Too Many Bosses

by Jan Freed

  Without looking, Sam knew he’d found Alec. Yep, there he sat, scowling into his empty beer glass. Damned if he didn’t attract women like ants to a picnic, and there wasn’t one sweet thing about him. In fact, there was a darkness in him, a dangerous edge that glinted once in a while. A man’s secrets were his own. But Sam wondered just the same.

  Customers stood yacking in groups, sucking up gossip as fast as the complimentary wine they sipped. Sam used the opportunity to observe Alec unawares.

  Tall, fit, handsome without working at it, he was a man’s man. And sharp as a scalpel. For the first time in two years Sam felt excited about his future. The nagging tugs of dissatisfaction, the sense he was missing something important in life, had faded to an occasional twinge.

  He’d taken a huge risk backing Hayes and McDonald Advertising, but from everything he’d seen yesterday, despite the interrupted meeting, his company was in talented and capable hands. If he wasn’t due in Dallas this afternoon, he would have enjoyed returning to the agency and continuing discussions there. His account team was dynamite.

  Together, they were going to bend over and moon the hospitality industry, particularly the smug leaders who’d predicted Regency’s downfall. Sam mentally rubbed his hands together. He’d be the first to drop his pants.

  Alec shifted on his stool, allowing Sam a clear view of his face. Something was eating the guy up inside. Had Alec’s son taken a turn for the worse since Sam had called yesterday evening?

  Compassion bloomed in his chest. Approaching the brooding figure, he slapped Alec on the back.

  “If I wanted to eat lunch across from a sourpuss, I’d have invited my second wife.”

  Alec swiveled and broke into a grin. “Right on time, Sam. Thanks for fighting this crowd.” He slid off the stool and extended his hand.

  Sam pumped it once and held on. “How’s your boy?”

  Sam had always wanted kids, had tried and failed with each wife. The fact that children were often taken for granted, and sometimes abused, infuriated him.

  “Just fine, I think. We’re going, that is, I’m going to arrange a few sessions with a child psychologist, just to be safe.”

  Releasing Alec’s hand, Sam nodded. “Sounds sensible.” Times sure had changed. People were learning to confront their dirt, not hide it. “Which talk-show host gave you that idea?”

  “Are you kidding? Laura could give Oprah lessons. Come on. Let’s go see where we stand on the waiting list.” Alec picked up a briefcase from the floor and strode forward.

  Fascinated, Sam watched the crowd part before the younger man like the Red Sea. Not a soul grumbled. He followed as Alec broke into the hostess’s charmed inner circle and grasped the podium with one hand.

  “Excuse me, miss. Is there a table ready yet for McDonald?”

  The pretty young woman glanced up from her seating chart and blinked twice.

  “Party of two?” he added, flashing a deep dimple and strong white teeth.

  Sam snorted.

  The hostess blushed and lowered her head. “Let me check for you, sir.” Recovering her poise, she ran a finger down the waiting list, consulted her seating chart and looked up with a coy smile. “Perfect timing, Mr. McDonald. A table just opened up. If you’ll follow me, please.”

  Chuckling, Sam shook his head and obeyed Alec’s beckoning nod.

  The hostess seated them at a window table, then handed out leather-bound menus. “If there’s anything I can do for you gentlemen, please let me know,” she invited, looking straight at Alec.

  After she’d swished away, Sam leaned back, cocked his head and smirked.

  “What?” Alec asked.

  Sam rolled his eyes.

  “What?”

  “You had that little girl wishing you were on the menu, Alec. And the pisser is, you don’t even like women.”

  Alec’s eyebrow shot up.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I can spot a soprano a mile away, and you’re definitely a bass. It’s just that, well, you don’t seem to like women, if you know what I mean.”

  From Alec’s resigned sigh, apparently he did. “I enjoy women. Isn’t that enough?”

  The poor schmo was serious. “Depends on your expectations, I guess.” Sam unfurled his napkin and smoothed the cloth in his lap. “Now me, I enjoyed the hell out of my second and third wives before things got ugly. But I liked my first wife more than anyone I’ve ever met before or since.” His voice softened in memory. “Jenny and I were high school sweethearts. She put me through college. Fact is, if it hadn’t been for her, I never would have founded Regency Hotels. When she died...”

