But he had startled her more than she startled him. She spun around, sending the steaming cappuccino splashing over the rim of her mug. She squealed, but the damage was done.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Collier! I didn’t know anyone else was here. I wanted to settle in before you arrived.”
So it was Miss Anderson. At least that mystery was solved.
Frantically she disappeared back through the door and emerged again without her mug and clutching a handful of paper napkins. She patted his sleeves where the coffee had rained on him.
He took the napkins and motioned her back.
“It’s all right. I think I was spared most of it. The floor didn’t fare so well.”
She glanced down at the wet spot in the carpet between them and groaned. She disappeared through the door and returned with another wad of napkins. Dropping to her knees, she attempted to rub the coffee out of the carpet with the napkins. It only left a trail of white bits everywhere she touched.
“Don’t worry about that, Miss Anderson,” he said. “Call someone from maintenance.”
She started to argue, but stopped. She rose and composed herself, though her glance remained cast down. “Of course, I’ll call downstairs right away. Can I get you anything? A cappuccino? An espresso?”
“Yeah,” he said, marveling at her turnaround and the astonishing change in her appearance. Was it the hair? The glasses? If he had seen her on the street he would not even guess she was the woman he had hired on Friday. He rubbed at his lip. “An espresso, if you don’t mind,” he said, distracted. “Three sugars.”
“Very good, I’ll bring it to your office,” she said, turned on her heels, and slipped back into the break room.
A few minutes later he heard a tap at his door.
“Come in.” He tucked away the manila folder he had been reading.
She stood at the open door looking perplexed.
“Won’t you be working out of the publisher’s office?”
“Since I’m the publisher now, doesn’t that make any office I choose the publisher’s office?”
Hot pink crept up her collar. “Of course it does, sir.”
He should apologize. He knew that. It wasn’t her fault he’d just found this blasted folder and a dozen others on his desk. Left by his father, no doubt. Just trying to be helpful, no doubt.
“I prefer to give my father a chance to collect his things.” His father had been eager to hand over the publisher reins, but not so eager to leave the office. He told Derek he could use it any time, but really, when was he going to use the old man’s office? It felt like wearing someone else’s shoes. He didn’t like it.
“Certainly,” she said. “Mildred cleared her desk—I mean, her former desk—but I can move my things closer, if you prefer. There’s a desk here I could use.”
There were several actually. The last round of layoffs had not touched the fifth floor as severely as it had other parts of the company, but two directors and their support staff had been let go.
“Move if you like, it makes no difference to me. Just forward my calls here. My espresso?”
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to her hands.
She looked down at the cup in her grip. “Right.” She hurried forward and set the espresso on the corner of his desk. Deposited three sugar packets and a spoon alongside, and hurried back to the door.
How odd she was. Confident and self-assured one moment. Timid as a wet kitten the next. It was difficult to know what to make of her.
He emptied each of the sugar packets into his cup and stirred. She was still standing in the doorway when he was finished. “Is there something else?”
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, still watching the floor as she spoke. “But I took the liberty of filling in your calendar with the meetings Mildred said your father typically attends during the week. Let me know if you’d like any changes, and I’ll be happy to make them.”
Newspaper business. He’d nearly forgotten there was a routine he would be expected to uphold in addition to everything else.
“I’ll have a look. Thank you.”
There was another awkward pause when she didn’t leave.
“Is there anything else, Miss Anderson?”
She hesitated, then blurted, “What do you want me to do?”
| 15
Thud!
Abby stared at the stack of manila folders that had just landed on her desk.
“I would appreciate it if you would compile this into a spreadsheet for me. I’d do it myself, but I have about three minutes to get to an editorial meeting and I need to stop by Finance. Any questions?” Derek’s gaze was already on the elevator.
Yeah, about a hundred of them. Instead, she asked one. “What do you want in the spreadsheet?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Tell me what you’d want to know if these companies were trying to buy something from you. And I need it as soon as possible. There’s a board meeting coming up to discuss the bidders, and I want to know who we’re dealing with.” He walked away.
“No problem,” she murmured to his back. “It’s what I’m here for.”
Is that what she was here for? She had no idea what an executive assistant was supposed to do.
The training she had received from Mildred on Friday afternoon had included how to answer the phone, where the files were kept, and where the steno pads were, because she assumed Derek, like his father, would prefer to dictate his correspondence. The poor woman had been horrified to discover Abby didn’t know shorthand. The only useful thing the woman had taught her was how to operate the monstrous beverage machine in the executive break room.
Thank God she had, too, because the cappuccinos that came out of that thing could make working on the polar ice cap bearable. Abby lifted her mug, sipped, and tried to make sense of the folders fanned out in front of her. Darthshire Investments. Brandywine Corporation. Smith and Jergen Inc. At least a dozen more. All companies that wanted to buy the Collier Media Group.
Tell him what she’d want to know, huh? Okay. Start with the obvious. Annual earnings. Debt ratio. Public or private. Revenue history. Revenue outlook. Base of operations. Number of employees. How long in business. Corporate officers.
