The Blue Link (RUSH, Inc. Book 1)

by Carol Caiton

  "Me? What did I do?"

  "You stirred up a hornet's nest, that's what."

  "How? I was doing my best to stay out of trouble," she insisted. "If this is about the R-link complex, no one saw me. I only went as far as the first alcove."

  "I know where you went."

  "What then? What did I do? Slow down, will you?"

  He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "I'm not the only person who knows where you went."

  A chill passed over her. "Simon?"

  "Yes, Simon." He started walking again.

  "But you let me into the complex yesterday. For several hours."

  "Simon wasn't on property then."

  "But he could have been. He could have shown up at any time."

  "That wasn't likely. His parents were in town yesterday."

  She paused. "I didn't know that."

  "But you did know the R-link complex was a one-shot deal. One shot, Nina."

  He was right. She'd known that. She was the one who had clarified that point.

  The Audi chirped as they approached it. He opened the driver's door and prepared to get in.

  "Ethan?"

  He looked over his shoulder.

  "I'm sorry."

  He grunted. Then he climbed in behind the steering wheel.

  "Ethan?"

  His impatient expression told her he'd had enough of her.

  "Thank you. Thank you for helping me and for . . . for caring."

  He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. Frustration hardened his features. But she saw something else too. Exasperation maybe. Or maybe he just wanted her to leave him alone.

  "Goddamn it, Nina." He opened his eyes, slammed the door closed, and started the engine.

  Ten seconds later she was staring at the Audi's taillights.

  CHAPTER 47

  On Monday Ethan was up and gone from the house before she made it out to the kitchen. She didn't even realize he wasn't home until she opened the utility door and saw that his car wasn't in the garage.

  Guilt besieged her. He hadn't had a morning cup of coffee. She knew because there was no lingering aroma and the carafe was dry. She, however, had made a full pot and now half of it would go to waste.

  She turned the coffeemaker off, went back out to the garage, and climbed into her car to drive to a job she'd probably be fired from by the end of the day. The feeling that settled over her was a combination of sadness and acceptance. So it didn't surprise her when Phillip Davidson himself appeared in her doorway at midmorning. He was accompanied by his administrative assistant, Patricia Jackson.

  "Good morning, Nina. May we sit down?"

  He was already turning to close the door when she said, "Yes, certainly."

  A private conference. She took a bracing breath and waited while he lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of her desk. Then he, too, inhaled deeply.

  "As you know," he began, "we have a situation."

  "Yes." It was exactly as she'd expected.

  "I'm going to ask you a few questions I wouldn't normally ask an employee. But in this case . . . . The clients we represent . . . ." He paused then started on a different note. "When an employee's personal life reflects on the firm, it places us in a difficult position."

  "I understand," she told him. Because she did.

  "As it happens, the conversation I had with Ethan Vale provided some valuable information. I didn't know at the time that he headed up Security at RUSH, Inc., but he was personable and ready to offer suggestions when I asked for information. The problem we have, however, is twofold. First," he said, "regardless of whether or not I like the man, an affiliation with anyone connected to an organization as notorious as RUSH will damage our own reputation and weaken our standing in the community. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

  His intelligent eyes stared into hers and yes, she understood. Perfectly. "Yes," she said again, "I understand. As an employee of this firm, my own . . . affiliation with Ethan could have a negative impact."

  He gave her a surprisingly warm smile. "The fact that you're not making this difficult speaks well of you. Unfortunately, there will have to be some concessions made if we're to keep you on staff. You'll recall that we have a ninety-day trial period."

  "Yes, I remember. What concessions do you have in mind?" But she could already guess. He would want her to cut off any and all ties she might have with RUSH which, she realized, would include Libby. And while she didn't plan to make things difficult for him, she wasn't going to make it easy either. He was going to have to spell out those concessions."

