by Alexia Adams
She tweaked a few of the graphs on the restructuring plan, saved it, then grabbed her faithful gray sweater off the back of the sofa and headed out the door to do battle. Maybe I should swap the cardigan for a mask and a cape? And a pair of kick-ass boots.
Six hours later, her back ached from being hunched over her drafting table. She lifted her arms above her head and stretched side to side. As she leaned backward, Simon walked into the room, his gaze locking on hers instantly before it roved her contorted figure. Her eyes searched his body. Damn, even dressed in a suit he was too sexy to ignore. Harold Bertram’s corpulent form bustled in behind Simon.
“Ah, Helen, may I introduce you to Simon Lamont. Simon, this is our chief design engineer, Helen Winston.”
She waited for Simon to acknowledge that they’d already met. Instead, he extended his hand and took hers in a firm grip. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Winston.”
A hint of a mischievous smile lurked in his green eyes, and she had to force her mouth to remain neutral. He was the enemy, but what did they say about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? Although any closer to Simon and she may just spontaneously combust. She nodded her head regally to hide her confusion. “So kind of you to visit us here in engineering. I won’t interrupt your tour, Harold.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her boss blush, then belatedly realized she was still holding Simon’s hand. She jerked her hand back and knocked her coffee over on her desk. Before she could prevent him, Simon began mopping up the spreading brown tsunami with the paper towels left from the last mishap. With the java spill under control, he stared at her desk.
“Is this your latest design project?” Simon held her sketch pad in one hand, a dripping paper towel in the other.
Now would be a good time to faint, if only her body would cooperate. On the sketch pad was her doodle of a pirate, complete with eye patch and parrot on his shoulder. A pirate who bore an unmistakable likeness to Simon Lamont, minus a few teeth.
She grabbed her garbage can and relieved him of the sodden paper towel while she struggled for something to say. Thankfully, Harold had wandered across the room and was staring at a spectroscope, not listening to their conversation. “Let’s just say, that’s my new target.”
His full lips quirked upward once before he put the pad down. “I look forward to seeing how that works out.” He sauntered over to where Harold stood and asked one of her colleagues about a test he was running.
Helen released the breath she’d been holding. Round two was a draw.
“So that’s going to be the new boss?”
She tore her gaze from Simon’s retreating back to Dennis, who was pushing his glasses back up his nose with his pinkie finger.
“I’m not so sure if ‘boss’ is the right word. From what I’ve read, Simon Lamont rips apart companies, not fixes them. I think we’d all be wise to get our résumés updated.”
Dennis paled. “That’s me unemployed then. Who’s going to hire a fifty-eight-year-old with severe asthma?”
“I would,” she said.
He didn’t look reassured. “Isn’t there anything we can do? Anything you can do to change their mind? You’re the resident genius.”
“If he were a robot I could redesign him, or my brother could reprogram him to make us coffee all day long. But I don’t have much experience dealing with corporate raiders. Trust me, though, I won’t let this company go down without a fight.”
She picked up her pirate sketch and blacked out a few more teeth. He’d be lucky to have any left by the time she was done with him.
Chapter Two
Helen took a deep breath and stepped from the changing cubicle to the combined gasps of her friends. Her hand automatically flew to her neck as a draft blew against the skin that was normally covered by at least one layer of fabric. There was nothing wrong with the dress, except it fit her perfectly, skimming her curves, and the soft blue color matched her eyes and even made her pasty white skin look good.
“Helen, you’re gorgeous,” Mandy enthused. Her mouth remained open, as though she couldn’t believe the transition.
“I knew it, I just knew it,” Lorelei proclaimed. “That dress is perfect for you. Now try the others on as well.” Lorelei blew her a kiss to soften the harsh command.
Helen grimaced at her vivacious neighbor. Despite the fact that Lorelei had won Liam’s love when Helen had been crushing on him for years, it was impossible to hate the woman. Lorelei was so full of love and goodness Helen now felt honored to call her a friend. But how many outfits did she need to convince Simon that she was a dependable, skilled professional, not a crazy cat woman? “I don’t know…” Helen began.
“We’re both bigger than you, sweetie. Don’t make us force-dress you,” Mandy said with a laugh.
Helen returned to the changing room and carefully removed the blue dress, rehanging it before she pulled another one out of the pile of clothes the two other women had selected. They’d met at the exclusive boutique after work. Mandy knew the owner and had asked her to stay open for a private shopping spree. The two beautiful brunettes had then taken to the clothes racks like Stacy London hopped up on meth, pulling out anything they considered suitable in her size. A selection of shoes had also appeared out of nowhere and littered the floor of the changing room. Thankfully, sharing an apartment with her brother meant her expenses were relatively low and she’d built up a tidy sum in savings. This was going to get expensive.
“Try on the black one next,” Lorelei called out.
