by Anne Stuart
“I’m sure I’m not. Where?”
Susan bit her lip. “Dubrovnik Court, in the East Fifties.”
“Hell,” said Laura bitterly. “Hell and damnation.” A sudden, horrifying thought struck her. “Who did they sublet to?”
“I haven’t been able to find that out yet.”
“I can just imagine. Dubrovnik Court has a waiting list a mile long. Someone must have pulled some strings to get them in there on zero notice. Who do you think is going to be ending up on the ninth and tenth floor, Susan? Toxic waste specialists? A halfway house for sex offenders?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Swimming Pool News is already gone. They started moving at six this morning, Luis said.”
“Why can’t we afford a decent doorman, who’d advise the owner of these things?” Laura wailed.
“You’re probably overreacting. They may have been on Dubrovnik Court’s waiting list for years. They’ve probably sublet to Septic Tank News, or something innocuous like that.”
“As long as they don’t install working models on the ninth floor. I don’t think I am overreacting, Susan. This is just a little too coincidental, on top of the Whirlwind’s visit. I’m expecting the worst.”
The phone rang, its discreet, musical note as jarring as a buzz saw. Susan answered it, her voice a polite murmur, and by the time she replaced it, her expression had gone from serene to lugubrious. “You’re right,” she said. “Your new tenant is moving in.”
“And?”
“It’s not toxic waste or sex offenders. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Who is it?”
“Michael Dubrovnik himself.”
Michael wondered how long it would take her to find out. He expected a couple of days at least. Word had it that she was so caught up with some new model that she wouldn’t be paying much attention to her beloved albatross of a building. He expected he’d have more than enough time to get settled before she realized what had happened.
He was wrong. He was standing in the middle of the huge, deserted tenth floor of the Glass House, watching the workmen smash through the cheap partitions, when a pint-sized termagant, dressed this time in a green leather jumpsuit and high-heeled boots, came storming up to him. She was still wearing those glasses, and her coal-black hair practically bristled on her small, well-shaped head. He watched her approach with a cool smile on his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ve sublet these two floors,” he replied, mildly enough.
“So I’ve been informed. I want you out of here. Now.”
“Sorry. I’m staying.”
“You don’t want to be here. I know for a fact you have more real estate in New York than anyone short of Donald Trump. This is hardly your style....” She winced as a heavy partition crashed to the floor beneath the machinery of an eager workman.
“But this way I get to oversee my investments. I own all the property surrounding you.”
“I know that. And that’s all you own. You can camp on my doorstep, you can throw wild parties that keep me up all night, you can do your damnedest, but it won’t do you any good.” As another wall came crashing down, she shrieked, “Stop that!”
“I’m afraid I have every right to renovate this place. Check with your lawyers, if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you. But what about building permits, that sort of thing? It takes weeks, months.”
“Not when you have the right sort of friends,” Michael said softly. “Check with my contractors, if you don’t believe me.”
“Damn you.” She took a deep breath, clearly trying to control her fury, and once more Michael found himself admiring her. Not his sort of woman, he reminded himself. But attractive in a feisty sort of way. Maybe, once she accepted defeat, he might find a place for her in his organization. Bright, fierce, dedicated people were hard to find.
Laura Winston wouldn’t take her certain defeat at his hands with much grace, however. And he couldn’t see her accepting anything from him, once that battle was over. It was a shame, but he, unlike Laura, knew when to accept the inevitable.
“I hope the workmen won’t disturb you. They’ll be finished by tomorrow evening.”
“Finished what? Destroying my building? What the hell are you going to put on these two floors? You have more than enough office space available to you in the buildings you own—you don’t have to invade mine.”
“The word is sublet, not invade,” he said, gauging his smile to goad her. “And I’m going to live here.”
