She adored everything about him, from the aura of power and authority that surrounded him, to the energetic confidence in his long strides, to the way he looked when he was deep in thought. She loved the way he wore his expensive clothes, the way he absently rolled his gold pen in his hand when he was listening to someone on the telephone. He was, she decided with an aching sense of tormented hopelessness, the most forceful, compelling, dynamic man in the world. And he had never seemed further beyond her reach.
"Don't worry too much, my dear," Mary Callahan said, getting up to leave for lunch. "There have been many Vicky Stewarts in his life in the past. They don't last long."
The reassurance only made Lauren feel worse. She'd suspected that Mary not only knew everything that had happened between Nick and
herself
in the past, but that she also knew exactly how Lauren felt about Nick now. "I don't care what he does!" she said with angry pride.
"Is that right?" Mary retorted with a smile, and left for lunch.
Nick didn't return until afternoon, and Lauren wondered furiously whose bed they had gone to—his or Vicky's.
By the time she left the office, she was so overwrought with jealousy and so filled with self-loathing for loving such an unprincipled libertine that she had a splitting headache. At home she wandered aimlessly around the elegant living room.
Being near Nick was hurting her more every day. She had to leave Sinco—she couldn't bear to be so close to him, to love him as she did and have to watch him with other women. To have him look at her as if she was a piece of office equipment whose presence offended him but whom he was obliged out of necessity to have nearby.
Lauren had a sudden wild longing to tell both Nick Sinclair and Philip Whitworth to go to hell, to pack up and go home to her parents, her friends. But of course she couldn't do that. They needed…
Abruptly she stopped pacing, her mind seizing on a solution that should have occurred to her before. There were other large corporations in
Detroit
that needed good secretaries and that paid high salaries for them. When she bought the ingredients for Jim's birthday cake that night she would also buy a newspaper. Beginning immediately she would start looking for another job.
In the meantime, she would phone Jonathan Van Slyke, whom she had studied under for the past year, and offer to let him buy her grand piano. He had wanted it the moment he'd laid eyes on it.
Despite the dull ache she felt at the prospect of selling it, Lauren felt peaceful for the first time in weeks. She would find an inexpensive little apartment and move out of this place. Until then she would do the best job she could at Sinco—and if she happened to hear one of the names Philip had given her, she would forget it just as soon as she heard it. Philip was going to have to do his own dirty work. She could not and would not betray Nick.
L
auren walked across the marble lobby
the next
morning, carefully balancing the box with Jim's birthday cake inside it as well as a gaily wrapped package that held the gray sweater. She felt relaxed and lighthearted, and she smiled as an elderly man wearing a brown suit stepped back in the elevator to give her more room.
The elevator stopped on the thirtieth floor, and the doors opened. Lauren noted that directly across the hall was an office door bearing a nameplate that read, Global Industries Security Division.
"Excuse me," the man in the brown suit said. "This is my floor."
Lauren shifted to one side, and he maneuvered past her. She watched him walk across the hall to the security office.
The security divisions' primary function was to protect Global Industries' manufacturing facilities, particularly those outlying facilities throughout the country where actual research was under way, or where government contracts were involved. However, here at headquarters the security division mostly processed paperwork from the field. As director in Detroit Jack Collins felt rather bored, but his failing health and advancing age had forced him to leave the field and accept this desk job.
His assistant, an over-eager, round-faced young man named Rudy, was sitting with his feet propped up on his desk when Jack walked into the office. "What's up?" the younger man asked, hastily sitting up straight.
"Probably nothing."
Jack slid his briefcase onto the desk and removed a file that was labeled "SECURITY INVESTIGATION REPORT/LAUREN E. DANNER/EMPLOYEE NO. 98753." Jack didn't particularly like Rudy, but part of his job before he retired was to train him. Reluctantly he explained, "I just got the report from an investigation we ran on a secretary in the building."
"A secretary?"
Rudy sounded disappointed. "I didn't think we ran security checks on secretaries."
"Normally we don't. In this case she was assigned to a top priority, confidential project, and the computer automatically reclassified her and issued a security clearance request."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem is that when the investigators in
"So she lied on her application, right?" Rudy asked, becoming interested.
"Yes, but not about that.
She didn't actually say she worked there full-time. The thing is, she lied and said she had never attended college. The
"Why would she say she hadn't gone to college if she had?"
"That's one of the things that
bothers
me a little. I could understand if she said she'd gone to college when she actually hadn't. I'd presume she must have figured that a college degree would help her get hired."
"What are the other things that bother you?"
Jack glanced up at Rudy's rotund face, his avid eyes, and shrugged. "Nothing," he lied. "I just want to check her out for my own peace of mind. I have to go into the hospital for some tests this weekend, but on Monday I'll start working on it."
"How about letting me check her out while you're in the hospital?"
"If they decide to keep me in for more tests, I'll call you and tell you how to handle it."
"It's my birthday," Jim announced as Lauren walked into his office. "Normally a secretary brings a cake for her boss, but I don't suppose you've been here long enough to know that." He sounded a little doleful.