  When she died, he’d almost swallowed the bottle of pain pills by her empty bedside. Jenny had stopped him. The lovely healthy Jenny of old. She’d sat right down on the bed and told him his grief was holding her back. That she’d be waiting on the other side when the time was right for him to join her. She’d held him through the night, and in the morning she was gone.

  He’d never told anyone.

  Sam glanced up, cleared his throat and frowned. “Jenny was a damn good partner—in business and in life. I’d give everything I own to find another woman like her, son. The right partner can turn the shit life throws you into fertilizer. After you’ve had that, simply enjoying a woman isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.”

  Suddenly self-conscious, he opened his menu and studied the blurred print. Alec followed suit, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  A waiter, dressed in a kelly green polo shirt and white cotton drawstring pants, approached the table. “Hi. My name is Bob and I’ll be serving you today. We have several specials not on the menu you might be interested in.” Without waiting for a response, the young man launched into a list of complicated entrées, glancing at crib notes throughout the recitation.

  During the entrée de la salmon topped with crab, Sam leaned forward. “Say, Bob?” he interrupted.

  The young man stiffened. “Yes, sir?”

  “Save it for your next customer and bring me a burger, rare, with a side of onion rings. And a cold beer, Corona if you’ve got it.” He folded his menu and handed it to the waiter. “Think your chef can handle that?”

  Bob relaxed and turned into a regular kid. “I don’t know about him, but that’s the first thing somebody’s ordered I can remember. It’s my first day here. And believe me, I’ve taken college courses that aren’t this hard.” Clutching his cheat notes, he turned to Alec. “What can I get you, sir?”

  With a what-the-hell shrug, Alec extended his menu. “I’ll have the same as my friend. But make my burger medium rare.”

  Bob beamed. “Yes, sir. I’ll turn those orders in right now.”

  As the waiter hustled off, Alec opened his briefcase, pulled out a thick sheaf of papers and slid the agency’s recommended media budget between Sam’s fork and knife. “This is self-explanatory, but I’ll try to recap the high points.”

  Throughout their simple meal, Sam listened to a thorough analysis of why a twenty percent increase over last year’s budget was vital to the success of the new campaign. The total figure screamed from the last page like his controller gone berserk. He could manage it—barely. But it’d be close.

  After the final dish had been cleared, Alec gave Sam a hard level look. “You know first-year startup costs for a new hotel far exceed the second and third year of operation. The same holds true for launching a new marketing strategy.”

  “I know, I know.” Sam opened his coat, reached for a cigar, then stopped. Pushing a breath through his teeth, he glared at the surrounding tables. Damned no-smoking law. He’d like to take away these yuppies’ after-meal coffee and see how they reacted.

  “If you maintain status quo, you’ll continue to lose revenue. I know you don’t want to sell, Sam. This strategy is the best chance you have of retaining ownership.”

  If the strategy fails, I’ll be ruined financially.

  The unspoken words hovered between them like the lingering smell of onion rings. Gridlo
ck. Sam felt every one of his sixty-three years.

  Alec rapped his fingertips once on the table and leaned forward as if he’d made a decision. His eyes held sympathy, but no compromise. “You’ve taken a great many risks in your career, Sam, especially in the beginning. What would Jenny advise you to do in this situation?”

  Sam’s mind jerked. Jenny? Jenny had encouraged him to leave the docks and use his brain for a living. Jenny had forced him to write his first business plan and present it to a banker. Jenny had listened to his dreams with shining eyes and died before the dreams had come true.

  Very slowly, his gaze refocused on Alec, who looked as if he was holding his breath. Confidence swept away Sam’s doubts, energizing his smile. “Jenny would say go for it, as if you didn’t know. All right, you sneaky bastard. You’ve got your budget.”

  His smile faded. “Now make us famous.”

  * * *

  GOOD LORD, look at the time. Eight o’clock already.