That silenced her. She stared up at him, mute with horror, and he wondered whether she was going to cave in that quickly. He almost hoped she wouldn’t. Despite the costly delay, he didn’t want to see Laura vanquished too easily. It had been a while since he’d come across a foe worthy of his considerable expertise, and he didn’t know if he’d ever come up against such a determined woman.
“The hell you are,” she said finally.
“The hell I am,” he agreed. “Don’t worry, I’m a very quiet client. I’ll be having a small cocktail party the day after tomorrow, to celebrate my new headquarters. I hope you’ll come.”
Was it Rumpelstiltskin who got himself into such a rage that he vanished? Michael hadn’t had time for fairy tales when he was growing up, but that particular story rang a bell. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ms. Laura Winston disappeared in a puff of smoky anger.
Once again he’d underestimated her. She took a deep breath, managing an icy smile. “You think you can get New York workmen to get this place redone in time?”
“I can get anything I want, Laura. I just have to find the right price.”
“The Glass House doesn’t have a price.”
“Not in dollars and cents, apparently. Though my last offer still stands. No, I’m simply going to have to find other ways to apply pressure. How are the foundations in this old place?”
She glared at him. “I don’t know if they’ll stand up to a strong breeze. We’ll have to wait and see. Are you planning to blast?”
“If I have to go that far.”
“You do. You can blast until the whole building collapses in on itself, with you in it, I trust. And I still won’t sell to you.” She spun on her heel and headed toward the elevators.
“Can I count on your presence Wednesday night? I was planning on having you as the guest of honor.”
She paused, looking over her shoulders. “It sounds more like you were planning on having me for hors d’oeuvres. I’ll come to your party, Dubrovnik. If I can bring someone with me.”
He frowned. “I thought you weren’t involved with anyone.”
“I’m involved with a great many people. You haven’t done your research properly. I can recommend a decent private detective who’s much more thorough. I’d like to bring my newest model. You have a passing fondness for models, as I remember.”
He grinned then, momentarily entranced. “You think you’re going to bribe your way out of the mess you’re in?”
Laura’s answering smile was Madonna-like, and very dangerous. “Anything’s worth a try. And you haven’t met Marita.”
“I haven’t even heard of Marita.”
“You will, Michael,” she said sweetly. “You will.”
Chapter Four
Even the freight elevator was preferable to the spanking new Otis. Laura rather liked the way the old lift jerked and bounced its way up to the twelfth floor of the Glass House. Her companion wasn’t nearly as pleased, a fact which amused Laura. The spectacularly beautiful Mary Ellen Murphy had taken to elegance like a duck to water. Nebraska or wherever it was she’d come from was ancient history to her, and her perfect nose was wrinkled in distaste at the padded walls, the stained floors, the uneven ascent.
Laura took pity on her. She’d already ascertained that she didn’t really like Mary Ellen. In the last five and a half days they’d spent almost every waking hour together, working on the enjoyable task of turning Mary
Ellen into Marita. During those hours Laura had discovered that there wasn’t really anything of Mary Ellen to like. Certainly she put on an excellent front. Her gorgeous, slightly oversize mouth could smile beguilingly, her huge eyes were warm and sincere, her gratitude and compliments neither stilted nor effusive. She hit the right note every time, and yet Laura could see the secret coldness, the go-to-hell shadow in those magnificent eyes. The camera could see it, too. And that—that subtle anger that bordered on cruelty—was what was going to make Marita the New Face.
“Sorry about the elevator,” Laura murmured, letting her eyes run over her creation. From the tousled strands of silver-blond hair down the long, beautiful body draped in one of Donatella Versace’s ridiculous, sultry creations, Marita was a sight that would stop Michael Dubrovnik’s crowded cocktail party cold. Laura had chosen the dress with due consideration—something deliberately trashy to set off the girl’s flawless beauty. Laura was already reveling in her triumph.
“Oh, that’s perfectly all right,” Mary Ellen murmured, her low, sweet voice almost sincere. “All the other elevators were so busy with the party.”
