Kane, Andrea (22 page)

"You sure as hell are." Carson pushed himself up a bit
more, trying to find a position that would help him get out his words faster
and with more fervor. "You've fixed companies that are in the Dumpster.
Mine's flying high. You understand the corporate sector. You're skilled at
strategic planning. You're creative and proactive, and you've got the guts to
use those qualities. You're a born leader. And you know what makes people tick.
That's essential in understanding consumer products marketing, as well as corporate
politics. You're smart. You're experienced. And you've got my blood flowing
through your veins—right down to my heightened olfactory sense. Who better than
you to see Ruisseau through this crisis?"

Sabrina's adrenaline had begun to pump. It wasn't the flattering
portrayal, although it was certainly nice to hear that Carson thought so much
of her. It was the reason for his blow-by-blow delineation of her assets. It
had been done very deliberately, not to praise, but to lead up to something.
And whatever that something was, every instinct told her it was big. Very big.

"What did you have in mind?" she questioned.

A hint of a smile. "Intrigued, huh?"

"Curious," she corrected. "Wary, but curious."

"You sense a challenge. And your adrenaline's picking up, no
matter how much you wish it wouldn't. You can't help it. Like I said, it's in
your blood."

"Carson, stop baiting me. What is it you want me to do?"

"On a simple, superficial level? Exactly what you said. Come
on as a management consultant. Work with Stan. Assess the major issues facing
Ruisseau. Set up an action plan for each key initiative. Drive the company
forward. I'll pay you double your normal rates, to cover the inconvenience of
keeping you away from CCTL for so long. Speaking of CCTL, I'd suggest you turn
things over to that consultant you hired away from the snooty firm in
L.A.—Deborah Ogden. Between her and that other winner you hired—Mark Weiss—they
can run things for a few months. Whatever help they need, your assistant
Melissa Andrews can provide. As for you, you can fly home weekends, be there
Friday through Sunday—if you take Ruisseau projects to work on while you're in
Auburn, and on the plane. You'll have to burn the candle at both ends. Because
you're going to be busting your ass for me. I don't tolerate less."

The lengthy speech obviously taxed Carson's strength, because he
finished by leaning back against his pillow to rest.

Sabrina was speechless—something that was getting to be a habit
when she was around this man. He'd done major research on CCTL, that was for
damned sure. "Exactly how much do you know about my company?"

"Just as much as I expect you to know about mine." He
shut his eyes for a moment, trying to hold on to his rapidly ebbing strength.
"Dammit," he muttered. "Goddammit."

"Carson, maybe that's enough." Dylan spoke up for the
first time. "You said your piece. We've only got a few minutes left before
Dr. Radison comes in and tosses us out anyway."

"Screw Radison." Carson forced his head upright.
"Sabrina, you asked what I want you to do. The consulting part just skims
the surface. The rest is more substantial, and more complicated. I want to make
you an officer of the company. Specifically, president. Dylan can draw up the
paperwork. He and Stan can also be the only ones who know about the
appointment, if that's the way you want it. I told you yesterday, I'm not
pushing you to announce who you are. Wait as long as you want." Weakly, he
angled his head toward Dylan. "There'll be legal loopholes, like how does
she vote at board meetings if no one knows she's president. Maybe by proxy. I
don't know. That's your job. Come up with something. But I want her in there...
if she'll do it." A heavy-lidded stare at Sabrina. "Will you?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

Sabrina couldn't begin to process Carson's request. Talk about a
bombshell. She'd expected something major—but this?

Abruptly, she stood up and turned away, staring at the bare wall
across the room. She was shaking, too overwhelmed to speak. She'd had it. This
just might be the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Like I said, you're a wreck." There was no trace of
sarcasm or banter in Carson's voice when he spoke, only comprehension and
regret. "I'm sorry. You're on overload. You don't need more pressure.
Certainly not from me. I wish I had more time... that I could let you think
this through. Whoever shot me didn't give me that luxury. I need to take care
of Ruisseau—for now, maybe for good. So I'm asking—will you do it?"

