenches," he told her with a roguish wink and held his arm out for her. "Right this way."
* * *
CONSIDERING HOW MANY hours he'd spent at work, he'd gotten precious little done, Rand thought as he drove home. Perhaps that was because every time he'd tried to concentrate on work, instead he'd seen the hurt flickering in Cil a's eyes. However foolish making love with her had been, it had stil been his choice, and he shouldn't have taken that out on her. And while he could tel himself al he wanted to that he should have walked away, deep down he knew that what had flared between them wasn't the kind of thing you walked away from. What was between them wasn't done, either, at least not as far as he was concerned. Maybe from her point of view it was, thanks to his heavy-handed routine that morning. If he explained, perhaps it would make a difference; at the very least, he owed her an apology.
After that, they'd see.
Without consciously thinking about it, he'd driven past his high-rise and headed toward Brentwood. It was where she would go, he thought, remembering her house. She liked to party, but a person who created a space like that wasn't the sort to look for solace in a crowd. She'd lick her wounds in solitude, until she was ready to come out.
The neighborhood looked green and manicured in the slanting light of sunset. When he knocked on Cil a's front door, he could hear faint music inside. Sarah McLachlan, unless he missed his guess. It took time for her to come to the door. When she opened it, she simply looked at him, her eyes smudged with shadow.
"Can I come in?"
Without a word, she stepped back, and he fol owed her. She was working at her dining-room table, sketches spread out over the surface, artists'
pencils lying loose. She sat in her chair.
"New stuff?"
Cil a gave a ghost of a smile. "You asked me why I started designing. It's what I do when I get frustrated with Danforth. It's an escape."
The sketches were good, he saw. She'd obviously had training. Lingerie, again, and sexy as hel . She knew what she was doing.
As if he'd had any doubt.
"Look, I owe you an apology," he said abruptly, pul ing up a chair to sit by her. "What I said this morning about you being a Danforth, that was way out of line. I know you haven't been handed anything. I see how hard you work."
With a sinking feeling, he saw her blink a few times. Not tears, he prayed in panic. They'd just complete the job of making him feel like human scum.
"I hate the thought that people think I have it easy at Danforth because of who I am." Her voice was low, so low he almost couldn't hear it over the music at first. "I'm sorry I went off on you."
He bent over to prop his forearms on his thighs and took her hands in his. They were ice-cold. "I had it coming." He looked at her intently. "I know better than to suggest that you ride on your name. Anyone with half a brain can see that's not true."
"You didn't."
"Yes, I did. But I was pissed off."
"At me?"
He shook his head. "No, at me, for not doing what I thought I should do."
"It was my fault," she said more strongly. "I shouldn't have come on to you like that."
"That's true, you did take me against my wil ."
This time, the smile looked more genuine. "You were putty in my hands."
"You were right when we were outside the Pleasure Zone, it was going to happen sooner or later. My mistake was thinking I could control it."
"Don't tel me you were swept away by uncontrol able passion," she said dryly.
Hope flickered through him at her tone. And hope deserved truth, he thought, if he could just get it right. "We've got something here, and I don't have as good a handle on it as I'd like to," he said slowly, looking down at their joined hands. "This morning wasn't about the work thing. That was more of an excuse." He hesitated and looked up to meet her eyes. "I was kind of freaked out. It wasn't just being late, it was this whole thing. You, me, working together. I'm used to compartmentalizing things and I can't compartmentalize this."
Cil a swal owed. "You were right, though, sleeping together doesn't make sense. I realized it when I was trying to work today. There's too much at stake."
"You actual y got work done today?" He gave a lopsided smile, concentrating on the feel of her hands in his, the reality of that connection. "I keep tel ing myself it's the wrong thing to do, but it doesn't seem to stick. And I can't stop feeling the way I do about you."
Her eyes seemed to grow until they dominated his vision. "So what do we do? Back away and pretend it never happened?"
He studied her. "Do you real y want to do that? Can you?"
"I wil if it's what you want."
"It's not," he said flatly.
"What is?"
"Taking a chance. Seeing where it goes." It was like skydiving, he thought, just leaping out without a net. "Let's try it and see what happens." He pressed her hands to his lips. "You matter to me, Cil a, and I don't want to lose sight of that. So let's just give it a run. Deal, partner?"
She leaned forward to press her lips to his. "Deal."
10
CILLA KNOCKED on the apartment door. "Airport shuttle." A pair of sparrows chased one another through the courtyard of the apartment complex, swooping among the trees and bushes before perching to quarrel bad temperedly.
The door opened to reveal Trish.
"God, what are you taking?" Cil a asked her. "You look more and more gorgeous every time I see you."
Trish just gave a bashful grin. "Oh, stop it," she muttered, but her cheeks
tinted with pleasure. Her red hair tumbled down her back, loose and wild.
Instead of one of her habitual sweatshirts, she wore a black jacket over a silky red camisole, managing to look classy, stylish and sexy al at once.
And it would not go unnoticed by the man she was flying to meet, Cil a was certain.
"Okay, bags, purse, ticket." Cil a marked off an imaginary list.
"Bags are by the door," Trish said, pointing at her luggage. "My ticket's electronic, and I've got my purse right here." She hooked the hip-length pouch over her shoulder bandolero style.
"Birth control?"
Trish grinned. "In the bag."
"How about your man?"
"He's that way." Trish pointed east.
"Oh, yeah, that's where you're going, isn't it?"
"Assuming I don't miss my plane."
"Wel , I guess we'd better get you to the airport." Cil a grabbed one of the bags.
They walked out to Cil a's car, Trish practical y giddy with excitement. "You can't believe how much I am dying to see Ty."
"Ah, young love, when time goes like dog years." Of course, two weeks would be a hel of a long time to do without Rand, too, now that Cil a thought about it as they stowed the bags and got in the car. Watching Trish in love was fun just because she was so obviously new to it.
"I just can't believe any of this. Real y," she said now. "I mean, Ty, flying out to Boston to be at the filming of my first screenplay, al of it. Is it real?"
she asked Cil a.
"It's real. I've seen the two of you together and the man is absolutely nuts about you." Cil a grinned and headed toward the airport. "You deserve this, you have al along." She raised her voice and punched on the radio. "You should be ready to yel ," she shouted, pul ing onto the freeway and whooping as the wind tossed her hair around. "Come on, Trish, this time tomorrow you'l be with Ty." Cil a whooped again and this time Trish whooped with her, both of them shouting like a couple of loons as they zipped down the freeway to the airport.
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