“There’s that,” Laura agreed. “But I also didn’t want anyone to have a glimpse of you ahead of time. You’re going to make quite a stir, Mary Ellen. I don’t want to blunt the impact by having anyone get a sneak preview.”
Mary Ellen preened. “Don’t you think you’d better start calling me Marita? That is, if you want to,” she added shyly, her eyes calculating.
Laura’s own smile gave nothing away. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, adding, “Marita.”
The twelfth-floor offices of Glass Faces were softly lighted, illuminating the two figures waiting for them. Susan had that determinedly calm expression on her face, and inwardly Laura cursed. Susan only looked that serene when Frank was around, upsetting her hormones.
“God!” Susan gasped, her eyes widening as she took in all of Marita’s astonishing elegance.
Laura knew that her own fatuous smile was nothing short of maternal, but she didn’t care. “Didn’t I tell you you’d be amazed?”
The first glimmer of real emotion lighted Marita’s extraordinary eyes with a feline smugness that was nevertheless oddly appealing. She twirled faultlessly on heels that would have tripped most women, and admired her reflection in the mirrored walls. “I do look wonderful, don’t I?”
“You do indeed.” Frank stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a severe black tuxedo, formal black Nikes and a diamond in his ear. His long blond hair was pushed back, trailing over his shoulder, and his mocking pirate’s face was as bemused by Marita’s appearance as was Marita with her own reflection.
Laura glanced at her friend, taking in the swift passage of emotions, of despair, rage and acceptance, all racing across her face with the speed of storm clouds and vanishing immediately.
“They make a perfect couple,” Susan observed in a carefully neutral tone.
“What the hell are you doing here, Frank?” Laura demanded tartly.
“Laura, my sweet,” Frank protested, unmoved by her irritation. “You know Susan can’t keep any secrets from me. She told me the mysterious Marita would be making her public debut tonight. You couldn’t expect me to miss that?”
“In a tuxedo?”
“I happened to see your invitation from the great Dubrovnik himself. He said bring along any of your favorite models. And I,” he said modestly, “am one of your favorite models.”
“Not tonight you aren’t. I don’t like being hustled, Frank.”
“Darling Laura, it’s not you I’m intent on hustling.” He cast a look of sensual longing toward Marita, a look so classic that it bordered on parody. Marita’s stony, beautiful eyes looked right through him with no interest whatsoever, and Laura found it difficult to hide a smile.
“You’re wasting your time on Marita,” she said. “This, by the way, is Frank Buckley.” Her introductions were curt, and Marita’s regal acknowledgment would have dented a lesser man’s confidence.
Frank, however, merely shrugged. “I need work,” he said, his usually melodic voice flat. “I’m broke. I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. Escort two charming ladies to the Whirlwind’s cocktail party, and drum up some business on the side. I realize you’ve been doing your best, but the wolf is no longer at the door. He’s walked right in and sat down at the table.”
“Three charming ladies,” Laura corrected him. “Susan’s coming, too.”
“No, I’m not...” Susan began to protest, startled at her last-minute inclusion, even more rattled by the genuine pleasure on Frank’s face.
“Of course you are, darling,” he said, advancing on her. “You’re the only one who’ll be nice to me.”
“You can come, Frank,” Laura agreed. “But don’t try manipulating me again. You try it, and you’ll be out of here on your cute little buns so fast...”
Frank smiled at her, all innocent beguilement. “I love it when you talk dirty. Don’t you want to face your nemesis with a little moral support?”
“That’s why I’m bringing Susan.”
Frank’s sigh was mocking and resigned. “Then think of me as a fashion accessory for Marita. I go well with Versace.”
Marita shrugged, her beautiful eyes barely seeing him. “I have no objections,” she said, bored.
“Ladies, you’re doing wonders for my ego.” Frank shook his head.
“I still love you,” Susan said sweetly, lightly.
“Thanks, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I know you do.”
Laura considered pushing Frank out one of the smoked glass panels of the building. Didn’t he realize what he was doing to Susan?