  "I'm not going to ask if you have a direct affiliation with RUSH, Nina. It goes without saying that a membership—if one exists—would have to be terminated." He drew another breath then released it. "As well, your association with Ethan Vale and with anyone else connected to RUSH would have to end. This is a novel situation for us, and for you I imagine."

  A knot began to form in her stomach. "You said the problem was two-fold," she reminded him.

  "Yes, I did. I'm sure you've heard that we've been looking at Bill Durrand as a potential fourth partner."

  "Yes, I have."

  "If that becomes official, he'll be another of your superiors here."

  "I understand."

  "Good. Because it will help smooth the rough edges of that transition if you offered an apology—"

  "No."

  His mouth, still open and ready to speak, closed. The friendliness she'd been treated to began to cool in his expression. "I'm afraid—"

  "Mr. Davidson, on my first day here, Patricia came to tell me about the firm's Christmas party and thirty seconds after she left, Bill Durrand came to my office, introduced himself, and asked me to be his date. He said he'd never asked someone to accompany him before, but he was unusually persistent when I turned him down." With effort she held her temper and kept her voice calm. "I thanked him for inviting me but I declined because frankly, I didn't know him from Adam. To soften the rejection though, I told him I was involved with someone. But I'm not. Ethan and I aren't involved. Not in that way. He's a friend. He's a very good friend who offered to accompany me to the party because I told him about Bill's persistence and that almost every time I leave my office, he seems to be somewhere nearby."

  "What do you mean, somewhere nearby?"

  She explained—about the break room, the corridors, the restroom, and every other time she left her office and found him in the vicinity. "I had some reservations about attending the party because I was uncomfortable. But I felt it was important to be there, to meet everyone and try to fit in as part of the team." She sat up a little straighter. "Ethan may be one of the owners of RUSH, but he's never— I've never— What I mean to say is . . . ." Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. "Bill Durrand all but called me a whore at your party, Mr. Davidson," she forced out. "And Ethan knows I've never . . . that I've never . . . . You must know what I'm trying to say," she sputtered. God above, had any other woman's virginity ever played such a public role? "I can't prove that Bill's slur was vindictive, and maybe violence wasn't the answer, but it was definitely provoked. Excuse me."

  Grappling inside her top drawer, she reached for the small package of tissues she'd put there and pulled one out. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. But the explosive emotions swirling inside were threatening tears so she took a moment to turn aside, dab at the corners of her eyes, and blow her nose.

  "I appreciate the opportunity you've given me to stay," she went on. "I like this firm and I like my job. But I can't agree to your terms, and I won't apologize to Bill Durrand." She took a shaky breath. "Would you like me to clear out my desk right now?"

  It was some consolation that he didn't look happy about it, but he nodded. "That would be best, I think."

  He stood up and started for the door. Hand on the knob, he turned back. "Write out a check for yourself in the amount of two weeks of severance pay. Then bring it to me out in the lobby and I'll sign it."

&nbs
p; * * *

  "She actually told you she was a virgin?"

  Phillip glanced toward the party of diners seated at the next table, satisfied when they appeared to be caught up in their own discussion. He and Janette often met for lunch. Not only did her office occupy space in the same building, but the convenience of a restaurant only an elevator ride down to street level suited them both.

  Meeting his wife's startled gaze, he said, "It was clearly implied." He took a swallow of coffee, realized he hadn't added sugar, and set the cup down again. "And in her words," he said, "Bill more or less insinuated she was a whore which, by the way, has been confirmed by everyone I've questioned."

  "What on earth came over him?" She passed two packets of sugar across the table.

  "Thank you. Bill's not a trial attorney, honey. His questioning techniques aren't refined."

  "Not refined? There's more to this than—"

  "Bill claims he recognized Ethan Vale's name and felt duty-bound to expose his—and Nina's—connection to RUSH."

  About to bite into a piece of grilled salmon, she lowered her fork back to her plate. "There's a time and place for everything and a holiday party in our home wasn't the place for him to expose two of my guests. Have you ever known him to act without discretion?"

