The kitchen seemed much emptier when she went back.
Edward was staring out the window at the white indistinct humps that were his garden in summer.
She linked her arm in his and they stood in silence for a minute.
“I think he did not want to arrive at work with his supervisor,” Edward said after a while.
“I’m not his supervisor anymore.”
“No? Oh, well.”
Again, the comfortable silence.
“He is like your mother in many ways.”
Lindsay felt her eyes open a little. “Yes, you’re right,” she said. The same fast energy, easy charm…all the things that she lacked, truth be told. All the skills that she worked so hard to compensate for.
You two work well together, Vince had said.
Well, they’d be working together now.
Uneasiness touched her. She still wasn’t sure Luke’s reasoning was valid. It didn’t feel right to her. Her mother certainly never shared her job with someone else.
“What would Mom have done if she’d been told to share her authority, Dad?”
“Got herself promoted as soon as possible.”
She smiled. It was the typical Catherine-ish reaction—damn their eyes and full speed ahead. “And in the meantime?”
His answer this time took a bit longer. “She did have to work with someone she didn’t like, once. He was an idiot, according to her and you know how badly she tolerated stupidity. Agh! She would get so angry, at home, telling me. But at work, she was perfect.”
“Perfect?”
He nodded. “She worked twice as hard to be twice as good. No mistakes. No slip-ups. No loss of concentration. Perfect. She would say ‘Success is the best revenge’.” He chuckled. “And she got her revenge.”
Lindsay turned the idea over in her mind. Perfect. It was a scary ideal. But then she thought about her ambitions and how close she was to losing it all.
She could do perfect.
* * * * *
She got to her desk later than usual but still early by normal office hours.
Luke wasn’t in, of course.
Timothy handed her the mail silently, his gaze wide-eyed and innocent. It took Lindsay a few minutes to interpret that stare.
Timothy knew. Somehow, word had got around that she and Luke had…were…what?
Lovers?
It was an uncomfortable description.
Well, as long as Timothy was playing dumb, that was fine by her.
She went back to her office and barely paused when she passed the closed door to Luke’s office. She had to resist leaving her own office door open. She nearly always closed it. An open door policy had never been her style.
Annoyed, she forced herself to settle down and tackle the morning mail. As she had to force herself to it nearly every morning it wasn’t an unfamiliar struggle but it was harder won than normal. Her concentration had completely gone and her mind was skittering everywhere.
She realized she was tense and getting more strung-out by the minute. Then she figured out why. She was waiting for the door to open. For Luke to step in.
There was a tap on the door and it opened. Luke stepped in and Lindsay jumped as her bucket of pencils seemed to leap off the desk and clatter all over the floor.
“Damn!” Her nerves were out of control. She scurried around to pick up the pencils and the tin bucket she kept them in.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Luke said, picking up a handful himself. He shoved them into the bucket anyhow—points up and down—and for a miniscule moment Lindsay could feel irritation flaring in her.
She put the bucket on the desk and deliberately ignored the almost overwhelming need to restore the upside-down pencils to their correct orientation.
That’s Luke. And that’s me, she thought. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest…it probably hasn’t even occurred to him. Me, I’m twitching to fix it.
And fast on the heels of the odd observation was another thought, Wow! I actually figured it out for myself!
Luke didn’t sit on the corner of her desk as he usually did. He crossed his arms, standing in the middle of the room.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard it yet. I thought I’d better warn you.”
“Warn me?” Alarm touched her. “Why?” Her father. Something had happened—
“It’s Gormley.”
“Gormley?” For a moment, she had to think who Gormley was. Work. It was work related.
The moment of disorientation shook her. In less than twenty-four hours her priorities had been completely reversed. She clenched her jaw, pushing aside the concern for now. “What about Gormley?”
“He had a heart attack last night. At the restaurant.” He shook his head. “All that champagne, tobacco and good cheer. I heard he put away a king-sized ranch steak and then ordered an apple pie with double cream, which he collapsed into shortly after.”
“Is it really bad? Will he recover?”
“Bad enough. The doctors say he won’t ever work again—not here, at any rate.”
She couldn’t help it. Her first thought was a selfish one. Now the general manager’s position is vacant.
Luke was staring at her, the dark eyes missing nothing, she was sure.
“Poor Vince,” she said.
Luke grimaced. “And poor Lindsay. All your problems just melted away, didn’t they?”
“I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do know what I mean.” He didn’t even let her finish her protest.
She lifted her chin. “It’s not mine yet,” she reminded him.
And he smiled but there was very little mirth in it. “That’s right. Who knows, Lynds? It could even end up being mine. After all, we’re both directors now.”
It was like the floor had suddenly dropped away beneath her. She stared at him, horror and disbelief washing through her.
