by Jeanne Adams
Ahh. A guest. Yep. That was the distinction. She was making sure Torie knew she was a guest, not a fixture. Torie almost laughed. Since she felt so little was permanent in her life at the moment, from where she lived to what she wore, what Martha thought hardly phased her.
“Thank you then, a soft drink would be great.”
“I’ll get that for you. Please go in and have a seat.”
Not make yourself at home. Nope. Martha didn’t want her making herself comfortable, that was for sure. Torie sank into one of the comfortable leather chairs at the conference table.
Where did she belong?
“Here you are.” Martha sat down a coaster and the soft drink can. A glass with ice followed, placed precisely on another coaster. “If you’d like to use the phone, this line at the conference table is available.”
“Thank you.” Torie mustered a smile.
“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”
“Might I trouble you for a pad of paper? I need to make some notes.”
“Certainly.” Martha moved behind Paul’s desk, opened a drawer, and produced a leather portfolio and pad. Handing it to Torie along with a pen, she asked briskly, “Anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
“Then I’ll leave you to your calls. Mister Jameson should be returning within the hour.”
Torie waited until Martha left, then stared at the blank page in front of her. She picked up the pen, but couldn’t bring herself to write anything.
It all came crashing in on her. The house, the destroyed hotel rooms, her job at TruStructure, Paul.
She put her head down on the table and wept.
Chapter Twelve
“So, we’re agreed?” Melvin Pratt Sr. said into the silence following his announcement that their consultants were recommending the same course of action the police technical specialist had mentioned. Full back-up on a new system. “We have the capital budget for a secondary system. In order to protect our files from further encroachment, we’ll get it installed immediately. Our technical people and the consulting team will reboot the files from there. In the meantime, utilize the portable hard drives that are being hooked to your computers.”
“Sir?” Declan Dowd spoke up. “I take as read we’ll be prosecuting these scoundrels to the fullest extent of the law once they are apprehended?”
“Yes. We will. To my significant irritation,” Pratt answered in the same pompous tone as his colleague, “the technical specialist employed by the police believes this to have been an inside job.”
Paul hadn’t heard that news and he sat up, hoping for additional information. There were murmurs of interest and disgust amongst the other partners seated around the long, polished conference table.
“Disgraceful that anyone would have instigated this sort of vandalism to the firm’s computers, and that we’ve paid them to do it,” another partner began.
“Indeed,” Pratt cut him off as he looked around the table, catching Paul’s eye and giving him a wink. The man was a windbag, and might have gone on for an hour without being stopped. “We’ll hope that the police gather sufficient evidence, and do it properly, so that they can be prosecuted.”
There were more rumbles of assent and several side conversations, which began in the breach of silence.
Melvin Sr. cleared his throat. “One last item of business.” The room quieted once more. “Although we have officially welcomed Paul Jameson to our ranks here today, we need to discuss the upcoming celebration event for our newest partner.”
People looked his way and smiled, or nodded their approval. He’d been welcomed and congratulated throughout the day, and many of the partners had been amused that he’d been late to the meeting.
“There will be the de rigueur dinner and drinks, with a band at the Bradshaw Mansion in Fairmont Park, since the room we’ve had in the past at the Ritz was unavailable,” Pratt continued. “As usual, any of you who would like to make an evening of it and stay the night are welcome to do so. The adjacent Penn Lodgings hotel has a block of rooms. Just let my assistant know you’ll need a spot.”
Paul saw several people make notes in their PDAs. There were some sly smiles directed around the group as well. He wasn’t privy to their meaning, but having heard the gossip about these dinners, he was sure the stories were fairly infamous.
“Are we finished then?” the senior partner asked, wrapping things up. “Excellent. Thank you for rearranging your schedule to meet on such short notice.”
With that dismissal, everyone rose and began leaving the room. Most continued to discuss the possibility of an employee causing the damage. “A moment, Paul?”
“Yes?”
Melvin Sr. was frowning, and he waited until everyone had left the conference room before he spoke again. “Have you seen today’s Inquirer?”
“No, I’ve been a bit overwhelmed with client work.”
“Your most attractive client’s on the front page. Evidently, the press has been digging up more of the former boyfriend’s names and injuries, then interviewing the fellows.” The older man pushed a copy of the paper across the table. “It’s mostly harmless, fortunately. The men sound like whiny Nancy-boys for complaining, and the reporter questions the Philly police and their response to your client’s woes. Of course, the piece about the family of the young man who was killed is a bit more damaging.”
Paul picked up the paper. The story was below the fold, and small, thankfully. That diminished the impact. Then again, given that she was innocent, Torie really wouldn’t be hurt by it. However, in skimming the short section, his anger grew at how her company had attempted to distance itself from her notoriety. The quote they had given deliberately minimized her contribution to the firm, and was an obvious attempt to disassociate themselves from Torie’s situation.
“A tasteless bit of face-saving on the part of her firm.” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them.
“I noticed that,” Melvin Sr. concurred. “Don’t I remember that your client’s been instrumental in Chamber affairs and the United Way campaigns for them?”
