Rules of Negotiation

by Inara Scott

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and pushed her hair back from her face. What an idiot. She knew there was something going on the very first time he invited her to dinner. She knew she couldn’t trust him. One look at that absurdly beautiful body and take-your-breath-away smile and she had known the truth. Brit was a walking lie.

  Sure, he could get it up for her. But what did that prove? A man could get it up for a sheep.

  Hot waves of shame forced her eyes closed. It would be a long time before she could forget her own willingness to be persuaded. When he kissed her, even after she knew the truth, she had been ready to melt into his arms. For the first time, Tori understood her mother’s insistence that she stay away from charming men. Nothing could be worse than this feeling of helplessness in the face of a man’s duplicity.

  The truth was, if she hadn’t figured out about Melissa, she would have been in serious danger of falling for him. For all her brave words about keeping the weekend light and emotion-free, in two short days he had swept past her carefully constructed barriers and left her vulnerable to the sort of pain she’d been working all her life to avoid.

  Images of his strong hands, the way he touched her back when they walked, and the dark light of passion in his eyes flashed before her like scenes from a movie. A shiver passed down her spine and she opened her eyes immediately.

  Ruthlessly, she quashed the hurt, the shame and helplessness, and focused instead on Brit’s accusation that she had treated him as nothing more than a warm body.

  That’s right, you bastard, she thought fiercely. This meant nothing to me. Nothing at all.

  So she had gotten what she wanted, and learned a lesson at the same time. A lesson she wouldn’t forget for a long, long time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Betsy, have you heard from Karl yet?” Tori stuck her head into the hallway and called to her assistant, who was pulling a stack of papers from the printer.

  “Yeah, he arrived an hour ago and I forgot to tell you,” Betsy sniped, as she trotted the rest of the way back to her desk and started sorting through the papers. She handed two documents to Tori and set down the rest in a stack by her desk. “Here’s your Monday morning treat—the report from the diligence team. They’ve got two employee complaints we need to investigate, a couple of litigation matters, and there’s some problems with the stock options.”

  “What?” Tori grabbed the papers and frowned. “Damn it, I thought our folks had already looked at that.”

  “I guess they looked again. Oh, and Brit called.”

  Tori tightened her mouth and did not look up. “I told you I’m not interested in talking to him.”

  “You’re taking the whole ‘he lied to me’ thing a bit far, aren’t you?” Betsy asked. “He obviously feels terrible about it. Why not punish him in person? Let him do his penance. I can think of lots of ways for a man like that to do penance.”

  Tori shook her head. “I don’t need more people in my life whom I can’t trust.”

  “You only care because you were falling for him,” Betsy threw out as Tori turned around and headed back into her office.

  “I’m not talking about this.”

  “You can’t keep running away from life, Tori.” Betsy followed a few paces behind.

  “Who are you, Dr. Phil?” Tori slammed into her chair and threw the papers on the desk in front of her.

  “You don’t need Dr. Phil to know that there’s something weird going on when an intelligent, beautiful woman like you buries herself in her work, dates guys with the personality of a wet noodle, and refuses to talk to the first decent guy she’s slept with in years, even after he calls five times in two weeks.”

  Tori tried to screw her face into something intimidating. “Four times, and we aren’t discussing it. Now about these employee complaints—”

  “He said he’s going to stop calling. He’s getting ready for a trip. To Scotland.”

  Tori tried not to visibly react. Brit was going to Scotland? Was he finally taking the trip he’d always dreamed about? “Why don’t you date him?” she said. “You’re obviously very close.”

  Betsy pressed a dramatic hand against her forehead. “For The Slayer, I’d leave Jimmy and the kids and head to Scotland before you could say, ‘A canna sell the cou an sup the milk.’”

  Tori snorted, unable to restrain a smile. “What in the world does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it was Scottish for ‘you can’t have it all.’”

  “You’ve been memorizing Scottish phrases?”

  “I thought Brit would appreciate it.”

