Wolf in Waiting

by Rebecca Flanders

  “I could barely hear the stereo over the telephone line,” he said. “Your ears must be extraordinary if you could hear my conversation. Why do you suppose no one ever mentioned that to me before?”

  I really didn’t like the way he was looking at me. “Why, I really can’t imagine. Perhaps for the same reason no one mentioned to you that I could occasionally, when left to my own devices, come up with an idea or two that wasn’t entirely worthless?”

  He looked at me so solemnly and for such a long time that I felt compelled to add—although, again, grudgingly— “I appreciate what you said before to Stillman. It was…” And I chose my word carefully because I didn’t know exactly how I felt. No one had ever defended me before. “Unexpected.”

  His lips quirked, and he went to his desk. “I hope Stillman appreciates what you did for him. He was about to find himself transferred to a botanicals collection team. The jungles of East Africa, I thought, would suit him particularly well.”

  He sat down at a desk that looked as though it had served as teething fodder for several generations of pups and began working the keyboard of his computer, adding offhandedly, “The phones will have to be screened. It’s nothing personal, but you might be wrong, you might not be the only one in this division whose exceptional hearing has gone undetected.”

  I realized, of course, that the action was very much personal, but it was hard to resent that after he’d so nobly stood up for me with Stillman.

  “So why did you do it?” I asked.

  There was no need to explain what I meant; he knew. He finished typing his memo, put it on the network and answered with only a slight tinge of impatience, “Surely I’m not the only one who sees the stupidity of letting talent go to waste. It’s a crime against the company, and the fool deserves worse than East Africa. We need every resource we have working at maximum creativity all the time. To allow anything less is the same as tossing shiploads of supplies overboard, or setting prototypes out to spoil in the sun. It’s stupid.”

  His outrage, though carefully controlled for my benefit, was genuine, and I understood then why he was our leader. He cared about us all, and with a larger vision than the rest of us ever troubled to encompass.

  And then he swiveled his chair away from the keyboard and looked at me. “Why did you stop me?”

  “Greg Stillman is stupid about a lot of things,” I agreed, “but he can be helpful to you. And he commands a certain amount of loyalty in the division. Punishing him for something he can’t help—his own inbred prejudices—would have made both of us a lot of enemies in this office. Maybe you can handle that, but it’s something I don’t need. I’ll have quite enough of that to deal with after this morning’s presentation.”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “You did a fantastic job. That presentation would have impressed anyone. Why would you think anyone would object?”

  I stared at him. Could he possibly be that far removed from the realities of office politics?

  Though he had not invited me to do so, I sat down in the chair in front of his desk, folding my hands atop my crossed knees. I didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled over the shape of my legs, briefly, and returned to my face.

  I said, “Let me ask you something. Why do you think I’ve been passed over for promotion, had my ideas stolen or ignored and received poor evaluation reports for the past six years?”

  He wasn’t entirely naive. “I assume it’s because of your status.”

  He was too polite to be more specific. The status of a nonbreeding female was the lowest in the pack; we both knew that.

  “The only reason I got this job was because my grades at school—human schools—were too high to ignore. But in the werewolf world, I’m playing by entirely different rules. I may be talented, and I may be smart, but my status doesn’t change when I go to work every morning.”

  “Your status has nothing to do with whether or not you can design an effective campaign,” he replied sharply. But the truth was uneasy in his eyes. For all his progressive ideas, he couldn’t change what should have been into what was, not now, and perhaps not ever.

  I said, quite calmly, “I understand the way the company works, and I accept it. I’m satisfied with my job the way it is.”

  He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Liar.”

  “Maybe.” I got to my feet. “But one thing is certain. I wouldn’t want your job.” I hesitated before turning toward the door. “What did you tell Stillman after I hung up, may I ask?”

  “I told him that I admired the way the division was being managed and would appreciate any help he could give me while I was here. Also that I would appreciate his discretion regarding the research I was conducting in which you were involved.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. He was entirely too smooth a liar for my liking. “Research? What kind of research?”

  He regarded me with a superior look. “I,” he replied, “am not required to say.”

  I barely hid a smile. That, of course, accounted for Stillman’s smug look when I’d seen him in the hallway, and I suppose it bought me some time, though to what purpose I couldn’t say. “Do you still want me to pretend to work on the Moonsong campaign?”

  What extraordinary eyes he had, as green as the sea on a sunny morning and, when he wanted them to be, just as unreadable. It was hard to gather one’s wits when pinned by those eyes.

  “What makes you think it was ever a pretend job?” he asked me levelly.

  I frowned. “Isn’t it obvious? Didn’t you and I just have a conversation about what I am and am not allowed to do in this office? I agreed to the presentation but I told you last night, I don’t have the experience or the power to be in charge of an entire campaign.”

  He looked at me steadily for a long time. I didn’t know what I had said to arouse his suspicion—at least not lately—but I certainly had done something. I hovered there in the center of the room uncomfortably, wanting to leave but not daring to walk away, and then he said abruptly, “Would you like to have lunch with me?”

