A Murderous Game

by Paris Patricia

  ~~~

  She'd be prompt. Based on his mental profile, Abigail Carpenter was conscientious, reserved, and bright. Her manner and self-possession demonstrated a maturity well beyond her years.

  She was also strikingly beautiful, he noted objectively, as he watched the hostess lead her to the table where Gage waited at the back of the restaurant. And, he thought with some amazement, completely unaware of the male heads turning for another look as she crossed the room.

  He stood up as she drew near. She wore her hair in the same sophisticated French twist she had yesterday. Maybe it was her signature.

  "I'm not late, am I?" She closed the distance to their table.

  "No. I was a few minutes early." Coming around to her chair, he held it until she sat down then returned to his own.

  While they waited for their server, Gage was struck again by the pure, deep green of her eyes. They were the color of emeralds. Ever since their meeting he'd been picturing them in his mind. And each time he did, he got the same feeling he had then—he knew her from somewhere.

  For the next hour she answered his questions with refreshing candor. By the time they finished their meals, he had decided she had the smarts and creativity he wanted for Riv One.

  He folded his napkin and set it on the table. "I think it's only fair to warn you I can be difficult to work with." As busy as he was, he didn't have time to coddle anyone. "I'll expect complete loyalty. I'll push hard, even when we're on target. I guarantee there will be days you won't like me. Others when you may want to wrap me in chains and drop me to the bottom of the Delaware." He paused when she laughed and was surprised he hadn't noticed sooner that she had dimples.

  "And I want to subject myself to all this because?" She regarded him with an amused, somewhat mischievous twinkle in her eyes—another surprise.

  Gage grinned. Abigail Carpenter had a bit of an imp lurking beneath the surface of the polished professional. He didn't mind; he enjoyed a sense of humor. It would make working with her more pleasant.

  "Riv One will change the face of the waterfront. It's a marketer's dream, and I think you'll do a hell of a job."

  "You're right, this is a dream account. Even if you can't come up with a single other positive to tempt me than that, I'd be a fool not to jump at the chance." Her smile broadened, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "You're right about something else," she said, her eyes still dancing. "I will do a hell of a job."

  Something stirred in his gut. "I'll always be straight with you," he said, not understanding why but wanting very much to give her that extra positive.

  She lifted her glass of water and held it toward him. "Then I think we should get along fine."

  He considered her a moment—the porcelain cheeks, sparkling eyes, full tempting lips. She was classically, delicately beautiful. It was too bad she was off limits.

  "I'll be in meetings the rest of the day, so I'll call Norwell tomorrow to tell him we've got a deal."

  "It might be better if you didn't mention this lunch meeting." She fidgeted with her napkin. "He might not understand why I didn't tell him about it this morning."

  "I'll handle it." He cocked his head. "How good are you at acting surprised?"

  "I think I can manage it." She folded her hands in her lap. "Thank you."

  It took a moment before Gage realized he was staring again. He looked away quickly, checking his watch.

  "I'd like to get started as soon as possible. If you could come to my office tomorrow evening, I can show you the architectural plans and bring you up to speed."

  She nodded.

  "Good. I'll have my secretary call you with a time." Gage leaned back, satisfied with his decision. Their server dropped off the check, and Abby picked it up.

  "Lunch is on me." Her smile was back, lighting up her face.

  He sat forward and reached out, catching a corner of the ticket between his fingers. "I don't think so."

  She pulled back, a gentle tug of war for the check ensuing. "I insist. And I can write it off."

  "Sorry," Gage told her. "I asked you. So it's I who insist."

