“Not really.” Of course he was, but if he admitted as much, Patrick was contrary enough to slow this meeting down. Crossing his legs, Shane rested his right ankle on his left knee and idly tapped his fingers against the soft leather of his shoe.
Nodding, the old man said, “That’s all right. I am in a hurry. Your mother’s got us tickets to some play or other.”
Shane smiled. “A musical?”
Patrick shuddered. “Probably.”
This time Shane dipped his head to hide a broader smile. His parents were sharply divided on the theater. His father hated it and his mother loved it. One thing he could give Patrick Elliott. The man was crazy enough about his wife that he’d actually suffered through seeing Cats twelve times.
“God knows what she’s gonna make me endure tonight. But she’s meeting me here in twenty minutes, so I’m gonna make this short.”
“All right.” Back to business, then. “Let’s hear it.”
Patrick leaned forward in his chair and gave his son a broad smile. “The final reports are in. All of the profit margins on each of the magazines has been tallied.”
“And…?” Shane’s heartbeat quickened and a sense of expectation filled him. Hell, just a year ago, if someone had told him he’d care this much about being named CEO of Elliot Publication Holdings, he would have laughed himself sick.
Now?
Hell, he wanted that position more than he cared to admit. And even more, he wanted to win the competition his father had instigated.
“Congratulations,” Patrick said.
Shane let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah?” He grinned and stood up. “Thanks.”
The old man stood, too, and held out one hand. Shane grabbed it and gave it a shake.
“You did a good job, son.”
A surprising zip of pleasure shot through Shane. Apparently, he thought wryly, no one outgrew the need for approval from a parent. Even one who’d been as absent from his children’s lives as Patrick.
“Appreciate it,” Shane said, reeling in his thoughts as they careened wildly through his mind. CEO. It meant a world of responsibilities that only a year or so ago he would have done anything he could to avoid. Weird how a man’s life could change.
He couldn’t wait to tell Rachel. All the work they’d been doing for the last few years had finally culminated in winning the grand prize.
“I’ll make the official announcement at the family New Year’s party,” Patrick was saying as he came around the edge of his desk. “But I wanted you to know now. You earned it, Shane.”
“Damn straight I did,” Shane said, still feeling the hum of excitement. Gratification. “But I couldn’t have done it without my staff. The people at The Buzz have worked their asses off this last year. Especially Rachel, my assistant.”
The older man nodded, pleased. “I’m glad you realize that no man succeeds alone.”
Shane slanted his father a look. “Oh, I know it. I’m just sort of surprised that you know it.”
Patrick sighed and shook his head. “A man reaches a certain age and he gets to know all sorts of things, Shane. Things he should have realized a long time ago.”
“Yeah, well,” Shane said, suddenly uncomfortable. “Better late than never, I guess.”
“I suppose. At the first of the year, I’ll clear my stuff out of this office and you can move in.”
“Seems strange. Thinking about me, working up here.”
“Seems damn strange to me, too, son,” Patrick said, wandering across the room to stare at the plaques and framed awards EPH had won over the years. “I’m so used to coming here every day,” he murmured, “I can’t really imagine not working.”
“Hell, I can’t even remember the last time you took a vacation.”
The older man glanced over his shoulder at Shane. His eyes flashed with something that might have been regret, but it was gone so fast, Shane couldn’t be sure. And even if it was regret, he told himself, what did it change?
“I made mistakes,” Patrick admitted, turning around now to face his son. “I know that.”
Shane stiffened slightly. He didn’t want to head down Memory Lane with his father. Especially since those memories would no doubt douse the feeling of victory still rushing through him. Over the last year, Patrick had made a sincere effort to get to know his children. But the bottom line was, one good year didn’t offset a lifetime. “Dad—”
“I know. You don’t want to talk about it. Well, neither do I.” Shoving both hands into the pockets of his well-tailored dark blue suit, the older man said, “But I can’t help thinking about it. I can’t rewrite the past, though I wish to hell I could. All those years, I focused on my work. Building a legacy for you and your brothers and sisters.”
“And you did it.”
“Yes, I did. But along the way,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding tired, “I missed what was really important. It all slipped out of my reach and I let it go. Did it to myself. No one else to blame.”
“There doesn’t have to be blame,” Shane said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Wish I believed that,” Patrick whispered and he suddenly looked every one of his seventy-seven years. “But the mistakes I made are the point of this conversation.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning don’t do what I did.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and waved his arms to encompass the high-rise office, the awards and the incredible view from the bank of floor to ceiling windows behind his desk. “Right now, being in charge looks great. The challenge. The fun of beating the others.”
Shane shrugged.
“I know you, son,” Patrick said, stabbing his index finger at Shane. “I know you thrive on the competition, just like a true Elliott. But remember, winning doesn’t mean a damn thing if you’ve got nothing but the victory to show for it.”
Three
Rachel opened the freezer door for the third time in a half hour and stared at her nemesis. It sat there next to a stack of frozen dinners and mocked her silently.
Her own fault. She never should have bought it. But she’d had a weak moment right after work.