“Let’s go,” she said curtly, controlling her murderous impulse. “I want to see what happens when a whirlwind runs out of steam.”
“You’re putting a lot of stock in Marita,” Susan said, casting a worried glance at the new model.
“She can carry it off. We’ve got it all planned, haven’t we?”
“Certainly,” Mary Ellen replied. “I’m going to dazzle Michael Dubrovnik.”
“And what if he doesn’t fall for her?” Frank asked, his voice wry.
“He will,” Laura said, leading the way to the elevators. “He has to. After all, she’s going to be the New Face. I can get endorsements up the yin-yang for her.”
She paused, letting Marita precede her to the gilt elevator, and Frank’s sotto voce comment drifted to her ears.
“Then it’s going to be a long, cold decade,” he muttered to Susan. And Susan, abandoning her usual tact, laughed.
Where the hell was she? Michael kept the cool, almost feral smile firmly in place, as the cream of New York society, social, business and artistic, milled around him. He didn’t have to work the room—with Michael Dubrovnik, the room worked him. He remained in one spot by the expanse of smoked glass windows, one eye firmly fixed on the bank of elevators. He’d torn out the walls of the hallway, so that the elevators opened onto one vast room. He expected that to cause a furious reaction from his reluctant landlady. She’d have an even bigger fit when she saw the hairline cracks in the famous smoked glass panels in the living quarters, one flight below this extremely noisy party.
He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get her down there, and if the workmen hadn’t managed to inflict a satisfying amount of damage on the building, he wouldn’t bother. But if he’d read Ms. Laura Winston properly, the only way to get what he wanted was to keep at her, torment her, in big and little ways.
“Didn’t I tell you you didn’t have any charm?” Zach appeared at his elbow. “Stop grinning. It looks as if you’re going to eat someone for breakfast.”
“Just Laura Winston.”
“Is that why you keep staring at the elevators?”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “You think she’s going to show?”
“She’d be a fool to miss it. And Laura’s no fool. As a matter of fact, I think she’s here.”
Michael was suddenly alert. “Where?” he demanded, peering over the noisy crowd that was drinking his liquor, eating his food, and tearing him to shreds.
“She’s too short to see beyond all these giants,” Zach said. “But there’s an extremely beautiful young woman causing quite a stir by the elevators, and I thought I saw the young woman who works for Winston with her. I imagine Laura’s somewhere around.”
For the first time that evening Michael pushed himself away from his safe perch by the smoked glass walls. He ignored his grateful guests as he threaded his way through the crowd, his steely gaze intent on the tall woman with hair the color of sunlight. When he reached her side, he barely glanced at her.
Laura was dressed in seemingly demure black, a perfect foil to her gaudy companion. The dress was high-necked, ending in a priest’s collar, the back was nonexistent, and the full-length skirt was slit to the tops of her thighs. Her shingled black hair swung neatly around her face, and her brightly painted mouth held a mocking smile. He wanted to spank her.
Instead he smiled back, a slow, savage grin that had once intimidated Green Berets. She didn’t even blink. “I’m glad you decided to show up,” he murmured, his voice rasping. “I thought you might have chickened out.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Allow me to introduce my companions. You’ve already met Susan Richards, my assistant. This is Frank Buckley—” she gestured to a man who was far too pretty for her “—and this is Marita.”
For the first time Michael took in Laura Winston’s secret weapon in all her glory, and he couldn’t deny that she was glorious indeed. Her tawny mane of hair rippled and flowed down her narrow, perfect back, her mouth was wide and sensuous, her eyes were slumberous and daring, her skin, her body utterly flawless. He stared, bemused, looking for an imperfection and finding none. With spiked heels she was just slightly taller than his own five feet eleven inches, a fact that bothered him not in the slightest. He looked directly into her eyes, recognizing the deliberate challenge lurking there. He was never a man to resist a challenge.