by SUE FINEMAN
A look of pain crossed her eyes. “You don’t want to stay with me?”
He put his hands on her face and gazed into her eyes. “I love being with you, but I can’t stay here forever. I have to go home and put my life back together.” He dropped his hands. “Are you still planning to build a house in Gig Harbor?”
She nodded, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.
“Then we need to get to work on it, so you have a safe place to stay when you come back.” He pulled her close and her tears soaked his shirt. He threaded his fingers through her soft curls and held her gently. He wanted to tell her he loved her, because he did, but he didn’t have anything to offer but himself. He needed to build a future before he could ask her to share his life.
<>
The next day Nick and Cara went shopping at a small, exclusive men’s shop, and she helped him pick out a gray wool suit. This one was a whole lot nicer than the one he had before. The sales clerk measured the leg length, marked here and there with chalk, and said the alterations would be ready the next day. “What alterations?” asked Nick.
“To make it fit better,” said Cara. She picked out three ties to go with the suit, three shirts, and socks. She insisted he pick out new shoes, too.
Cara asked that their purchases be delivered and handed the man several hundred dollars. Nick hadn’t even looked at the price. He’d never in his life owned any clothes that cost over a hundred dollars. He’d bought his other suit on sale.
On the way back to the car, he overheard a woman in the parking lot say, “She’s so rich she can buy any man she wants.”
“I think he’s kinda cute,” said another woman. “I’ll bet he’s a good lover.”
“He must be,” said the first woman.
Nick glanced at Cara, but she either didn’t hear or pretended not to. Was that what everyone thought? Did they think she bought him? He didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, but she deserved better.
<>
Nick felt uncomfortable going to the funeral of a man he’d only met once, but he wasn’t going for Bill Morrison. He was going for Cara. He dressed in his new suit, a white shirt, and dark gray tie with a subtle pattern. His new dress shoes felt butter soft. He glanced in the mirror, then looked again. The suit fit perfectly, better than anything he’d ever worn. He’d never looked so good.
Cara tapped and opened his bedroom door. “Nick, are you almost ready?”
He turned to look at Cara. She looked incredible in a fitted black suit, dark stockings and high heel shoes. The skirt was about two inches above her knees, long enough to be discreet, but short enough to make her long legs look even longer. The sight of her took his breath away.
“Oh, Nick, they did a nice job on your suit.”
He stroked the lapel. “I’ve never worn anything this nice before.”
“You look very handsome.”
“Aw, c’mon, Cara. Dressing me up does not make me handsome. Nothing will ever make me handsome.”
She motioned with her finger. “Turn around and let me see.”
He turned around slowly as she cocked her head and looked him up and down. “No, I was right. You’re very handsome.”
“And you’re full of it.” But her words warmed him.
The church was packed with people Nick had seen pictures of in the newspaper. He never thought he’d be in the same place with well-known people like this, but no one said a word or made him feel out of place. Maybe that was because Cara had her arm threaded through his, as if they belonged together.
After the service, he went with Cara to see Bill’s family. She hugged Bill’s wife, a woman he’d never met. Nick took her hand, said, “I’m sorry for your loss. He was a good man,” and then moved on, staying close to Cara.
Some of the women wore hats, but not Cara. When the service was over in the church and they moved on to the cemetery, her hair caught fire in the bright sunshine. She was the most beautiful woman there, drawing admiring glances from everyone. He felt proud to be with her.
Reporters stood back, giving family and friends the privacy they deserved, but they didn’t leave the cemetery. Nick wondered if the cameras were there for the Morrison family, for Cara, or for someone else.
When the service was over, he took Cara’s hand and walked her to the car. They were stopped in the parking lot by a small cluster of reporters. One stuck a microphone in Cara’s face. “Miss Andrews, may we have a word with you, please?”
Nick was surprised to hear Cara say, “Yes, of course.”
“Was Bill Morrison a good friend?”
“Bill Morrison was my grandfather’s good friend for many years. In the last few weeks he became my trusted friend and advisor, too. He gave me insight into the past and confidence to face the future. His death is a great personal loss. His gentle words of wisdom will stay with me forever. I’m proud to have called him friend.”
“Thank you,” said the reporter.
With his hand on her back, Nick walked her to the car. “You were ready for that.”
The bodyguard opened the door and they sat inside before Cara answered. “I wrote it last night. I figured someone would ask me to say something.”
“Maybe this isn’t the right time to say it, but you look beautiful today.”
Her eyebrows shot up in a disbelieving look. “Me?”
“I always thought you looked good, but there’s something different about you lately, a confidence that wasn’t there before.”
She straightened her skirt and leaned back. “I am more confident. I don’t care as much what people think or say about me.”
“Even me?”
“No, I care what you think.” She took his hand. “I care very much what you think, Nick.”