His smile broadened. “I knew you’d find that a comforting thought,” he told her and turned back to the door. He paused in the doorway. “There’s a meeting for the directors at ten, in the small boardroom. Not to be missed, Lindsay. I guarantee this one won’t send you to sleep.”
He was gone.
Lindsay moved back to her chair, feeling like Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, all clunky joints and stiff limbs. And no heart.
* * * * *
Was Luke angry with her?
The question wouldn’t go away, despite the flurry and distraction of wondering how she might pull off a small miracle and make the general manager’s job her own.
Somehow the nagging question kept floating back. Had she upset him in some way?
She kept replaying the scene in her office, trying to figure out what she might have said or done to offend him. To cause that bitter edge that lined everything he said.
She kept coming up with a blank. It’s not like he hadn’t known her ambitions. She’d never made it a secret from anyone.
He’d just…changed.
Or was it her imagination?
No. Now that she thought about it, he’d been reserved when he’d left the house that morning. Her father had noticed too.
Was it something she’d done at breakfast, then? But no, that was ridiculous. She’d barely spoken, in between eating and cooking. Perhaps that was it? Had he been upset then? No. It was after. At the end of breakfast.
She cradled her head in her hands, jamming her fingertips into her temples. She was no good at this sort of stuff! How could she figure it out? She had a hard enough time figuring out herself, let alone anyone else. Especially someone as convoluted and difficult as Luke Pierse.
Her mother would have had him figured out six months ago but she wasn’t her mother and she just didn’t understand him.
But I want to.
The thought popped into her head unbidden, surprising her.
She picked up her notebook and pen and headed for the small boardroom on the third floor, busy with the idea of getting closer to Luke, learning more a
bout him. It was a novel idea but it was definitely attractive.
Inside the room, the other three directors had already sat down. So had Luke and she was disconcerted to hear the bantering flowing back and forth between all four men. Luke, despite no formal announcement, appeared to have been completely accepted by them.
She still wasn’t one of them after three years.
She dumped her notebook on the table, picking the strategically important middle seat down the longer side of the table. Nobody would have the guts to take the symbolic top chair, and the middle seat was the next best thing.
She leaned down closer to Luke. “Could I speak to you outside for a moment? Please?”
His eyes narrowed a little and she saw his gaze flick across the other three men. “Sure,” he murmured, standing up.
She walked back out of the room and shut the door behind Luke as he emerged.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I was…” She could feel panic gripping her chest. It was just like at the Christmas party. Her heart was starting to pound. “I was wondering about…whether…you…” She had to stop for a breath.
Luke was watching her, letting her battle it alone. Not helping her out. Well, she hadn’t said anything, yet. He had no idea what she was going to say. Or did he?
She knew she had to spit it out, no matter what agonies it caused her. “Come over for coffee tonight,” she said, the first inane idea to show itself.
“Coffee.” His eyes narrowed a little.
“Coffee and…” She shrugged, trying to make it look casual despite her clammy hands.
“Oh, coffee and. Yes, I’m acquainted with coffee and.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “What are you serving? Cappuccino? Latte?” He smiled. “Or double double decaf…all froth and no substance?”
“Macciata,” she answered, irritation flaring.
“Macc— Okay, I’ll bite. What’s that?”
She swallowed. “Long. Long espresso…with a dash.”
“Long…” His expression was thoughtful, almost dreamy.
“Double strength,” she added. “It’ll keep you up all night.”
She realized the double meaning the instant she’d spoken and braced herself for Luke’s comeback. He would not spare her over such a slip.
But he leaned closer to her, his voice dropping low. “I don’t need espresso for that, Lynds. I just need you.”
She could feel the same breathless, floor-dropping sensation envelope her but this time it was anything but unpleasant. She was staring into his black eyes, lost there, floating weightless in a maelstrom of hot need.
She yearned for him to lean that little bit further and kiss her and take her into his arms and run his hands over her body, peeling aside all her clothes, which suddenly felt tight, restrictive—almost claustrophobic.
She wanted to be plundered just like all the heroines she’d read about. She had dismissed the idea as silly, vapid, until this moment. Now she understood it and wanted it, with every fiber of her soul.
She heard her breath push past her open lips with an unsteady rush.
And that’s when he moved away.
He straightened, like a soldier snapping to attention when caught off-guard by his superior officer. His expression resembled a man caught by surprise too.
He straightened his cuffs with a sharp tug. “I can’t come over tonight,” he said crisply. “I have a prior engagement.”
Fury flooded her. She had no idea why, or where it came from. But it gave her courage beyond normal. “A prior engagement? Does she serve espresso too?”
There was a flicker of something in his eyes too quick for Lindsay to recognize it. But she knew she had somehow reached past his armor and scored a hit. It didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, her sudden anger was gone as fast as it had arrived.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”
She had no trouble recognizing his surprise.
“Well, that’s a first,” he said quietly. He glanced at his watch quickly, then at the closed door to the board room, before turned back to her. “Let me tell you about my aunt—”
“Another aunt?”
