by Joan Hohl
“If I survive long enough,” Valerie opined softly. “Honestly, Eileen, I feel like I was in there for days.” She sighed, then went on, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to evict you from that chair. He wants these,” she lifted her steno pad, “typed as soon as possible.”
“He always does,” Eileen returned quietly, rising and moving away from the desk. Plucking another pad from the desk top she added, “I’ll give him his phone messages while you start that.”
Valerie had no sooner rolled the first sheet of paper into the typewriter than Eileen came out of Thorne’s office again, a small, apologetic smile on her lips.
“I’ve been ordered back to my own desk,” she said in a near whisper. “Apparently Charlie’s about ready to tear his hair out.” At Valerie’s confused, questioning look she explained, “Jonas’s assistant, my boss, Charles McAndrew, remember?” Valerie nodded impatiently, which drew a soft laugh from Eileen. “Well, it appears the girl from the typing pool has not handled things to Charlie’s satisfaction.” She shook her head sadly. “Charlie is—ah—shall I say—almost as exacting as Jonas. Poor kid, she is very young. She’s an excellent typist, but not qualified to keep up with Charlie.”
“I see.” Valerie hesitated a moment, then asked flatly, “Is everyone on a first-name basis around here?”
“Just about,” Eileen confirmed, heading for the door. “I suppose it’s a little—well—unorthodox, but, it is by request.” Valerie’s frown indicated that she didn’t fully comprehend Eileen’s meaning and Eileen explained. “Everyone you’ve heard refer to Jonas or Charlie by their given names has done so because they have been asked to. Charlie, being in absolute awe of Jonas, is the next thing to his reflection—in action and attitude—if not in looks.” She paused in the doorway to smile encouragingly. “Within a week you’ll very probably be using their first names as unselfconsciously as all the rest of us.”
Valerie seriously doubted Eileen’s assertion, but she kept her doubts to herself. She was typing away at an incredible pace when Janet called to her from the doorway.
“Are you ready to go for lunch, Val?”
Startled, Valerie looked at Janet blankly a second before her question registered fully. “Why, I don’t know,” she answered vaguely, darting a glance at her watch. “I’ll check with Mr. Thorne.”
With fingers that were suddenly, inexplicably shaky, Valerie lifted the receiver and pressed the button that buzzed the phone on Thorne’s desk.
“What is it?” he barked impatiently into his receiver.
Valerie fleetingly considered snapping back at him but then reconsidered and said, very coolly, “I’m going to lunch now, sir.”
“All right, Miss Jordan,” Jonas replied with much less impatience. Then he rendered Valerie speechless by adding, with an almost human understanding of the morning she’d put in, “Take your time.”
Chapter 3
During that first week in the office, Thorne’s attitude toward his new secretary was characterized by a bewildering combination of impatience and sensitivity. By late Friday afternoon Valerie couldn’t decide if Jonas Thorne was the worst or absolutely the best man she’d ever worked for.
He was, above all, thorough, and he expected the same degree of thoroughness from his secretary. Valerie had never worked so hard in her life. Although she fell into bed early every night silently cursing the man, each successive day of working with him added another layer to the unwanted respect she felt for him.
Even when he was most impatient with her, he was unfailingly polite—tacking on sardonically drawled “thank you”s and “please”s—until Valerie found herself swinging between simple dislike and total loathing of him.
Charlie McAndrew, on the other hand, was thoroughly likable. Of medium height, with pale blue eyes, sandy hair, and an abundance of freckles, Charlie looked anything but the ambitious young executive. At their first meeting, late on the afternoon of her first day in the office, Charlie had insisted she call him by his given name. Until she saw him in action the following day, Valerie had some difficulty seeing Charlie in the role of Jonas’s live-wire assistant. Blushingly shy and easygoing, Charlie appeared more the type found at a small corner desk, pouring over bookkeeping ledgers.
Which only proved, Valerie decided wryly near the end of the week, exactly how deceptive appearances could be. In action Charlie was almost, but not quite, as dynamic as his idol.