She opened a new spreadsheet on the computer and started labeling rows under a column titled “Darthshire.” As she worked she made other notes. Where were the principals from? Where did they go to school? Did they have families? Anything she could dig up on the Internet.
Three hours later, she had compiled a hefty dossier on Darthshire and its board.
One down, twenty to go.
Melanie found her still at it at lunchtime.
“Hey, are you going to break for—”
She paused when Abby glanced up and then broke into barking laughter.
“Be quiet,” Abby pleaded, glancing around the corner to see if the vice president’s executive assistant had overheard. The woman had done little more than glare at Abby since she arrived. Sore she’d been passed over for the promotion, no doubt. Abby didn’t want to give her any more reason to be unpleasant. Luckily, Gladys was nowhere to be seen and Derek’s door had been shut since he returned from his morning meetings.
“But those glasses,” Melanie whispered. “You look like you stepped out of a Mad Men episode.”
“I thought they’d help.” She squirmed in her seat.
Melanie pulled back and scrutinized her. “Actually, they do. I barely recognize you. The hair. The glasses. And those clothes. My God, Abby, where did you find that outfit? A plaid skirt? Honestly?”
“Okay. Maybe I overdid it.”
“Ya think? But what do I know? I guess you have to do what you have to do.”
“Did you just come up here to harass me?”
“No. I didn’t see you in the cafeteria, so I came up to remind you to eat lunch.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Do you see all this? I have to get through it all.”
Melanie tugged one
of the folders on the desk so she could read the label.
Abby gathered them all up and dropped them in her drawer. “But you’re right. I have to eat something. I’ve been guzzling cappuccinos all morning. If I drink any more, I’ll probably vomit.”
“Cappuccinos?”
“Have you seen the cappuccino maker they have up here?”
Melanie shook her head.
“Oh, you have to see this.” Abby pulled Melanie toward the break room. At the doorway, she gestured like Vanna White at the massive copper contraption.
“It’s like a work of art. Man, this job has some perks,” Melanie said, her eyes wide with wonder. “Maybe it was a mistake letting you have it. I should have taken it for myself.” She nudged Abby with her elbow. “Just kidding. It’s all yours. But if those babies come in a to-go cup…”
“Sure,” Abby said. “I’m practically a barista now.”
When they both had cappuccinos in hand, they headed toward the elevator. Abby caught Melanie craning for a look into Derek’s office.
Abby tugged her friend to keep moving.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying to get a glimpse. He is pretty hot.”
“Hey!”
“Just kidding. C’mon.”
“Maybe I should let him know I’m going downstairs. Just in case he needs something.”
“Right,” Melanie smirked. “Just in case.”
She ignored Melanie and approached the door. Derek was on his phone, she could hear him through the door. She knocked softly. Nothing. She knocked again. Still nothing. She turned the knob and leaned in.
He was turned around in his chair, looking out over the eastern foothills. “I don’t care, Frank. I’m not my father. You said you would have those bylaws to me today, so I want them today. Do you understand? I want to know if there’s anything that can derail this sale, and you’re not being paid to spend the day on the golf course. So get in here, and do your damn job.”
Alarm bells went off in her head.
“Good,” Derek continued, “I’ll expect them by the end of the day.” He spun around in his chair and slammed the receiver down as Abby was pulling the door closed.
“What the hell were you doing in here?” he hollered after her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, returning. “I didn’t know it was a bad time. I just wanted you to know I was taking my lunch.”
She may as well have said she wanted to grow a second head.
“Rule number one around here: knock first.” He gave her a look like she was dumber than dirt and picked up the phone again. He dismissed her with a flip of his wrist.
“What was that about?” Melanie whispered when Abby closed the door.
“He’s busy” was all she could say, but inside she was reeling. How could that be the same man who had been so kind and tender? It didn’t matter. In fact, it made it easier. All she had to do was keep her head down, do her job, and cash in when the time came.
| 16
Damn. The old man was already up, sitting at the end of the long granite island, sipping his coffee. His glance slid up from his morning paper at the sound of Derek’s footsteps.
“Six a.m.? I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me.”
“Just stopped by to pick up a few things,” Derek said.
“Are you going somewhere?” He nudged his chin toward the garment bag folded over Derek’s arm.
“I took a villa at the Bay Club. Closer to the office. More convenient.”
“More convenient? I see.” His father sipped his coffee.
Sure, it was a lie and his father knew it. But there was no point telling him he couldn’t live under the same roof. They both knew how difficult it had been between them, even when Mother was around. She had been the bridge that could bring them together. But when she left, it took whatever was left of their relationship with it. Even on Derek’s brief visits, he found no solace within these walls. No laughter or joy. Only cold furnishings, and a colder man who locked himself in his study to pore over account ledgers and God knows what else. The only love left in this house was a love of wealth and status, and Derek vowed to himself he would never follow that path. “Did you get up early just to check up on me?”