“Yes.” Paul kept the answer short. It wouldn’t do to show just how much her bosses’ defection pissed him off.
“Hmmm, shame they don’t want to speak up about her good qualities, eh?”
“Exactly.” Paul allowed a bit of his ire to creep into his voice.
“Will she be joining you at the partner’s dinner?”
Paul hesitated. “I’ve not asked her yet,” he admitted. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have be there. Besides, he had to keep an eye on her. “But with what’s going on, if she’s willing to go, I’d like her with me.”
“I’m sure that’s the only reason,” the older man said with a laugh and a wink. Then his demeanor turned a bit sour. “If only my son had such good taste.”
“I’m—” Paul began, then stopped. He was about to say he was sorry for the old man, but that didn’t sound right.
“No, excuse me for mentioning it. Now, do you think this unfortunate development of ours has a bearing on your client’s case?”
Paul shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. On one hand, since it’s mostly my files and some files in human resources on the main server which have been tampered with, it has to be considered.” Paul tapped the paper. “All of these incidents however are direct, rather than indirect. As we know, criminals seldom take a two-pronged approach to any kind of harassment.”
“So, you think your client’s still in danger, eh?”
“I do. Just before the meeting, I was told that her cousin has gone missing, and while that’s of concern, it may not be relevant. This computer thing is happening at the same time, but again, that may not be a connection either.” Paul appreciated the ability to run his thoughts by the older man. He needed objectivity about the whole mess, and he had already realized he didn’t have it. “None of it negates the danger to Ms. Hagen. The police now seem to think her cousin, Miste
r Chance, may not have been a victim as they originally assumed.”
He had to remember to tell Torie that news. Tibbet had let that fall when he called Paul earlier, just before she arrived. “This computer situation may be related, but—”
“But it might not be,” Pratt finished. “Awful lot of coincidence, however. Seems as if this harassment of hers has been going on a while.” He indicated the article.
“At least five years. Since she and Todd Peterson called off their wedding.”
“You mentioned your list of coinciding incidents. May I look at that?”
Paul grimaced. “I have the original notes, but the document I created to match them is one of the ones destroyed by our hackers.”
“Interesting. I know we had planned to discuss this today, but with the emergency partner meeting, my time to do so has disappeared. I’d like to reschedule our meeting to tomorrow morning. Let’s go over all of these notes together. Perhaps an old set of eyes may see some new connections.”
“Some of the connections are fairly obvious, sir,” Paul explained as they made their way to the door. “Whenever Todd came home from his travels, both he and Torie experienced some sort of mishap. The dates and times of the occurrences coincide with Todd’s visits in the U.S.”
“Interesting. Have you shared this with the police?”
“In the main. I’m meeting with Detective Tibbet, the detective in charge of Todd’s murder investigation.” The very phrase made Paul wince. It still wrenched at his heart to think about his friend.
Pratt Sr. rested a hand on his shoulder, stopping him just in front of the large doors. “Son, it won’t be the first friend you lose, but I hope it will be the only one you lose this way. I had a great deal of respect for Todd Peterson. Knowing both of you since before you took the bar through Melvin Jr.” Pratt’s voice sounded slightly choked. “Well, it’s difficult to lose anyone of his age, my son’s age. You understand.”
Paul could only nod.
“He was a good man. I know I said this to you at the time, but I am sorry for your loss.”
Paul ducked his head. He knew the grief would be written plainly on his face. “Yes, sir.”
In answer, Pratt simply gripped Paul’s shoulder a bit tighter, then let go. “Now, have Martha call my assistant, get us set up for the morning. We’ll work something in, even if it’s over coffee and breakfast.”
“Thank you, sir,” Paul managed in a modulated tone, in spite of the memories choking his throat.
Passing through the halls, Paul acknowledged the hails of his peers and accepted their congratulations. He was thankful for the distraction. With the walk to his office punctuated by such good cheer, as well as some open envy, he was able to recover his equilibrium. Everything was off balance, and it was making him distrust his own judgment.
How could he be objective about anything when he was still grieving the loss of someone he’d known for so long? Then, to have Torie be involved, and to have become involved with Torie…
The thought of her hot and passionate beneath him, the image of her, the thought of her delicious moans of completion made him detour to the men’s room. It wouldn’t do to walk into his office, knowing she waited there, with anything less than a clear mind. Thoughts of her tangled up his senses so badly, he needed a moment to compose himself.
He didn’t even turn on the hot water. He splashed straight cold water, nearly glacial, on his face. It helped to clear his mind and divert his thoughts. He pushed the towels into the bin as the door opened.
“Oh, hello, Paul,” Melvin said. Irritation was obvious in his demeanor. “Done with the meeting?”
“Yes, thanks.” Paul picked up his paperwork, but Melvin blocked his path. “What’s up?”
“It’s been a long time coming,” Melvin said, his eyes hard.
“What?”
“Todd. I’m sorry he’s dead, but he lived a crazy life.”
Fury clouded Paul’s mind to hear his friend dismissed so tersely. For Melvin, whom he and Todd had nicknamed Weaselboy when they were pledges together, to say something so carelessly stupid was beyond insulting.
