The Desperate Game: (InterMix)

by Castle, Jayne

  “I thought we could flip a coin to see who buys lunch.”

  “The last two times we did that you won. If we do it again, we use my coin.”

  “You’ve got a suspicious nature,” he said plaintively.

  “Probably comes from hanging around people who conduct investigations for a living,” Guinevere answered cheerfully. “My mother warned me about bad company. How’s business? Get that contract to do the security consulting work for that computer firm?”

  They had reached the restaurant, and Zac leaned on another door, holding it open for Guinevere. “I think it’s in the bag. Talked to one of the vice presidents this morning. He wants me to start the project in January. Says his budget can accommodate my consulting fees after the first of the year.”

  Guinevere shot him a sidelong glance. “Can your budget accommodate the delay in income?”

  Zac lifted one shoulder fatalistically. “It’ll have to.”

  “This isn’t a ploy to make me feel sorry for the state of your finances and thus induce me to pay for lunch, is it?”

  “Honey, you really have grown more suspicious lately. I’m worried about you.”

  Before Guinevere could respond, the hostess had come forward to show them to a table for two.

  “We’ll go dutch today,” Guinevere announced as she picked up her menu.

  “You’re a hardhearted woman.” Zac bent his dark head to study the prices on his menu. “Okay, tell me what in hell you were doing in the executive john.”

  Involuntarily Guinevere chuckled. “I’ve never seen one before.”

  “A john?”

  “An Executive John. Capital letters, Zac. This is the first time my company has gotten a contract for a short-term secretary to fill in at such a high level. Usually temps are used at lower levels in a firm to fill in for absent clerks. Executive secretaries generally have other executive secretaries in the same firm lined up to sub for them when they get sick or have to stay away from work. Rarely does a temporary help firm get called.”

  “Why did you take the job? Didn’t you have anyone you could send out on the assignment?”

  “This was the first time Vandyke Development has called Camelot Services for a temp, and I wanted to make a terrific impression. I didn’t have anyone I could send who had ever worked as an executive secretary except my sister, Carla. I decided to take the job myself and have Carla baby-sit Camelot Services.”

  Zac gave her an up from under glance, his heavy brows drawn together in a severe line. “So you raced out to take the job so you could see what life was like at the top?”

  “Zac, we both may be at the top someday ourselves. I, for one, am going to know what to expect.”

  “Which was why you checked out the executive head.” Zac nodded, satisfied with the interrogation. He put down his menu. “You’re lucky you weren’t caught.”

  Guinevere set down her own menu with an offhand motion. “Mr. Vandyke was tied up in a meeting with his managers. He’s been pushing to get a proposal ready, and I knew he wouldn’t be back in the office until after lunch.” She halted as the waitress came by to take the orders. “I’ll have the black bean soup and the spicy noodle salad.”

  “Same for me,” Zac murmured. “And coffee. Plain coffee. None of that fancy espresso stuff.” He waited with vast patience until the waitress had disappeared. Then he pinned Guinevere again. “Go on. Was it locked?”

  “The washroom? Yes. A big gold key on a chain. Mr. Vandyke keeps it beside the door. It’s more of a conversation piece than a real attempt to keep someone out of the bathroom. His visitors find it amusing. The washroom entrance is a private one that is just down a small corridor from his office. In fact, you have to go through his office to get to it.” She leaned forward, aware of the amused enthusiasm in her own voice. “You should see it, Zac, all black marble with gold running through it and mauve.”

  “Mauve what?”

  “Mauve everything. Mauve toilet, mauve washbasin, mauve towels. It’s unbelievable. The marble is on the walls and the floors and the countertops. Which was why I happened to notice the gun.”

  “It contrasted with the marble?”

  “No, no, it wasn’t lying on the marble. It was in the drawer by the sink.”