By the time only a few outfits remained, Helen had achieved a level of transcendental meditation that allowed her to change clothes and parade in front of her two friends and an overly helpful shop assistant, while still keeping a tenuous hold on her sanity. Every time she started to panic about the fitted nature of the clothes, the emphasis they placed on her curves, she’d stare into the mirror and imagine Simon Lamont in front of her. If she wanted to save the jobs of her fellow employees, she had to appear the part of corporate savior.
“Try the last one on, Helen. We’re waiting.”
An hour ago, a couple bottles of champagne had materialized and all four women were well on their way to tipsy. Helen downed the rest of her drink and stared at the dress displayed at the far side of the room, on its own peg, as though queen of all the other clothes.
“I don’t need this dress. I want to look like an executive, not a Barbie doll,” she said. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers over the supersoft fabric. A layer of navy blue chiffon floated on top of an under-dress of bright blue silk. But it was halter neck, and backless, which meant no bra. There was no way on earth she could wear this dress in public. Even the thought of parading in front of her friends was setting off a panic attack.
“You never know, honey. Please, we want to see how it looks on you. You promised you’d put yourself in our hands and trust us,” Lorelei said. So like Lorelei to bring up her promise, and she’d asked them for help, after all.
“Okay, but I’m not buying it,” Helen said.
She slipped on the dress and gazed into the mirror. In spite of her worst nightmare, she didn’t dissolve into a puddle or go up in a puff of smoke. She stood in front of her reflection, in the most gorgeous and sexy dress she’d ever worn. And she felt like a woman. A young woman with her life in front of her. A life of fun, friendship, and maybe even one day…sex.
Closing her eyes on that terrifying thought, she stepped from the change room. When the silence in the room went on for ages, Helen opened one eye, sure her friends had left or fallen asleep. Instead they both stood there, hands over their mouths, a single tear visible on Lorelei’s cheek.
“Helen, you’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’ve hidden yourself under all those ugly clothes for so long.” Lorelei rushed over and gave her a fierce hug. “I know that took courage. Well done. Today’s a new day,” she whispered in her ear.
Helen wiped her own cheeks before turning
watery eyes on the shop assistant. “Add this one to the purchase pile as well. I’ll never wear it, but at least I’ll know it’s in my closet.”
It took all three women to carry the bags out to the waiting limo.
“So, when are you seeing this pirate again?” Mandy settled into the leather seat, looking for all the world as though she owned the car. She was one woman who could adapt to whatever circumstances she found herself in. Helen envied her joie de vivre and optimistic outlook. Mandy was the perfect partner for the somber, doubt-ridden Jason, Liam and Lorelei’s personal chef. Jason and Mandy were the Raj and Bernadette in their gaggle of geeks. Except unlike their Big Bang Theory counterparts, these two had gotten together.
“Friday, early morning,” Helen replied. She’d tried not to think too hard about seeing Simon again in the flesh. At least as he was expecting her this time; hopefully there wouldn’t be so much flesh to see. Squelching the weird sensation of disappointment that flooded through her, she tried to concentrate on her own role in the meeting.
She’d been over and over the proposal she wanted to present to him. It was no use talking to Harold; he’d mentally checked out months ago, and he’d only say it was too much trouble. Her one hope was if she could find the pirate’s heart. Too bad she couldn’t just engineer him one.
“Speaking of Friday, did you get that strange message from David?” Lorelei asked.
“Isn’t every message from David strange?” Mandy raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Yes, but he’s never summoned all of us to Russian River before.”
“I hope he asked Liam first,” Helen said, although David and Liam had been friends for so long she was sure Liam wouldn’t even question her brother’s eccentricities.
“Yeah, although he didn’t say what for. Simply asked if all of us could spend the weekend together. He has some sort of surprise in store.”
Helen groaned. What was her brother up to now? When she’d received the cryptically worded message from him earlier today she’d assumed he had invited only her, Liam, and Lorelei. Must be something special if Mandy and Jason were also going. Just what she needed: a weekend with two lovey-dovey couples. She’d better pack a bottle of scotch; chances were she’d need it.
…
Simon paced the empty lobby of the Mandarin Oriental. At 3:50 a.m. the only other person on the floor was a sleepy-looking night desk clerk. The hotel employee had politely inquired as to whether he could be of assistance, but aside from that exchange the reception area was eerily quiet.
It wasn’t unusual for Simon to be up this early, especially factoring in the time change. It was almost seven in New York and he was always behind his desk by now, gearing up for another day of wheeling and dealing, pitting his negotiating skills against those of his opponents. The pacing was new, though. A weird sort of adrenaline raced through his body. He tried to rationalize that it was lack of sleep. But as he never slept more than five hours a night anyway, his mind demanded a more logical answer.
A couple of brain cells proffered the opinion that it could be because he was going to see Helen Winston again, although they couldn’t come up with a sensible response as to why that would excite him. Helen was a genius and very talented in her work. But aside from her rather unconventional way of obtaining a meeting with him, and her brilliant mind, she held no other allure. Yet he still couldn’t stop searching the doorway every twenty seconds for her arrival.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he thought of canceling the call so he could concentrate on Helen when she arrived. She’d agreed to meet him at his hotel at this ridiculous time of the day; the least he could do was listen to what she had to say.