  “No.” Sheer surprise made the word abrupt. Then I felt my cheeks grow warm. “I mean—I can’t. I have plans.”

  He tilted a graceful, light-colored eyebrow at me. “One of your human friends?”

  He made it sound like an insult. Reactively, my chin went up a fraction, even though my cheeks grew hotter. “Those are the only friends I have,” I replied.

  With absolutely no change of tone or expression to indicate a switch of subject, he said, “Stay on the campaign. Block out a strategy and have it to me this afternoon.”

  I wondered if that was his subtle way of suggesting I work through lunch. If so, he had overlooked a few rather important details.

  “In that case, I’ll need a complete product description.”

  He just looked at me.

  “A prototype,” I suggested helpfully. “A chemist’s report. A focus-group study, a test sample, a photograph. Or are we supposed to just guess what the damn stuff smells like and go from there?”

  Still, his expression didn’t change. Cool green eyes, aristocratic forehead, sharp nose. That mane of sun gold hair swept back from his shoulders, full lips that could so easily curve into a sneer or relax into devastating sensuality. God, he was beautiful.

  He said, without a flicker of a smile, “Guess.”

  He turned back to his computer, and I was dismissed.

  I turned for the door. But I couldn’t resist having the last word. “Find the person who was in charge of debugging the office,” I advised. “There’s your spy.”

  With the greatest degree of self-restraint, I said nothing at all about his furniture.

  If I must say so, I was quite proud of the way I’d handled myself. I mean, the arrogance of the man! First, he designates me his partner in his undercover case, then he informs me I am his prime suspect. Then he asks for my help in identifying his enemies, and when I try to prevent him from making a very powerful one, he all but accuses me of top-level,
high-tech spying—on him. It’s fortunate I am not a person of strong emotion. Outrage could have persuaded me to rash behavior as I left his office.

  And what was that nonsense about having me continue to work on Moonsong? Only a fool would put an inexperienced junior account exec in charge of something that important. He must think I’m an idiot not to realize that. Assuming, of course, that I have a product to work with, which it was becoming apparent he had no intention of giving me.

  Sara flagged me down as I sailed by her desk. It was hard to remember she was now my receptionist. She took one look at my face, which I do not like to think of as revealing, and inquired sympathetically, “Everything go okay in there?”

  I tried to shrug away my pique. “He’s no more irritating than any other boss I’ve ever had,” I said. I thought about that for a second and corrected, “Yes, he is. Do you want to go to the Brasserie for lunch?”

  A confession. I lied about having plans. But really, what was I supposed to do? Last night had been pleasant enough, despite a few awkward moments, but in the workplace? I hated being thrown off guard, and he was constantly doing that to me.

  “I’d love to,” she replied, “but you’re otherwise engaged.” She handed me a pink message slip. “Jason Ro-besieur asked to be penciled in, and I told him I’d try. You are traveling in fast company these days, aren’t you?”

  “Jason? We’ve been friends for ages.”

  I scanned the note absently, wondering if Jason was getting to be a little too pushy. True, he had told me he was going to be in town for several days, but didn’t he know anyone else? Should I really let him think I was at his beck and call?

  “Yes, but isn’t he a senior partner in the Gauge Group?” Sara insisted, lowering her voice a little. “How did you get to be so popular all of a sudden?”

  I was beginning to wonder that myself.

  I glanced at Noel’s office, then at the note in my hand. I made up my mind. “Call Mr. Robesieur back and—no, never mind, I’ll call him myself.” I started toward my office, then turned back. “Say, Sara, how would you like a promotion?”

  Her eyes brightened. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  I gave a decisive nod. “Then you’re now my personal secretary. Move your things into Miss What’s-her-name’s office, and your first assignment is to find someone to replace yourself here.”

  Greg Stillman had, of course, taken his own secretary with him, leaving the tiny office next to mine empty. I had no need for a private secretary, and didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with one, but I liked Sara and wanted to do something nice for her.

  “Of course,” I cautioned, “the job only lasts as long as I do…which may not be much beyond this afternoon.”

  She grinned. “I always did like playing house.”

  Smiling, I went to call Jason.

  I asked him to meet me at the Lotus Room of the Waterfront Hotel. It was rather far for me to go on my lunch hour, but werewolves never went there, so unless I was being followed, there was very little chance I would run into anyone I knew. Besides, the Lotus Room served excellent Polynesian food, and with my new promotion I was entitled to a long lunch.

  Jason arrived before I did and got a table; he was always thoughtful that way. He rose when he saw me coming and kissed my cheek. “You look stunning, as always.”

  Humans do have such delightful manners. But I had to remind him, only half teasing, “I can’t have changed much since you saw me yesterday.”

  He didn’t try to dissemble. “I don’t mean to monopolize you,” he replied as we sat down. “And I appreciate your giving me your time again today. As you might have guessed, there was something specific I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Something related to business, I hope?”

  He gave me an odd, almost cautious look. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Good, because this is now a business expense, and you’re buying.”

  I picked up the menu, and he smiled.