  Zac closed his eyes, clearly tamping down another lecture. “Jesus, Gwen, you went through Vandyke’s bathroom drawers? I knew you were a little light-fingered at times. I found that out during the StarrTech affair, but I never thought—”

  “I am not light-fingered!” Incensed, Guinevere straightened in her chair, glaring at him. “Zac, this is important. If you can’t listen without interrupting, then I’ll—” She broke off abruptly.

  He appeared interested. “You’ll what?”

  “Never mind.” She decided to rise above the taunting. Mouth firming, she went on in a severe tone. “I noticed one of the drawers was partially opened. I happened to glance inside, and I could see something gold. So I just sort of eased the drawer out a bit more, and there it was.”

  “The gun?”

  “Yes, and I don’t mind telling you, Zac, it gave me a start.”

  “Maybe it will teach you to stay out of other people’s private johns.”

  The black bean soup arrived complete with a dollop of sour cream in the center, and Guinevere discovered she was too hungry to continue the argument. She spooned up the thick soup with gusto. “Can you imagine, Zac? A gold gun?”

  “Probably chosen by the same designer who did the head. He undoubtedly couldn’t find one in mauve.”

  “Zac, this is not a joke.”

  “Honey, my guess is that it wasn’t a real pistol. I’ll bet it was one of those gadgets that light a cigarette when you pull the trigger. Typical executive toy. Your imagination was probably in high gear.”

  “It looked awfully real, Zac.” Guinevere became very serious. “And it worries me. Vandyke has been under a tremendous amount of pressure lately.”

  “You’ve been working for the guy for only three days. How would you know what kind of pressure he’s capable of tolerating?”

  She lifted her chin with unconscious arrogance. “I know people, Zac. He’s hurting. He’s worried and he’s stressed.”

  He shook his head. “You feel sorry for people, you empathize with them fairly easily, people tend to confide in you because you’re a good listener, and you can get along with a wide variety of personality types. That does not mean you ‘know’ people. Take it from me, Vandyke wouldn’t be where he is today if he weren’t capable of handling a fair amount of pressure.”

  “You’ve never even met the man!”

  “Anyone who has a private marble and mauve washroom, let alone a private executive secretary, is basically made of sturdy stuff. Wimps don’t get far in the business world.”

  Guinevere sighed. “You don’t understand, Zac. I’ve been working very closely with him for the past three days. I had to take a phone call from his wife the first morning I was on the job. That call alone was enough to tell me he’s on the edge. Vandyke was very upset afterward. And he’s been upset every time she’s called since.”

  “He’s having marital problems?”

  Guinevere nodded. “I’m sure of it. I think she’s left him. And I’m sure he’s still in love with her. I tell you, Zac, he was in bad shape after those calls.”

  “So you think he might be planning to kill himself in the executive washroom, using a gold-plated pistol. The wife must be something else to warrant that kind of reaction.”

  Grimly Guinevere pursued her line of logic. “It isn’t just the trouble with his wife. I happen to know that the proposal he’s working on is a crucial one for the company. He’s been wearing himself out getting everything in order for the big presentation to the client next weekend. I think he’s afraid of someone trying to
steal the proposal documents. He’s instituted very strict security in the office. In fact, I think it was security reasons that made him hire an outside secretary instead of borrowing one of the vice presidents’ secretaries.”

  Zac cocked an eyebrow, showing vague interest at last. “He figured he was safer with an outsider who wouldn’t know what she was typing?”

  “Or who wouldn’t have any contacts in the company. The selection of Camelot Services was probably a deliberately random choice. Vandyke doesn’t have to worry about my already having been established as an industrial spy. I don’t know anyone in the firm, and no one knows me.”

  “Your mind is a fascinating thing, Gwen,” Zac said admiringly.

  “You’re not going to take this seriously, are you?”

  “Not until I find out what all this is leading up to,” he answered.

  Guinevere decided to play her ace. “It could be leading up to a job for Free Enterprise Security,” she announced sweetly. “A little something, perhaps, to tide you over until that consulting assignment in January.”