  "No." He added the sugar to his coffee and stirred it in. "But something Nina said made me wonder."

  "About what?"

  "About Bill." He took a more satisfying sip of his coffee then told her, "He's got a roving eye, Jan. You know that."

  "Go on."

  "Well, it seems he asked Nina to attend the Christmas party with him the first day she came to work for the firm." He went on to explain Nina's reservations about attending the party without a date and why.

  "He's been stalking her?"

  "Let's not jump to conclusions here. Stalking implies malicious intent."

  She paused then nodded. "Has he been involved with anyone else in the office?" she asked.

  "No. Never. He flirts, but beyond that he keeps it professional."

  She thought about that and nodded. "What else did she say?"

  He recounted Nina's description of the relationship she shared with the man from RUSH and his offer to accompany her to the party. "And when Bill implied that she led a sordid lifestyle, Ethan lashed out because he knew the accusation was . . . impossible."

  "I gather you believe her."

  "Honey, as a trial attorney I've seen it all. The girl was mortified to be sitting there discussing her sex life with her boss. Her face flushed so red her eyes began to tear—and she wasn't crying. Believe me, it was genuine."

  Janette dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and smiled. "The irony here is incredible.

  "What do you mean?"

  "For goodness sake. A young voluptuous woman shows up at our party with one of the men who owns RUSH—and I'm still recovering from the shock of that, by the way—and despite all of that, she's a virgin. And I'm apt to believe her as well. She had that look about her eyes—a look of innocence."

  "Well it was the most awkward conversation I've ever had with an employee. I'm glad Patricia was there with me."

  "Do you believe what she said about Bill?"

  He sat back in his chair and frowned. "I don't know what to think. She chose to forfeit her job and stand by a man who's no more than a friend."

  "Hmm. It sounds like she has principles."

  "That may be, but we can't keep her on. In addition to her connection with RUSH, the friction between her and Bill would disrupt the office." He raised a hand to signal for their check. "That's not to say I'm not sorry we lost her. And if she hadn't had access to the firm's accounts I would have suggested we keep her on until she found something else. It's a lot more difficult to land a job when you're unemployed than if you're just moving on."

  Janette tapped a long fingernail against the rim of her glass.

  "What is it?"

  "Just thinking. It might be nothing."

  "I doubt that."

  She smiled, just as he knew she would.

  "Suzanne Northrup's sister has started interviewing applicants for that new hotel, Merona Tropics on Millennia Boulevard. Some of the positions will be filled by transfers from other hotels but—"

  "Do it," he interrupted. "Call as soon as you get back to your office and ease my conscience." He took out his cell phone and dialed his own office. "Patricia, pull up Nina Millering's file and give me her home phone number will you?" After disconnecting he said, "Tell Suzanne her sister is welcome to call me personally."

  "You really do feel guilty, don't you?"

  Grunting a reply he said, "You weren't there."

  "Well, if you have that much faith in a young woman you've only spoken to a couple of times, what does that tell you about Bill?"

  He sighed. "My thoughts have been running along the same lines. But we've had our eye on Bill for a while now."

  "Well maybe you should watch a little longer. Talk to your father and Andrew. It might be a good idea to delay things and take a closer look. And by the way . . . ."

  "By the way what?"

  "The man from RUSH. Ethan Vale."

  "What about him?"

  "He might be the owner of a sex club, and your bookkeeper might only see him as a friend, but he's head over heels in love with her."

  * * *

  Clearing out her office took a mere ten minutes. She hadn't worked at Davidson, Davidson & Bligh long enough to have accumulated much and her small collection of belongings didn't fill the single box she carried to her car.

  It felt peculiar to be leaving work after having arrived just an hour or so before. But she made it to her car without shedding a tear and drove onto the interstate with a sort of disembodied calm. At home an unfamiliar SUV sat parked in the driveway, its owner nowhere in sight. She drove around it, curious, and steered her Toyota toward its usual spot in the garage.

