Her Man Friday

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Her slowing pulse accelerated again, however, when she recalled once more her escapade with Schuyler Kimball. She had called his secretary the first thing the following morning to set up an appointment to see him. After much hemming and hawing and alleged rearranging of his schedule, Miss Rigby had managed to pencil Caroline in for an impressive twenty minutes the following Saturday morning—which was only a few hours away from right now. Caroline swallowed hard as she rehearsed yet again what she intended—what she needed—to say to Mr. Kimball.

  They were losing Chloe. And he had to help her bring the girl back. It was that simple.

  Never had Caroline met a more remarkable child than Chloe Sandusky, but every day the teenager was slipping farther and farther away. Caroline was beginning to fear that, unless there were some vast and immediate changes made to the girl's life, she would be lost to them forever. And the world—yes, the world—might potentially suffer as a result.

  Simply put, Chloe Sandusky was the most gifted, most brilliant, most incredibly minded person Caroline had ever met. And having worked with gifted, brilliant, incredibly minded children for more than a decade now, that was saying something. Yet no one but her seemed to care about Chloe. Even the teachers at Van Meter—who'd been trained to deal with gifted, and often difficult to manage, children—had pretty much washed their hands of Chloe.

  Because in addition to being the most brilliant child Caroline had ever met, Chloe was also the most self-destructive. There could be any number of reasons for that—and, having finally met Mr. Kimball, Caroline could easily conceive of one really big reason—but that didn't mean she was ready to give up on Chloe. Not yet. Not now. Not ever, if she could help it.

  Unfortunately, that was less and less up to Caroline, and more and more up to Chloe. And if Chloe didn't give a damn about her future—or her present, for that matter—then how was Caroline supposed to help her?

  The words she had rehearsed so meticulously to recite to Schuyler Kimball tumbled through her head, sounding stilted and stunted and sterile. Twenty minutes, she reminded herself. That was all the time she had to save a girl's life. Twenty minutes to convince a man who may or may not be her father that Chloe Sandusky's was a life worth living, a brain worth nurturing, a soul worth saving. God alone knew what the girl was capable of achieving if given even a tiny injection of self-worth. She might become a research scientist who would ultimately rid the world of disease. She might become a composer who created music to calm even the most restless spirit. She might become a leader who ran a government that would bring peace to a weary planet.

  But none of that would happen unless someone could make Chloe understand how very important she was. Not just as a brilliant individual, but as a decent human being. Caroline had tried so hard to make the girl see how amazing and abundant her gifts were. But Chloe would be blind to those gifts forever unless someone else—someone she cared about more than she did the headmistress of her school—pointed them out to her, and praised her for possessing them.

  Caroline flopped over onto her back again and tried not to look at the empty space on the other side of the bed, the space that had been empty for almost a year now. Instead, she thought about the morning to come. Twenty minutes, she reminded herself. How could she find enough words in that brief span of time to save the life of a child who didn't consider herself valuable enough to rescue?

  The moment his secretary led her into Schuyler Kimball's library, Caroline knew she was about to undertake a battle for a lost cause. To say that the billionaire looked uninterested in her arrival would have been a gross understatement. In fact, as he closed his book and rose formally from a leather-clad sofa, what he looked to be was hostile. And immediately, instinctively, she shifted into self-preservation mode.

  Strangely, though, she recognized at once that the reason her defenses leapt so utterly to alert wasn't because of his clear animosity toward her. Antagonistic parents—and guardians—were part of the terrain where her job was concerned. But Caroline was fully confident in her ability to manage such situations when they arose. She was, after all, a professional. No, the reason every last one of her personal shields hurtled up now was, she was certain, to keep her safe from Schuyler Kimball as a man. Because Caroline Beecham, for all her self-assurance as an educator, was in no way confident of her abilities as a woman.

  Particularly when she was faced with a man like this.