  That got another slow blink out of Zac. “What kind of job?”

  Guinevere took her time about answering. “Well, I’m not exactly sure what you would call it. I haven’t discussed this with Vandyke yet either. But I’ve been thinking—”

  “Lord have mercy.”

  She ignored him. “Vandyke is supposed to go to a resort in the San Juan Islands this weekend to make the presentation to his client. I’m going to go with him.”

  Zac’s spoon suddenly ceased its methodical attack on the soup. There was an unexpected bleakness in his gray gaze when he looked up. “You’re what?”

  Guinevere decided not to let the too-quiet tone faze her. It was more easily said than done. Her throat seemed to need clearing, and her appetite threatened to evaporate. This was idiotic, she lectured herself. Damned if she was going to allow Zachariah Justis to affect her this way. But she had rarely had him turn his full attention to intimidating her, and the effects, she belatedly remembered, were decidedly stress-enducing.

  “Good grief,” she managed to say dryly, “you’d think I had just announced I intended to run off for a quickie weekend fling with the boss.”

  “That’s not what you’re announcing?”

  “Zac,” she whispered grimly, leaning forward, “I am discussing business. The trip to the resort in the San Juans is business. My association with Mr. Vandyke is business. Now if you’ll climb down off your macho high horse, you and I will continue to discuss business. If you’d rather sit there and ruin a perfectly good lunch by glowering at me, then I’ll let you eat alone.”

  “Where,” he asked bluntly, “do I fit into all this business?”

  “That’s what I was just getting around to explaining.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Guinevere drew a deep breath, glad that his eyes had cleared a little. He had no right to react so possessively, she reminded herself. After all, it wasn’t as if she and Zac had come to some sort of official understanding about their vague relationship. But it was hard to make the piece of wisdom stick. “I think Mr. Vandyke needs you.”

  “In what capacity? Chaperon for you and him?”

  “Hardly. Mr. Vandyke is nearly fifty and very much in love with his wife.”

  “Who is presently giving him a hard time.”

  “Forget Vandyke’s wife. I think he needs you to provide him with peace of mind, Zac. I’m going to have a talk with him this afternoon and see if I can’t get him to understand that.”

  Zac looked at her blankly. “Peace of mind? What the hell kind of peace of mind am I supposed to provide him? Is he afraid his wife will find out he’s run off to some resort with his new temp secretary? Gwen, you’re not making a whole lot of sense here.”

  “I am talking about his peace of mind regarding his proposal documents.” Infuriated by his deliberate obtuseness, Guinevere set down her spoon with a snap. “Mr. Vandyke has several things preying on his mind at the moment. I am suggesting that he hire you to take some of the pressure off at least one area of his concerns.”

  “You’re going to tell him he should hire me to baby-sit his precious documents? Forget it, Gwen. I’m in the security consulting business, remember? I’m not a file clerk.”

  “For someone who’s not going to see another consulting fee until January, you’re being rather uppity about this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not starving to death. If I find myself in danger of it, I’ll ring your front doorbell and beg for a handout.”

  “You’d rather beg from me than work for a living?”

  A rare, wicked grin slashed across Zac’s face. “A tantalizing thought, isn’t it? What would you give me if I came begging, Gwen?”

  “A meal ticket down at the mission! Zac, stop making a joke out of this. I am genuinely worried about my client, and I think I’ve found a way to take some of the stress off him and at the same time throw a little business your way.”

  “A perfect Guinevere Jones solution.”

  She gave him a challenging look. “Well, isn’t it?”

  “What do you envision me doing, Gwen? Running around for three days with a briefcase chained to my wrist? Who’s going to steal the documents from him at the resort anyway? He’s going there to meet the potential client, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he’s not the only developer who will be presenting his bids to Sheldon Washburn. There will be two other companies represented. Those executives will, in turn, undoubtedly be bringing along assistants or secretaries too, any one of whom might be a spy.”

