It Happened One Week

by JoAnn Ross

  Never having been granted a son, Gordon Stockenberg had put all his paternal dreams and ambitions onto Amanda’s shoulders. And except for that one summer, when she’d fallen in love with a boy her father had found totally unsuitable, she’d never let him down.

  “I’d be proud of Dane whatever he chose to do.” Mary piled the mushrooms onto a platter and moved on to dicing shallots. “But I have to admit that I’m pleased he’s come home. Not only do I enjoy working with my son, it was obvious that once he became a vice president at Whitfield, he began feeling horribly constrained, and—”

  “Vice president?”

  “Why, yes.” Mary looked up, seeming surprised that Amanda hadn’t known.

  “Dane was actually a vice president at Whitfield Palace hotels?” After last night’s conversation, she’d realized he’d been important. But a vice president?

  “He was in charge of international operations,” Mary divulged. “The youngest vice president in the history of the hotel chain. He was only in the job for a year, and Mrs. Deveraux—she’s the CEO of Whitfield—wanted him to stay on, especially now that she and her husband have begun a family and she’s cut back on her own travel, but Dane has always known his own mind.”

  Once again Amanda thought of her boastful words about her window office and her lovely, expensive Italian-leather chair. Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to be irritated at Dane for having let her make a fool of herself, she reluctantly admitted that it hadn’t really been his doing. She’d been so eager to prove how important she was….

  A vice president. Of International Operations, no less. She groaned.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  Amanda blinked. “Fine,” she said, not quite truthfully. She took out her roll of antacids. Then, on second thought, she shook two aspirin from the bottle she kept in her purse.

  Mary was looking at Amanda with concern as she handed Amanda a glass of water for the aspirin. “You look pale.”

  “I’m just a little tired.” And confused. Not only did she not really know Dane, Amanda was beginning to wonder if she even knew herself.

  “You’re working very hard.” The stainless-steel blade resumed flashing in the stuttering coastal sunlight coming in through the kitchen windows. “Dane told me how important this week is to you.”

  “It is.” Amanda reminded herself exactly how important. Her entire career—her life—depended on the challenge week’s being a success.

  “He also told me you’re very good at motivating people.”

  “Dane said that?” Praise from Dane Cutter shouldn’t mean so much to her. It shouldn’t. But, it did.

  “I believe his exact words were, barring plague or pestilence, you’ll have your promotion by the end of the week.”

  “I hope he’s right.”

  Mary’s smile was warm and generous. “Oh, Dane is always right about these things, Amanda. He’s got a sixth sense for business and if he says you’re going to win your creative director’s slot, you can count on it happening.”

  It was what she wanted, damn it. What she’d worked for. So why, Amanda wondered as she left the kitchen to meet the members of the team, who were gathering in the parking lot for their afternoon bicycle race, did the idea leave her feeling strangely depressed?

  The mountain bikes, like the team-challenge T-shirts and accompanying slickers, were red and blue.

  “At least they look sturdy,” Julian decided, studying the knobby fat tires.

  “And heavy,” Kelli said skeptically. “What’s wrong with a nice, lightweight ten-speed?”

  “Kelli has a point, Amanda,” Peter interjected with what Amanda supposed was another attempt to make points with the sexy public-relations manager. “Why can’t we just use racing bikes?”

  “In the first place, you’re not going to be sticking to the asphalt.” Amanda handed everyone a laminated map of the course. “You’ll need a sturdy bike for all the detours over gravel and dirt roads and creekbeds.”

  When that description earned a collective groan, Amanda took some encouragement from the fact that everyone seemed to share the same reservations. That, in its own way, was progress.

  “Think of it as touring new ground,” she suggested optimistically.

  “That’s definitely pushing a metaphor,” Marvin complained over the laughter of the others.

  Amanda’s grin was quick and confident. “That’s why I leave the copywriting to you.”

