by Gina Wilkins
It was only his fear of offending her that kept him from offering financial help. He left for work still trying to decide how to do so without making it seem as though he were trying to buy her love.
NICKY TOOK advantage of after-holiday sales to make a few prudent, much-needed additions to her wardrobe Saturday morning. She stopped at a department store that had advertised three pair of panties for ten dollars, and was studying the sale merchandise when a wicked black nightie caught her eye.
She couldn’t resist touching it, letting her fingertips trail down the short, silky length of the garment as she imagined herself wearing it for Andrew.
Would he like it? Probably. Would he tell her so? Probably not in words.
Andrew seemed to have a slight problem expressing himself verbally. She had very much hoped that he would put up at least a token protest when she’d said she was moving out. She was honest enough to admit to herself that it wouldn’t take much for him to talk her out of it. But he had to say the words. She wouldn’t continue living with him without some indication on his part that her presence meant something to him.
She refused to be an imposition to him, or a mere physical convenience, or someone he took for granted in his home, the way he did his long-time housekeeper. She wanted him to truly care about her.
She wanted him to love her.
It was going to break her heart to leave him, but a clean break was better than a slow disintegration. She couldn’t go on not knowing where she stood with him. Or if she even had a chance of reaching him.
He needed her, she thought wistfully, remembering the loneliness she saw so often in his beautiful eyes. But could he ever admit it?
He hadn’t even told her how he really felt about her moving into an apartment. Every time she tried to discuss it with him, he went quiet and distant again. She wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want her to go. But how could she know that for certain unless he told her?
“Nicky?”
She turned at the sound of her name, and then forced a smile when she identified the speaker. Carole Cooper was Norvell McClain’s niece. Nicky had met Carole several times through the McClains, but had never been particularly fond of the other woman, whom she considered a bit of a snob.
“Hello, Carole. How are you?”
Carole tossed her long, blond hair away from her pampered, baby-doll face. “Fine, thanks. And you?”
Nicky turned away from the black nightie. “just great.”
Carole lifted an eyebrow. “What’s this I hear about you being involved with Andrew Tyler?”
“You’ve been talking to Joyce.”
“Yes. And others. Everyone’s talking about how you met Andrew at the club New Year’s Eve and moved in with him the next day.”
Nicky felt her cheeks grow warm. “It wasn’t exactly like that.”
It sounded so tawdry when Carole said it. Nicky wanted desperately to believe there was more to it. Had all the New Year’s magic been on her side?
“But you are involved with him?”
“Well—yes,” Nicky admitted. For another week, at least, she thought.
Carole shook her head in apparent amazement. “I have to admit I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought he was your type.”
Nicky lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know him?”
“Of course. We’re often at the same social functions,” Carole replied airily. “I’ve always found him rather cold and unfriendly, myself.”
Tightening her grip on her purse, Nicky fought back a surge of anger. “Have you?” she asked coolly.
“Face it, Nicky, the guy has the personality of a rock. Everyone says so. That’s why everyone thought it was so interesting that he latched on to you the way he has. It’s the first time in collective memory that Andrew’s ever done anything impetuous.”
Nicky truly hated the supercilious slant to Carole’s trill of laughter. She wondered if there was a reason the other woman was so vitriolic about Andrew. Had she once tried to catch his attention? It wouldn’t surprise Nicky. After all, Carole had been openly angling for a wealthy husband since her twenty-first birthday, five full years ago.
In unconscious echo of Nicky’s thoughts, Carole said, “He is very rich, of course, and reportedly getting richer every day with that company his daddy set him up in. I can certainly see how a woman might find that appealing—especially one who’s never had much money herself.”
Nicky’s temper bubbled closer to the surface. “I am not after Andrew’s money, Carole,” she said tightly.
Carole seemed oblivious to Nicky’s anger. “Good. To be honest, your chances of getting it are slim. He was engaged before, you know, to a friend of mine. Ashley Lindstrom. They’d known each other forever, since both came from the same social circles, and everyone thought it was a good match. But Ashley bailed out. He kept putting off the wedding date, and she said he took her totally for granted. All he could think about was his work, and he almost lived at his office. She said it was like being engaged to a robot. She’s not even sure he’s capable of really loving anyone.
“She even said,” Carole added, lowering her voice to a salacious whisper, “that he was no more fun in bed than he is out of it.”
Nicky drew herself up to her full height, her chin up, eyes narrowed. “Obviously your friend has a different idea of fun than I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several things to do this afternoon. See you around, Carole.” But not if I can help it, she added silently as she made her escape.
She hadn’t known Andrew had been engaged. Of course, having known him less than two full weeks, there were many things she didn’t know about him. Things he hadn’t allowed her to know.
Had he loved his fiancée? Had the woman finally given up on hoping he would show her? Did he see Nicole as merely a suitable replacement for his former fiancée—another soft body to warm his bed and keep him company when he had nothing better to do?
She would be no more agreeable to that than the resentful Ashley had been.