  She found it odd that someone who worked at home would bother dressing in a power suit, complete with Windsor-knotted tie. She would have thought that would be one of the perks of self-employment—billionaire self-employment, at that—the freedom to wear whatever one wished when performing one's job. Schuyler Kimball had so much power and so much money, she couldn't conceive of a single person who might tell him what to do. Had she been in his place, she would have worn her pajamas every day.

  Yet here he stood, in his own home, looking as if he had just risen from the head of an executive boardroom table. Then, for some reason, it struck her that perhaps this was the only way Schuyler Kimball could maintain his authority over his personal empire. By treating it the same way he would his professional one. Still, he seemed out of place here, dressed as he was. And certainly all the more formidable. She had rather been hoping she might catch him between tennis sets, when he would be more relaxed, more exhausted, more malleable. And, naturally, more amenable to seeing things her way.

  Ah, well, she thought as she took a reluctant step forward. Might as well get this over with. Tally ho. Half a league onward. Mine eyes have seen the glory, and all that.

  "The headmistress of Chloe's school is here, Schuyler."

  Miss Rigby's announcement from directly behind her made Caroline flinch, simply because, for an instant, she had completely forgotten that she and Mr. Kimball weren't alone in the room—or in the universe, for that matter. What was worse than her reaction, however, was the fact that he had obviously noticed her quick recoil, because he smiled slightly, almost, she thought, triumphantly.

  "Thank you, Lily darling," he replied coolly, his gaze fixed not on his secretary, but on Caroline.

  No one moved for a moment, then the soft click of the door closing behind her made Caroline flinch again. Because then she and Schuyler Kimball truly were alone—in the room and in the universe. For twenty minutes. Whether she liked it or not.

  In light of his unmistakable antagonism, she inhaled a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and smoothed a hand quickly down the front of her beige knit dress. The loose-fitting, nondescript, long-sleeved sheath wasn't, perhaps, the most efficient armor in the world. With a man like Schuyler Kimball, she probably would have fought the battle more effectively if she had donned a hula skirt and halter top. But Caroline had learned long ago that if she wanted others to see past the outer shell that had always betrayed her, then she would have to learn to disguise it as best she could.

  Evidently, she thought, as Mr. Kimball flicked a hasty—and indifferent—glance in her direction before turning away, she had succeeded well in that this morning, at least. As always, though, the victory felt hollow at best.

  "Mrs. Beckwith, isn't it?" he asked as he approached her, focused not on her, but on the rows of books he slowly passed.

  "No," she replied easily, unwilling to lose her composure in light of his games. A man like him, she supposed, would always want to have the upper hand. Nowhere was it written, however, that she had to let him have it. "It's Mrs. Beecham."

  He kept coming until a scant foot of space separated them. But instead of halting to face her, he seemed to become preoccupied by something else and moved to her left, covering the half dozen feet between him and a wall completely obscured by books. He scanned the titles idly for a moment, until locating whatever had caught his interest. Withdrawing the volume, he opened it to the table of contents, then leaned one shoulder insouciantly against the shelf from which he had pulled the book and began to read.

  She waited in silence while he finis
hed his stalling tactic, suddenly none too eager to get on with the reason for her visit. Frankly, she found him far more interesting to watch than she did to talk to. She wondered if he ever stopped thinking, or planning, or scheming. For long moments, neither of them spoke, and Caroline congratulated herself for her patience. Then, as absently as he had taken an interest in the book, he lost it again, closing the volume and reshelving it with much care.

  But still he maintained his indifferent posture. With one shoulder pressed to the shelf, he stuffed his hands nonchalantly into his trouser pockets and met her gaze with a look that was, at best, incredibly bored. "And, I'm sorry… what is your position again?" he asked. "I've forgotten what it is you said you do."

  She smiled dryly. "The hell you have."

  A flicker of something—surprise?—lit his eyes for a moment, then dimmed again. "A teacher, or something, right?"