  She went on to explain the rules, which involved the riders leaving the parking lot at timed intervals, following the trail marked on the maps, then returning to the inn, hopefully in time for dinner. She would ride along as an observer and, if necessary, a referee. Once everyone was back, the collective times would determine which team had won.

  “Any questions?” she asked when she was finished.

  “I have one.” Laura was adjusting the chin strap on her helmet with the air of someone who’d done this before. “Since it’s obvious you can’t be at every checkpoint, how are you going to ensure some people don’t skip a segment?”

  “Are you accusing people of not being honest?” Don complained.

  “You’re in advertising marketing, Don,” Luke reminded. “I’d say a lack of forthrightness goes with the territory.”

  When everyone laughed, Amanda experienced another surge of optimism. Only two days ago, such a comment would have started a fight. Things were definitely looking up!

  “Not that I don’t trust everyone implicitly,” Amanda said, “but now that you bring it up, there will be referees at all the checkpoints to stamp the appropriate section of your map.” She had arranged with Dane to hire some of his offduty employees.

  “Is Mindy going to be one of those referees?” Peter asked hopefully.

  “Mindy Taylor will be working the second segment,” Amanda revealed.

  “There go our chances,” Don grumbled as he pulled on a pair of leather bicycle gloves. “Because with Miss America working the second checkpoint, Peter will never get to number three.”

  There was more laughter, and some good-natured teasing, along with the expected complaints from Peter, which only earned him hoots from his fellow teammates and the opposing team.

  “Well,” Amanda said, glancing down at her stopwatch, “if everyone’s ready, we’ll send off the first team.”

  “Oh, look!” Kelli exclaimed, pointing toward the inn. “Here comes Dane.” Amanda found the public-relations manager’s smile far too welcoming. “Hey, coach,” Kelli called out, “any last advice?”

  Since the course was easily followed and everyone knew how to ride a bike, Amanda had decided it wouldn’t be necessary for Dane to be along. He was, however, scheduled to lead the upcoming backpacking trip and rockclimbing expedition.

  “Just one.” He rocked back on his heels and observed the assembled teams with mild amusement. “Watch out for logging trucks.”

  Marvin frowned. “I didn’t realize they were logging this part of the coast.”

  “Well, they are. And those drivers aren’t accustomed to sharing the back roads. Stay out of their way. Or die.”

  With that ominous warning ringing in everyone’s ears, the teams pedaled out of the parking lot.

  She was going to die. As she braked to a wobbly stop outside the inn, Amanda wondered if she’d ever recover the feeling in her bottom again.

  “You made good time,” Dane greeted her. He was up on a ladder, painting the rain gutter. He was wearing cutoff jeans and a white T-shirt. “Considering all the extra miles Kelli said you put in riding back and forth between teams.”

  “You’d think adults could conduct a simple bike race without trying to sabotage one another, wouldn’t you?” Amanda frowned as she remembered the fishing line members of the blue team had strung across a particularly rocky stretch of path.

  “You wanted them working together,” he reminded her. “Sounds as if that’s exactly what they were doing.”

  “I wanted them to cooperate,�
�� she muttered. “Not reenact the Desert Storm war.” The red team had, naturally, sought to retaliate. “Thanks for the suggestion to take along the extra tire tubes. I still haven’t figured out where they got those carpet tacks.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good guess.” Dane had found evidence of someone having been in the workshop.

  “Well, other than a few bumps and bruises, at least no one got hurt,” Amanda said with a long-suffering sigh. “You were also right about those logging trucks, by the way. They’re scary.”

  “Like bull elk on amphetamines.” As he watched her gingerly climb off the bike, Dane wiped his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “You look a little stiff.”

  How was it that she had no feeling at all in her rear, yet her legs were aching all the way to the bone? “That’s an understatement.” She glared at the now muddy mountain bike that had seemed such a nifty idea when the original challenge coach, who’d conveniently managed to avoid taking part in the week’s activities, had first suggested it. “I swear that seat was invented by the Marquis de Sade.”

