by Sandra Brown
She glanced at Grayson Hardtack's secretary. The woman gave her another plastic smile. "I'm sure it won't be much longer, Ms. Tyler."
Her carefully outlined magenta lips barely moved. A gale wind wouldn't have disturbed a single lacquered strand of hair, which perfectly matched the color of the gray wall behind her.
"Thank you."
Sage was as jumpy as a cat. At any second she expected Harlan to come crashing through the black-lacquered doors and accuse her of double-crossing him. Because that was exactly what she was doing, she was all the jumpier.
After their argument two days before when he had dropped his bombshell about Hardtack's wife, they checked out of the luxury hotel and moved to one within their budget. Even though that budget was almost exhausted, Sage had rented her own room. She'd spent most of that day locked inside it, alone.
Hours of self-flagellation were behind the decision she had finally reached: She must put her personal feelings aside. The task she had chosen for herself had to take priority. Having arrived at that conclusion, she had marched to the door of Harlan's room and knocked.
He hadn't rushed to open it. In fact, he'd been deliberately slow about it. He pulled the door open, braced himself against the doorjamb, and waited her out, forcing her to speak first.
"I made some calls," she began coldly. "We have appointments with these people tomorrow morning." She slapped a list of names into his hand. He glanced through the list. Hardtack and Associates wasn't on it.
"Fine."
"Then you're still interested in working with me on this project?" she asked stiffly.
"You're the one who has spent hours sulking, not me."
"It just came as a shock that you had been involved with another man's wife."
He rolled his eyes and gave her a retiring look that made her furious. How dare he put her on the defensive? She wasn't the one who had an unsavory and suspicious past.
"That has no bearing on the here and now, on us," he said.
"You're wrong, Harlan. Everything in one's background is vitally important and relevant. Our pasts are what make us what we are."
He sadly shook his head. "If you believe that, then I'm not the guy for you, Sage."
In a matter of seconds, she recalled everything they had done together in bed, everything he had taught her to do, his coaching on how to draw the maximum pleasure from them both. The heat of embarrassment had made her face red, but she kept her eyes cool.
"How convenient for you to realize that now that I've already gone to bed with you."
She had stalked away and spent the night alone and miserable in her room, already missing him in her bed and hating herself and him because of it. During their appointments over the next couple of days, they behaved civilly toward each other and successfully suppressed the animosity between them. Each performed his part of the presentation as before.
From most of the vice presidents in charge of this or that, they received a polite brush-off. They agreed to keep Tyler Drilling in mind and contact them at some unspecified point in the future, which would doubtfully ever come.
After another disappointing meeting that morning, they had returned to the motel at noon feeling disheartened and dejected. She had told Harlan, "Unless you need to go somewhere, I'd like to take the car this afternoon and see if I can find a place to have my hair and nails done."
He was instantly alert. "You always do them yourself."
"They're beginning to look like it." His eyes were as sharp as rapiers. She tried to keep her expression bland.
"Fine with me," he said at last. Before he left the car, however, he reached into the back seat and retrieved the portfolio carrying all his designs.
"G'bye."
"Bye."
Sage was blocks away before she reached beneath the front seat and removed the folder of copies she had made a week earlier while she'd had access to his portfolio. The drawings had to be greatly reduced in size, but were still legible. If Harlan decided to split, she didn't want to be left with nothing. Due to the most recent development, she was glad she had taken the precaution.
Luckily that hadn't been the only precaution taken that she now felt relief over. Harlan had been efficient and unobtrusive, but each time they'd made love, he'd protected her from getting pregnant.
Thinking about his sweet, passionate lovemaking brought tears to her eyes, which she blinked away before Hardtack's formidable secretary could see them.
It had come as no surprise to Sage that Harlan had been involved with other women. He received more than his share of smoldering come-ons and nonverbal invitations.
Everywhere they went, Sage was aware of the restless attention he generated in females. One of his disarming smiles could fluster an efficient cashier. One penetrating look could turn a cantankerous waitress into Miss Congeniality. One flirtatious wink could make even the most average-looking woman smile as radiantly as a beauty queen. Harlan Boyd definitely had an effect on the ladies.
Apparently Mrs. Grayson Hardtack was no exception.
Harlan had had an affair with her, probably while he was working for Hardtack. Hardtack had found out about it and all hell had broken loose. Sage was surmising, of course, but she was confident that his involvement with them was something like that.
What really hurt was that Harlan still felt hostile about it. Whatever had brewed between Mrs. Hardtack and him was still brewing as far as he was concerned.
Did he still care for the woman? If he didn't, why had he become so vexed? He could have laughed and said, "You'd better go on that appointment alone, Sage. See, Mrs. Hardtack wasn't very discreet about her infidelities. Hardtack got sore and, well, you understand these things."
But he hadn't dismissed it as a fleeting affair without emotional entanglements. He had paced and flapped around like a marionette worked by an uncoordinated puppeteer. His personality had undergone a drastic change. For him to have behaved that irrationally, the affair must have been left unresolved.
How many affairs of the heart did Harlan have in his past that had been left unresolved? Dozens? Scores? Whatever the number, add one, Sage thought with biting self-criticism.