By quitting time Friday, positive she’d failed both Janet and herself miserably, Valerie prepared to slink out of the office in defeat.
“I’m afraid I owe Janet an apology.” Jonas’s quiet voice drew Valerie’s startled eyes to his. She had not heard him open the connecting office door, and seeing him leaning indolently against the doorframe unnerved her. In fact, seeing him in an indolent position anywhere would have unnerved her.
“An apology?” Valerie repeated blankly. “What for?”
“You don’t know?” The tilt of Jonas’s right eyebrow, combined with his dry tone, mocked her show of ignorance. Of course she knew what he was referring to. Hadn’t she been deriding herself about it when he’d made his sudden appearance? But how did she go about explaining to him that the sound and sight of him had scattered her thoughts? She had been listening to him, seeing him all day. He’d think she was an idiot, and rightly so, she berated herself. His exasperated sigh told her she’d been quiet too long.
“The—bargain—Janet made with me to secure this position for you,” Jonas prompted. “You were aware of it?” The words were more a statement than a question.
Valerie was convinced she’d let Janet down, and after a week of exposure to both his cold-eyed observation and the confusing nuances that laced his tone, she was oversensitive to just about everything about him. His chiding remark put an end to the polite facade she had assumed in his presence. Lifting her head, she met his cold stare with equal coldness.
“Yes, sir, I was aware of it,” Valerie returned frostily. “You were to have Janet’s resignation on demand if I was unable to fulfill your requirements.” Valerie’s tone went from frosty to icy. “Isn’t that correct?”
“Not quite,” Jonas clipped acerbically. “I made no demands. Janet made the terms of the bargain.”
“But you didn’t hesitate to accept them,” Valerie accused frigidly, even though she had no real proof of her charge.
“Why should I have hesitated?” Jonas’s tone betrayed his growing anger. “Janet’s been with me a long time; I like and respect her. I simply agreed to her proposition.”
“You were prepared to accept her resignation if I fell on my face,” Valerie asserted.
“But you did not,” Jonas shot back. “So it’s a moot point.” His glittering steel gray eyes narrowed on her indignant expression. “Unless you persist in rousing my anger more than you already have. I’d advise you to speak carefully, Miss Jordan, or instead of offering Janet my apology I’ll be showing her the way out of this firm. Needless to say, should I do so, she will be following you.” He paused to let his warning sink in, then went on, very softly, “Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Valerie whispered through stiff lips. She was not concerned about her own job, she assured herself unconvincingly. But she could not take any chances with Janet’s. Nevertheless she grew weak with relief when the object of her thoughts sailed blithely into the office.
“Are you ready to leave, Val?” Before Valerie could respond, Janet spied Jonas in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Jonas, am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all,” Jonas replied smoothly. “As a matter of fact, we were discussing you.”
“Me?” Although Janet managed to keep her smile intact, her eyes darted from Jonas to Valerie then back to Jonas.
“Yes, you.” Jonas’s teasing tone drew Valerie’s startled eyes to his face. She had heard at least a half-dozen shadings in his voice during that long week, but never one of affectionate teasing. “I was just telling Miss Jordan that I owe you an apology.
”
“An apology?” Janet echoed Valerie’s earlier words. “What for?”
“For doubting your judgment. You were right. I’m not sorry I let you badger me into bringing Miss Jordan back from Paris.”
The smile he bestowed on Janet stole Valerie’s breath. It was not until Steve called good-night to her and Janet as they left the building that she pulled herself together. What, she wondered, had Janet and Jonas said to each other? Snatches of their conversation skipped in and out of her mind.
“You mean you’re really satisfied with her work?” Janet had asked—thereby revealing exactly how concerned she’d been.
“Very satisfied.” Jonas’s surprising answer had left Valerie so stunned that the content of his subsequent words was lost to her.
Whatever had come over her? The question tormented Valerie as she walked across the parking lot beside Janet. Clearheaded now, Valerie wondered at her odd reaction to the flashing smile that had transformed his face. Good grief, it was the first time she’d ever seen it!
