Fire in the Wind

by Alexandra Sellers

Conrad Corporation was in downtown Vancouver, not far from the hotel, in a large modern office building. According to the building directory Concorp took up the top seven floors, and in the elevator Jake pushed the indicator button for the top floor.

  It was obvious from the décor that this was the executive floor, the face Conrad Corporation showed to the public. Jake nodded to the receptionist and led Vanessa around a corner and down a hallway.

  "Morning, Jean," he said to a woman sitting behind a desk. "Would you tell Robert we're ready for him?"

  Then he opened a carved walnut door and ushered Vanessa into his office. She sank down into one of the stuffed leather chairs he indicated in front of his desk, feeling as though Jake's rate of doing business was going to put her into a spin. In the car he had driven fast and competently, filling her ears with fact after fact about the business she would be expected to run.

  When Robert Dawe, who turned out to be an accountant, arrived, it was more of the same. He was carrying lists of hastily devised figures, which he explained to her with a flattering assumption of her quick comprehension.

  Vanessa's I.Q. was good; it wasn't that she didn't understand the figures and facts she was being given, just that she wanted time to absorb the implications and ask questions. But it was all so exciting, so completely thrilling, that finally she forgot caution and felt herself get caught up in the excitement of a new venture—small potatoes to Robert Dawe and Jake Conrad, perhaps, but her biggest opportunity yet.

  The next time she looked at her watch it was two o'clock, and Jake was saying, "Good enough. Let's get some lunch."

  Robert declined to join them, and in a few minutes Vanessa and Jake were out on the street. The sun was shining now, though earlier there had been a very light rain. "Let's walk," said Jake.

  "Slowly," Vanessa suggested with a smile. "I'm beginning to feel like a whirligig."

  "Slowly," agreed Jake, suiting his pace to the words and giving her the benefit of that slow crooked smile.

  Conrad Corporation's offices were not far from Granville Mall, a street, Jake told her, that had been closed to all traffic except for buses in an effort to make the downtown core more pleasant for pedestrians.

  "This is great," she said. "I wish New York would do this to Fifth Avenue. You know," she confided as Jake pulled open a door and led her into a quiet restaurant, "when you're in New York it's hard to believe you could live without that incredible pace, where everyone around you is constantly running. But Vancouver's starting to get to me. I'm slowing down. I think I'm going to like it here."

  He led her to a table by the window and looked at her as they sat. "Are you?" he asked with a meaningful smile.

  She blinked. "Yes, I... oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, lifting a hand to her mouth. I'm going to like it here, she had said, not I could get to....Unconsciously she must already have decided to take the job.

  Consciously she was still overwhelmed, still undecided. But deep down, something in her had weighed the pros and cons and come up with a decision. Vanessa admitted all this with a self-deprecating laugh. "If only I were sure I could trust my unconscious decision-making process," she said ruefully.

  "Always trust your instincts," said Jake.

  "Do you always trust yours?"

  "Let's say I trust them without always obeying their dictates."

  Vanessa laughed. "Oh, well, there has to be such a thing as civilized restraint. What do you do when you can't obey your instincts?"

  "I bide my time," Jake said, and the tone of his voice caused a sudden hollow in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze locked with his and a small flame puffed into life between them. When the tension in the air was almost unbearable he broke it by asking, "Are you going to follow your instincts?"

  She wished she could be sure which instincts he was referring to. Resolutely Vanessa moved her eyes from his and said, "It's a very exciting chance for me. And it seems as though the risk is all on your side—"

  She was startled by the sound of a sharp intake of his breath. "On my side!" he repeated, amazed.

  Vanessa reminded him, "You're supplying all the backing. I'll just be an employee, but I'll be getting a share of the company if I make it a success. I don't even have to start making a profit for two years." It was what they had decided in this morning's meeting, so he could hardly have forgotten.

