Kane, Andrea (41 page)

Act Two had ended on a taut, emotional note.

Closely followed by Act Three: CCTL. Sabrina's conference call
with Deborah and Mark, and the announcement that had ensued, had resulted in mass
pandemonium. The two of them had known that Sabrina's assignment at Ruisseau
and a back-to-back personal matter she wasn't ready to discuss yet would keep
her away from the center for a chunk of time. But a long-term management
consulting gig was one thing. Becoming president of the company she was
consulting for—not to mention the daughter of its CEO—
that
was a total
shock. Then-concerns weren't limited to how they should handle the press. They
extended to how they should handle the staff, the clients, the future.

Sabrina had reiterated the temporary solution they'd already put
in place, assuring them that she had no intention of abandoning CCTL. She
promised to fly back on Friday and spend the entire weekend hammering out
details.

After that, she'd asked them to put her through to Melissa. That
hadn't been a cakewalk either. Melissa had been stunned, then worried—more
about Sabrina than about CCTL. She'd asked a million detailed questions, and
they'd probably still be on the phone now if Sabrina hadn't promised to have a
drink with her the minute she got in Friday night, during which time she'd fill
her in on everything.

Dylan had been right, Sabrina thought, wishing the Tylenol she'd
taken for her headache would kick in. It was barely past the half-day mark, and
she was about to implode.

A knock on her door brought her throbbing head up. "Come
in."

Stan strolled in, carrying a brown bag that he waved in front of
her. "Lunch and I arrived at the same time," he pronounced, shutting
the door behind him. "So I took it off Donna's hands and saved us some
time." He gave Sabrina a tired smile as he walked to the desk, placed the
bag down, and emptied out the contents. "Turkey on rye, roast beef on a
roll. Fine dining at its best."

"I'm sorry about that." Sabrina helped him arrange the
sandwiches and set up the two containers of coffee. "There wasn't time for
a restaurant. Not today."

"No apology necessary." Stan sat down and took a sip of
coffee, eyeing her over the rim of the cup. "You look like you're about to
collapse."

"Great. It shows already? I can hardly wait till the grand
finale. I'll probably drop in the middle of the meeting."

"No you won't. You'll gulp another cup of that—" He
pointed at her container of coffee. "Then you'll go into die bathroom,
glare at your reflection in the mirror, and give yourself a major verbal
beating up. After that, you'll march into the meeting and be fine."

Sabrina's brows rose. "That sounds amazingly accurate. Have
you been spying on me?"

"No need. That's what Carson does."

She blew out her breath. "It's pretty scary being his
daughter. I'm not sure what's harder—what others expect of me, or what I expect
of myself."

Stan's sandwich paused midway to his mouth, and he blinked in
surprise. It was the first time Sabrina had blatantly displayed any
vulnerability in his presence.

"Don't look so stunned," Sabrina said dryly. "Did
you think that because I'm smart and self-assured that I was just taking this
whole thing in my stride? If so, I'm either a better actress than I thought or
you're not looking close enough. Carson's my father, yes. But he's had
twenty-eight years to earn the respect he gets. I'm a rookie by comparison. Raw
talent's nice. But it's just the beginning. I've got a lot to learn about
Ruisseau. That's why I'm so appreciative of what you and Dylan have done for
me. You've helped make this transition easier. I can't thank you enough. That's
part of what I wanted to say, one of the reasons I asked you to have lunch with
me."

Stan put down his roast beef sandwich. He had an odd expression on
his face, like he wasn't quite sure how to handle her personal candor.
"You're welcome," he said simply.

"As for the other reason I wanted to have lunch, that one I'm
sure you guessed."

"You want to talk about this afternoon's meeting."

"Right. Obviously, you realize it's something pretty
important for me to assemble the entire staff. Well, you deserve a heads-up
about the agenda, not only because of the support you've shown me
and
because
you're the company's COO, but because of the special place you nave in Carson's
life."