  She inclined her head, gazing across the table at him through half lowered lashes. "I have a feeling if I don't relent, this will turn into one of those difficult times you were just warning me about."

  He slid the piece of paper from her fingers. "See how fast you learn? I knew I was making the right choice."

  Walking through the restaurant a few minutes later, Gage laid a hand against the small of her back to guide her out. He performed the gesture out of habit, one he normally wouldn't even think about. So why did it suddenly feel intimate when it never had before? Why was he so aware of the gentle curve of her waist? How was it possible to feel the warmth of her skin through her fitted jacket? Uncomfortable, he removed his hand.

  When they got to the door, he reached above her head to hold it open. She glanced over her shoulder. "Thanks," she said simply, and smiled up at him.

  A jolt of desire caught him off guard. It both excited and disturbed him. His schedule over the last several months had allowed very little time for female companionship. He hadn't realized until that moment just how much he'd ignored his physical needs.

  Maybe he should reconsider Shelly's invitation to spend next weekend at her father's vacation house in Newport. He discarded the idea as quickly as he thought of it. It wouldn't be fair to lead her on, not when he knew she wanted more than he could honestly give her.

  It would be better to spend a night or two with a discreet woman. One who would enjoy what he could give without being hurt when it came time to say goodbye. Now that he understood his response to Carpenter was nothing more than an overextended abstinence, he'd take care of the problem, and it wouldn't be an issue.

  "You know," he said, relieved he'd settled that concern, "I keep having this sensation we've met before. You remind me of someone, but I haven't been able to place who."

  "A lot of people tell me that." She gave a slight laugh and then walked out onto the busy sidewalk in front of him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She'd been worried for nothing. Even after meeting one on one Gage had no clue to her identity. Yeah, there had been that moment when they left the restaurant, but it passed without incident. She was confident he'd chalked it up to coincidence.

  Abby crawled into bed and reached for the extra pillow, hugging it to her. Had she only imagined those fleeting moments when he'd seemed to look at her the way a man looks at a woman, not a business associate? Sighing, she turned onto her back and let her mind spin with the twirling paddles of the ceiling fan above. It didn't matter. She'd never get involved with a client. Even if she would consider it, which she wouldn't, it could only lead to disappointment.

  She was honest about the qualities she possessed and those she lacked. Like passion. You either had it or you didn't. And if you didn't, then best to focus on something you did.

  It didn't bother her. Okay, so maybe it bothered her a little. Who didn't want rockets at least once in their life? Her fuse just always seemed to fizzle before the big bang. In one of his meaner moments, Dick told her lawyer that Abby was frigid. Maybe she was.

  Throwing back the covers, she slid out of bed. There was more to life than bing, bang, boom. In ten years she'd be running a top marketing firm. There wasn't anything she wanted more, except maybe her divorce at the moment.

  She went into the living room, feeling her way in the dark. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well do something productive. Flicking on the light, she picked up the file on GFI from the top of the trunk, and tucking her feet under her legs, settled into the club chair. She started reading the first of several articles she had collected on Gage over the last week.

  When the clock on the mantle chimed five times, Abby looked up in disbelief. How could she possibly have worked so long? Even if she went right to bed and managed to fall asleep immediately, her alarm was set to go off in an hour. She groaned out loud. She was going to be a
zombie by noon.