Well, actually, she’d been having plenty of weak moments lately. Every time she thought about quitting her job and walking away from her only connection to Shane Elliott.
“It’s the right thing to do,” she muttered as icy fog wafted from the freezer to caress her face.
Her hand tightened on the white plastic door handle and she squeezed as if gripping a lifeline. She had to quit. She knew it. She’d only been postponing the inevitable because she hadn’t wanted to leave EPH until Shane had won the competition between him and his siblings.
“Well, that excuse is gone. You’ve helped The Buzz do so well in this last year that he’s bound to win. What’ve you got left?” she asked herself, knowing damn well there wasn’t an answer.
She shivered, and reached into the freezer, her fingers curling around a small carton covered in ice crystals. “Fine. I surrender. We both knew I would or I wouldn’t have bought you in the first place.”
When a knock sounded on her front door, she backed up instantly, leaving the carton where it was and slammed the freezer shut. She ran both hands over her wavy blond hair, released from the tidy French twist she kept it in while working. Then she automatically smoothed the gray skirt she still wore and shuffled out of the tiny galley kitchen in her pink fuzzy slippers. As she walked, she glanced at the pineapple shaped clock on the wall.
Eight o’clock.
Great.
Shane would be just sitting down to his first glass of champagne with Tawny the wonder girl. Glad she’d reminded herself of that. Oh, yeah, it was definitely time to quit her job.
She passed her overstuffed sofa on the way to the door and absently straightened a bright blue throw pillow. Rachel’s gaze flicked quickly around her West Village apartment in approval. Only a one bedroom, it was plenty big enough for her. Plus, it was a family neighborhood, with a deli o
n one corner and a small grocery store on another.
In the five years she’d lived here, she’d transformed the old apartment into a cozy nest. She’d painted the walls a soft, French country lemon-yellow and done the trim in pale off-white. The furniture was large, overstuffed and covered in a floral fabric that made her feel as if she lived in a garden.
Natalie Cole sang to her from the stereo on the far wall and from downstairs, came the tempting scent of her neighbor Mrs. Florio’s homemade lasagna. With any luck, Rachel thought, scuffing her slippers over the hardwood floor, she’d be getting a care basket of leftovers in the morning. Mrs. Florio, God bless her, thought Rachel was far too skinny to “catch a nice man” and took every opportunity to fatten her up.
Smiling to herself, Rachel looked through the security peephole and sucked in a gasp as she jumped back, startled.
Shane?
Here?
He knocked again.
She took another peek and watched as he leaned in toward the fisheye lens and grinned. “Rachel, come on. Open up.”
Quickly she gave herself a once-over. Still in the yellow silk blouse and gray skirt she’d worn to work, she suddenly wished she was dressed in sequins and rhinestones and on her way out the door to meet…anybody.
“How do you know I’m here?” she demanded. “I could be out on a hot date.” Sure. In an alternate universe.
“You’re talking to me,” he said, still grinning into the peephole. “So you’re there. Now, you going to let me in or what?”
In the four years she’d worked for Shane he’d never once come to her apartment. So what in heaven would bring him here now? Did he somehow sense she was going to quit? Was he trying to undermine her decision?
“This is so not fair,” she muttered as she quickly undid the chain, then twisted first one, then another dead bolt locks. Finally she turned the knob and opened the door.
Shane didn’t wait for an invitation; he crowded past her into the living room, then turned around to look at her. In one hand, he held a bouquet of lilacs—Rachel’s favorite flower—and in the other a huge bottle of champagne.
Stomach jittering, Rachel closed the door and leaned back against it. “What’re you doing here, Shane?”
“This is a nice place,” he said, glancing around at the apartment.
“Thanks.”
“Wasn’t easy to find,” he added. “Had to go down to personnel and look up your records to get your address.”
Her stomach did another wild twist and flip and she swallowed hard. “And why would you do that?”
“So I could bring you these,” he said, handing her the lilacs.
The heavy, sweet perfume reached for her and Rachel just managed to keep from burying her nose in the blossoms and enjoying the thrill of Shane bringing her flowers. But there was something else going on here and she had to know what it was.
“Shane, why are you bringing me flowers?” she asked, silently congratulating herself on the steadiness of her voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Une Nuit giving Tawny a bouquet of daisies?”
“Tawny!” He slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead. “That’s her name. Why can’t I remember that?”
“Good question,” Rachel said. “Maybe because there are too many Tawnys, Bambis and Barbies in your life to keep them straight?”
He slanted her a look and then smiled and shrugged. “Maybe.” Sweeping his gaze around the room again, he started for the kitchen, talking over his shoulder as he went. “Anyway, don’t worry about what’s her name. I called Stash. Told him I couldn’t make it and to give…”
“Tawny,” Rachel provided as she followed him into her kitchen.
“…right. Told him to give Tawny whatever she wanted on the house and to offer my apologies.”
“So you stood her up.”
“Had to,” he said, setting the champagne bottle down onto the counter and shifting a look at the white cupboards. “Champagne glasses?”
Still clutching her lilacs, Rachel pointed with her free hand. “Just wineglasses, sorry.”
