by Carol Rose
Despite the compassion the younger woman’s distress drew from her, Nicole also shared some of the impatience radiating from Tucker. It wasn’t like he’d called them names or anything. Of course, he was about as warm and reassuring as a handsome chunk of ice, but no one said bosses had to be cuddly.
Watching the weeping younger woman follow the other woman out the door, Max said with a bite, “Good. I don’t need sobbing, idiots—“
His cold words mingled with the younger woman’s fragmented indication that she’d heard Bloomingdale’s had dental.
“—who can’t behave in a business-like manner!” he finished crisply.
“…even if I have to stand on my feet all day…” her words trailed off, punctuated by the closing of a door.
Nicole realized she was trembling as she stood in the room now only occupied by herself and the great Maxwell Tucker. She understood why people called him a bastard. He didn’t pull any punches and had no patience for those he considered insignificant.
What the heck had him all locked up inside?
In a flash of realization, she knew she wanted to cross swords with him, wanted to see if she could reach the warm, breathing man walled off in the shell of his cold withdrawal. It was crazy, but she wondered if he needed…rescuing. She knew as well as most other adults who dealt with troubled youth that the bad-ass kids most desperately needed reassurance.
She also knew that rescuing others could be a really bad idea.
Not waiting for him to turn around and possibly recognize her as the woman who’d been trying to speak to him several days before, Nicole gambled and took the offensive.
“Why didn’t you hire the one who sucked up to you?” She kept her voice cool. “At least, she wouldn’t cry when you came in the room.”
Tucker swung around to face her.
“She already believes you don’t have to treat people with common decency. Your genius gives you the right to be heartless whenever you feel like it.”
Her heart thundering in her ears, she smiled blandly at him. After all, it wasn't like she had much to lose here.
“Apparently not,” Max commented, after a second, his gaze focusing on her. “She wasn’t so tolerant when I made it clear I had no intention of wasting my time nurturing her brother’s literary posturing.”
“You don’t know anything about her brother or his writing. He might be good. Maybe as good as you, although that would be unlikely, though, since you are God’s gift to the reading world.”
“I know who you are.” Recognition at last flashing in his eyes, he interrupted her implied insult as if he hadn’t heard her. “You’re that Cavanaugh fool’s daughter. The guy who plagiarized Bondage. You're the one who’s been standing outside my building the last day or two. What the hell are you doing in here?”
Well, that was getting to the point with efficiency, she thought, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her gut. This situation could go so bad for her father. What was she doing?
Tucker stood staring at her with arrogance, his face darkening.
Apologizing would probably be a good idea right about now. If she threw herself on his mercy and licked his boots— No! Nicole looked up at the tall, dark figure in front of her. She may have already blown any small chance she had of changing this guy’s mind about suing her father, but she couldn’t quite ignore the niggling feeling that Max Tucker was reachable.
How? How could she get to him? She knew she was good at working with groups of seventeen year-old toughs who had too many hormones and even more bravado, but this guy…. Even she probably couldn’t reach him in the short five minutes it would take the police to come haul her away.
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing here,” she said, feeling steadied by her decision to throw caution to the wind and take a gamble. “I’m here witnessing some of the poorest management skills ever. Don’t you know you’re supposed to set them at ease in order to ferret out their weaknesses? How many job interviews have you done?”
There was a startled look in his eyes, as if she’d thrown him an unexpected curve ball. Reveling in that flash, Nicole knew it might be the only good moment to come of a really bad bunch of decisions, starting with her determination to come to New York.
“Unnecessary!” He recovered his balance quickly as a humorless smile curled a corner of his mouth. “Their weaknesses were obvious.”
“Well, you’ve got that icy disdain thing down to an art form.” She wished she had pockets in her linen pants. Any place to stuff her hands right now. “I teach teenagers for a living. I’ve seen some pretty good bullies, but you take the cake. Does that ‘cold, heartless bastard’ thing come in handy when the paparazzi are bothering you? You know, it doesn’t really work well with people you’re trying hire.”
“What are you doing here, Ms. Cavanaugh?”
There was no need to answer the question, Nicole thought. He knew why she was here. “When I first came to New York to talk with you, I thought you just didn’t understand about the mistake my father made in copying some of your book. He's an old man and he didn't mean any harm. But now I’m wondering if you get some kind of misguided pleasure from the situation. Kind of like scaring the pants off that silly girl just now. I have to admit to being surprised by you. Your work demonstrates an unusual degree of understanding of people and what makes them tick. And then, I get to witness this kind of thing!”
Max could hardly believe what he was hearing. The woman’s face was flushed, her blond hair ruffling around her face. Despite her brilliant smile, anger glinted in her eyes. Surprisingly, there were no tears, no hint of fear.
Interest rose in him despite the realization that he now had no candidates for the vital position of typist.