  Jake blinked and relaxed. "Oh—yes," he said. "Well, for you the risk is quitting a secure job in an uncertain economic climate and moving to a city and a country you don't know well. If it doesn't work out for you you'll have to look for another job. For me it'll just be a tax write-off."

  Vanessa sat up straighter. "Is that what you want?" she demanded in sudden suspicion.

  "Is what what I want?"

  "Are you setting me up to fail? Do you hope I'll make a mess of it so you can have a tax write-off for Conrad Corporation?"

  "No," said Jake dryly. "If that was what I wanted I'd invest in Canadian films. But I don't begin anything in the expectation of failure."

  She smiled at him, suddenly wondering if that had a double meaning. She decided not. Jake was a different person when it came to business, it seemed. A shutter seemed to have come down over the private Jake, and when he had looked at her this morning in his office it was as though he had forgotten that anything personal had ever passed between them. She was a commodity, a talent.

  And she had nearly made up her mind to spend the weekend with him at his ranch. She had nearly decided that Jake Conrad was the man she... well, she was glad he'd offered her the job before she'd told him of her changed flight booking. Now there was no reason to rush into anything. She would be coming back to Vancouver, and there would be lots of time to make the decision about Jake as a lover.

  There was no reason to stay over the weekend and every reason to return home tomorrow as she'd originally planned.

  "Is there an Air Canada ticket office nearby, Jake?"

  He was tearing a roll between his dark fingers, and the sight gave her an odd pleasure. The sudden return of his dark intent look startled her. "Why?" he demanded. "Are you going to stay the weekend after all?"

  She'd spoken without thinking, and now she babbled, "No, no, I'm definitely going home tomorrow, it's just...."

  He was still, watching her. "It's just what?"

  This was ridiculous. "I'd thought of staying over to see a bit of the country, but now that's not nec—" He grasped her wrist in a strong hand. "Are you telling me you've changed your flight booking?"

  He looked angry, really angry. "Well, yes," she said uncomfortably, "but I—"

  Suddenly he was laughing, an angry self-mocking laughter. "When did you decide that—last night?" he asked. She nodded. "And before you had a chance to tell me I was telling you about the job." Another mirthless bark of laughter escaped him; there was something here she did not understand, and she shifted in her seat.

  "Look," she said, feeling as gauche as a teenager. "I hadn't made up my mind to—I wanted to see more of the country, that's all, but now it doesn't matter, because I'll be coming back."

  Jake dropped her wrist. "Yeah," he said. "Be sure you do. When are you going to start?"

  They had not decided this morning whether the new company should begin with a spring line or a summer. A spring line would mean Vanessa would have to start very soon; for a summer start she needn't be back in Vancouver till the end of August. Jake had told her the decision would be hers.

  Now they began to discuss the pros and cons of a spring versus a summer start, with Jake taking it absolutely for granted that Vanessa no longer needed the week she had asked for to make up her mind about taking the job: now it was simply a question of when.

  "I'd like to have a spring line as a goal," Vanessa heard herself saying after a while. "You have to generate excitement in the fashion business—a fast start might be better than a slow one. The team needs to get that feeling of working together under pressure...."

  She really was committed. After her e
arlier hesitation, confidence flowed through her while she outlined her ideas under Jake's flattering interest. He was right: there was no way back now. She was drunk on the thrill of challenge. By the time they had finished their meal Vanessa had promised Jake that she would give serious consideration to starting up the company in time for a spring line and returning to Vancouver for that purpose by July first.

  July second, in fact, because July first was a holiday. It was Canada Day, the anniversary of the country's independence. It seemed symbolic to Vanessa that she might make this enormous change in her life on a date that was of such significance to the country that would be her new home. In her eagerness she hardly noticed the fact that July first was scarcely three weeks away.

  * * *

  Jake left her outside the restaurant to go back to the office. He said goodbye casually, as though he would be seeing her later, but this was her last night in Vancouver and he didn't ask her to save her evening for him.