“A great aunt, actually. My grandmother’s sister. Or sister-in-law…I never did get the rights of that one.” He frowned, recalling details.
“Anyway, Aunt Rosie drank coffee. Gallons of it. Pails of it. Every day. She’d start first thing in the morning and be onto her second jug just after breakfast. This was years ago too. Long before all the health nuts started gabbing about the bad effects of too much caffeine.”
“And?” Damn it but she was hooked into the story despite herself. Again. Why did she let herself get sucked into all these terrible tales of his?
“Rosie was married to Albert. Great guy. Dedicated to his work. Spent thirty years running Albert’s Autos, down by the lake, around Michigan. Then he up and died one day and they found him sitting bolt upright clutching the wheel of a ’57 Pontiac. Died with his boots on, they say, although he was wearing sneakers at the time.
“Anyway, after that, Rosie started drinking more coffee than ever before. She said it comforted her. But she started putting on weight, even though she wasn’t eating much at all. Nobody could figure it out. She swelled and swelled and finally someone had the wherewithal to get her to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“She died,” Luke said flatly.
Lindsay blinked. “But why?”
“Well, the doctors had lots of technical talk for it. Water retention was the simplest term they used, although I never did figure out how a diuretic like caffeine causes water retention. Basically, they were saying she drowned in her own body fluids. I don’t believe them.”
“Why not?”
His eyes seemed to bore into her. “I know she died of a broken heart.”
Lindsay felt like she’d been slapped in the face. There was a lesson there, she knew. But surprise was scrambling her wits, preventing her from putting it all together.
Luke headed for the boardroom door. “We’re late,” he said over his shoulder.
* * * * *
The meeting started badly and went downhill from there.
Her body was thrumming with unfulfilled tension and her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of questions, half-formed ideas and hazy, unsettling suspicions that wouldn’t let her focus and channel her energy into working the meeting properly.
Although they were nominally there to decide how to proceed until Vince formally retired, it was an unspoken assumption that the meeting had really been called to decide who would take over Vince Gormley’s job.
Lindsay wanted that to be her. She’d never fully dominated the other directors, though. She needed to do that now if she was to gain the general manager’s seat.
But every time she tried to wrest control of the meeting back to her, it was pulled away again. Someone would interject with a new thought, a different direction.
And having Luke sitting opposite her meant her thoughts were scattered every time she happened to catch his gaze. She was losing it and the harder she scrambled to pull it back together, the worse it got.
Perfect, she reminded herself. Be perfect.
Luke watched Lindsay gradually jitter to pieces and hated himself for doing it to her.
But a demon had hold of him and was driving him into it. He couldn’t explain it any better than that even to himself. Something was goading him into deliberately catching her gaze every now and again, knowing the reminder of last night would faze her completely.
And every time she regathered—and she relentlessly regrouped and charged right back in there time and time again—he would delicately drop another suggestion into the midst of the group and watch the others pick it up and take off with it, leaving Lindsay dangling again.
She was doing it again—damn but she was persistent! He watched her gathering her energy again. The other three were arguing over how they were going t
o announce Vince’s misfortune.
Of course, whoever did make the announcement would be a clear leader in the race for Vince’s chair. Luke didn’t fool himself that all the arguing here in this room wasn’t jockeying for that desirable position.
Lindsay waited for a break, then spoke with that forceful, don’t-argue-with-me voice of hers.
“If you really think nobody has heard about Vince’s heart attack by now, you’re misguided fools.”
There was a little stunned silence, which forced Luke to smother a smile. Trust Lindsay to call it how she saw it.
“This is Deerfoot Falls,” she added. “Not New York. The receptionist in the lobby probably already knows who you slept with last night, gentlemen. Any formal announcement of Vince’s condition would be looked upon as grandstanding of the worst kind.”
Luke gave them a chance to let it sink in a little, before throwing in his misdirection.
“Hadn’t somebody better tell New York, by the way?” he suggested.
And suddenly, they were arguing again.
And Lindsay was looking at him, the sharp green eyes spearing him from across the table. There was hurt there. And fury.
She knew what he was doing, then.
Guilt scraped through him and a touch of regret. He hoped one day he’d be able to explain it to her…once he figured it out himself.
No way was he going to get away with that unscathed!
Lindsay was aware she was striding furiously but couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t reach the main office fast enough. She wanted to flay Luke alive but he had conveniently shot out of the room the moment the meeting had come to its inconclusive end, while she had been forced to struggle around the table to the door.
Timothy was where he should be. That was one small blessing.
“Where is he?” she demanded, dumping her notebook on Tim’s desk.
“Who?”
“Luke, of course!”
“Wasn’t he at the meeting with you?”
“Of course he was. I want to know where he is now!”
“Did you lose him?”
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