  Caroline took a few steps toward him, thinking it might be best if she could at least appear to be on the offensive here. "I'm the headmistress of Chloe's school, the Van Meter Academy. Where," she added, biting back the sarcasm that spurred her, "your young ward is currently enrolled in the program for extremely gifted children, studying literature, music, art, science, and philosophy. Or at least she would be, if she made it to class more than a handful of times a week and completed the required assignments."

  Mr. Kimball nodded slowly, seemingly lost in thought. "That's right," he murmured, his voice as soft and smooth as velvet. He met her gaze levelly again, mischief sparking his eyes this time when he did. "How could I forget? That's one of my favorite words in the English language, after all."

  She eyed him with confusion. "What word?"

  He smiled the way he had smiled at his… playmate—she hesitated to use the word, though she wasn't sure why, seeing as how that was essentially what his dinner companion of the week before had been. "Headmistress," he said, enunciating the word with much relish. "I love that word. It just seems to encompass so many wonderful things, doesn't it?"

  Instead of rising to the bait, Caroline ignored the remark. There was no reason for her to resort to adolescent comments. Especially since Mr. Kimball seemed more than capable of providing enough for both of them.

  "Your ward, Mr. Kimball," she said, moving a few more slow steps forward, until she, too, could lean a careless shoulder against the bookcase, albeit a shelf lower than where he'd settled his own, "is an extremely gifted young woman. I don't know if you honestly realize just how gifted."

  His lips flattened into a line of clear disapproval where the change of subject was concerned. "My ward, Mrs. Beecham, is a troubled kid whose mother should have done better by her," he replied.

  "Maybe it's her father who should have done better by her," Caroline returned without hesitation. "It takes two to generate a life, after all. Why do people have so much trouble remembering that? Why is it always the mother who fails a child, and not the father, hmmm?"

  But Mr. Kimball didn't rise to her bait, either. He simply stated blandly, "Chloe is doing just fine, in my opinion, all things considered. Yes, she can be difficult at times, but she's by no means any worse than a number of children her age. I don't see where you need to trouble yourself with her welfare. Will that be everything? Lily can show you out."

  Caroline inhaled a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she tried to keep a lid on her anger and decide how to proceed. Finally, ignoring his invitation for her to beat it, she said, "I have been working with gifted children for nearly twelve years, Mr. Kimball, ever since earning my master's degree in child development. But I've never met a child like Chloe. Ever."

  "Yes, well, you wouldn't be alone in that regard," he interjected dryly. "She's certainly one of a kind."

  Caroline ignored that comment, too. "There are a lot of gifted children in the world," she continued, striving to keep her voice even, hesitant to succumb to the passion she felt for her subject matter. Something told her that Schuyler Kimball would react to passion—any passion—in a way she wasn't prepared to deal with right now. "Musically gifted children," she went on, "linguistically gifted children, intellectually gifted children, emotionally gifted children, kinetically gifted children. But I've never met a child who combined so many gifts in one single package. Chloe is gifted in virtually every way imaginable. She could do or be anything she wants. Anything. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  For a long moment, the billionaire didn't respond. He only stared at Caroline as if giving great weight to some very important matter. In many ways, he seemed not to see her at all, so absorbed was he in whatever had claimed his attention. His entire being seemed to hum with the process of dissemination, as if he were some sophisticated bit of machinery filing and sorting what she had just told him, drawing conclusions no mortal human would ever be able to fathom.

  Although she didn't alter her seemingly careless pose any more than he did, ultimately, Caroline had to look away. She suddenly wished she had kept her glasses on instead of leaving them in the car, even though they were only necessary for close-up work like reading and driving. At this point, she thought, any barrier, anything that might give the impression of distance between them, would be welcome. Such intensity on Mr. Kimball's part, such focus, such utter fixation… It made her nervous. It made her anxious. It made her…

  God help her, it made her hot.

  She had been totally unprepared for Schuyler Kimball a week ago, and she was no more ready for him now. And it wasn't just because of the simple matter that he was an extremely handsome, rawly sexy, man. Certainly she'd met plenty of handsome, sexy men in her time, and had been married to one for nearly ten years… before losing him.