"You're coming clean, so to speak," Stan guessed, taking
a bite of his sandwich and chewing it. "You're telling everyone who you
are to Carson and what you are to Ruisseau."

"Yes." She nodded, watching Stan's reaction. He looked
pensive, yes. But he also looked exhausted. And torn. That part was weird. What
kind of internal battle was he fighting? Okay, fine, he was freaked out by
having another Carson-type at the helm. That much Sabrina got But there was
something else eating at him. What was it?

"I think it's time we got my identity out in the open,"
she continued, still scrutinizing Stan's face, his body language.
"Obviously, so does Carson. I hope you feel the same way."

"Yeah, I do." His answer was blunt and, seemingly,
frank. "It'll make things much easier once you're official—in both a
personal and a professional capacity. Secrets never manage to stay that way for
long. After today, everyone will know who you are and what your future is at
Ruisseau. And they'll hear it from you."

"Actually, they'll hear it from Carson. He's making the
announcement himself, by videotape."

"Even better. It'll hold more weight coming from him." A
quick glance at Sabrina. "No offense intended."

"None taken. You're right. Like I said, I harbor no illusions
about my place in this company. Carson's the heart and soul of Ruisseau. That's
never going to change." She leaned forward, trying a tactic she hoped
would work. "Stan, you don't need to walk on eggshells around me. I'm
tough. I don't fly off the handle when I'm challenged. And I refuse to accept
special treatment because I'm Carson's daughter. I'm counting on you to
remember that, and to make sure everyone else does, too. The staff will follow
your lead. If you kowtow to me, they will, too. In which case, I can't do my
job, and Ruisseau can't fulfill its potential. Agreed?"

He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing it slowly as he
considered what she'd said. "Yeah," he said finally, with a terse
nod. "Agreed. Although I won't lie to you. This is going to take some
getting used to."

"I never thought otherwise. That's what change is about. On
the other hand, only idiots fix what's not broken, or implement change for
change's sake without retaining the strengths of the previous organization.
You've been here since the beginning. Tell me what works. Yell at me if I screw
up. Believe me, Carson does. Constantly."

A hint of amusement. "I'll remember that."

"You won't have to. You'll hear him. He's not shy about
putting me in my place." She propped her elbows on the desk, interlacing
her fingers and resting her chin on them. "There's one more thing. It's
good news—very good news, although I'm not supplying the press with details. My
blood test results came back. My compatibility as a donor match is very high.
If it becomes necessary, I'm pretty sure I can give Carson one of my kidneys."

Stan blew out a huge—and very genuine—sigh of relief. "That's
the best news I've heard yet. Thanks for telling me." He paused, a flicker
of comprehension dawning in his eyes. "I'm not the only one you told. You
must have spoken with your family, and with CCTL. No wonder you look so
beat."

She nodded. "It was a rough morning, yes."

"Your grandparents must be overwrought."

"They'll handle it. So will I."

"What about Dylan?"

Sabrina blinked. "What about him?"

"I assume he knows."

"He was with me when I told Carson, yes."

"That must have been a pleasant conversation," Stan
noted wryly. "Did Carson blow your head off?"

"Pretty much. But we came to terms."

"And Dylan? How did he take the news of your test
results?" Stan gave a sympathetic shake of his head. "He must be
torn—concern over you, concern over Carson. I don't envy the guy."

Okay, now Sabrina was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"I'm not following you. Dylan is as relieved as I am, and as you are. This
was the outcome we were hoping for. It's why Dylan flew up to New Hampshire to
find me to begin with—as you well know."

"Sure, but that was before you and he—" Stan broke off,
abruptly realizing he was trespassing on a do-not- enter zone. "Sorry. I
didn't mean to overstep. Let's change the subject."

Dammit. Stan knew about her and Dylan. How? And who else knew?