He had said he was a professional troubleshooter. She was just another problem he had spotted. She was a frustrated virgin whose ego had been badly bruised and was in desperate need of sexual awakening. If she had taken out a personal ad, she couldn't have publicized her problem more clearly.
Harlan, having the equipment and skill to solve her problem, had responded to her silent advertisement. He had introduced her to her own sexuality and released her from being uptight about expressing it. Now that she had demonstrated just how unrestrained she could be in bed, he would consider her problem solved and go on his merry way, ready to tackle another's dilemma.
She wondered if he would tell her good-bye, notify her of his leaving. Or would she just wake up one morning and find him gone? Probably the latter. She couldn't envision him in a sad, tearful farewell scene. However it happened, it was going to break her heart.
She had fallen in love with the jerk.
"Ms. Tyler?"
She jumped and snapped to attention. "Yes?"
"Mr. Hardtack will see you now."
"Thank you."
She gathered her handbag and folder from the sofa and followed the secretary across an acre of polished marble floor, through a floor-to-ceiling door, into Hardtack's inner sanctum.
Its austerity was marginally relieved by Oriental rugs forming islands of pricelessness on the floor. A wall of windows afforded a spectacular view of the Dallas skyline. Having done her homework, Sage knew which of the buildings belonged to Hardtack. The immensity of his wealth and power intimidated her for a moment. What was she doing in this temple of commerce?
Well why not, a small voice argued back. Family pride asserted itself. She was a Tyler. The Tylers were as good as anybody.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached his desk and extended her hand. A graying, robust
man, impeccably dressed in a business suit, partially rose from his chair and shook her hand across his desk.
"Hello, Mr. Hardtack. I'm Sage Tyler. Thank you for seeing me this afternoon on such short notice."
"Sit down, Ms. Tyler." While Sage was taking her seat, his secretary passed him a note card. He referred to it, then nodded at her. She soundlessly withdrew. "You told my assistant that you had to see me about something urgent and personal."
Hardtack was a man in his late fifties, with a wide chest and expansive belly, although it was more muscle than fat. His nose was large and bulbous and had the ruddiness of a man who enjoyed several bourbons spaced at intervals throughout the day. He had a quelling habit of peering from beneath his bushy gray eyebrows.
Sage, shocked by her own temerity, stated boldly, "I lied, Mr. Hardtack. I came here to sell you something."
He was taken aback by her candor. He studied her for a moment. Then he readjusted himself in his leather chair and, folding his hands over his stomach, chuckled softly. "Well, you've got guts, Ms. Tyler, I'll say that. What are you peddling? Has my subscription to TV Guide run out?"
Unsure how long his good humor would last, she gave him a tentative smile and spread open the folder on the edge of his desk.
"I want to acquaint you with a new sprinkler and irrigation system. I have the designs here."
He didn't even glance at Harlan's drawings. He didn't look at anything except the space between her eyes. "Ms. Tyler, I'm a busy man. I've got an army of employees who handles that kind of thing for me."
"I'm well aware of that," she said quickly, sensing that he was about to toss her out. "But I've been seeing vice presidents and young executives for weeks. They're much more interested in staying within their present budgets than making an investment. None wants to rock the corporate boat in these troubled times, so no decisions are made.
"This time I thought I'd come straight to the top man, the one who signs the checks and ultimately makes the decisions anyway. I'm tired of being shunted from one subordinate to another."
For several ponderous moments, he stared at her, then he checked his wristwatch and said, "You've got five minutes." She pushed the folder toward him while hyping the sterling reputation of Tyler Drilling. A few seconds into her spiel, he interrupted her. "I'm familiar with your family's reputation in the oil business. Tell me what you're selling and why I should buy it."
"Have you awarded a contract for the sprinkler and irrigation system at Shadow Hills?"
Land-clearing had just gotten underway for the planned community several miles north of Dallas. Sage had read that, when it was completed, it would encompass several square miles, would have one eighteen-hole golf course, a nine-hole course, a polo field, a landing strip, a shopping area, a ritzy country club, as well as obscenely expensive homesites.
"Not to my knowledge," he told her.
"I would appreciate the chance to bid on the contract. We've got precisely what you need."
"Do you have references? Who else is using your system?"
"No one. If you buy it, you'll be our first customer."
She didn't want to commence her career with a lie. Even if she were so inclined, Hardtack would find out. She met him eye-to-eye, waiting for him to say he wasn't interested and signal for his secretary to usher her out.
Instead, he said, "I'm still listening."
Swiftly regurgitating everything she had heard Harlan tell their prospective clients, she explained the mechanics. "We can install above-ground sprinklers as well as lay underground systems. And we can do it a lot cheaper than any competitor because we've got the supplies, the pipes and pumps that went out of use when the oil market collapsed."
He studied the drawings for much longer than she would have dared hope. In fact, he studied each one at length. Without raising his head, he addressed her from beneath his brows. "Who did these drawings?"
"Our designer," she replied evasively. "My brothers will be in charge of all the installation and operation."
"Hmm."