  Alec lowered his wrist and scanned the unfinished paperwork on his desk. A week had passed since Mrs. Pennington’s departure and his decision to practice the role of father. If he intended to read Jason a bedtime story as promised, this stuff would have to wait until tomorrow. He reached for the phone and dialed home. On the fourth ring, someone picked up.

  “McDonald residence, Ronald’s not home,” Jason shouted, competing against a TV blaring in the background.

  “And he’d better not come back, is that understood, young man?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Jason answered meekly. “When are you comin’ home?”

  Alec glanced at his desk and rubbed his neck. “Soon. Have you eaten yet?”

  “Mrs. Polk made meat loaf...” His voice trailed off, as if he’d been distracted.

  “What are you watching?”

  “E.T.”

  “Is it Halloween yet?” His son had watched the scene a hundred times. Spielberg’s magic still held strong.

  “Yeah, and the mom is taking pictures. She thinks her little girl is the ghost.” Jason giggled. “Look under the sheet!” he bellowed, his head turned away from the receiver.

  Mrs. Polk confiscated the phone, her voice calm and strong. “Mr. McDonald? Not to worry. Jason’s been bathed and fed. And as you can tell, he’s happily watching a movie now.”

  “I should wrap things up and get out of here soon. But it will probably be an hour before I make it home. Is that okay?”

  “Take your time,” she assured him. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Polk. Tell Jason I’ll read him a story when I get there.”

  “Will do, Mr. McDonald. Bye now.”

  Relieved, Alec hung up and sank back in his chair. Mrs. Polk worked at Jason’s school library. Asking if she would like to earn extra income in the evenings had been an inspired impulse on Alec’s part. Both she and Jason were delighted with the arrangement.

  Restless, Alec stood up and stretched. He’d been parked on his butt all afternoon and had barely scratched the surface of his workload. At this rate, he’d not only fail as a business owner, he’d get soft, too. Especially if he kept eating burgers and onion rings for lunch.

  Unknotting his tie, he yanked it off and opened the top button of his dress shirt, realizing he’d never performed this entirely natural sequence at Harris, Bates and Whitman Advertising. If only Tom Marsh and the other sticklers for formality could see him now.

  Smiling, Alec reached down and unfastened his second button.

  That business at the restaurant last week had been awkward, to say the least. After he’d paid the bill, he and Sam had almost reached the door when Alec had felt the unmistakable prickle of someone’s stare. He’d turned—and met the hostile glare of his former creative director.

  Tom had been sitting with Charles Ritten, president of Golden Door Hotels and an old friend of Sam’s. One thing led to another, and they’d all wound up drinking coffee together. Very civil, very nineties. Very boring.

  Then Charles had cited Tom’s exceptional creative work as the deciding factor in choosing Harris, Bates and Whitman as his agency of record. Alec shook his head and began sorting the papers on his desk into neat stacks. Go figure.

  Oh, well, if Tom had found a source of inspiration, who was Alec to begrudge him? Maybe it would heal the man’s bruised ego after losing Regency Hotels.

  Tossing his tie and jacket over one shoulder, Alec stepped into the hall. The place was too quiet. He missed the hum of activity, the bursts of laughter, that filled his daylight hours. The hours when Laura circulated throughout the office.

  He shook off the thought and headed toward the lunchroom. Brenda Lee had lectured him about leaving the coffeemaker on the last time she’d scrubbed the charred remains from a previous day’s pot.

  Glancing into each office he passed, Alec registered small details. Harold’s desk looked meticulous, and Sharon still needed a fax machine. He’d have to ask Brenda Lee about that tomorrow. The closer he got to Laura’s office the stronger his sense of awareness grew. He slowed, paused and ran unsteady fingers through his hair.

  Hell, he thought she’d already left. Every self-preservation instinct he possessed told him to turn around and go home. Fast.

  Something even more powerful and basic drove him forward.

  When Alec stepped inside Laura’s doorway, she looked up from writing on a legal pad and smiled. A pleasant warmth burst in his chest and spread rapidly downward. He slipped the coat from his shoulder, draped it strategically over his forearm and leaned back against the wall.