  But Mr. Kimball's appearance went beyond dark good looks. There was something compelling about him. Something commanding. Something charismatic. It was something she'd never encountered in another human being before. He was the kind of man who could tell a person to do something outrageous, something ridiculous, something dangerous… and that person would do it without a thought for the repercussions of the action.

  He was the kind of man who, if he had a mind to, could honestly own another person, heart and mind, body and soul. Maybe that was why Miss Rigby had granted Caroline an audience with him of only twenty minutes. Because to spend any longer than that in the man's presence was to risk losing oneself forever.

  He shifted his position slightly then, and she brought her head back up to glance at him. But only long enough to note that he had removed one hand from his pocket and was absently rubbing his open palm over his roughly shadowed jaw. There was something strangely intimate about the gesture, though, and she forced her gaze away again, focusing on the flame-colored trees that dotted the vast landscape outside the big Palladian window behind him.

  "Look," he said softly, a bit wearily, "I'll grant you that Chloe is brighter than the average child, but—"

  "Her IQ is off the charts, Mr. Kimball," Caroline interrupted him. "Higher, I'll wager, than even yours."

  He thrust his chin up defensively at that, and Caroline realized with no small degree of surprise that she'd just inflicted the first blow of battle. So Schuyler Kimball's own armor wasn't quite as impenetrable as he let on. The recognition that he wasn't, in fact, omnipotent, as everyone seemed to think he was, offered her some small measure of reassurance.

  "She's nothing at all like the average child," Caroline continued, taking advantage of his silence. "In fact, Chloe's nothing like anyone. If you could put Einstein, Mozart, and Da Vinci in one person, Mr. Kimball, you would end up with Chloe Sandusky. It's that simple. And believe me, she's smart enough to know it. Can you imagine what that must be like? To be fourteen years old—fourteen years old—and to be as brilliant as she is, and to look the way she looks, and to have no idea—no idea—where you fit into the scheme of things?"

  Mr. Kimball's chest expanded with the silent and lengthy breath he inhaled. His eyes grew turbulent, his mouth hard when he replied, "Yes, Mrs. Beecham. Believe it or
not, I can, to some extent, imagine what that must be like."

  She shook her head. "No, I don't think you can." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to object. "I'm familiar with what kind of man you are," she told him. "Everyone is. A brilliant, analytical mind, a child misunderstood and all that. But that's the point—you're a man. Even when you were a boy, your potential was still seen as a man's potential."

  "When I was a boy, Mrs. Beecham," he interrupted her, "no one saw any potential in me at all."

  He didn't even try to disguise the bitterness in his voice, and for the first time, Caroline realized that perhaps he and Chloe had something more in common than she'd initially surmised. Still, she thought, Chloe was at a far greater risk than Mr. Kimball ever had been. There was no question about that.

  "Chloe obviously isn't male," she continued, dropping her voice to a quieter, gentler pitch. "Nor is she even an unattractive female," she added with a soft, sad chuckle, "which is what most people expect to find when a female person is vastly intelligent.

  "Chloe matured early in as many ways as there were," Caroline went on intently. "She should have started receiving the proper attention the moment she was born to prepare her for what lay ahead. And once she entered puberty, she should have had a strong female role model to guide her through the hazardous waters. Yet prior to coming here, the only influence she ever had in her life was her mother, who, I don't think I need to remind you, made her living as a stripper."

  "An exotic dancer," the billionaire corrected her halfheartedly.

  Caroline surrendered to a little sound of derision. "Chloe doesn't talk a lot about what her life was like then, but her mother, quite frankly, didn't seem to give a damn about her."

  "Yes, well, she's not living with her mother anymore, is she?" Mr. Kimball pointed out.

  "No, that's true," Caroline agreed. "Now she's moved into a big, beautiful estate, and her guardian is a hugely successful, very wealthy, very prominent businessman. Who," she added pointedly, "doesn't seem to give a damn about her."