Although she was curious to know if Hardtack would react as violently to the mention of Harlan's name as Harlan had to his, she didn't dare risk it. Hardtack was too excellent a prospect to take the gamble. A single contract with him could lead to many. He could lend Tyler Drilling's new enterprise more credibility than anyone.
That had been her primary reason for wanting to meet with him personally. The other had been that she wanted to see the betrayed husband.
"I'm keeping these," he said abruptly, stacking the drawings together.
"F-fine," she stammered. She would have to see that Harlan filed for a patent immediately.
"I'd like to look them over more carefully and speak with the project supervisor."
"Certainly."
"How can I get in touch with you?"
Her heart was knocking. After so many dismissals, she didn't trust her ears. "Then you're interested?"
"I'll be honest with you. A sprinkler system for Shadow Hills isn't one of the pressing problems on my mind right now. Someone within this corporation, an employee I don't even know by name, could buy one from a thousand different sources—"
"But none with our unique—"
"Save the sales pitch. I've heard it." He aimed his index finger at her. "I'm offering you a piece of free advice. Learn when to keep your mouth shut, Ms. Tyler."
"Yes, sir," she said meekly. Someone else had told her recently that she talked too much.
"What I'm saying is that I'm not as interested in your product as I am in you. It took guts for you to walk in here today. I like to reward people who take chances. I also admire people who don't sling bull, but tell it straight the first time." He checked his watch. "You're thirty seconds over your time limit. Leave your phone number with my secretary. Good-bye."
"Good-bye and thank you."
She stood up and confidently shook his hand. But as she turned to leave, she drew up short. Mounted on the far wall, the one she had been sitting with her back to, was a photographic portrait of a beautiful woman.
Deep waves of blond hair framed her lovely face. She was dressed in a sapphire sequin ball gown that looked tailor-made for her perfect figure. She was standing in the curve of a winding staircase, her bejeweled hand resting negligently on the carved bannister. Precious stones twinkled at her ears and throat. She looked extremely well kept.
"Who is that?"
From behind her, Hardtack replied, "My wife Marian."
Marian. "She's beautiful."
"Yes, she is."
Sage gave him a shaky smile, then hastened from the office. After stopping at the secretary's desk and providing her with the company telephone number in Milton Point, she departed.
On her way to the elevators, she would have been skipping down the corridor, singing at the top of her voice, doing a gleeful little jig, if Marian Hardtack hadn't been one of the most beautiful women she'd ever laid eyes on.
* * *
Grayson Hardtack watched the young woman leave his office. He allowed time for her exchange with his secretary before speaking to the secretary himself from the intercom system on his desk.
"Get me Harry downstairs, please."
"Yes, sir. Your three-thirty appointment is here. Shall I send him in?"
"Give me five minutes."
"Yes, sir."
While he waited, he stared fixedly at the portrait across the room. He wasn't kept waiting long. The caller identified himself as Harry, one of the plainclothes security guards who patrolled the high-tech headquarters of Hardtack and Associates.
"Harry, there should be a young woman coming down any minute. Blond. Black suit. Pretty. Good legs."
"I see her, sir. She just stepped off the elevator."
"Follow her for a few days. I'll get someone to cover your shifts here. I want to know where she goes, who she sees, and any background information you can dig up. Report back to me within seventy-two hours."
"Yes, sir."
He paid his people well and hired only the best. Confident that his directive would be carried out thoroughly and with utmost secrecy, Hardtack resumed his study of the designs. He could swear they had been drawn by a draftsman whose work he knew.
When his secretary escorted in his next appointment, he was still frowning over the sheets scattered across his otherwise immaculate desk.
* * *
Chapter 16
"Sage is coming home tomorrow," Chase said.
Marcie glanced up from her unfinished plate of lasagna. She and Chase were having a quiet dinner at home. Jamie was sleeping in a portable bassinet nearby. "Did you hear from her?"
"She called this afternoon from Dallas."
"I thought they were in south Texas, somewhere in the valley."
"Nothing happened there. They made a U-turn and went to Dallas with a different marketing strategy in mind."
He recounted to Marcie what Sage had told him. "She's excited about it. After being there for several days, she's compiled a list of six potential clients that are more than 'maybes.'"
"Then she's done some great work!"
"I told her so."
Marcie gave him a wide smile. "Good, Chase. She needs to hear that from you. Did she mention Harlan?"
"She's called us—what?—three or four times since she's been gone. This is the first time she's brought his name into the conversation. She asked if Lucky and I were going to beat him up if he came back with her."
"All things considered, I believe that was a fair question."
Chase frowned. There had been disharmony between them ever since their argument two weeks earlier. "You can't blame us for defending our sister, Marcie. We would have done it for any female member of our family."
"I admire you for feeling protective of us. But that's not the point. The point is that if Sage went to bed with Harlan, she did it of her own free will and doesn't need 'defending.' Lucky didn't ask anyone's permission before he fell in love with Devon, even though she was married at the time, legally if not technically.
"Lucky was appalled when you told him you were going to marry me. At the time, you were in a fragile state of mind and still very much in love with Tanya. From his perspective, he was giving you a sound piece of advice. Instead, you followed your heart and married me anyway. You trusted your instincts over his.