Paul bit back the words that clamored to spew forth. Through his anger, he recognized that Melvin was baiting him, hoping for Paul to say or do something stupid, something rash.
It was a pattern Melvin employed to get people fired. People he disliked. People he wanted out of the way.
Weaselboy. He’s such a needy little piss. Paul could almost hear Todd’s drawling, insulting voice in his mind. It snapped him out of the fog of reaction.
“He lived a better life than either of us, Mel-vin.” Paul managed a calm voice, and he could tell he’d scored a point when he emphasized the other man’s name, adding the deliberate twist several of the partners used when speaking of him. “And,” he added as he stepped around Melvin to open the door, “he would have beaten both of us to partner if he’d stayed.”
The parting shot hit home. Paul nearly grinned to hear the muffled slam of a stall door striking the wall. Todd would have enjoyed that.
Thoughts of Todd and the pain of his loss walked with him the rest of the way to his office. Martha was away from her desk, and he opened the door and walked into his own area, sure he’d find Torie on the phone.
Instead, he stopped dead, shocked to see her sitting at the table her head in her hands, tissue box at her elbow.
“Torie?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, hastily wiping her eyes. “I was just…”
“Crying.”
She dropped her gaze. “Yeah. That, too. I guess I got a little overwhelmed.”
He closed the door. Locked it.
“Understandable. Here.” He pulled out her chair, took her hand, and brought her to her feet. “I think we both need this.”
His nerves were sizzling as he eased her into his arms, cradling her head into that perfect spot at his shoulder. As they had that morning, their bodies fit together. He wrapped his arms around her and held on, savoring the sense of her close to his heart.
After a few minutes, he finally asked, “What started all this?”
“I have to go to my office,” she said on a hiccupping sigh. Her hands were tucked into his chest, as if she were afraid to hold on, afraid to allow herself to trust. “To get a key. They said, they said…” She stopped, drawing a deep breath and burrowing more firmly into his arms. “They said such stupid stuff about me in the paper. How can I go back there?”
“You won’t have to. Trust me. Not to work.” He eased her away just enough that she looked up at him. All trace of makeup had been washed away by her crying jag. She looked vulnerable and lost. It made him want to fix it. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Hope blossomed in her eyes, quickly followed by confusion. “I…I’d love it, but you don’t have to do that.” She sighed. “It helps just to be able to say how much it sucks.”
He laughed. “Yeah, but I’ll go with you anyway. Here,” he said, getting her to look up again, “this will make you feel better.”
Paul kissed her. This time, he skipped gentle and went straight to desire. He caught her mouth and her quick gasp in a fiery kiss that he hoped left no question about how he felt. Part of his mind was busy planning which stable surface he could lift her onto, and drive them both beyond thinking with fast, hot lovemaking.
“Wow,” Torie managed when they paused for breath. He wanted to start again, drive her further, but he knew he had to stop.
“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” he murmured, resting his cheek on her hair. He could smell the strawberry shampoo his nieces had left in the bathroom the last time they’d visited. It was the first time strawberries had turned him on.
“A good one,” she said, her breath coming short as he laughed and kissed her again, briefly this time.
“Take your mind off things?”
“Pretty much,” she admitted. “I was supposed to be thinking during that?”
Paul laughed, enjoying the moment
. “No, absolutely not. No thinking.”
“Okay, warning bells,” she said. “I’m thinking now.” Torie pushed him away, although she didn’t entirely leave the circle of his arms.
“Damn.”
It was her turn to laugh. It was still a bit shaky, but it was a laugh.
“I thought we said this was a bad idea. I’m your client, and all that. What about that?”
“It is a bad idea, but pretty much only for that reason.”
She smiled but it held a lot of puzzlement. “Not to look a…well, let’s call it a gift horse, though I could be saucy and call it something else…in the mouth, but we don’t like each other. Right?”
“Who says?”
Torie laughed, but it was sad again. “Pretty much everyone. Including us.”
“Hmmm. Old news. Time to turn over a new leaf, don’t you think?”
She smiled, and it was stronger this time. “I didn’t get the memo, but hey, I’m willing to get some fresh news.”
“Good. So, what do you say to dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. As in food. Eating. Together.”
“I know what you mean, but—” she began.
“Not burgers. Casual, but nicer than Bob’s Grill and Grease.”
He wanted to pull her in again, gauge her reactions from the way her body fit. She was recovering from her bout of sorrow though, he could tell. Standing taller, she eased further away. “I’d like that. Thank you. I accept.”
“Good.” He let her go, knowing she needed to feel stable on her own, but wishing he could shoulder some of the burden for her.
The thought shocked him.
“Is something wrong?”
With a mental shake, he brought himself back to the moment. “No, not at all. I was just thinking that we could kill two birds with one stone. We’ll go by your office, pick up that key you need.” He stopped. “Is it something you have to get? As your counsel, I have to say that dealing with them right now might not be a good idea. In fact,” he said as he sat down at the table, leading her to sit as well, “you might have grounds for a suit, especially if your employers continue to speak to the press.”