  The owner of the SUV stood in the kitchen, a middle-aged blonde-haired woman, gathering up a large canvas bag, her purse, and a set of keys. It was the mysterious Mrs. Deggens of the many varied casseroles.

  They introduced themselves, talked for a few minutes, and Nina complimented the other woman's cooking.

  "You'd be surprised at the number of clients I cook for. There's not a day I go to work without a casserole in my car."

  When she left a few minutes later, Nina locked the door, looked around the large silent foyer and sighed. Then she took herself off to her bedroom and changed into a pair of jeans and a teal-colored sweater. Phillip Davidson hadn't actually fired her. He'd done what he could to keep her on staff and she could have continued working at a high-paying, challenging job had she agreed to his conditions.

  Was it politically incorrect to defend a girl's honor these days? The men at RUSH didn't think so. They might cultivate and capitalize on her femininity, but they believed it was part of their role to ensure the safety, comfort, and respect of the women in their care. What a conundrum they were. All of them. But they had her loyalty. She might be homeless, jobless, and in sorry straits right now, but she could look at herself in the mirror without a sense of guilt.

  So, okay, it was time to come up with a new plan. She had a good education, good references, and good health. She was pleasing to look at and she had a happy disposition . . . usually. And thanks to RUSH, she had enough self-confidence to move small mountains so something would work out.

  The answer came at two o'clock with an unexpected phone call. She didn't plan to answer it at first because no one knew she was home. Then she realized it might be Ethan, so she picked up on the fourth ring.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello," said an unfamiliar female voice. "My name is Fiona Roberts. May I speak with Nina Millering?"

  "This is Nina Millering, Ms. Roberts. What can I do for you?"

  Two minutes later she fumbled the receiver back onto its cradle and stared. For every occasion she'd considered her life dull and ordinary, fate was making up f
or it in spades. There were times, like now, when it seemed as though she hardly had a minute to catch her breath before she was whisked along in the path of another whirlwind.

  Glancing at her watch then down at her old blue jeans and bare feet, she picked up the receiver again and dialed Ethan's cell. After five rings it went to voicemail so she hung up. If he was trying to avoid talking to her she didn't have time for it right now. So she lifted the receiver again and dialed another number. Her call was answered promptly.

  "RUSH, Incorporated, how may I direct your call?"

  "Ethan Vale, please."

  "One moment."

  She waited for her call to be transferred.

  "Ethan Vale's office."

  A secretary. "Hello, this is Nina Millering. May I speak with Ethan please?"

  "One moment, Miss Millering."

  She didn't have long to wait.

  "What is it, Nina?"

  Oh, boy. She cleared her throat. "I'm calling to ask for permission to use your computer."

  Three seconds of silence. Then, "You're home?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he fire you?"

  "No," she told him. "I quit."

  "You quit."

  "Yes."

  "Did that sonofabitch harass you again?"

  "No. I didn't even see Bill while I was there. But they wanted me to apologize to him."

  "They wanted you to apologize?"

  "I refused."

  "Good girl." He sighed audibly. "So you quit and you want to use my computer."

  "Yes. Oddly enough, Phillip Davidson spoke with the woman hiring on at that new hotel on Millennia Boulevard and recommended me for a position in their accounting department. So I have a job interview in about an hour and I want to Google the directions. —I think he feels bad about letting me go."

  "Hmmph. Got a pen?"

  "Yes."

  He gave her the password. "And Nina?"

  "Yes?"

  "Good luck."

  "Thanks."

  He disconnected without saying goodbye and she hung up. Then she took the sticky pad with his password and headed for his office.

  In keeping with the masculine decor throughout the rest of the house, the dark mahogany furniture in his office was big and inviting. She sat down in the maroon, buttoned-leather chair behind his desk feeling terribly out of place, and scooted forward. The difference between his height and hers became apparent when she was unable to place her feet flat on the floor. But she wasn't planning to be more than a couple of minutes. She turned on his system and watched the monitor at the far corner of his desk come to life.