  “The plot thickens.”

  Guinevere regarded him with lofty disdain. “Are you interested or not?”

  “Not.”

  She was startled more than anything else. It hadn’t occurred to her that Zac would refuse the offer of a job. It was Guinevere’s turn to blink. “You mean that? You really don’t want to pick up a nice check for three days’ worth of easy work?”

  “I’m not sure it’s good for the image,” he said as the soup bowl was removed and replaced with a plate of spiced noodles and chicken. “Briefcases chained to the wrist and all that. Kind of tacky. Smacks of courier boy or something. Low-class.”

  “I never said the briefcase would have to be chained to your wrist,” she muttered. “And since when did you become so concerned with status?”

  “You’ve been teaching me how important image is lately. It’s all your fault.” He spun a fork around in the noodles, expertly winding them into a bite-size chunk.

  Guinevere paused, more off-balance by his refusal than she wanted to admit. She’d had plans, she realized. The long weekend at the resort would have provided an opportunity to find some peace of mind for herself as well as for her current employer. “Well, I suppose if you feel that strongly about it, I’ll just have to think of something else.”

  “I not only doubt Vandyke’s need of a document babysitter on this jaunt, but also doubt his need of a private secretary.” Zac went on in cool, level tones. “I see no reason for him to drag you along. Tell him your agency does not provide twenty-four-hour secretarial service.”

  Guinevere narrowed her eyes, resentment beginning to simmer in her. “I run Camelot Services, Zac. I’ll decide what jobs to accept.”

  “Hadn’t you better be concerned with your own image?” he responded too smoothly. “If you get a reputation for taking out-of-town trips with businessmen, you might find yourself swamped with more work than you can handle.”

  Resentment turned to fury, effectively killing her appetite. It took a fierce effort of will to control the angry trembling in her fingers as Guinevere carefully folded her napkin and got to her feet.

  “Gwen?” Zac frowned as he realized she was preparing to leave.

  “Don’t worry, Za
c. I won’t stick you with my portion of the tab.” Coolly she slid enough money out of her gray leather clutch to cover her share of the meal. “That’ll take care of my bill with enough left over for a tip. I’ll have to trust you not to pocket the tip, of course, but I guess I don’t have any choice.” She reached for her coat.

  “Jesus Christ, Gwen, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Walking out before you can insult me any further.” She smiled very brittly. “I’m going back to the office where the man I work for happens to be a gentleman. Gentlemen are so rare these days.”

  “Damn it, Gwen, I wasn’t insulting you. I was just trying to make a point. Now sit down and stop acting like a child. This is ridiculous—”

  But Zac was talking to empty space. Guinevere had her coat on and was on her way out the restaurant. In stunned amazement he watched the scarlet coat disappear through the front doors. Out on the street she turned in the direction of Vandyke’s office building, and then she vanished in the crowd. The problem with the new style in women’s lunch-hour footwear, Zac decided, was that it allowed the wearers to move a great deal faster than they could in high heels.

  Slowly Zac pulled his attention back to his half-eaten spicy noodles. “Damned temperamental female.”

  “Excuse me, sir, more coffee?” The waitress paused with a politely inquiring smile.

  “No thanks.”

  “Will the lady be returning?”

  “She had to leave,” Zac mumbled, searching for a convenient excuse. It was humiliating to have a woman walk out on you in a public restaurant he discovered, chagrined. “Business appointment.”

  “Of course. I’ll clear her plate.”

  It would be tacky to tell her to leave Gwen’s plate of noodles so that he could finish them, Zac decided morosely. “Fine.”

  Just one more irritation to chalk up to Guinevere Jones, he thought as he watched the excellent noodles disappear toward the kitchen. Not only did Jones abandon him in the restaurant, but he couldn’t even find a polite way to finish off the food she’d left behind. The lady was getting to him. Zac grudgingly acknowledged to himself that he wasn’t accustomed to this level of uncertainty around a woman.