  ~~~

  Gage's secretary called at ten in the morning.

  "Mr. Faraday wants to know if you can make it a dinner meeting since he won't have time to eat otherwise."

  "Whatever works best. Should I still meet him at his office?"

  "Yes, around six, if that works. I'll be ordering something in. Do you have any food preferences?"

  "Six is fine, and I'm not too picky about food, as long as it isn't still breathing and doesn't have eyes," Abby said.

  Grace laughed. "I think I can work around that. We're on the forty-eighth floor of the

  Heritage Place building on Chestnut." "Is that the one with the lighted waterfall in the lobby?"

  "That's right. The guard will have your name and will buzz you through security."

  Abby managed to stay coherent most of the morning, but by midafternoon she thought she'd need toothpicks to hold her eyes open. She couldn't remember ever feeling so exhausted. She needed coffee. Pushing up from her desk, she got her mug and walked to the employee lounge.

  Why hadn't she worn one of her business suits? She looked down at her soft, buttery cream silk dress. Rach had once told her it made her look hot. Abby frowned. That wasn't why she'd worn it. She hadn't even remembered the comment until just now. She didn't know how to be hot. Hot was Rach's style. And Rach was hot without trying.

  "Damn!" Abby jerked her hand back. Scalding coffee spilled over the sides of her cup, spreading across the counter and dripping onto the floor. She grabbed for the roll of paper towels next to the sink, but knocked it over and sent it unraveling across the room. Cursing again, she scooped it up, reeling in the loose sheets. She heard a burst of laughter from the doorway and glanced up through narrowed eyes.

  "If you had an ounce of decency, you'd help me instead of standing there in mocking hilarity." Ignoring her hand, she tore several towels from the jumbled mess and began mopping up the counter.

  Billings sauntered into the room. "Do I detect a note of anger from the unflappable Miz Carpenter?"

  Abby glared over at him. "I'll bet you pinch babies for the fun of it."

  "My, my! I didn't realize I could provoke such emotion in you so easily. It makes me wonder what else I can fire up."

  She dropped the wet towels into the wastebasket then turned and looked him in the eyes. "Oh, you make me feel a lot of things, Harold." Picking up her mug, she wrapped her free arm around her waist. "Disgust, nausea, revulsion, yes, definitely revulsion. If you'd like to hear the unpleasant ones, it'll take a little longer. Unfortunately, I don't have that much time right now."

  She made for the door, barely able to stomach being around him. Was it her, or did the guy get creepier by the day?

  "Did you wear that dress for me, Abigail, or do you have a hot date tonight? Why don't you stop by my apartment first, and I'll give you a few tips before—"

  She spun back, her temper high. "For a smart man you can be pretty stupid. I could report you for harassment."

  He slid his eyes over her body with such blatant insult she wanted to throw her coffee in his face. "Go ahead and try. Who do you think Norwell would believe?" He grinned with sickening confidence.

  "Don't push me." Abby warned, and then stormed out of the room, angry at him, and furious at herself for losing her cool. He was right though. What proof could she offer? And Norwell wouldn't want to believe her claim because then he'd have to do something about it.