  I noticed he already had a scotch in front of him, and when the waitress returned, I ordered a Manhattan.

  Jason looked surprised. “You never drink at lunch.”

  “Ah, but that was when I was a lowly junior exec with a cubicle and a secretary I shared with three other people. Penthouse executives, however, with private secretaries and VCRs, quite often have a drink or two with lunch.”

  “You got a promotion?”

  I wasn’t sure what it was I heard in his voice. Incredulity, disappointment, worry and all of it masked by a hastily composed expression of pleasure.

  “Congratulations,” he added quickly. “You deserve it.”

  I lifted my shoulders modestly. “Actually, it’s more a temporary assignment than anything else. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can.”

  He looked strangely relieved. He sipped his drink. “Victoria,” he said abruptly, “I have enough respect for you not to beat around the bush about this thing. Maybe I’ve made the wrong decision, but I thought it was best to come right out in the open and approach you directly.”

  The waitress brought my drink and I accepted it with a pleasant nod of thanks. Jason waited until the woman was gone before he spoke.

  “There’s a rumor going through the industry,” he said, “that Clare de Lune is about to launch a new fragrance.”

  I stirred my drink, returning nothing more than a curious smile. But my heart was pounding. Any werewolf within half a block could have heard it. “We’re always introducing new fragrances,” I said noncommittally.

  He sat hunched over his drink, and the way he looked up to meet and hold my eyes made me feel like an actor in a spy movie. He said, “This is more than a new fragrance. This is a revolutionary new product.”

  I deserved an Academy Award for the way in which I kept my composure. I removed the little plastic straw from my drink and calmly took a sip. I didn’t even choke.

  “Where did you hear this rumor?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to tell you that…for your sake or mine. Anyway, it’s all over the industry.”

  In a mere twenty-four hours. I was impressed.

  “And you believe this rumor?”

  He made a dismissive gesture with his wrist. “The new CEO flies in without warning to take over the marketing department, people are being reshuffled right and left, fired and—”

  “No one’s been fired,” I objected.

  “Promoted,” he said, finishing meaningfully.

  I took another sip of my drink, thinking rapidly. “Do you have any idea what this…” I chose my words carefully. “New product is?”

  His quiet, steady expression indicated he was willing to play my game only so far. “I know,” he replied, “that there are people out there who would give a great deal to know. And you and I both know that with a project like this, the marketing department is the last line of defense.”

  The waitress arrived. I cheerfully ordered a teriyaki chicken salad with extra sesame dressing and Jason said something about shrimp. My mind was reeling with a thousand different notions, all to be assimilated at once. Noel was right. There was a spy among us, a treacherous conniving crawling worm of a thief, and it was one of us, a werewolf. It had to be because only werewolves had been at the briefing yesterday, only werewolves—and high-level ones, at that—could possibly have had any access at all to the information about Moonsong, even by accident. But who? And how had it been accomplished so fast? And why was Jason coming to me? What was his role in this and what did he expect of me now? How was I supposed to react, what would Noel want me to say, what did Jason want me to say? How could this ever have happened, and how did I end up in the middle?

  When the waitress was gone, Jason looked at me solemnly. I sipped my drink. And I knew no other course than straight ahead. One should never play one’s weaknesses, and I’m simply no good at subterfuge.

  “Why are you telling me all this, Jason?” I inquire
d.

  It was a moment before he answered. I could smell his tension, hear the slow, calculating beat of his pulse and see the flickering shadows in his eyes as he chose his words.

  “Preliminary reports indicate,” he said, “that this is something big. Maybe the biggest thing to hit the perfume industry in two hundred years. Fortunes are at stake, futures on the line. Obviously there’s some debate over whether St. Clare should be entitled to keep it all to itself.”

  I said pleasantly, “Since they’re the ones who invented it and they’re the ones who have the formula, I really don’t see how anyone can stop them.”

  He had tried to appeal to my sense of fair play and failed. Now he tried a different tack. His voice hardened, just a fraction. Possibly the change in tone would not have been noticeable to anyone but me. “As I said, fortunes are at stake. Certain people are willing to pay a lot of money for the inside edge on this thing.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of them, would you, Jason?” I asked softly.

  To his credit, he didn’t flinch. He said, “The offer I made you yesterday still stands. We wanted you then for your talent, and we still do. But for anyone who came aboard with information on this new product, there would of course be a substantial bonus, as well as an immediate position as senior account exec. If we happened to land the account on the new product from whoever might be developing it…”

  Heavens, how slippery humans can sometimes be! And how easy it is to forget, when caught up in their charm.

  “That person,” he finished meaningfully, “would of course be assigned full charge of the campaign.”

  I sipped my drink complacently. “You’re in advertising, Jason,” I said. “Why in the world would you want to get involved in something like this?”

  “Millions, darling,” he replied simply. “Millions.”

  The waitress arrived with our food then, and there was nothing I could do but smile. “Well, it’s all very interesting, but I really don’t see what it has to do with me.”

  “Think about it,” he advised. “Maybe something will come to you.”