by Francis Ray
“I’m flying back to Paris tomorrow to work with René on the new D line. Buyers are already asking about what’s in store,” she said. “The marketing firm we hire can rev up a campaign to create a buzz.”
“We,” he said, straightening. “I wasn’t aware that you owned any stock in Harrington House.”
Dianne flushed, but she held her head up. “I’m a Harrington.”
“You have traded on that long enough.” He slid the binder away from him as if distasteful.
Hurt, incensed, Dianne jerked up in her seat. “How dare you.”
“Dramatics,” he scoffed. “You might have the name, but you’re just a paid employee. An overpaid one in my opinion.”
She jerked her head to her parents. Surely they’d say something to defend her. She’d worked for the past fourteen years helping to build the company, living out of suitcases, having few friends.
Nothing. They wouldn’t even look at her.
“You’re just another woman who thinks she can trade on her looks forever.” Boswell, his eyes hard, leaned back in his seat. “No more.”
Her gaze snapped to him. “What?”
“As of this moment, you’re fired.”
For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She felt the room swirl and gripped the arms of the chair she sat in. “What?”
“Harrington doesn’t need you. I’ve hired a new ‘face.’ One who is ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter,” he scoffed. “Just look at you. No wonder sales aren’t climbing.”
She winced and finally found her voice. “You—you can’t. Mother and Father have controlling interest in the company. Tell him. Mother. Father.”
Their silence and refusal to meet her gaze sliced through her like a blade.
“Paulette.”
The woman sitting next to him rose, placed an envelope in front of her, and returned to her seat.
“Your formal termination letter. Please leave your company cell phone, credit card, and penthouse key.”
Dianne leaned back in her chair.
“Leave everything on the table. You’ll find your clothes packed and ready for you,” Boswell said. “I want you out within the hour.”
Dianne rose on trembling legs. This couldn’t be happening to her. “My money. You owe me.”
“Harrington House owes you nothing. Your last check, a severance check, was used to pay a company for packing your things here and in Paris,” he said with entirely too much satisfaction. “If you want those things you’ll have to pay to ship them, but I’d do it quickly. I understand there was only enough money to pay for a month’s storage. Your things here will be waiting for you.”
They’d taken everything. She took a halting step.
“Credit card, cell phone, and penthouse key,” Boswell repeated. “I wouldn’t want to have to call security to obtain them, but I will.”
Opening her purse, she removed her cell phone, credit card, and penthouse key and placed them by the letter. Gripping her handbag with both hands, she turned to go.
“Your departure is truly best for the company,” he continued. “Your parents certainly see it that way.”
Keep walking, she told herself. Leave with some dignity. But she found herself turning to her parents. “Please,” she begged, unable to keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t do this to me.”
“It’s best for the company,” her father mumbled, barely glancing at her.
“What about what’s best for me?” she hurled.
Annoyance flickered in her mother’s eyes. “Don’t make a scene, Dianne. You weren’t at the company penthouse last night, so you have options.”
Make a scene. Options. Dianne stared in disbelief at her parents. No, not parents. The people who had conceived her. Her gaze moved to the CEO who had just ruined her life and tossed her on the street, and the impassive woman, his secretary, by his side. She’d known Dianne was being fired and strung her along with empty promises. Without the apartment and with no credit card to check into a hotel, she was homeless.
She had nothing and no one.
And none of them in the room gave a damn. Lifting her head, she left without a backward glance and absolutely no idea what to do or where to go.
* * *
Alex was worried. Sitting at his desk in his office, he tried to concentrate on the contract in front of him, but it was difficult. He’d always been concerned that Dianne didn’t have a contract, and that concern grew after the death of her grandfather. Knowing that she hadn’t been paid increased his worry.
Dianne might think her parents’ controlling interest gave her leverage, but he knew it didn’t. They’d sell her out at the first opportunity. The new CEO was reputed to be a hard-ass. His focus was bottom line, not people. If he thought Dianne expendable—
“The contract can’t be that bad,” Summer said.
Alex’s head lifted. He stared across the desk at her. “It’s not.”
“Then why did you look as if you wanted to rip someone apart?” she questioned.
Summer and Dianne were becoming friends, but he was sure she didn’t want anyone to know how uncaring and heartless her parents were. “Thinking about another situation.” He stood. “Looks good. You and the chef both preserve your rights.”
Summer crossed her long legs and remained seated. “You usually ask if I have any questions.”
“Sorry. You have any questions?” He glanced at his watch.
“I’d ask the reason your mind is elsewhere, but I don’t think I’d get a straight answer.” She came gracefully to her feet. “I like Dianne. You two didn’t have a fight, did you?”
“I’m glad, and we haven’t had a fight.”
Summer studied him for a long moment. “Well, something has you wound tighter than a cheap watch.”
He met her gaze levelly.
“All right. If you had loose lips, you wouldn’t be so successful. I’ll get out of your way.”
“See you later, Summer.” Rounding the desk, he walked her to the door. “If his lawyer has any questions, he can call me.”