  “You,” Tori drawled, “are pathetic.”

  “I do it all for you,” Betsy replied. “We’ve gotten quite close, you know. He may be The Slayer, but I think he’s actually a very sweet man.”

  “Brit is not sweet. He’s a rat. A miserable, lying rat.”

  “He messed up and he’s sorry, Tori. Can’t you give him a break?”

  Tori pictured herself punching Brit right in the middle of his crooked nose. “I’d love to give him a break. Just not the kind you’re suggesting.”

  “I think he wants you to go to Scotland with him. He mentioned the trip to me in passing, but he obviously wants you to know about it.”

  “Brit and I are done. If he’s calling, it’s because he’s a bigger liar than I thought, or he’s got a guilty conscience. Either way, I want nothing to do with him.”

  “That is the biggest load of bull I have ever heard,” Betsy pronounced. “And I work at a law firm. I’ve heard a lot of bull.”

  Tori tucked a relatively calm, controlled ringlet behind one ear. She’d been trying a new hair product lately: it combined horsetail and some tree nut grown only on a remote mountain in Brazil. The stuff cost its weight in gold, but it kept Tori’s curls from frizzing, so she paid the price gratefully.

  She had to hand that to Brit. Even though he had practically ripped out her heart and stomped on it with his beautiful Italian loafers, he had given her something. She didn’t know how to describe it, but she felt earthier, more sensual since she’d been with him. Like her body was still blooming, even two weeks later, from the warmth of his sexual attention. Days after she returned from New York she began finding herself in the beauty aisle of her local market, studying lotions, hair gels, and makeup with more attention than she’d given them for years.

  “Can we not talk about this right now? I have work to do.” Tori picked up the papers and shook them in front of Betsy’s face.

  Betsy nodded. “I know. You’re scared. You’ve finally found a man who might be worthy of you. By all means, don’t think about it.”

  “Betsy, I’ve got a mountain of work like you’ve never seen. Karl Bulcher is breathing down my neck like a rabid dog, I have a confidentiality leak, disclosure issues, and these employee complaints are driving me nuts. Do you really think this is a good time to discuss my personal life? Can’t you see I have no time for a personal life?”

  “You have to make time,” Betsy said.

  “Let it go,” Tori ground out. “I’m really not in the mood.”

  Something in Tori’s voice must have finally penetrated Betsy’s extra-dense skull, because she stood and headed for the door, adjusting her carefully hairsprayed locks with one red-lacquered fingernail. “Fine. I’ll tell him you’re not interested. But when you’re sixty and would give everything in your power to get him back, don’t come crying to me.”

  At that moment, the phone on Tori’s desk rang, startling them both. She looked at the number—a 212 area code. “I’m not answering it, Betsy.”

  Betsy ran to her phone as fast as her giant platform heels would allow and grabbed her phone from the opposite side of the desk. “Tori Anderson’s office.” There was a pause, then she said, “I’ll see if she’s available.”

  Betsy poked her head back through the door. “It’s Melissa Bencher. She’s the sister, right? This is shaping up to be a fun morning. Want to take it?”
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  Tori drummed her fingers on the desk and stared at the phone. Melissa? Why was Melissa calling?

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly.

  “She’s on line one,” Betsy said.

  Tori took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Hi Melissa, what can I do for you?”

  “Tori?” Melissa’s soft voice, painfully reminiscent of her brother, echoed through the phone. “Listen, before you hang up, which I could fully understand if you wanted to do, let me say that I had nothing to do with whatever happened at the park. Brit’s sort of a caveman sometimes, and I’m really sorry if you got caught up in one of his Big Brother schemes.”

  Tori gritted her teeth. “Thanks. Now I’m really busy, so if you don’t mind—”

  “But that’s not why I called.”

  “Okay—”

  Melissa took a deep breath and made an obvious attempt to add strength to her voice. “I’ve got no right to ask this, and you’ll probably say no, but I’m determined to give it a try.”

  Tori wound the phone cord around her finger. “Go ahead.”