He shrugged again. “That’s fine.” Then he opened the cupboard door, reached two glasses and set them on the counter.
This was too hard. Now that she’d seen him here, in her place, she’d never really be able to get him out again. She’d always be able to pull up the memory of him standing in her living room, rooting through her kitchen. Heck, she’d probably never be able to look through the peephole again without seeing his smiling face looking back at her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she blurted, fingers tightening around the lilacs that must have cost him a small fortune.
Springtime flowers in the dead of winter? And she was sappy enough to really enjoy knowing that he’d remembered her favorite flowers even when he couldn’t remember Tawny’s.
His fingers on the wire cage of the bottle top, he paused to glance at her. His gaze swept her up and down, from her tousled hair to the tips of her furry slippers. Slowly a smile curved his mouth. “Why? You really do have a hot date?”
Straightening up a little, she said, “I was planning on spending the night with two guys, actually.”
“Yeah? Who?”
Rachel sighed. It was pointless to pretend, since she wasn’t exactly dressed for going clubbing. “Ben and Jerry.”
Shane grinned as he started working on the champagne cork again. “This’ll be better.”
“I don’t know,” she said, moving past him to grab a cut glass vase from another cupboard. She glanced at him as she filled the vase with water. “It’s chocolate ice cream.”
“Not nearly good enough for the occasion.”
“Which is?” she asked, stuffing the lilacs into the vase and giving them one last, lingering caress.
“We’re celebrating.” The cork popped, slamming into a cupboard before bouncing to the floor, and Shane held the bottle over the sink as champagne frothed and foamed out the neck. As he filled both of the heavy green glasses to the rim, he looked down at her, winked and teased, “Ask me what we’re celebrating.”
A jolt of excitement sizzled inside her. “What’re we celebrating?”
“We did it, Rachel,” he said, setting the bottle down and handing her one of the glasses. He picked up his own then clinked it against hers. “We won the contest. I’m the new CEO.”
That single jolt of excitement burst into a fireworks display of pleasure that lit up her insides like the Fourth of July. “Shane, that’s great.”
It was. It really was. Even though it was now official and Rachel knew she’d be leaving, she was just so damn happy for him. He’d worked hard for this and really deserved it. That he was so pleased about it only went to show how much he’d changed in the last few years.
“I know,” he said, taking her elbow and leading her out of the kitchen into the living room. He steered her onto the couch, said, “I’ll be right back,” and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the champagne.
He set the bottle down on the glass-topped coffee table, then sat down beside Rachel on the sofa. She watched him over the rim of her glass while she took a huge swallow. Bubbles filled her nose, her mouth and apparently, her mind.
Watching him, Rachel wanted to reach out and smooth back the lock of dark hair lying across his forehead. She curled her fingers around the stem of her glass to keep from doing just that. Instead she settled for looking at him. Shane had always been a good stare. The man was simply gorgeous.
Shining moss-green eyes, strong chin, wide smile and broad shoulders. He was the stuff that dreams were made of. Rachel should know. He filled her dreams almost nightly.
“You know,” he was saying, “when my father broke the news to me a while ago, all I could think about was that you should have been there to hear it, too.”
She took another gulp of champagne, hoping to ease the sudden dryness in her throat.
“You’re the real reason I won, Rachel.”
A happy little glow dazzled her
insides, but she deliberately squashed it. “That’s not true, Shane. You worked hard for this. You deserve it.”
“Maybe,” he said nodding, running the tip of his index finger around the rim of his glass. “But even if it’s true, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed smiling.
So much easier to keep this conversation light and teasing, as she always did. So much better for her equilibrium if she didn’t start fantasizing about Shane throwing himself at her feet, proclaiming his love and begging her to marry him.
Oh for heaven’s sake.
She took another big drink of champagne and didn’t complain when Shane reached for the bottle and topped off her glass and then his own.
“We’ll be moving into my father’s office at the first of the year.”
You will, she thought silently, wishing she could stay. Wishing she could be a part of his life. But it was just getting too painful.
“I’m guessing you’ll want to redecorate,” she said wryly.
“Oh, yeah.” His grin was devastating. All the more so since he seemed to be oblivious to the power he wielded. “I can’t stand the antique thing, but the glass and chrome look doesn’t seem right for up there, either.”
“I guess not,” she said, as the music playing shifted from a drum pounding dance rhythm to something slow and sultry.
“This means a big raise,” Shane said, leaning back into the sofa cushion. “For both of us.”
“Uh-huh.” A raise would have been nice.
“And a bonus,” he said, “if you can locate our mysterious columnist and convince her to keep writing for The Buzz.”
“Shane—”
“I know,” he interrupted, “we haven’t been able to find her, but she’s out there somewhere, Rachel.”
“And doesn’t want to be found.” Oh, she really didn’t want to be found.
“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking,” he said, refilling their glasses again.
Rachel looked at the bubbles in her wineglass and told herself to stop drinking it so quickly. Already, her mind was a little fuzzy and her vision blurred just a little bit. Should have eaten that ice cream, she told herself.
Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12 Page 74