He cared, too. Maybe too much.
They rode in silence for a few minutes before Nick spoke again. “I saw Marge at the funeral, and Bart Cantrell and the other trustees, but I didn’t see Ron Holcomb.”
“I know. It’s Wednesday.”
“He’d miss a funeral to play golf?”
“Apparently.” She glanced out the window. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I didn’t know you had a meeting scheduled tomorrow.”
“I’m going to fire him,” she said calmly, as if she fired people every day. “He fights every decision I make and I’m sick of arguing with him. Now that I know about that rip-off corporation, I can’t put it off any longer. He has to go.”
“What about your investments?”
“I’ve made a few changes and I’ll let what I have ride until I can hire someone to replace him. Surely I can find a business manager I can work with, someone I don’t have to argue with all the time.” She sighed and leaned her head back.
“You’re turning into quite a businesswoman.”
“Out of necessity.”
Nick put his hand on her knee. “Cara, when you married Lance, is this the kind of life you expected to have?”
“No, I wanted a normal life, whatever that means. I wanted to have children and be a stay-at-home wife and mother. Cassie gave me cooking lessons, because I refused to have live-in servants in Seattle. Lance hated it.”
Nick suspected she wanted privacy, something that was missing in a big house filled with servants.
“I thought I could escape the notoriety, the tabloid photographers, and all the hoopla. I was thrilled when Lance said he wanted to go back to work. I thought we’d live like other couples, that we’d start our family and live happily ever after.”
Cara’s skirt had worked its way up an inch or two, and Nick couldn’t keep his hands off. He gently rubbed her knee and thigh through the silky stocking. He loved her legs.
She threaded her arm through his and leaned into him. She looked so sad, he wanted to hold her in his arms and make everything all right. If he could turn the world into a different place, if he could make her pain and loneliness go away, he’d do it in a heartbeat. She lived alone in a house full of people. Just
as his drunken mother was his legacy, her grandfather’s money was hers. “You can’t escape from the notoriety.”
Cara looked up at Nick’s face. “That’s what Bill said. He said my wealth is part of who I am, that if I gave most of it away, I’d still be a target for the unbalanced and the unscrupulous. I didn’t choose to live this way, Nick, but I can’t get away from it.”
“What else did Bill say?”
“That money is power, to use it wisely.”
Other people thought her life was perfect because she was rich, but Nick saw the sad, lonely side. She wanted to be normal, but she’d never live a normal life any more than he’d have a sober mother. It would never happen.
“So tell me, Cara. What are you going to do with all that power?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I just don’t know.”
<>
After the funeral, Cara sat in the study and called Gerry in Gig Harbor. She told him about her plans to fire Ron Holcomb. “I need a letter or something, don’t I?”
“Would you like me to draft something and e-mail it to you?”
“Yes, please.”
“When are you going to do it?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Now that she’d made the decision, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to get it over with.
“Don’t give him time to do any damage, Cara. Give him time to clean out his desk, then get him out of there.”
Cara rubbed her forehead while she talked. “He wouldn’t do anything, would he?”
“I don’t think so, but there’s no sense in taking any chances. Have Marge call a locksmith to change the locks, and change his computer passwords immediately. Do you want me there?”
“No, I’ll do it.” The estate was her responsibility, and so was firing Ron Holcomb.
Cara sat at her grandfather’s big desk in the study. Since she’d inherited the estate, she’d gotten more involved than she’d ever intended, but it was out of necessity. She needed to hire someone she could trust, someone she didn’t have to second guess. Someone who would work with her and not against her.
She glanced at the clock. Almost five. Maybe Hutch went back to work. She hoped he did, because she needed to talk with him.
Hutch’s secretary said, “He’s here, but he’s not at his desk right now. Would you like him to call you?”
“Yes, please.”
Her next call was to Bart Cantrell. “Bart, this is strictly confidential.”
“Miss Andrews, everything I do for you is confidential.”
“Please call me Cara, and this is a little more confidential than usual. I need a final paycheck for Ron Holcomb. Make it through the end of this week. I’ll need it tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. Add two weeks severance pay and any accrued vacation. Do you think that’s fair?”
“More than fair under the circumstances. I’ll have the check ready at nine.”
She knew without a doubt that she was doing the right thing. Ron Holcomb’s attitude was deplorable, and the way he and his friends used the RASH Corporation to steal money from the estate was downright criminal. Although it would put more responsibility on her shoulders, she couldn’t wait any longer. The man had to go.
Five minutes later, Hutch returned her call. Cara said, “I’m firing Ron tomorrow. Hutch, I spoke with Bill Morrison shortly before he died. He gave me a wonderful suggestion for a replacement. Would you consider taking the job? Bill said you’d been talking about making some changes at your company, letting someone else take over.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Part time is fine.” Ron had never put in over twenty or so hours a week anyway.