Had the woman really thought Andrew was no fun in bed, or had that been her bitterness talking? Nicole found it hard to believe Andrew’s former fiancée had found fault with his lovemaking; in that area, at least, he was surely all any woman could desire.
But had Ashley been correct when she’d said that Andrew wasn’t capable of really loving anyone? It was the only accusation Carole had made that Nicky really worried about. Probably because it was a question that was never far from her mind.
12
ANDREW WAS HAVING trouble concentrating on work again Friday afternoon, something that had been occurring with disconcerting frequency lately.
He’d been sitting at his desk all morning, trying to immerse himself in correspondence and reports. He usually liked total silence when he concentrated, so the door to his luxurious, soundproof office had remained closed. His staff rarely approached him at work unless he summoned them, or unless they had something vitally important to report to him. He’d had several hours of solitude and silence that morning. And it was driving him crazy.
It was almost enough to make a man want to keep a cat in his office. Just for the companionship.
He thought of the cat waiting for him at home. The orange stray that he’d impulsively adopted, that Nicole had named Solomon. That thought, of course, led right back to Nicole—who was really all he’d thought much about that day, anyway, despite his halfhearted efforts to concentrate on work.
She was moving out this weekend. She’d been casually bringing up her plans since she’d first mentioned finding the apartment last Friday. Each time she’d started talking about it, Andrew had either changed the subject or gone stonily silent.
He couldn’t make her stay at his house if she didn’t want to, he thought, but he had no intention of feigning enthusiasm about her new place.
He shifted restlessly in his chair, and the frame squeaked. The shrill sound practically echoed in the silence of his office. Suddenly spurred to action,
Andrew planted his hands on his desk, shoved his chair backward, and pushed himself to his feet.
He had to get out for a while. Away from the silence, away from his thoughts.
He threw open the door and went through the reception area. His secretary’s desk was unoccupied; she’d taken a late lunch. Andrew hadn’t eaten. Maybe he’d head down to the cafeteria, he decided. He ate there occasionally, though not often, since his presence seemed to intimidate the employees who lunched there.
He tried to slip in unobtrusively. He made his selections—a bowl of vegetable soup, a cornbread muffin and a fruit compote for dessert—from the deferential food servers, and then carried the tray to a small table in one corner of the room. Those diners who spotted him straightened in their seats and nodded respectful greetings. A few glanced at their watches and hastily headed back to work.
He wasn’t an ogre, Andrew thought irritably as he slid into his chair. Hardly a cruel taskmaster. He’d made it his practice to leave the daily supervision of employees to his personnel director and the individual department heads. He occasionally hired or fired within the higher echelons of the corporation, of course, and he knew more about what went on within the company than some might have thought. But he’d never flogged anyone.
Just because he wasn’t one to go around grinning or making small talk all the time, did his staff have to act as though he might bite them if they called attention to themselves?
He wouldn’t have minded engaging in a casual conversation, as the others around him were doing with their co-workers. He liked human companionship as much as the next guy, when he wasn’t trying to concentrate on a business problem. But how was he supposed to enjoy a conversation with people he intimidated so badly?
As he ate, he searched the room for one of the company executives, rather disappointed when he didn’t find any of them in the cafeteria. The executives tended to be somewhat more comfortable with Andrew, though he wouldn’t call his relationship with any of them particularly intimate.
His father and grandfather had always warned him not to get too friendly with people who worked for him, even in high levels of the corporation. Doing so, they’d told him, was asking for trouble. He might as well extend an invitation for employees to take advantage of him. Friends were to be cultivated within one’s social circle, not within the business environment.
He was beginning to question some of the advice the other Andrew Tylers had given him. Carefully following their suggestions had left Andrew without any friends to speak of. And it had taken him thirty-four years to realize it.
A sudden squeal from across the room caught his attention. He watched as a group of women, who hadn’t noticed him, suddenly leapt out of their seats and descended on the blushing, red-haired young woman who sat at the head of the table. They hugged her and patted her back, making Andrew wonder what the celebration was about.
Whatever it was, everyone certainly looked happy, he thought a bit wistfully.
“Hey, Marty!” one of the women called to a young man in another corner of the room, whom Andrew recognized as a clerk in the shipping department. “Guess what. Donna’s going to have a baby!”
From all around the cafeteria, people drifted over to the table to shower felicitations on the beaming young mother-to-be. Andrew quickly finished his lunch, torn between pride that his employees apparently maintained a pleasant and friendly working environment, and a touch of envy at their comfortable camaraderie.
He disposed of his tray and used dishes, then crossed the cafeteria. One by one, the chattering group fell silent as they watched him approach.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Tyler,” one of the older women spoke up bravely. “We were all just about to get back to work.”
He nodded, trying to keep his expression pleasant. He was aware that this lunch shift wouldn’t end for another ten minutes or so, and he didn’t want them to rush out because of him. “I couldn’t help overhearing the announcement,” he said to the wide-eyed Donna. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tyler,” she said, blushing more vividly. “My husband and I are really happy about the baby. It’s our first.”