“Since I’m so mean and heartless, why are you still here?” He took a step toward her, wondering if she was really as gutsy as she seemed. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to say something terrible and horrifying to you? Insult your father and, possibly, his little dog, too?”
He allowed his most menacing smile to glimmer across his face, moving closer.
The Cavanaugh woman sent him another bright grin in response, not noticeably impressed by his deliberate attempt to intimidate her. Folding her arms across her chest, she cocked her head to the side and said witheringly, “Of course, I would be afraid of that, except for the saving fact that he doesn’t have a dog.”
She didn’t scare easy, Max noted, intrigued despite his frustrated hope of finding clerical help.
“You’re here all alone with me in my lair.” His words were soft.
Something flickered in her eyes, but she stood her ground. She didn’t even step back when he drew closer, a mere half dozen inches between them.
She smelled good, his brain registered. Clean and not too flowery, unlike some of the typists he'd had to endure.
“I came here to straighten out this mess my father made.” She gave him back stare for stare.
Max thought he heard a thread of awareness mixed with the defiance in her voice. She was conscious of him as a man. Good, because he sure as hell was aware of her, now that he’d taken a good look at her.
For a contentious daughter of a doddering plagiarist, she was easy to look at. He didn’t usually care for blond women, thinking them all too ordinary with their carefully streaked hair. This woman, however, had green eyes and a truly pure complexion.
A bolt of male interest sang through him, but Max was long used to disregarding inconvenient bodily urges. The really interesting thing about the woman was standing toe-to-toe with him, challenge and speculation in her eyes. Despite the fact that she’d come here to get something from him, she wasn’t taking a very conciliatory tone. He had to respect her in that. She also wasn’t dissolving into tears. Why couldn’t any of his assistants be as thick-skinned?
He wondered if she’d falter if he applied a little more pressure.
“I could do anything I want to you right now…and get away with it. Didn’t you hear that
woman who just left? I’m a great—that is to say—famous, wealthy man.”
“Yes, and that still doesn’t give you the right to act like a schoolyard bully.”
“But I hold your father’s financial fate in my hand.” Even in the middle of their confrontation, his body grew conscious of the warmth of her, standing so near in front of him.
Her lip curled. “You don’t scare me. I can take care of my father. Go ahead and bankrupt him. We’ll still be fine.”
Max noted her strong, steady voice, but he saw, too, the shadows that gathered in the back of her eyes. She loved her father and didn’t want him to suffer, even though he had stupidly perpetrated an act of literary theft that put her somewhat at Max’s mercy.
Yet, she wasn’t afraid of Max.
“Do you cry much?” What he was thinking was stupid, he knew.
Her short laugh was amused.
“You won’t get upset and cry, even if I said your father is a dolt? An old, imbecilic fool who doesn’t know enough to steal from a lesser-known author instead of plagiarizing books that are read by millions? He’s a fool who doesn’t recognize irony when he reads it. He actually thought a work of fiction was a business how-to.”
Her words were crisp. “My father is a man full of love and kindness. You, with all your money and fame, are insignificant beside him.”
Max almost smiled. She stood there, shoulders straight, eyes meeting his unflinching—everything about her proclaimed her willingness to meet him on an even battlefield. But she still might have a fatal weakness that would invalidate the possibility now gripping his brain.
He thought he remembered her saying something about her students.
“You’re a teacher, correct?” he asked, excitement sharpening his tone.
Puzzlement entered her eyes. “Yes. What does that have to do with—“
“Only losers teach. Those who can't do, teach.” If she were tough-minded enough and knew how to type….
The woman laughed, a sparkle of true delight lighting her face. “You know nothing about the teaching profession.”
He knew enough. He’d been a pupil longer than he liked, Max reflected briefly, noting with satisfaction that she’d taken his insult well. He found himself liking the woman despite her invasion of his home. She had guts.
“Teachers work their butts off. If it weren’t for us teaching kids how to read and become productive members of society, you wouldn’t have anyone to buy your work.” She placed a hand on one hip.
“You’re on your summer break? That’s why you could come to New York from--where, Chicago?” he rapped out the questions, the possibility of solving at least one of his problems quickening the flicker of his thoughts.
“That’s completely unimportant to this conversation.”
“Yes, you are on summer break,” he concluded with satisfaction. “Then, Ms. Cavanaugh, if you know how to type, I think we are faced with an interesting possibility.”
She frowned at him. “Of course, I know how to type. Who doesn’t these days? But what do you mean ‘interesting possibility’?”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
“Why? Isn’t it more your style to throw me out like you did that woman a few minutes ago?” Her eyes narrowed, she looked at him suspicion.
He gestured to a nearby seating cluster with a satisfied smile. “You want to find a way to get your father out of this lawsuit, don’t you?”
She eyed him, but after a moment went to the chair he indicated.
“I think, Ms. Cavanaugh…. What is your first name?”
“Nicole.”