“Val, are you listening?” Janet’s exasperated tone put an end to Valerie’s bemused thoughts.
“No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t.” Valerie smiled ruefully. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m proud of you.” The frown creasing Janet’s face smoothed out as she smiled. “Of course, I knew you could do it. The thing that worried me was whether you knew you could do it.”
“I really didn’t,” Valerie admitted, sliding onto the passenger seat of Janet’s car. She fastened her seat belt before adding, “As a matter of fact, I was positive I’d failed. His apology was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”
“He gave no indication that he was satisfied with your work?” Janet asked, placing a cigarette between her lips.
“None.”
“Strange.” Janet finished lighting her cigarette then turned the key in the ignition. “Usually Jonas is quick to show his approval when he’s satisfied.”
Thinking wryly that a number of meanings could be put on Janet’s statement, Valerie shrugged. “I don’t like your Jonas very much, Janet.”
“My Jonas!” Janet exclaimed loudly. “He’s not my Jonas.” Bringing the car to a stop in the line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot, she turned a wicked grin on Valerie. “Would that I could call him mine, but I don’t think there’s a woman alive who can.” She gave a mock shiver, and her smile turned dreamy. “God, I’ve wondered for years what he’s like in bed.”
Cold, Valerie thought disparagingly. Cold and unemotional and mechanical. Aloud she said, “I doubt he’s anything to get excited about—in bed I mean.”
“Really?” They moved forward four car lengths, then stopped again, and Janet gave her an arch look. “I don’t doubt it for a minute. There have been one hell of a lot of females chasing him for as long as I’ve known him. He’s got something.”
“Money.” Valerie sneered. “There are one hell of a lot of females anxious to marry it.”
“Won’t wash.” Janet shook her head emphatically. “The way I hear it, the women were after him long before he had the money.”
“Before?” Valerie’s eyes widened with surprise. “You mean he wasn’t born with the proverbial silver spoon?”
“Jonas? Hell no!” Janet’s burst of laughter was cut off by the blast of a horn, alerting Janet to the space growing between her car and the now moving line in front.
Janet was quiet as she concentrated on maneuvering the car off the lot and onto the highway. When they had finally merged into the thick throng of traffic, Janet said abruptly, “I think we should celebrate. There’s a bar near here where a lot of people from J.T.’s stop most Fridays for an end-of-the-week drink. Let’s stop and join them.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Valerie hedged. “I’m very tired, Janet.” Tired hardly described the way she felt—half dead on her feet came a little closer to the mark.
“But that’s exactly why we should stop,” Janet argued. “Val, honey, you’re tighter than an overwound watch. You need to relax, be with other people. Lord, girl, how long has it been since you’ve had a night out?”
Valerie went stiff with the memory, and she had to force herself to answer. “There—there was a prewedding party—” she moistened her lips “—the night before Etienne—” She couldn’t say the words, and, turning her head sharply, she stared out the side window.
“Oh, Val.” Janet sighed. “I’m sorry, really sorry about Etienne, but, honey, you have got to pull yourself together. The longer you put off being with others, the harder it will be. I really think we should stop. Okay?”
“I suppose you’re right.” Valerie didn’t suppose anything of the sort. She didn’t want to be with other people. What she wanted was to go home and sleep the clock around. But Janet had been more than kind, and so she gave in, grudgingly. “Okay, Janet.”
“You don’t have to sound like it’s a punishment.” Janet’s laughter fell flat. “You just might enjoy it. They’re a good group.”
Good group or not, Valerie discounted the possibility of enjoyment. Feeling irritable and tense with the effort to hide it, a sudden thought chilled her and she asked stiffly, “Will Mr. Thorne be there?”
“Jonas! You have got to be kidding.” Janet shot her a quick grin before returning her attention to the traffic. “And here it is,” she informed her a few minutes later.
Valerie studied the unimpressive two-story frame building as Janet drove the car onto the macadam parking lot that was over half-full of cars. All from J.T’s? she wondered, eyeing the sign above the bar entrance.