“No, actually. I thought you would want to know the board has moved up the vote on the sale.”
A muscle in Derek’s jaw twitched. “You said that wouldn’t come for a few months.”
His father snapped the paper and began reading again. “Things change, son. It’s better this way. The quicker the better, all around. Have your secretary prepare the board room for Thursday afternoon.”
All around? Hardly. It certainly wasn’t better for him. It was a damn nuisance, in fact. “I’m sure you’re right, Father. You’re always right.”
He wasn’t going to linger. On the way into the office, he rang his lawyer. The call went to voice mail. “Listen, Frank, we need to move quickly. As in immediately.”
Frank always promised he could work miracles. It was a good thing, because he needed one now.
He didn’t realize he was speeding down Coast Highway until he neared the Sultan’s Tent and pulled back on the accelerator. It wasn’t exactly on the way to the paper, but it had become his habit these past few days. Not that he thought he would see her, not this time of day, but it was the only thing that stirred something besides anger and frustration inside him.
It helped, but when he stepped out of the elevator into the fifth-floor reception lobby, his mind was still churning. Adrenaline coursed through him. What he needed was an hour in the gym to work off the anger, but he didn’t have time.
“Any calls?” he barked at Miss Anderson as he passed her.
She shook her head.
“Get Frank Jetter on the line, will you?” He paused a beat. “No, forget it. I’ll do it myself.”
He pulled out his desk chair and noticed a familiar stack of folders on his desk.
“What are these doing here?” he yelled at his assistant.
She appeared in the doorway. “Your files. Most of them, at least. I’m still working on a few. But I’ve finished reports on those.”
He flipped open the folder labeled Darston LLC. On top, she had placed a sheet that contained a carefully organized summary of the business.
“And this is the comparative spreadsheet you requested.” She stepped forward and handed him a thin, brass-bradded report.
“Fine,” he said. “This should be helpful.” He knew he should say more. It was staggeringly impressive. How had she found the time? “Did you include financial data?”
“Yes. And I’ll have the remaining reports to you by tomorrow morning, along with an updated comparative spreadsheet.”
“That’s fine,” he said, already distracted by the spreadsheet.
“Do you need anything else?”
She was still staring at the ground, but there was something different about her. A new confidence. She obviously knew what she was doing. He closed the folder. “Have you had any luck getting the company bylaws from our attorney?”
“This came for you this morning.” She pointed to a fat manila envelope on his desk.
He ripped it open. Bylaws. Perfect. He could spend the morning going through it.
His line rang.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
He watched her leave. And the way her pencil skirt hugged her hips. So there was a figure in there. Quite a nice one, by the looks of it. Why’d she hide it?
She stuck her head in the doorway. “It’s your lawyer.”
“I need to take that. Would you close the door?”
When she did as he asked, he scooped up the phone receiver. “Tell me you have good news.”
“Sorry,” Frank said. “It’s not that easy. Can you get up here this morning?”
When he didn’t answer right away, Frank added, “It’s important.”
“Fine.”
When Derek emerged from his office, Miss Anderson was nowhere to be
found. He checked the break room. The corridor. So frustrating. That was the problem with people. Just when you think you can count on them, they let you down. They always let you down. He was storming his way to the elevator to ask the vice president’s assistant if she had seen Abby when he found her, standing in the fifth-floor lobby in front of a collection of framed historic front pages from the Herald’s archives. “Man Walks on the Moon,” emblazoned on one. “Nixon Resigns,” “Berlin Wall Comes Down,” and others.
She seemed to be examining the old black-and-white photos that also hung there. The one of the single-story building the newspaper had occupied in the 1950s when his grandfather had bought it, and another from the 1970s, just after construction was completed on the current building. He held back, watching her observe the images. How many times over the years had he lingered there? Far too many to count. Just staring at those images, feeling the connection to his grandfather and that old man’s struggle to build this newspaper from a penny circular into a Pulitzer-winning news enterprise.
That old man had so much drive, so much passion for what he did. He had it till the day he died. The way his eyes had sparked when he spoke about the paper and the importance of getting news to the public. It had sparked the same fire in Derek. Was he seeing it in Abby’s eyes, as well?
Those dark, knowing eyes hiding behind those black-rimmed glasses. There was definitely something different about her today. He stepped forward. “Miss Anderson, I need to speak to you.”
“Of course,” she said, startled but recovering quickly. “I was just waiting for Gladys to print the VP’s weekly report.”
“It’s nearly finished,” the silver-haired woman snapped from behind her desk. “I’ll deliver it when it’s done.”
Back in his office, he handed her the bylaws. “Can you go through these? It should be pretty standard, but I’d like to know if there’s anything that could hold up the sale.”
She flipped through the thick stack. “Sure.” She tilted her head and glanced up. “I guess I didn’t realize how hard this must be for you.”
He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. “Excuse me?”
Shimmy for Me: A Novella (California Belly Dance Romance Series Book 1) Page 5