He smiled, trying to ignore another twist of envy. “Then please convey my congratulations to your husband, as well.”
“Thank you. I will.”
He nodded and turned away.
He caught a few snatches of whispered conversation behind him....
“Wow! Did you see that? He smiled.”
“I thought he was very nice.”
“I was so scared, I nearly fainted!”
Andrew thought the latter might have come from Donna. He didn’t look back to indicate that he’d heard anything. He certainly didn’t want to be responsible for causing a pregnant woman to faint, he thought ruefully.
He headed back to his office, nodding pleasantly to those he passed along the way. Reaching his door, he steeled himself for the silence and solitude he would find inside.
It reminded him all too painfully of how quiet and lonely his home would be after Nicole moved out.
HE FOUND NICOLE in his bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the bed, twisted into an odd position as she painted her toenails a bright watermelon red. Solomon was curled at her side, carefully grooming his paws as though in imitation of her. Country music blared from the clock-radio on the nightstand. Nicole hummed along.
The utter rightness of the scene hit Andrew with an almost physical blow as he stood silently in the doorway, watching her. His fingers curled at his side.
Before he could speak, the song ended. In a rather frantic movement, Nicole snatched up the telephone. She held it to her ear for a moment, her fingers poised over the buttons, apparently listening to the D.J.’s babble. And then another song began and she sighed and replaced the receiver without dialing.
Andrew frowned. “What was that all about?”
With a gasp, Nicole jerked around to face him. The cat meowed in startled reaction to her movement.
Nicole gave a breathless laugh. “Andrew! You startled me. I wasn’t expecting you yet.”
“I managed to get away early today.”
“Really? Good for you,” she said approvingly, setting the tiny bottle of nail polish aside. It didn’t seem to bother her that she’d painted only eight nails. She climbed off the bed and padded over to kiss him. “Hi.”
He restrained himself to a light kiss in return, though he was tempted to throw her on the bed and let her know just how deeply it had affected him to come home and find her there. “Hi, yourself.”
“Solomon and I are trying to win a contest,” she explained, waving a hand toward the radio. “Sometime in the next hour they’re going to play the sound of a foghorn at the end of a song. The tenth caller afterward wins a thousand dollars.”
“I see.”
“Do you mind if I finish my nails? I only have two left,” she said, balancing on one bare foot as she held the unfinished one in the air for him to see.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
She settled back onto the bed with the nail polish. He took the chair, pulling it closer to her. Solomon leapt into his lap and presented his head for a welcome-home rub. Andrew absently stroked the cat, hearing its rumble of approval as he suddenly, sinkingly, noticed the partially filled suitcase sitting in one corner of his bedroom.
He cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone chokingly tight. “I see you’ve started packing already. So you must have got the apartment you were looking at.”
Concentrating on her painting, she nodded absently. “Mmm. Yes, I did. It’s really cute. I think you’ll approve.” When Andrew didn’t comment, she continued. “I’ll take these things over early in the morning so I’ll have part of the afternoon to retrieve some of my other belongings from storage. I’d like to get somewhat settled in before I go to work tomorrow evening.”
“I had planned to go to my office in the morning, but if you need me to help you move, I can change my schedule,” he offered re
luctantly. He’d rather cut out his tongue than help her move out of his house, but he felt obligated to at least go through the motions of offering assistance. He wished she didn’t look so damned pleased about her new home.
She could at least pretend to be sorry to leave him.
“About your new apartment...”
“You do want to check it out, don’t you?” she asked with a smile. “I assure you it’s in a perfectly safe neighborhood and has a security guard and everything.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I—”
“I want you to be my first dinner guest. I’m a lousy cook, but I grill a pretty decent steak and anybody can make a salad. Will you come?”
He tried to be pleased that she still wanted to see him after she moved out. They weren’t splitting up, he reminded himself. She was simply moving into her own place. Claiming her space. They could still date. Have dinner. Spend the occasional night together. Maybe she’d give him a key to her apartment.
He touched a hand to his stomach, wondering vaguely if something he’d eaten at lunch had disagreed with him. He was suddenly feeling rather nauseous.
Apparently bemused by his silence, she cocked her head and frowned comically at him. “You don’t think I can handle a steak and salad? You think I’m going to poison you or something?”
He sighed. She was being very difficult to talk to this afternoon. “Of course not. What I want to say is—”
“Hang on.” Nicole snatched up the telephone and waited breathlessly as the last twangy notes of the song ended.
And then she sighed and recradled the receiver when another song immediately began. “No foghorn. Now, what were you saying?”
“How much do you like the apartment?” he blurted.
She considered the question a moment, then shrugged. “It’s nice,” she conceded, capping the polish. “Hardly luxurious, but better than some places I’ve stayed. If Mom comes to stay with me for a while, I’ll have to sleep on the couch, but it won’t be the first time for that, either. But, for the money, it’s not a bad apartment, and it’s furnished, which is another plus. Why do you ask?”