Lauren started to laugh. She hadn't realized how much her promise to Philip Whitworth had burdened her until now. Suddenly the weight of it was gone. "Not only did I bake you a cake, I have a present for you too," she informed him gaily. "One I made myself."
Jim
unwrapped
the package she handed him, and he was boyishly delighted with the sweater. "You shouldn't have—" he grinned, holding it up "—but I'm glad you did."
"It was to say happy birthday and t
hank
you for helping me with… things," she finished lamely.
"Speaking of 'things,' Mary tells me that Nick is like a keg of dynamite ready to explode at the first spark. She says you're bearing up under the strain marvelously. You've won her wholehearted approval," he added quietly.
"I like her too," Lauren said, her eyes clouding at the mention of Nick.
Jim waited until she had left to go upstairs, then he picked up his telephone and punched four numbers. "Mary, what's the atmosphere like up there this morning?"
"Positively explosive," she chuckled.
"Is Nick going to be in the office this afternoon?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because I've decided to light a match under him and see what happens."
"Jimmy, don't!" she said in a low, sharp voice.
"See you a little before five, beautiful," he laughed, ignoring her warning.
When Lauren returned from lunch there were two dozen breathtakingly gorgeous red roses in a vase on her desk. She removed the card from its envelope and stared at it in blank amazement. On it was written "T
hank
you, sweetheart," followed by the initial J.
When Lauren looked up, Nick was standing in the doorway, his shoulder casually propped against the frame. But there was nothing casual about the rigid set of his jaw or the freezing look in his gray eyes. "From a secret admirer?" he asked sarcastically.
It was the first personal comment he had addressed to her in four days. "Not a secret admirer exactly," she hedged.
"Who is he?"
Lauren tensed. He seemed so angry she didn't think it would be wise to mention Jim's name. "I'm not absolutely certain."
"You aren't absolutely certain?" he bit out. "How many men with the initial J are you seeing? How many of them think you're worth more than a hundred dollars in roses as a way of saying t
hank
you?"
"A hundred dollars?"
Lauren repeated, so appalled at the expense that she completely overlooked the fact that Nick had obviously opened the envelope and read the card.
"You must be getting better at it," he mocked crudely.
Inwardly Lauren flinched, but she lifted her chin. "I have much better teachers now!"
With an icy glance that raked her from head to toe, Nick turned on his heel and strode back into his office. For the rest of the day he left her completely alone.
At five minutes to five, Jim walked into Mary's office, wearing his gray sweater and balancing four pieces of birthday cake on two plates. He put the plates down on Mary's empty desk and glanced at the doorway to Nick's office. "Where's Mary?" he asked.
"She left almost an hour ago," Lauren said. "She said to tell you that the nearest fire extinguisher is beside the elevators—whatever that means. I'll be right back. I have to take these letters in to Nick."
As she got up and started around the desk, she was looking down at the letters in her hand, and what happened next stunned her into immobility. "I miss you, darling," Jim said, quickly pulling her into his arms.
A moment later he released her so suddenly that Lauren staggered back a step. "Nick!" he said. "Look at the sweater Lauren gave me for my birthday. She made it herself. And I brought you a piece of my birthday cake—she made that too." Seemingly oblivious to Nick's thunderous countenance, he grinned and added, "I have to get back downstairs." To Lauren he said, "I'll see you later, love." And then he walked out.
In a state of shock, Lauren stared at his retreating back. She was still staring after him when Nick spun her around to face him. "You vindictive little bitch, you gave him my sweater! What else has he gotten that belongs to me?"
"What else?" Lauren repeated, her voice rising. "What are you talking about?"
His hands tightened.
"Your delectable body, my sweet.
That's what I'm talking about."
Lauren's amazement gave way to comprehension and then to fury. "How dare you call me names, you hypocrite!" she exploded, too incensed to be afraid. "Ever since I've known you, you've been telling me that there's nothing promiscuous about a woman satisfying her sexual desires with any man she pleases. And now—" she literally choked on her wrath "—and now, when you think I've done it, you call me a dirty name.
You of all people—you, the
United States
contender for the bedroom Olympics!"
Nick let go of her as if she had burned him. In a low, dangerously controlled voice he said, "Get out of here, Lauren."
When she'd left, he walked over to the bar and poured himself
a stiff
bourbon, while fury and anguish twisted through him like a hundred snakes.
Lauren had a lover. Lauren probably had several lovers.
Regret shot through him like acid. She was no longer a starry-eyed little fool who thought people should be in love before they made love. That beautiful body of hers had been thoroughly explored by others. His mind instantly conjured up tormenting pictures of Lauren lying naked in Jim's arms.
He tossed down his drink and poured himself another to blot out the pain, the images. Carrying it over to the sofa, he sat down and propped his feet up on the table.
The liquor slowly began to work its numbing magic, and his rage subsided. In its place was nothing, only an aching emptiness.
"What possessed you?" Lauren demanded of Jim the next morning.
He grinned. "Call it an uncontrollable impulse."
"I call it insanity!" she burst out. "You can't imagine how furious he was. He called me names! I—I think he's insane."
"He is," Jim agreed with complacent satisfaction. "He's insane about you. Mary thinks so too."