“The Drop Inn Lounge.” She read the words aloud. “Cute. Are you sure Mr. Thorne never drops in?”
“Not that I know of.” Stepping out of the car Janet tossed her a questioning glance. “Val, are you afraid of Jonas?”
“Seven days a week.” The fervent admission surprised Valerie as much as it did Janet. Falling into step beside her friend she went on harshly, “I think he’s as tough as a cheap cut of beef.”
“Oh, he’s tough all right.” Janet frowned at her. “Was he—well—unpleasant to you this week?”
“Unpleasant?” Valerie repeated consideringly. “Not exactly unpleasant. He was more…” She searched for words. At least a half-dozen unkind ones sprang to mind but she settled for “impatient.”
“Oh, well.” Janet paused, hand on the knob of the bar door. “That’s nothing to get worked up over. Jonas is impatient with everyone. Come on.” She pulled the door open. “I’ll prove it to you.”
The inside of the bar was a surprise after the unimpressive exterior. It was dimly lit, but the hand of an excellent decorator was evident. The stools in front of the long bar were covered in a vibrant red fabric, as were the captain’s chairs around the dozen or so tables in the room. The indoor-outdoor carpeting was in a black and red tile pattern that was repeated in the material of the café curtains that hung at the four windows. Pewter hurricane lamps burning scented oil were placed in the center of every table. The crowded room buzzed with laughter and conversation and vibrated with music from a flashing jukebox sitting just inside the door.
From the moment she stepped inside, Janet was hailed from every section of the room. Smiling and waving back, Janet headed toward a large round table in the corner, around which sat five women.
Trailing behind Janet, Valerie returned the greetings of several people she’d met at various times during the week, and ignored the suggestive glances of several men she had not yet met. As they approached the table Valerie identified three of the five women. Searching her mind, she named and placed them. The small, chunky, dark-haired woman of about thirty was Doris Mercer, secretary to one of Thorne’s executives—Valerie couldn’t remember his department. Next to her was Sharon Templin, a tall, slim young woman who worked in the mail room. The third was Judy Blume, a dark-haired woman of about Valerie’s own age who was assistant to the manager of the typing pool.
Janet waited until they were s
eated at the table before introducing Valerie to the other two women.
“Valerie Jordan.” Janet waved a slim hand at her, then at the lovely platinum blonde directly across the table. “Annette Liemiester—she keeps the file room from falling apart.”
Valerie smiled and returned Annette’s “hi,” and then her eyes moved to the tall black woman with the very pretty, but somewhat stern, face.
“Loretta Harris.” Janet grinned at the solemn-faced woman. “She’s the top-kick in personnel.”
The lazy smile that Loretta turned on Valerie completely changed her visage from stern to devilish. “Hi, Valerie.” Her voice was husky, her tone teasing. “Sorry I missed you Monday morning. How are things going in the high-rent district?”
“I beg—” bemused by the chameleon-swift change in Loretta, Valerie was uncertain of her meaning, then the light clicked on in her head. “Oh!” She laughed softly. “You mean the executive suite. All right I guess. At least I haven’t been given notice to vacate as yet.”
“And won’t be,” Janet inserted firmly. “Jonas himself told me he is satisfied with her work.”
“That’s encouraging,” Loretta drawled. Fixing her beautiful brown eyes on Valerie, she pleaded. “Please, try to keep him satisfied. For as long as you do, Legree’s whip won’t fall on my back.”
Her plea was met by total confusion from Valerie and derisive comments from her four companions.
“Poor Loretta,” Doris cooed.
“Summer’s coming and she won’t be able to bare her scarred back,” Sharon chided.
“Work, work, work.” Judy lifted a hand languidly to smother a yawn.
“Tote that barge, lift that bale.” Annette fluttered incredibly long lashes.
Lifting her glass, Loretta sat back in her chair, her huge grin revealing white teeth. “Oh, the price one pays for being indispensable,” she said pleasantly.
“Loretta’s been feeling the lash of Jonas’s tongue ever since your predecessor took off,” Janet explained, taking pity on Valerie’s obvious confusion.