"I..." Sabrina edged a sideways glance at Dylan, who was
scrutinizing her closely, his expression nondescript. "I don't know. I
can't just give you an answer at the drop of a hat. It's too huge a—"

"Which part's the problem?" Carson's voice was raspy
now, and he was starting to sound winded. "I assume it's not the
consulting."

"No. No, of course not."

"Okay, then, is it the lifestyle—having two residences and a
weekly commute? Is it being away from CCTL? Having a vested interest in two
companies?" A sharp intake of breath. "Or is it being tied to me? If
it is, say so. You've got the right."

"That's not it." She turned around to face him, this
time making no move to hide the tears in her eyes. "I
want
to know
you. I was going to bring that up myself. Ask Dylan. We talked about it last
night. You just happened to beat me to it. As for making me an officer of
Ruisseau, I... I'm touched and I'm flattered. And the challenge—you're right.
I'd be lying if I didn't admit it excites me. But the enormity of what you
expect—I'm not sure I can deliver. A long-term consulting project I could
manage no problem. But the presidency of a company,
your
company, that's
not just a temporary thing. Even if I agreed to stay at Ruisseau until you were
well and back at the helm—which you
will
be—I couldn't make the
arrangement permanent. It would involve my being in New York five days a week,
reducing CCTL to less than my number one priority. I can't do that. CCTL is my
baby, the same way Ruisseau is yours."

"We could work something out...." Carson was forcing out
the words. "Half week here... half week there... any arrangement we
could... Don't say no."

"Carson, please—stop," Sabrina burst out. "Not for
me, for you. You're exhausted. Don't talk. Just rest. Let me think."

She raked both hands through her hair, her mind racing wildly.
Arbitrary thoughts ran through her head. President of Ruisseau—my God. It was
the opportunity of a lifetime. She'd be working for a genius—a genius who was
her father. She'd have a chance to get to know him, to share in his vision, to
be part of a company he'd created and raised from infancy. And she wouldn't
have to give up her own growing company. CCTL would still be hers; Carson had
as much as said so. He understood the way she felt about her "baby."
He'd been in that position himself.

Her presence at CCTL over the next few months was already in
question, thanks to Carson's immediate health crisis. She was hell-bent on
seeing through her kidney-compatibility process. And that meant time. To begin
with, the tissue-typing results wouldn't be back for a week. Even if she flew
home in the interim, she'd return to New York once the results were in. Then,
if they showed she was the best donor match, she'd need to be examined by a
nephrologist, go through a battery of tests. Finally, if the transplant became
a reality, she'd be out of commission for at least a month. In which case, CCTL
would have to do without her.

She'd made contingency plans for these circumstances as she'd
tossed and turned in her bed last night The funny thing was that her line of
thinking had been identical to Carson's, only shorter-term. She'd take a leave
of absence until she recovered from the surgery. During that time, she'd leave
Deborah in charge, with Mark as backup and Melissa in the wings. When it became
feasible, she'd go in part-time, handling as much as she could by phone and
e-mail.

Why couldn't the same plan work on a long-term basis? She'd
physically be at CCTL every week for three-to-four day stretches—two days of
which would be weekends, when Ruisseau was closed anyway. During that time,
she'd run the show at CCTL and conduct her workshops. The rest of each week
she'd spend at Ruisseau, learning the ropes, sharing her expertise, and working
her butt off. Deborah would be her point person at CCTL. If any problem arose,
she could just pick up the phone and call. By the same token, there were always
telephones and e-mail for client contact, so Sabrina would never truly be out
of touch. It was a feasible solution.

Maybe. Maybe not. Oh, it was doable for a while, even a long while.
But for good? What if she couldn't swing it? What if there was an overlap in
crises, and both companies needed her at the same time? What if she couldn't
handle a steady diet of Manhattan pollution, or tolerate the corporate politics
she'd gladly left behind?