When he saw that the caller was his mother, he pressed answer. His mother rang him three times a year—on his birthday, a week before Easter, and again before Christmas, to ask if he’d be joining her and his father at any time during the holidays. No pressure, simply wanting to make sure she had his room ready should he want to visit. He made the effort to go home for at least one holiday a year; as an only child he felt it was his duty. Although the stilted conversation and cool reception made him wonder why he bothered.
“Hello, Mother.” She’d likely thought to catch him at the beginning of his workday. He didn’t mention his trip to the West Coast. If his mother knew the time, she’d want to reschedule the call. “How are you?”
“Dreadful!” his mother wailed.
He froze. His blood turned to ice, and for a moment his mouth refused to form the words to ask what had happened. He’d never heard such emotion from his mother and had no clue how to respond. The one thing he thought could upset her to such an extent would be if something had happened to his father. She was devoted to him, in her cold, clinical kind of way.
Although his relationship with his father was based mostly on respect, there was a modicum of affection there. His father had never played with him as a child or attended any of his school or sporting events. Philip Lamont’s career as a top corporate lawyer had kept him away from home most nights until well past Simon’s bedtime. However, he’d been a continual shadow in the background, like a protective mountain. When Simon had started his own career he’d been able to understand his father’s dedication to his job. Succeeding at business was succeeding as a man. Emotions just got in the way, made you weak and vulnerable.
“Has something happened to Father?” The lump in his throat surprised him.
“Today is our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.”
He’d forgotten his parents’ anniversary, and their birthdays for that matter. His efficient personal assistant had long ago taken over sending the appropriate flowers or gifts on his behalf. She usually made a note in his calendar as to what she’d done, in case he was ever called out. “Happy anniversary,” he said. His mother was breathing heavily on the other end of the phone.
“It’s the worst anniversary. Your father informed me this morning, casually over breakfast, that he is moving out tomorrow. For the past thirty years he has had a mistress. The woman has now been diagnosed with cancer and he wants to be with her, to support her. I have catered to that man’s every whim for thirty-five years and he thinks he can just say, ‘Thanks, but I’m off now’?”
His mother’s announcement that his father had a mistress coincided with Helen’s arrival. So it could have been either shock that buckled Simon’s knees and had him falling into the chair that was thankfully behind him.
“Simon, did you hear what I said?” His mother started to sob.
His mind went blank. What do you say to a woman who has never shown any emotion before? A woman who when informed that her only child was moving to another country had simply replied, “Pack warm clothes, it gets cold there.” At a loss on how to deal with the distraught woman on the other end of the phone, he defaulted to standard operating parameters. “Mother, my meeting is about to begin.”
Helen advanced on him. Gone were her grandmother’s clothes, at least her dowdy grandmother’s. She was dressed in a smart black skirt suit with a wide belt that cinched in her waist. The skirt stopped a fraction below her knees and the low-heeled shoes managed to look sensible while emphasizing her shapely calves. She was covered almost as much as the previous occasion, but the elegance of the classic suit highlighted rather than hid her delicate shape. His blood that had iced over at his mother’s call now ran hot, hurrying around his body.
“Simon?” his mother’s plaintive cry brought him back to reality. “Please, please don’t hang up on me. You’re all I have now.”
“I won’t hang up. I do, however, have to explain to the person I am meeting why I have to postpone. Will you hold for a minute?” He sounded like a polite receptionist about to transfer a call, not a concerned son trying to placate a devastated parent.
“Okay.” His mother’s voice trembled.
He put the call on hold and held the phone tightly in his hand. Everything he thought he knew about his father had been shattered with one
call. His mind went to all the times he’d secretly waited up to tell his dad about a particular achievement at school, only to fall asleep before he’d returned home. Now he realized his father hadn’t been at work, providing for his family, he’d been with his mistress. Oh God, did he have half siblings? Were he and his mother the show family while his father gave his love and time to the others?
Helen stood in front of him, looking down where he still lounged in the chair. His seated position put him at the same height as her breasts. He forced his eyes up to her face rather than allow them to linger on the temptation she presented. He had hundreds of women working for him, and he’d dealt with top female executives his entire career, and never lusted after any of them. What was different about this woman? Was it because she was trying so desperately not to be a woman?
She’d changed her glasses as well. Gone were the too-big frames that overwhelmed; in place were a retro pair of black cat-eyes. They suited her petite face, and for the first time, he caught sight of her blue eyes. They were the color of a bright spring sky after a rainstorm had cleared the air.
The scent of peaches filled his nose and he belatedly realized he was staring. He stood, but rather than step back she held her ground, their bodies close together. Heat sizzled between them until she took a deep breath, then stepped back a fraction. Her eyes clearly saying she wasn’t retreating, just adjusting her battle position.
“Are we going to meet here?” She glanced around at the deserted reception area.