  “Solen Labs is working on the same kind of technology that The Asshole and I were developing in our lab.” Melissa’s voice got higher and tenser. “But Solen’s going about it all wrong. I know, because we failed. Spectacularly.”

  “You want me to call Garth and tell him to give up on his work? Sorry, Melissa, but—”

  “No, no,” Melissa interrupted. “It’s complicated, but I developed a work-around to the problem. I was about to tell The Asshole when I found him screwing around on my kitchen table. The information is mine, and I want to share it with Solen. I want to work with him, Tori, and this is my way in.”

  “Did you tell Garth about this when you applied for a job?”

  “That’s the problem. I didn’t apply for anything. I’ve wanted to work for Solen for years, even before I met The Asshole. My idiot brother knew that and sent in a resume, having no idea what the hell he was doing. Of course they rejected it.”

  “Why didn’t you send in your own letter?”

  “I haven’t exactly been interested in a job, Tori. I needed to wallow for a little while. I might have been a little depressed.”

  Might have been?

  Tori squashed the thought.

  “I thought I’d never get through to Solen,” Melissa continued. “But then I met you, and I realized I was giving up too soon.” She paused, and Tori could hear her take a deep breath. “You’re the only one who can get through to him, Tori. Can you help me?”

  Tori released her finger and hit the mute button on the phone. Then she slammed her head repeatedly on the desk. There was only one logical answer to that question: no. If she had half a brain, she’d stay as far away from Brit and his troubled family as possible.

  But Melissa was more than Brit’s sister. She was a real, human person who needed help. Not to mention that she might be able to do something for Garth.

  Tori was a sucker for needy, brilliant people. Especially ones who could make her clients a lot of money.

  She pushed back her hair and unmuted the phone. “I’ll want to make sure it’s all legal first. You’ll have to give me any documents you signed, plus I’ll have to review some law before I’ll talk to Garth. And I have one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I never have to talk to your brother again.”

  …

  A blast of early summer heat hit Tori the moment she opened her car door. She fought the urge to close the door and drive back to her office. Lately, she felt like this every time she pulled up to Langston Estates. A heavy weight would settle over her shoulders and a mix of sadness and dread would leave her sick and trembling.

  Still, dread was a small price to pay for the guilt she otherwise carried around like Jacob Marley’s chains if she didn’t make it here for a visit.

  Tori marched up the concrete path and smiled at a stranger who opened the door for her. The lobby was filled with guests and residents, the usual lunchtime rush. She waved to Harley, Chad’s daytime counterpart at the front desk, and continued to her mother’s room. Knocking gently, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the door.

  The smell of Jeanne’s cloying, musky perfume surrounded Tori like a blanket. Her mother sat up in the adjustable bed, staring sightlessly at the shrubbery outside her window. Jeanne plucked aimlessly at her comforter, almost but not quite in time with the rhythm of a Chopin waltz emanating from a small CD player by the back wall.

  She gave her standard greeting as she approached. “Hi, Mom, it’s me, Tori.”

  Jeanne moved her head and focused briefly on Tori’s face before turning back to the window.

  The knot in Tori’s stomach eased. Her mother looked peaceful today, her face smooth, eyes calm. During the last few visits she had been tense and angry, wound so tightly it was inevitable that she would explode before Tori left.

  “It’s so nice and cool in here.” Tori sat in the rocking chair beside the bed. “You wouldn’t believe how hot it is outside. I guess all that business about global warming must be true, huh?”

  Not expecting a response, Tori launched into a description of her day, of the work she was doing and her efforts to keep Karl happy. It felt good, to let the words spill out. Sometimes when she visited her mother she spent an entire hour talking, filling the silence with absurd anecdotes and stories about her job even though she knew her mother would never remember any of it.