Then there was her family. Her mother was due here this afternoon.
How would she take this? She knew how ambitious Sabrina was. She'd understand
her daughter's excitement over the opportunity she was being offered. But what
if the scandal leaked out that much sooner because of Sabrina's very visible
presence at Carson's side? And if she knew for a fact that it would—should that
influence her decision? What if her grandparents took this as some kind of
betrayal?

"Forget the what-if's.... Name your terms...." It was as
if the man could read her mind. "I won't... lock you in... to anything
irrevocable… You can get out... if you want to. But it's my legacy... and so
are you." He licked his lips. "There's one more thing I have to dump
on you... before you decide."

"I don't think I can deal with any more."

"You have to. It's C'est Moi. The scent's a breakthrough....
Momentum strong... Someone has to keep it going, build on it... and expand the
line. That someone is you. You'll have to know the formula. Can't let it die
with me... I'll tell it to you now... explain it step by step. But verbally. No
paper. You'll have to memorize it. And no one can know about this. I want you
safe from whoever went after me."

Sabrina was past reeling and into numb. The formula for C'est Moi?
She'd done enough reading to know the unique cloak of secrecy that surrounded
Ruisseau's newest fragrance. Carson had invented it. And only he knew what went
into it. If he was going to share that information, it should be with someone who
could translate formula into fact, use it to Ruisseau's advantage. Blood
relation or not, she was completely unqualified to fill that role.
"Carson, that's definitely a mistake. I'm not a chemist. I wouldn't be
able..."

"Doesn't matter... We have chemists. Stan and Dylan will
choose the right one to replace me... if it comes down to that... and he or she
will work with you. But your sense of smell... and your gut instincts... you'll
know where we need to go from here. You'll have to queue up timetables for
other C'est Moi spin-offs after the men's version takes off.... And
marketing... you're trained... and smart. You'll know what to do.... You'll
see."

He eased his head over to give Dylan a pained look. "After
they find the shooter... I'll share the formula with you, too. If I'm not
around anymore, Sabrina will do the honors. I want both my kids to have that
formula.... But, right now, it would be a mistake... for you to have it. Those
damned detectives... I'd be giving them more ammo to use against you.... If you
knew something they saw as motive for you to get rid of me... they'd jump on
it. Better if you don't know, for now." He started coughing, and he moaned
with pain, his hand going reflexively to his chest.

"Carson..." Sabrina took two steps toward him.

He waved her away. "I'm... fine... just..." Another hard
wince.

"That's it." Dylan bolted to his feet. "This
meeting is over." He turned to Sabrina, his expression grim, his entire
body taut. "I'm going to see what the hell's keeping Dr. Radison. That
gives you and Carson a few minutes alone. Decide what you want to do, about the
appointment and the formula. If you've got memorizing to do, do it fast. When I
get back, we're leaving. Carson's getting some sleep, if I have to call that
nurse back in here to add knock out drops to that morphine drip."

Dylan was visibly freaked out. It didn't take a shrink to see
that. Whether it was over Carson's decisions— which had to have shocked him as
much as they had her—or over the bleak possibilities conjured up by Carson's
assessment of his medical condition, Sabrina wasn't sure.

She merely nodded, staring dazedly after Dylan as he left.

"Sabrina..." She turned to see Carson studying her
expectantly, gritting his teeth against the pain. "He'll be okay.... Give
him space. And give
me
your answer."

She should need time. Leaping before she looked wasn't her thing.
When it came to decisions of magnitude, she acted only after a thorough
analysis of the facts. And this was the heaviest decision she'd ever had to
make.

"Yes," she heard herself say. "My answer's yes.
I'll do it."

Relief flashed across his face, easing the tight lines of pain.
"I'm glad," he returned, a deliberate understatement. "Thank
you. Although, if you're made of... what I think you are, I think that one
day... you'll be thanking me."