It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. With every fiber of her being, Lauren longed to tell Philip Whitworth off and hang up on him, but she didn't dare. If she angered him, there was always the chance that Philip might tell Nick who and what she was before she had a chance to tell him herself. Then, too, she was living in Philip's apartment, and she couldn't move away while Nick was gone because he wouldn't be able to call her. If he called her at the office, she could tell him she was moving into a motel, but she'd have to invent a reason, and she didn't want to add an outright lie to her deceit. "All right," she agreed unenthusiastically. "But I can't be away from the office for very long."
"We can hardly dine in your building, Lauren," Philip reminded her sarcastically.
A frisson of alarm tingled over her at his tone. She felt uneasy about being alone with him, uneasy about what he wanted to say to her. Then she remembered Tony's and felt better. "I'll meet you at Tony's restaurant at
"Yes, but forget it. You can't get a table there unless—"
"I'll make the reservation," Lauren said briskly.
The restaurant was jammed with people waiting to be seated when she got there. Tony saw her and managed a harassed smile from across the room, but it was Dominic who took her to her table. The young man blushed furiously at Lauren's wan smile of greeting. "Your table is not so good, Lauren. I am sorry. If you will call sooner next time, you will have a better one."
Lauren understood what he meant when he led her toward the tables at the back of the dining room that adjoined the cocktail lounge. The dimly lit lounge was separated from the room by nothing more substantial than stained-wood trellises covered with climbing plants. A steady din of conversation punctuated with laughter was coming from the crowded cocktail lounge, and waiters rushed back and forth to the coffeepots that were kept in an alcove beside the table.
Philip Whitworth was already seated, idly swirling the ice cubes in his glass, when Lauren walked up to the table. He stood politely, waited until Dominic had seated her, and then offered her a glass of wine. He looked very calm, very composed, very… pleased, she thought, as she noted his expression. "Now then," he said, "suppose you tell me how things really stand between you and our mutual friend…"
"You mean your stepson!" Lauren corrected bitterly, angered that he still intended to deceive her.
"Yes, my dear," he responded quickly, "but let's not use his name in this very public place."
Recollections of the way he and his wife had treated Nick ripped through Lauren until she was seething inside. She tried to remember that Philip had not actually mistreated her, however, and her voice was carefully tempered. "Within the next day or two you're going to read it in the papers, so I'll tell you now that we're going to be married."
"Congratulations," he said pleasantly. "Have you told him yet about your… relationship with me? He obviously knew nothing about it when we encountered you two at the charity ball."
"I'm going to tell him very soon."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Lauren. He feels a certain animosity toward my wife and me—"
"With very good reason!"
Lauren said before she could stop herself.
"Ah, I see you already know the story. Since you do, consider how he will then react when he discovers you've been living as my mistress, wearing clothes I purchased for you."
"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not your mistress—"
"
We
know that, but will
he
believe it?"
"I will make him believe it," Lauren said in a low, taut voice.
Philip's smile was coolly shrewd, calculating. "I'm afraid you'll find it impossible to convince him if he also thinks you told me about his little project in Casano."
Panic was streaking through Lauren in paralyzing waves, and alarm bells were clanging in her stricken mind. "I told you nothing about Casano, absolutely nothing! I've never told you anything confidential."
"He will believe you told me about Casano."
She clasped her hands on the table to still their trembling. Slowly, relentlessly, fear was uncoiling its silky tendrils in her stomach. "Philip, are you… threatening to tell him I was your mistress, to tell him those other lies?"
"Not threatening you, exactly," he replied smoothly. "We're about to strike a bargain, you and I, and I merely want you to understand that you are not in a position to argue with my terms."
"What bargain?" Lauren said, but God help her, she already knew.
"In return for my silence, I will occasionally ask you for information."
"And you think I'll give it to you?" she said with tearful scorn. "You honestly believe that?" Tears burned behind her eyes and choked her voice. "I would die before I'd do anything to hurt him, do you understand me?"
"You're overreacting," he said sharply, leaning forward. "I don't want to put the man out of business—I'm only trying to save my own company. It's faltering badly because of Sinco's competition."
"That's just too bad!" Lauren hissed.
"It may mean nothing to you, but Whitworth Enterprises is Carter's birthright, his inheritance, and that's very important to my wife. Now, let's stop arguing about whether or not you're going to help, because you have no choice. Friday is the deadline for getting bids in on four major contracts. I want to know the amount Sinco is bidding." He produced a small piece of paper with the names of four projects written on it, uncurled Lauren's fingers, placed it in her hand and squeezed her fingers around it. Then he gave her hand a friendly, paternal pat. "I'm afraid I have to get back to the office," he said, shoving his chair back.
Lauren looked at him, so immersed in rage that she felt nothing else, not even fear. "These bids are very important to you?" she asked.
"Very."
"Because your wife wants to preserve the company for her son?
That's very important to her?"
"More important than you can imagine. Among other things, if I tried to sell the company now, which is my only alternative, our finances would become a matter of public record. It would be most embarrassing."
"I see," Lauren said with deadly calm. To convince him for the time being that she intended to cooperate, she added carefully, "And you promise not to tell any of those lies to Nick if I help you?"
"My word of honor," he said.