  “I won’t be here on Friday. I’m taking the train to New York to meet with Melissa Bencher.” Tori pushed herself to standing and walked from one end of the room to the other, rubbing her arms as she did. She tried to picture Melissa’s face and cursed herself when Brit appeared instead. “It’s probably a horrible idea,” she admitted. “I know exactly what you’d say. I should never have taken her call. I should have hung up when I got the chance.”

  Jeanne’s eyes followed Tori as she paced the length of the room, but it was impossible to know how much, if any, of the conversation she was following.

  Tori brushed her hair back from her forehead. She stopped by the mirror on the rear wall of the room and examined her face. Were those new wrinkles around her mouth? She stuck out her tongue and turned another lap, her mother’s voice ringing in her ears.

  “Yes, I can hear you now,” Tori said. “You’d tell me I’m crazy and asking for trouble. And I know you’re right. I let Brit make a fool of me once, and if I’m not careful it could happen again.

  “But I had to help Melissa. You understand that, don’t you? It’s not her fault her brother’s a jerk. I won’t make the mistake of trusting him again. Besides, Betsy told me that he’s leaving the country soon. So I won’t even have to see him.”

  Jeanne nodded solemnly. Tori slid back into the chair and leaned her shoulder and head against the mattress. She thought about the time she was in sixth grade, when a boy she liked had humiliated her in front of his friends. When she told her mother what had happened Jeanne hugged her fiercely, tightly, stroked her hair, and told her everything would be all right. Tori had never felt so protected before, or after.

  “Mom? I wish I…” Her throat squeezed closed. She cleared it and started again, “I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew how not to be so damn lonely. I miss you, you know. I miss you a lot.”

  She put her hand on the bedspread, close enough that she could feel the heat from her mother’s body. Jeanne didn’t always want to be touched, especially not lately, so Tori didn’t try to take her hand. But then she felt her mother’s head lean against hers, and Jeanne’s gnarled, wrinkled hand moved a few inches closer on the bedspread.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Tori whispered.

  They sat like that, barely touching, for a long time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Four days later, Tori walked into Melissa’s apartment on the Upper East Side and reminded herself one last time that she was only here for Melissa. The apartment was surely large by New
York standards, but tiny compared with Tori’s own comfortable bungalow back in Philadelphia; a single large room served as kitchen and living room, with a screen setting off the desk and work area. The blinking green lights of various devices shone through the bamboo, and Tori thought she saw the outlines of three computer monitors atop an L-shaped desk.

  Like its owner, the setting was simple and efficient. Also like its owner, however, it had beauty in unexpected places, as Tori noticed when she slid her hand over the curve of an armrest, or sunlight would sparkle off the chrome leg of a chair. Even the building was disguised elegance—an old townhouse with steep steps and a crumbling walkway giving way to a glass-tiled entry with a row of antique mailboxes.

  Melissa ushered Tori through a heavy wooden door and motioned for her to sit down in the small common area. Tori was relieved to see that she looked better than she had in the park. Melissa’s long hair had been styled in soft waves around her face, and a light coat of mascara emphasized the glittering blue of her eyes. She brought out a china teapot with a pink and blue pattern shot with accents of gold, and offered Tori a cup.

  “Thanks for coming. I know this all seems kind of crazy.” Her voice was high and tight, and Tori had to lean forward to make out the words.

  She was nervous.

  “Not at all,” Tori said.

  It had actually been an enormous problem, necessitating three nights with very little sleep to get enough of her other work done so she could take the Thursday afternoon train to New York. She had reviewed Melissa’s information on the way up and had been relieved to find that Melissa was right—no law would stop her from sharing her knowledge with Solen.

  Melissa leaned forward to pour the tea. Her movements were quick, her hands visibly shaking. She tucked them in her lap and took a deep breath before looking up at Tori. “So…what do you think?”

  “About Solen? Well, I gave Garth a call and he said he’d meet with you.”

  Melissa’s breath spilled out in a rush.

  “But he wants me there,” Tori cautioned. “Not that I know the robotics business, but he’s got some questions about the reason you want to work for him so badly, and I think we should probably decide how much of your story you want to tell.”