  “It’s getting late. Security leaves at seven, you know.”

  “I know. But this TV concept is finally coming along and I hate to stop.” Laura rolled her shoulders and grimaced. “I’ve been hunched over so long my back muscles are killing me.” She threw down her pencil and rubbed her neck with both hands. The voluminous blue silk blouse she wore pulled taut against her arched chest.

  For an instant, each breast was revealed in exquisite detail, from the pattern of her lace bra to the condition of her nipples.

  They were hard.

  His body reacted in kind, surging against his clothing. Damn. He looked away, sensing when she dropped her arms.

  “You look...stressed. Why don’t you go home, Alec?”

  “Yeah, I think I will. Come on and I’ll walk you out.”

  She fiddled with her legal pad. “No, you go ahead. I need to finish this script.”

  He scowled. “It can wait until tomorrow, Laura. I don’t like you being here all by yourself.”

  “I’ll lock the door when you leave.”

  She was so damned independent, so stubborn sometimes. “What about walking to the car? Anyone could hide in that garage and surprise you.”

  Her eyes gleamed with amusement, although she never actually smiled. “I’m a big girl, Alec. If it makes you feel better, Scott taught me some basic self-defense maneuvers before I left for college. I promise I’ll be careful walking to the car.”

  Overconfidence got people killed. Longing to wipe the patronizing smirk off her face, he lowered his voice. “So, you think you can handle an attack from a man?”

  She looked startled, then wary. “I think I can take care of myself, yes.”

  He straightened from the wall to his full height, enjoying the sudden flare of uncertainty in her eyes. “What if the man was rather large. Say...about my size?” He stepped toward her desk and dropped his jacket and tie into a guest chair.

  “What’s with the games, Alec? What are you trying to prove?” Her tilted cat’s eyes glittered in anger now.

  “You’re the one making unbelievable claims, Laura. Care to prove you’re not just bragging?” He noted she sat perched on the edge of her chair as if prepared to leap at his slightest move. For just an instant, he considered abandoning the lesson.

  Then he caught a whiff of her elusive lavender scent.

  Laura erupted from the chair. Anticipating her direction, he rounded the desk. Their eyes met,
hers wide, his narrowed.

  Whirling, she grasped her chair and shoved. He stopped the rolling weapon with his shins and flung it aside, his eyes never leaving hers. She was agile, but no match for his long legs. Two tremendous leaps brought him close. Clamping an arm around her waist, he swept her toward him like a pile of poker chips.

  “Let me go, you meat head!” she yelled.

  A heel connected with his kneecap. An elbow slammed into his ribs. A small hand grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled until his eyes watered. If he didn’t stop her soon she’d hurt herself—or him.

  He half lifted, half dragged her to a side wall. She’d break her fool nose against the plaster if she kept struggling.

  “For God’s sake, Laura, calm down.”

  “Go to hell!”

  In one neat motion, he spun her around to face him and pressed her against the wall with his body. She went completely, blessedly still.

  Bracing a hand on either side of her head, he looked down into honey gold eyes wide with shock.

  “Ready to cry uncle, now?” he asked, wishing he could snatch the juvenile words back.

  Predictably Laura renewed her struggles. He pressed even closer, restraining her slim body by the sheer bulk of his own. His breathing stilled. His eyes closed.

  The breasts he’d admired earlier were soft and yielding against his chest. The legs he’d deemed worthy of a Las Vegas show girl branded his thighs with heat. The hair he’d imagined flowing loose whispered against his chin. He buried his nose in the fragrant strands, inhaled deeply and groaned.

  Laura squirmed, whether in anger or fear he never knew, for her action wedged his throbbing erection exactly where nature intended. He fought for command of his traitorous body.

  She was right. He was behaving like a meat head. Worse, like the greenest adolescent, instead of a man who’d enjoyed many attractive women in his life. A man who always stayed in control.

  He raised his head and looked down to apologize. Laura’s eyes were huge and filled with dazed confusion. Her combination of innocence and sensuality had driven him crazy for weeks.

  “If I say I’m sorry and promise to let you go, will you cry uncle?” he whispered.