  “If you’re sore, I can give you a massage. To get the kinks out,” he said innocently when she shot him a stern look. “I’ve got pretty good hands. If I do say so myself.” He flexed his fingers as he grinned down at her from his perch on the ladder.

  Amanda had firsthand knowledge of exactly how good those hands were. Which was why there was absolutely no way she was going to take Dane up on his offer.

  “Thanks, anyway. But I think I’ll just take a long soak in a hot bath.” Suddenly uncomfortably aware of how dirty and sweaty she must look, she was anxious to escape.

  “Suit yourself.” He flashed her another of those devastating smiles, then returned to his painting.

  She was halfway up the steps when he called out to her.

  “Yes?” She half turned and looked up at him. He was so damn sexy, with that tight, sweat-stained T-shirt and those snug jeans that cupped his sex so enticingly. He reminded her of the young Brando, in A Streetcar Named Desire. Rough and dangerous and ready as hell.

  It crossed Amanda’s mind that if Eve Deveraux had ever seen her vice president of international operations looking like this, she probably would have offered to triple his salary, just to keep him around to improve the scenery.

  “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

  “Thank you.” Her answering smile was falsely sweet. “But I believe that just might be pushing your hospitality to the limit.”

  “We aim to please.” The devilish grin brightened his dark eyes. “Service With a Smile. That’s our motto here at Smugglers’ Inn.”

  She might be confused. But she wasn’t foolish enough to even attempt to touch that line. Without another word, she escaped into the inn.

  Enjoying the mental image of Amanda up to her neck in frothy white bubbles, Dane was whistling as he returned to work.

  9

  After a long soak and a brief nap, Amanda felt like a new woman. During her time in the claw-footed bathtub, she’d made an important decision. The next time Dane tried to seduce her, she was going to let him.

  Having already spent too much time thinking of him, she’d come to the logical conclusion that part of her problem regarding Dane was the fact that they’d never made love.

  Tonight, Amanda vowed as she rose from the perfumed water, toweled off and began dusting fragrant talcum powder over every inch of her body, she was going to remedy that nagging problem.

  She dressed carefully for dinner, in an outfit she’d providentially thrown into her suitcase at the last minute—a broomstick gauze skirt that flowed fully to her calves in swirls the color of a summer sunrise, and a matching scoopnecked top with crisscross lacing up the front. The bright hues brought out the heightened color in her cheeks.

  She paused in front of the mirror, studying her reflection judiciously. Her freshly washed hair curved beneath her chin, framing her face in gleaming dark gold. Anticipation brightened her eyes, while the fullness of the skirt and blouse suggested more curves than she currently possessed.

  “You’ll do,” she decided with a slow smile ripe with feminine intent. Spritzing herself one last time with scent, she left the tower room, heading downstairs to dinner. And to Dane.

  He wasn’t there! Amanda forced a smile and attempted to make small talk with the other people at her table as the evening droned on and on. On some level she noted that her meal of shrimp Provencal and tomato, mushroom and basil salad was excellent, but the food Mary Cutter had obviously labored over tasted like ashes in Amanda’s mouth.

  She wasn’t the only person inwardly seething. Greg, who was seated at the neighboring table, did not even bother to conceal his irritation at the fact that Kelli was also absent from the dining room. He snapped at his table companions, glared at the room in general, ordered one Scotch after another and puffed away on his infamous cigars until a thick layer of smoke hovered over the dining room.

  Finally, obviously fed up, Miss Minnie marched up to the table and insisted that he display more consideration.

  “This is, after all,” she declared with all the haughty bearing of a forceful woman accustomed to controlling those around her, “supposed to be a nonsmoking dining room.”

  Greg looked up at her through increasingly bleary eyes. Noxious puffs of smoke rose between them. “In case it’s escaped your notice,” he said, the alcohol causing him to slur his words, “the firm of Janzen, Lawton and Young happens to have booked every room in this inn, with the exception of the suite occupied by you and your sister.”