She paused at the door. “I hope whatever is bothering you works out for you.”
“Thanks.” He closed the door as soon as she walked through, went to his desk and dialed, then frowned. The last time he’d called Dianne’s cell phone his message had gone into voice mail. This time the automated message said the number had been disconnected. He couldn’t shake the worry that something was terribly wrong.
He glanced at his watch again, then his schedule. Her meeting should be over by now. His next appointment wasn’t until one—more than enough time to swing by Dianne’s apartment and check on her.
* * *
Fighting tears, Dianne hailed a taxi. As soon as she gave the man her address, misery hit her even deeper. That was no longer where she lived. She’d been alone before, but she’d never felt this hopeless or worthless.
Fired, and her parents hadn’t said one word in her defense. They valued money more than they did their own daughter. She should have remembered that. Trembling hands clutched the handbag in her lap. Where would she go? What would she do?
She felt tears slide down her cheek and angrily brushed them away. Crying would solve nothing. She just wished she knew what would.
“Eighteen dollars and seventy-six cents. Lady.”
The impatient way the cabdriver said lady told her that probably wasn’t the first time he’d asked for the fare.
Embarrassed, she fumbled to open her purse and wallet. Fear and foreboding streaked through her. There was a ten, a twenty, and a few ones. She’d planned to take the check today directly to the bank.
Your last paycheck was used to hire someone to clean out your place here and in Paris. Tears clogged her throat.
“Lady,” the driver said, impatience in his voice as he glared at her.
She handed him the twenty and got out. She’d taken two steps before she realized that Mel the doorman hadn’t opened the cab door for he
r. Even now he was ignoring her. She thought they were friends. Apparently his loyalties lay with the one paying the rent. Her head lifted.
“Hello, Mel.”
He finally looked at her, or rather over her left shoulder. “Was there something you wanted?”
Her life back the way it had been. That wasn’t going to happen. “No.” Struggling to remain upright and not dissolve into a puddle of misery and tears, she walked past him and into the lobby. To one side was a mountain of designer luggage that she’d dragged across the country. She’d always been a bit proud of her matching pieces and the envious stares she’d received. She wasn’t prideful now.
“Ms. Harrington, would you like a cab?”
Dianne whirled to see the concierge, James Henderson. His gaze was direct and impersonal, as it had always been. He wasn’t just being helpful. He knew.
She thought of the twelve-odd dollars in her purse. “I…” She faltered.
James lifted his hand, and the doorman came rushing back inside. “Call Ms. Harrington a cab and see that she is loaded up.”
He was tossing her out. They didn’t care. What did she expect when her own parents never had? She should have remembered that she wasn’t lovable.
“Good-bye, Ms. Harrington,” James said, and started toward his desk on the other side of the room. She wanted to shout at him for being so smug and heartless.
“Dianne.”
Her heart clutched. No, please no. Alex seeing her tossed out like an old shoe would be the ultimate embarrassment.
A warm, tender arm circled her waist. Gentle lips brushed across her hair. She wanted to sway against him, be safe in his arms. Then the shame hit her again. She straightened away from him, sucked up her tears, and turned. She wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.
Alex wanted to pull her back into his arms, but for some reason he hesitated. He felt her withdraw from him and racked his brain for the reason. This morning she had been loving and all the woman he would ever need. Now she looked—fragile, lost.
She brushed her hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here?”
No kiss. No smile that brightened his world. “I couldn’t get you on the cell, then when I called back it was disconnected.”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile. “Crank calls. I had the service disconnected.”
“You didn’t mention them before.” He frowned, studied her closer. Were her eyelids a bit puffy? “I don’t recall you receiving a lot of calls.”
Her eyes blinked as if she were fighting tears. Then he wanted to kick himself. She had few friends. “Honey.”
She evaded his touch and stepped back. Swallowed again. “My plans have changed. I was on my way to the airport.” She glanced at the pile of luggage behind her. “My assistant got a bit carried away.”
Alex looked from the luggage to her. She was upset and trying to hide it. “What happened in the meeting?”
She bit her lip, her smile faltering.
“Mr. Boswell. Welcome. The penthouse is ready for you and Ms. Easley to inspect.”
Alex glanced behind him to see a middle-aged man with a thin woman no more than twenty hanging on his arm. Alex recognized the man immediately. The new head of Harrington.
As they started past them, the man stopped and stared at Dianne. “Glad to see you’re being sensible,” he said.
“The decorator is waiting as you instructed, Mr. Boswell. I’ll personally take you up,” the man who had greeted Boswell said, extending his arm toward the elevator.
It clicked for Alex. They were talking about Dianne’s place. The prick had fired her and put her out of her home. Alex wanted to go after the bastard, but Dianne seemed ready to shatter. He wanted to berate her for not calling him, but the vulnerability in her face—in her bleak eyes that had held so much laughter hours ago—wouldn’t let him.
Instead he pulled a card from the inside of his coat pocket and wrote down his address. He motioned to a nearby security guard.
“If Ms. Harrington has any other belongings, please send them here.” He gave the man a hundred. “I’d like that done today.”