  She wandered till she found a travel agency, but her original flight back to New York was fully booked now. If this afternoon Jake had said anything more about wanting her to stay, Vanessa realized, she might have just stayed. But she had felt oddly chilled by his preoccupation with business, and she allowed the travel agent to book her to Toronto Saturday morning with a connecting flight through to La Guardia. When it was done and she was back in the bright warm sunlight again, she felt oddly desolate. Was it possible that Jake Conrad had wanted her only until he knew she wanted him?

  She wandered along Granville Mall toward the water of Burrard Inlet and then, following the directions the travel agent had given her, cut across a few streets till cobbled streets and a sign informed her she was in Gastown.

  Gastown, Gary Smeaton had told her Monday night, was an area of town several blocks long that, in the sixties, had been like Toronto's Yorkville district or—when she had looked blank—San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury. Now it was filled with trendy boutiques and cafés and was a major tourist attraction. Vanessa browsed through the shops, then drank cappuccino outside a small cafe, watching the world pass and imagining that someday this would be old and familiar to her, that one day she would know Vancouver as well as she now knew Manhattan. She looked across the road at a small women's boutique and thought that if she did decide to come back in July, by next March that shop would be stocking her designs. Her heart beat faster as she imagined a small hanging tag reading something like Vanessa Fashions, and suddenly she could feel it, could taste it.

  The air smelled softly of the sea, and people moved slowly along the streets, laughing and chatting, no one rushing. It was all just as Jace had described it to her nine and a half years ago, and even without him, Vancouver was still the right place for her to be. She had fallen in love with Jace's city, just as he'd promised.

  * * *

  The farewell cocktail party that night was an anti-climax. Most of the buyers and manufacturers had left after the accessories show in the afternoon, and the few still around seemed to have evening flights to catch. Vanessa stayed at the party for two hours, feeling unaccountably restless. Jake Conrad did not come at all.

  She listened to a Montreal manufacturer with half an ear as she thought about the decisions ahead of her: whether to give up her Manhattan apartment or merely sublet it, what to do with her furniture. But he was talking about Canada's unstable economic climate and gradually he won her full fascinated attention. Things, after all, were not so very different in the States.

  The man was talking about high interest rates and the way Canadians who had to renew their mortgages were now losing their homes, and she heard him say, "Life gets less secure with every day," and suddenly that resonated.

  "Do you realize I've only got your word for it that you'll fire me only if I don't make a profit?" she said with a smile on her lips when Jake Conrad opened the door of his penthouse suite in answer to her knock.

  Jake slid his hands into the pockets of his casual pants and gazed down at her. "Have you?" he asked. "And do I take it that my word isn't worth much in your opinion?"

  "Well...." She hesitated, a little taken aback. "You... you could—"

  Jake stepped back and opened the door wider. "Why don't you come in? I see that you've discovered I'm not the only one at risk in this enterprise." There was an odd quality to his voice that made her look at him as she passed through into the large comfortable room.

  But his face showed nothing but amused interest. He moved to the drinks cabinet. "Can I offer you something?"

  "Sherry?" she asked. She didn't like cocktails much as a rule, though she had enjoyed the vodka martini at Skookum Chuck's the other night. Afterwards they had gone walking in the park and his kiss had gone straight to her head. Vanessa felt safer sticking to sherry.

  "So, you want to back out of the job?" Jake asked when he had handed her a glass of dry sherry and was settling on the couch near the thick leather armchair she had sunk into.

  Startled, Vanessa looked up. Was there something in his voice that sounded as though he would be relieved if she made that decision?

  "No," Vanessa stated with decision. "No, that's not it at all. It's just—I'd like a contract, Jake. A management contract."

  His eyes were hooded when he looked at her; he took a thoughtful sip of his drink. "And what do you want in the contract?"

  She had a strong feeling that there was something happening at an entirely different level from the one they seemed to be speaking on. It was as though every word had a deeper significance that Jake understood, while she did not. And because she did not, she was operating at a disadvantage.