  His jaw was jutted out; his red-veined eyes were narrowed and unpleasant. “That being the case, if you have a problem with my smoking, I would suggest that you just hustle your skinny rear end upstairs and order room service.”

  A hush fell over the dining room. Shocked to silence for what Amanda suspected was the first time in her life, Miss Minnie clasped a blue-veined hand to the front of her dovebrown silk dress.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda saw Mary emerging from the kitchen at the same time Mindy was entering from the lobby. Feeling somehow to blame—she was responsible for the horrid man having come to Smugglers’ Inn, after all—Amanda jumped to her feet and went over to Greg’s table.

  “You owe Miss Minnie an apology, Greg,” she said sternly. She bestowed her most conciliatory smile upon the elderly woman. “It’s been a long day. Everyone’s tired. And out of sorts.”

  “Don’t apologize for me, Amanda,” Greg growled, continuing to eye the elderly woman with overt contempt.

  “But-”

  “He’s right,” Miss Minnie agreed in a voice that could have slashed through steel. “There’s no point in trying to defend such uncouth behavior. It would be like putting a top hat and tails on an orangutan and attempting to teach him how to waltz.” She lifted her white head and marched from the room.

  A moment later, Miss Pearl, who’d been observing the altercation from across the room, hurried after her sister, pausing briefly to place a plump hand on Amanda’s arm.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “My sister actually enjoys these little tiffs.” Dimples deepened in her pink cheeks. “She insists it keeps her blood flowing.” With that encouragement ringing in Amanda’s ears, she left the room.

  Perhaps Miss Minnie found such altercations beneficial, but this one had sent Amanda’s blood pressure soaring. “That was,” she said, biting her words off one at a time, “unconscionable behavior.”

  “Don’t take that holier-than-thou tone with me, Amanda,” Greg warned. “Because, in case it’s escaped that empty blond head of yours, I can fire you. Like that.” He attempted to snap his fingers, but managed only a dull rubbing sound that still managed to get his point across. Loud and clear.

  “You’re representing the agency, Greg. It seems you could try not to be such a bastard. At least in public.”

  “It’s not me you need to worry about, sweetheart,” he drawled as he ground the cigar out into hi
s dinner plate. “We both know that what’s got you so uptight tonight is that our host is off providing personal service to the missing member of our challenge team.”

  No. As furious as she’d been at Dane, Amanda couldn’t believe that the reason he hadn’t come to dinner was because he preferred being with Kelli Kyle. Her eyes unwillingly whipped over to Laura—who was Kelli’s roommate. When Laura blushed and pretended a sudden interest in the tablecloth, Amanda realized that about this, at least, Greg wasn’t lying.

  “You’re wrong,” she managed to say with a composure she was a very long way from feeling. “But there’s nothing so unusual about that, is there? Since I can’t think of a single thing you’ve been right about since you arrived in Portland.

  “You’re stupid, Greg. And mean-spirited. Not to mention lazy. And one of these days, Ernst Janzen is going to realize that nepotism isn’t worth letting some incompetent bully destroy his empire.”

  Amazingly, the knot in her stomach loosened. She might have lost her job, but she’d finally gotten out feelings she’d been keeping bottled up inside her for too long.

  When the other diners in the room broke out in a thundering ovation, she realized she’d been speaking for everyone. Everyone except, perhaps, the missing Kelli.

  “And now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, lifting her head, “I’ve another matter to take care of.”

  As fate would have it, Amanda passed Kelli coming into the inn as she was coming out.

  “Hi, Amanda,” Kelli said with her trademark perky smile. “Isn’t it a lovely evening?”

  Amanda was not inclined to bother with pleasantries. “Where’s Dane?”

  The smile faded and for a suspended moment, Kelli appeared tempted to lie. Then, with a shrug of her shoulders, she said, “On the beach.”