  She clenched her jaw. She was fast on the way to becoming a serial killer.

  ~~~

  That evening, Abby took three steps into the large corner office and stopped. Two walls were made entirely of glass. On one side of the room, a deep chocolate leather couch and four matching chairs were situated around a rectangular mahogany coffee table. Above that, a modern chandelier, shaped like sparkling glass lightning bolts, shot prisms of color streaking across the ceiling and black marble floor.

  Her gaze swept to the other side of the room where a large conference table dominated the space. In the far corner was an ornately carved bar. A massive mahogany desk, flanked by two leather armchairs, stood squarely centered in front of the floor to ceiling windows. It was richly elegant. It screamed masculine. It reflected him to perfection.

  Abby turned to look at Gage who stood with his hands in his pockets, silently watching her. "My compliments to your decorator."

  "Thank you." He extended a hand toward the sitting area, where several white cardboard containers awaited them on the coffee table. "Shall we?"

  "I didn't expect anything this luxurious, considering you won't be here that long."

  "I'll be here enough over the next two years. I'd like to be comfortable when I am." He sat in one of the chairs and started opening cartons.

  "And then what?" Abby sat on the couch across from him.

  "That depends." He held up one of the cartons. "Vegetable lo mien?" She nodded and he lifted some onto a plate. "We've been thinking of opening another east coast location, in which case we'd just stay here. Fried rice?"

  "Yes, please." She surveyed the room again. "As lovely as it is, would it be big enough for a permanent location?"

  "The two floors below this one are empty. That would serve us for a while. And if we need more—" He handed her a plate and some chopsticks. "There are forty-five below that."

  Abby's mouth dropped. "Are you saying you own the entire building?"

  "The corporation does. We inherited it in an acquisition a couple of years ago." He took a bite of rice. "I hope you don't mind the takeout. I knew there wouldn't be time to eat before our meeting, and I've been told I get grouchy when I don't eat. Grace said she mentioned it."

  "Yes. Well, the food, not the grouchy part. I don't mind. It saves me a stop on the way home." Abby balanced the plate on her knees as she ate. She shouldn't be surprised his company owned a high-rise in center city. She knew GFI was highly diversified. One of the articles she read about Gage claimed he owned a seventy-five foot luxury yacht and a couple of company jets. It had also compared him to a machine—shrewd, calculating, relentless in pursuit of a goal, and lacking emotion.

  Gage opened another carton and took out two egg rolls, offering her one. "I'm curious. What made you go into marketing?"

  Abby swallowed a mouthful of lo mien and held up a hand to pass on the egg roll. "Umm." She wiped her mouth with one of the white paper napkins on her lap. "It seemed like the perfect career for someone with an overactive imagination. When I was a kid, my mother referred to it as a gift for exaggeration. She used to say I could exaggerate Monday into a month."

  "And did you," he asked, "exaggerate everything?"

  She shook her head. "No. Well maybe a little, but mostly I think I just notice things other people miss. And sometimes I'll visualize things that aren't there but should be. That's imagination, not exaggeration. Or I'll suppose something being there that shouldn't be and how it would change everything else if it were." She stopped herself when he smiled. "I guess that doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

  "Oddly enough, it does. Most people only focus on what's right before their eyes. They miss what's under the rocks, or up in the tree, or behind the door. They don't think about what might be in the shadows because they only see the shadow, not the possibilities beyond." He lowered his voice. "Hidden treasure, a secret garden, a child abductor."

  Abby shivered.

  "Sorry," he said with a twitch of his lips. "The abductor was a little over the top."

  "Perhaps, but it's a great example of how imagery can be used to get across a message. I was already peering into the shadows when you said child abductor, and I wanted to jump back. I had this horrible image of little children playing in a park while a dark shadow crept closer and closer until it crossed over them and when it passed off, the children were all gone. It would make for an effective if disturbing awareness campaign."

  "Okay, let's not use any shadows in the Riv One ads."

  "Deal," she agreed. "Anyway, I've a
lways had a talent for imagining things. What better field for someone like me?"

  "Indeed." His eyes seemed warm, with a hint of amusement.

  When they were done eating, Gage cleared away the remnants of their dinner and rolled out a set of blueprints. He began interpreting the drawings, and Abby leaned in closer to have a better look.

  "Luxury condos, upscale shops, even a center square.

  River Place One will be a miniature town in itself," she said, impressed with what she'd seen so far. "Right. And here—" He drew a circle around a tall structure with his index finger. "This will be a high rise luxury hotel. The top floor will house a five-star restaurant with a domed glass ceiling."

  Abby leaned further forward, elbows on her knees, and propped her chin in her hands. "Have you thought of putting in a revolving floor? Diners would get incredible views of the city at night…the river, too. It would be lovely, and a unique feature in a town that already has so many wonderful restaurants."

  "I hadn't thought of that." He leaned back, rubbing his chin. "I like the idea. And you're right. Always look for a way to stand out from the pack. I knew you'd have good vision."

  It was the compliment, she reasoned, not the warm glow in his eyes, making her pulse race. Gage cleared his throat and looked back to the blueprints. For the next half hour he told her what the rest of the drawings represented, peppering the explanation with bits of his vision.

  She couldn't tear her eyes from Gage's face as he talked. She loved the way he tugged at his lower lip when he seemed to consider something. He had a great mouth. And Lord, she could get lost in those pools of smoky gray even with a GPS.

  "What are you thinking?"

  Abby flinched, caught daydreaming. "Nothing, I—" She smoothed her dress over her thighs. What had he been saying?