  "Well, something that prevents you from arbitrarily firing me or folding the company during the first two years and guarantees my position as long as the company makes a profit after that; and something that guarantees my being able to buy into the company. Things like that," she said. "I haven't thought it all through, but I'd like to talk it over with my lawyer in New York and get him to draw up a contract."

  "Bring your lawyer into this and you won't be starting before Christmas," Jake observed, and in her mind the suspicion flickered to life that there was more to this than Jake's wishing to start a new company. Then he said, "I'll get one of the company lawyers to talk to you tomorrow and draw something up for you to show to your own lawyer next week."

  "I'm leaving for New York tomorrow," Vanessa said. "I changed my reservation again."

  He looked at her. "Let's stop fooling ourselves," he said roughly. "Why don't you stay the weekend and forget the job? It would be a lot easier on both of us." And he was looking at her, oddly, as though she were a danger to him.

  Vanessa stared at him in surprised shock. "What do you mean?" she asked. She couldn't understand him, didn't want to understand. Had it all been a joke?

  Jake laughed the self-mocking laughter she had heard him use before. "Forget it," he said, reaching for the phone. "What time does your flight leave?"

  "Eleven o'clock."

  He dialled a number. "Shelley," he said. "Jake. Is Howard home?" Then, after a moment, "Howie, Jake here. Are you free for an hour tomorrow morning?"

  Within a few minutes it was arranged that the lawyer would see her in the morning to discuss the contract, and then Jake hung up and sat looking at her. "Well, now that's out of the way," he said softly. "We can get down to the real business of your visit."

  Vanessa sat up straight, but his gaze had caught and locked with hers, and she couldn't break it. "What do you mean?" she demanded, but she was already breathless and he knew it.

  He stared at her, and her heartbeat quickened.

  "What made you into a coward, Vanessa?" he asked after a long moment. "You were braver than this at nineteen, from all I've heard."

  And he had heard it all. His gaze on her was frighteningly compelling and she knew that he wanted her complete capitulation, that he would not make a move toward her until she admitted that was what she wanted.

  It was what she wanted, and she
knew with a suddenly stinging insight that this was the reason she had come here tonight, the reason she had stayed at the cocktail get-together for two long hours. Abruptly she looked around the suite. There were no papers tonight. She looked at him. He was in shirt sleeves rolled up, the same clothing he had been wearing earlier today. On the coffee table were an empty coffee cup and a used glass.

  He had been waiting. He had deliberately not come downstairs to find her, because he had wanted to force her to come to him.

  Vanessa looked into his dark intent gaze, his waiting face. "What do you want?" she questioned in angry fear, her voice low. "What are you trying to prove?"

  Jake's gaze narrowed as, still watching her, he took a sip of whiskey. In a flash, as he looked at her, his demons were back with frightening intensity. "You know what I want," he said hoarsely. "I want you willing—I want you demanding."

  You want me begging. She heard the words in her own head with crystal clarity. A chill settled on her heart then, a chill of fear. And you're the man I'd beg for, she was thinking. But if you want me begging, is it for any other reason than to give your demons the chance to refuse what I ask?

  She set down her glass and stood up, and it took all her strength not to run to him, to ask for his mouth on her lips. If I went to you now, she thought, if you saw me begging, it might tear down your defences, I might reach you the way I want to. And I might not. If I didn't—if I didn't, if you stayed cold and distant, the way you are right now—she looked at his chiselled sensuous mouth and imagined it pressed against her breast with an anguished need that tore at her determination—you would break me. And I'm afraid that's what you want.

  Vanessa caught her breath on a little sob, unable to disentangle from their locked gaze. Don't make me ask, she willed him silently, thinking of his hands on her flesh, the thrust of his tongue. Come to me, Jake, meet me more than halfway....

  In the moment before his hands clenched on the chair arm she dropped her eyes and turned. "Good night," said a cool voice that could only be her own. She walked to the door then, afraid to look back, afraid of his cold compelling anger which had so nearly won.