The money quickly disappeared into the man’s pocket. “Certainly, sir. Anything else?”
“Two cabs should be enough for her luggage.” He turned to Dianne as the man headed for the front. Alex gently took Dianne’s arm, felt her tremble. “I’m here.”
She didn’t say anything. He had expected as much. Aware of her past, he knew she probably felt embarrassed, a failure. She wouldn’t see it as a hard-nosed, unfeeling business decision delivered in the worst possible way by a man who only cared about the bottom line.
Outside, he helped her into a cab and took her cold hand in his. He wanted to hold her, but if he did he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t break down completely. Somehow he knew she didn’t want to do that in front of him.
So he held her hand, stroked the back with his thumb, and contemplated planting his fist in the face of the bastard who’d fired her, getting her parents on the D list for not backing their own daughter. All of that had to wait. Now his only concern was Dianne.
* * *
During the cab ride to his apartment, she didn’t say one word or look at him. He ached for her and grew angrier by the second. “We’re here, honey.” He paid the driver, then helped her out. She refused to look at him and kept her head down, a sign of defeat and helplessness.
“Hello, Mr. Stewart,” the doorman greeted, picking up as much luggage as he could.
“Thanks, Grant. Please see that the luggage is sent directly up. More is probably coming. You can put it in my personal storage for now,” he told the man.
“Yes, sir.”
In the elevator, Alex couldn’t resist putting his arms around her. He wanted to tell her it would be all right. He realized that in her mind it would never be. “I’m here and I’m not going anyplace.”
In his apartment, he steered her to the guest bedroom. He wanted her with him, but sensed her need to deal with the loss of her job alone. He opened the door and urged her toward the bed. “I’ll put your luggage outside the door so it will be there when you need it. I’ll work from home today so I’ll be here if you need anything.” Kissing her softly on the cheek, he closed the door.
He cursed all the way to his home office. He snatched up the phone and dialed his brother-in-law’s office number.
“Man Hunters.”
“Now I know how you felt when that man hurt Catherine.”
“What happened, and how can we help Dianne?” came Luke’s sharp response.
“She was fired without warning. She thought she was going to Paris tomorrow to work on a new line. Her luggage was packed and waiting for her when she got back to her apartment. The bastards couldn’t have humiliated or embarrassed her more.”
Air hissed though Luke’s teeth. “You could beat the bastard to a bloody pulp, but it wouldn’t change how she must be feeling now.”
Alone. Miserable. Worthless. “Like I told Dad when that no-good jerk walked away from Catherine, it would make me feel better.”
“If I ever see him, I’ll give him a kiss from you.”
Luke’s voice was deadly quiet. Catherine’s ex-fiancé had better hope he never crossed Luke’s path. Hurt my woman and watch your back forever. Too restless to sit, Alex paced. “Find out what you can on Theo Boswell. I figure a man who is as cold and as heartless as he is has made a lot of enemies, enemies who might be itching to get back at him.”
“I’m on it. You call Cath yet?”
“My next call.”
“Understood.”
He needed to set the wheels in motion to avenge the woman he loved and to calm down. “Let me know what you find out.”
“I will. She might not want to hear it, but tell her we’re here for her.”
The more friends she had, the better. “I’ll tell her.” Disconnecting, he was about to call Catherine when there was a knock on the door. Answering, he instructed the
man to put the luggage by the guest bedroom’s door, waited, and then tipped him on the way out.
Alex knocked on the door. “Your luggage is here. I’ll be in my office.” Sure she wouldn’t answer, he went to his office and called Catherine’s cell.
Chapter 9
“Hi, big brother. This is an unexpected surprise.”
“It’s about Dianne.” Perched on the corner of his desk, phone in hand, he told his sister everything. Catherine was as incensed and as angry as he’d known she would be. “This is the worst thing that could have happened to her.”
“I know.” Pushing away from the desk, he walked out onto the balcony. “She looks lost. I want to make this better for her and feel helpless that I can’t.”
“It’s natural and normal,” Catherine told him. “She’ll have to work through this by herself. All you can do is be there for her.”
“She’s in the guest bedroom,” he said, trying not to squirm.
“I’m proud of you. She needs time alone to process, to mourn, to be angry. It won’t be easy to give her that time.”
“I’m trying, but I want to—”
“Hold her, reassure her, kiss her.”
He should have known he couldn’t hide his feelings for Dianne from Catherine. “That about sums it up.”
“Just be patient with her, as you’ve always been.”
“Yeah.”
“And Alex…”
“What else?”
“Knowing you and men in general, you probably haven’t told her you love her.”
He plopped down on a cushioned chair on the terrace and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s that obvious?”
“To me it is, because I love both of you. She’s not ready to hear it now.”
He came to his feet. That was just what he’d planned for later on that evening. “Catherine, I know you’re the psychologist, but she needs to know someone cares.”
“She’s not ready. She’ll think you feel sorry for her, that you’re trying to bail her out again, save her,” Catherine told him. “She’ll resist. You’ve waited this long; a little while longer won’t matter.”