Lauren walked into the office still in a state of cold, murderous rage. Carol Whitworth wanted to purchase her beloved second son's "inheritance" by destroying what her first son had built. They actually expected Lauren to help. She was being blackmailed, and the blackmail would never end, she knew. The Whitworths were greedy, ruthless and unscrupulous. Before they were finished, Global Industries would become another part of Carter's inheritance.
A few minutes later, the phone on her desk rang. Automatically she picked it up. "I hate to rush you, my dear," Philip's voice said smoothly, "but I want that information today. You'll find the bids that you need somewhere in the engineering department. If I could have the cover sheet it would help us immensely."
"I'll do my best," Lauren said tonelessly.
"Excellent.
Very sensible.
I'll meet you down in front of the building at
Lauren hung up and walked through the offices to the engineering department. For the present, she had no concern about acting suspiciously. As soon as Jim returned, she herself would tell him what had happened. Perhaps he would even help her tell Nick.
"Mr. Williams would like the files on these four jobs," she told the secretary in engineering.
In a matter of moments Lauren had all four files. She took them back to her desk. In the front of each file was a cover sheet showing the name of the job, a summary of the technical equipment that would be provided if Sinco was awarded the contract and the amount Sinco was bidding.
Lauren removed the sheets and went over to the copy machine, then she took the copies and the originals back to her desk. She put the originals back in the files, removed some correction fluid from her desk drawer, and very carefully, very calmly changed the amounts Sinco was bidding, increasing each figure by several million dollars. The correction fluid was visible on the copy she was working with, but when she ran duplicates of it, the fluid was invisible and the changes impossible to detect. She was just turning away from the copy machine when a young man with a round face stepped forward. "Excuse me, miss," he said, "I'm from the company who services this photocopy machine, and it's been having problems all day. Would you mind running those originals through the machine again so I can see if it's working properly?"
A vague uneasiness stirred in Lauren, but the machine had been breaking down regularly, so she complied. He removed the copies produced from the tray, glanced at them, and nodded. "Looks like
its
really fixed this time," he said.
Lauren saw him drop the copies in the wastebasket as she turned away.
She did not see him stoop to retrieve them a moment later.
As she walked across the lobby, a Cadillac pulled up at the curb. The window on her side moved down electronically, and Lauren leaned into the car and handed Philip the envelope.
"I hope you understand how important this is to us," he began "and—"
Fury roared through Lauren, screaming in her ears. She turned on her heel and ran back into the building. She almost knocked over the young man with the round face,
who
hastily concealed a camera behind his back.
"T
hank God you're back!"
M
ary burst out
late Wednesday afternoon when Nick strode swiftly into his office, followed by Ericka and Jim. "Mike Walsh needs to talk to you immediately. He says it's an emergency."
"Have him come up," Nick said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. "And then come and join us in a toast. I'm about to whisk Lauren off to
Las Vegas
to get married. The plane is being refueled and checked out right now."
"Does Lauren know about this?" Mary said, frowning. "She's downstairs in Jim's office, hard at work."
"I'll convince her of the wisdom of the plan."
"When the plane is airborne and she has no choice," Ericka put in with a knowing smile.
"Exactly."
Nick grinned in high good spirits. He had missed her so much that he'd called her three times a day, every day, like a lovesick schoolboy. "Make
yourselves
comfortable," he added over his shoulder. Reaching into a wide closet that held several changes of clothing, he took out a fresh shirt.
Five minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom, freshly shaven, and glanced at Mike Walsh and the round-faced man who were standing near the couch where Jim and Ericka were seated. "What's up, Mike?" he asked, going over to the bar and removing a bottle of champagne, his back to the others.
"There's a security leak in the Rossi project," the attorney began cautiously.
"Right.
I told
you
that."
"The men in Casano trying to find out about Rossi were Whitworth's men."
Only a momentary stillness in Nick's hand as he unwound the wire from the plastic champagne cork betrayed his tension at the mention of Whitworth's name. "Go on," he urged evenly.
"Evidently," the attorney continued, "there's a woman on our payroll who appears to have been spying for Whitworth. I arranged for Rudy here to listen in on the extension of her office telephone and to keep her under surveillance."
Nick took down four champagne glasses from the bar, his mind dwelling on Lauren's smile, her beautiful face. Tonight was going to be their wedding night. After tonight he and he alone would have the right to take her in his arms, to join his starved body with hers, to kiss and caress her… "I'm listening," he lied. "Go on."
"Yesterday she was photographed passing him copies of four of Sinco's bids. We have in our possession a set of the copies she passed to Whitworth to use as proof in court."
"That son of a—" Nick fought down his blaze of fury, trying not to let his animosity for Philip Whitworth spoil his mood. This was his wedding day. Coolly he said, "Jim, I'm going to do what I should have done five years ago. I'm going to put him out of business. From now on, I want Sinco to bid on every job he bids on, and I want you to bid below our cost. Is that clear? I want that bastard out of our hair!"
When Jim murmured agreement, Mike continued. "We can swear out a warrant for the young woman's arrest. I've already discussed the matter with Judge Spath, and he is ready to do so as soon as you give the word."
"Who is she?" Jim demanded when Nick seemed more interested in pouring champagne into his glasses.