"Sabrina, relax," Stan said, responding to the brooding
expression on her face. "No one's gossiping at the water-coolers. It's
just speculation, although the vibes between the two of you are kind of hard to
miss. But so what? Dylan's Ruisseau's corporate counsel. You're Ruisseau's
president. There's no big-time conflict of interest that I can see. So live
your life and don't worry about what people say or think."

"Like you do?" The question was out before she could
censor it.

His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

There was no turning back now. Still, she chose her words
carefully. "It means you worry a lot more than I do about the way you're
perceived. In my case, I'm choosing to keep my private life private. In your
case, you're eating yourself alive. Cut it out, Stan. No, you're not Carson. No
one expects you to be. You're good at your job. You'd never do anything to
compromise Ruisseau's interests or to hurt its CEO. And that's all that matters—
right?"

For a long moment, Stan just stared at her. He looked as if he'd
been punched. A flush crept up his neck and a myriad of emotions flashed across
his face—surprise and irritation, which Sabrina had expected—mixed with
something that looked disturbingly like self-consciousness and guilt.
"Right," he said finally. Blowing out his breath, he dropped back in
his seat. "You're a piece of work, Sabrina. Talk about a
Carson-clone."

She'd upset him. That was a definite. But whether that was because
he was disconcerted by her blunt analysis or whether it was something deeper
and more serious—the jury was still out on that one.

"Look, Stan, I didn't mean to insult you," she said,
deciding that now was not the time to pursue this. "I'm stressed out and
tired. Let's concentrate on getting through today. Then, we'll set guidelines
for the future, okay?"

"Works for me," Stan replied stiffly.

"Good." She gestured for him to eat. "Let's polish
off these sandwiches. I've got so much to do between now and five-thirty, I
might have to skip that trip to the ladies' room where I smack myself around
for courage."

He nodded.

The rest of the meal lasted less than fifteen minutes, during
which time they made perfunctory chitchat. Sabrina knew Stan was still pissed
off or freaked out by what she'd said. But that wasn't what was bothering her.
She'd find a way to smooth things over, to get their relationship back on the
right foot—if that's all that was needed.

What was really bothering her was that she couldn't get past her own
uneasiness. Something about Stan wasn't sitting right. His anxiety smacked of
more than insecurity. And what had he meant by the statement that secrets
didn't manage to stay that way for long? Why did she feel like there was some
kind of underlying message there, something he hadn't meant to let slip?

When it came to Stan Hager, Sabrina felt a fine layer of mistrust
that she just couldn't get past.

6:23 P.M.

Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation

You could have heard a pin drop in the conference room when Carson
Brooks finished his taped statement and the screen went dark.

Someone flipped the lights back on, and Sabrina wasn't surprised
to see more than a hundred pairs of eyes staring at her. The wall between the
two main conference rooms had been removed, opening it into one huge room so
that everyone could fit inside. The meeting was closed, a staff-only event, but
Marie had faxed a brief statement to the press minutes before the meeting
began, which was doubtless being delivered on business networks everywhere as
breaking news. Sabrina knew what would be waiting for her outside the building
tonight when she left.

That was for later. For now she had the staff—a stunned, curious
throng of people watching her and waiting for her comments.

She hadn't expected to be this choked up. Carson's words hadn't
been sentimental or emotional. They'd been factual. He'd simply stated that she
was his daughter, that he'd only recently learned of her existence, and that he
was delighted to announce her joining Ruisseau on a permanent basis as its
newly appointed president, reporting directly to him. He said he suspected
they'd all be reading colorful details about Sabrina's conception and her prominent
family in the newspapers over the next few weeks, and he urged them to use
discretion when they were grilled by the media, and compassion and
consideration before bombarding their new president with questions. He
concluded by saying that they were fortunate to have someone of Sabrina's
caliber, quality, and professional experience as Ruisseau's president. He then
asked for everyone's cooperation in making her transition a positive one, and
urged everyone to join him in welcoming Sabrina to her new place at Ruisseau.