It occurred to Max that she might be an English teacher and, if so, might attempt the annoying task of trying to “correct” his style. Still, he didn’t doubt his ability to squelch any such efforts.
“Mr. Tucker, my father is a retired gentleman. He spent most of his life working in retail—my grandfather’s small general department store. It’s closed now and my father’s been filling his time writing his ideas on business. He apparently ran across an excerpt of your book on a web site—“
Max held up his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But he made a very real mistake and I can see how someone could not understand—“
“It’s not that I don’t understand. It’s that I don’t care.”
Anger sparked behind her green eyes. “You said you wanted to talk about this—“
“Yes, but only as to how your father’s transgression has presented me with a solution to one of my problems.”
“I don’t understand.” The question in her eyes sharpened.
Max smiled again. “I have a proposal for you, Nicole Cavanaugh. Your freedom in exchange for your father’s.”
“What!” She straightened in her chair. “Wait a minute. That sort of thing is illegal—“
He raised his hand to stem her words. “You mistake. I’m not suggesting you perform sexual acts for me, although I’m sure you’d be good at that, too. But I’m not currently in the market for a sex slave. The role I’m trying to fill is that of secretarial slave.”
“Secretarial…slave?” Staring at him, she sat back down in the chair. “Wow. I’ve heard about people who get so rich that they’re isolated from the world and they lose touch with all reality, but come on.“
“That’s enough!” He got up and walked around behind his chair, leaning forward, hands braced on the chair back. “I’m proposing a settlement to resolve your father’s infringement on my rights to the literary work he plagiarized.”
“He made a mistake. He made no real profit from it, which the courts would consider.”
Max smiled again, letting his pleasure at finding a typist override her crack about his isolation from human contact. “Regardless, mistakes come with a price.”
“So I’m supposed to become your secretarial slave? You’re threatening to continue this lawsuit against my father if I don’t turn my life over to you—“
“For a few weeks.” Just when he’d thought he had the conversation heading where he wanted it, the woman said something else annoying. As if he wanted responsibility for anyone’s life.
Maybe he didn’t like her so much after all.
“I have a deadline coming up and I don’t want to be further distracted right now by searching for someone to be my typist.”
“So I’m to be the someone? Tell me, why would I do that for you?”
Max smiled again. “To assure your father’s well-being. Six weeks of typing in exchange for years of unruffled peace of mind for you and your father. Not such a bad deal, certainly.”
She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “You want me to stay here in New York and type your latest book. And if I agree to do this, you’ll sign a release dropping the lawsuit against my father?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him for a long moment. For the first time in a long while, Max found himself wondering what someone else was thinking. Standing there waiting for her response, he knew he had all the power, but he was also aware of a pent-up, waiting feeling in his lungs.
“First off,” she said finally, “I’m not sure I should agree to what is essentially blackmail and, secondly, I can’t afford to live in New York for six weeks. Teachers do a more important job than novelists, but we don’t get paid as well.”
“That’s irrelevant. If money is an issue, you can stay here. I’d prefer you to be available when I want you, anyway.”
At least, having a typist on tap would take care of his lesser problem and leave his attention to the issue of finding where the hell his writing talent had gone.
“Here? I don’t think so. I’m not living with you.”
“What’s the matter? You feel I might trespass on your lovely body? If I’m so removed from human contact, how can I be any threat to you?”
“It’s because you’re removed from human contact--”
Her immediate chagrin was so obvious Max felt a smile tugging at his lips. Without question,
his attractive green-eyed pest was aware of him sexually.
“So I’m sexually desperate as well as socially deficient?” He lifted a brow.
“I don’t know anything about your sex life, but I’m not living with you.”
“Fine,” he said, shrugging. “I’m sure my agent would be glad to put you up for a few weeks. Ruth only lives two blocks away.”
“I couldn’t impose like that. Your agent doesn’t want some stranger staying with her.”
“Fine. Since I’m not proposing to pay you for your labor, I’ll put you up in a hotel. The Archer is two blocks north.”
Nicole didn’t respond immediately, her face revealing indecision.
“If I do this—for no more than six weeks—you’ll sign the release?”
“Yes, with the stipulation that you have to perform your promised duties to my complete satisfaction.”
“From what I’ve seen, your satisfaction with anything anyone does isn’t very likely.”
“Keep that in mind.”
She looked at him. “So the satisfaction thing is a no-win situation. Now if you’re talking straightforward typing, I guess…I could do it, but don’t think I’m giving you cart blanche to be a pain in the ass.”
“That’s fine. I don’t need your permission to be a pain in the ass. But I will need you to sign a non-disclosure contract promising you won’t talk to the press about our business relationship. Once you sign it, we’ll be set to solve both our problems…,slave.”
Nicole sent him a steady smile that made him do a double-take. “I’d tell you to go to hell, but I’m pretty sure you’re already there.”