It took Hutch a few seconds to ask, “Why me?”
That was an easy question. “Because I trust you. Because you listen to me. Because we have the same philosophy about social responsibility. Because I need you.”
He laughed softly. “You make it hard to say no. I’ll talk it over with my wife.”
Now that she’d made the decision and set things in motion, Cara felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. It might be difficult for a few weeks, but it had to be done. She wanted Ron Holcomb out of the estate offices and out of her life.
<>
Ian called to Lance. “There’s something about Cara on the evening news.”
Lance ran down the stairs and into the living room, where Ian was flipping through the channels. “It’s over on one channel, but... here it is.”
Sinking onto the sofa, Lance said, “It’s a funeral.”
“Yes, for Bill Morrison.”
They flashed a picture of Bill Morrison on the screen. “That’s the old guy she had lunch with the other day. Do you know him?”
“No, I never met him. Ron said he was one of the trustees.”
Suddenly Cara stood in front of the camera, giving a brief statement about her friendship with the dead guy. She was looking good these days. The black was gone from her hair, which she wore in a new, shorter style. She looked better than he remembered.
Lance glanced at Ian, who stood at the end of the sofa. “Who’s the guy with her?”
Ian said the name slowly. “Nick Donatelli.”
Lance grinned. So that’s her lover, the man he shot. “Looks like someone used his face for a punching bag. What in the hell does she see in a guy like him?”
The reporters moved on to something else and Lance was left wondering if Cara intended to marry the guy when she got her divorce.
Ian turned the television off. “I can’t believe she’s flaunting her lover like that. She’s still a married woman.”
“Yes, she is,” said Lance. She’d die that way, too.
Still married.
Chapter Seventeen
Nick talked with Aunt Sophia on the phone for several minutes. She called often, checking up on him, letting him know how much she cared.
“I love you, Nicky,” she said.
“Yeah, I love you, too. I’ll talk to you again in a few days.”
Nick hung up the phone. As a kid, he would have given anything to hear someone say those words to him. Until he ran away to Aunt Sophia’s house, he’d never heard them. Until then, Nick thought he was unlovable, a worthless kid who was so bad his own mother couldn’t stand to look at him without a drink to deaden the pain. All she’d ever done was drink and smoke and knock him around.
The cut over his eye wasn’t from a school fight, as he’d told Cara. His mother had hit him with a bottle because he’d accidentally spilled her scotch. He saw a doctor two days later, but the school nurse took him, not his mother. His mother had been too drunk to notice she’d split his eyebrow right down to the bone. Nick was nine and the foster home they’d sent him to was his third. If they’d left him there, he wouldn’t have run away.
“Nick,” called Cara. “Where are you?”
“In the study.”
She walked in and smiled. “Would you like to come to the office with me tomorrow morning? I need to be there at nine, but I won’t be there long.”
“Yeah, sure. I have to meet the contractor at a building about a block from there at ten, so that’ll work out good.”
She leaned over the desk and whispered, “I know something else that works out good.”
“Oh, yeah?” he teased, knowing exactly what she was talking about. He was so wiped out the last night they spent together, he fell asleep, but there was no chance of that happening tonight.
She pointed to him and to herself. “And this time I want more than a snuggle before you fall asleep. This time I want...” She stood up straight and gave him a cute little come-on smile. “Well, you’re a big boy. You can figure it out.”
“Damn right.” He moved quickly around the desk and caught her near the door. She giggled and pulled away. Running toward the stairs, she looked over her shoulder and tripped on the step. He grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling. They were in Nick’s room in seconds, ripping at their clothes, their hands and lips on
each other.
Their need was frantic, almost primal, as he rubbed and sucked and kissed and made love to her, giving her the love she wanted and needed so much. He didn’t say the words, but she knew he loved her. He brought her to a quick, but amazingly satisfying climax, and she cried as his seed spilled inside her. His wife wouldn’t give him a baby, but she would. She wanted his children.
They spent the night together in Cara’s grandfather’s bed, their naked bodies snuggled together, her pale arms and legs intertwined with his darker, hairy ones.
<>
Cara and Nick arrived at the office at nine the next morning. Marge said, “Miss Andrews, I didn’t expect you this morning.”
“Marge, please call a locksmith. I’d like the locks changed on the offices today.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you know anything about Ron’s computer? Does he have a list of passwords somewhere?”
Marge’s eyes flicked between Cara and Nick. “I have that list.”
“Do you know how to change the passwords?”
Marge hesitated, questioning with her eyes. “Is he leaving today?”
Cara nodded.
“I see.” Marge swallowed hard. “Bart knows more about Ron’s computer than I do. Perhaps you should speak with him.”
Nick wandered through the empty rooms on that floor while Cara walked back to Bart’s office. “Bart, would you have Ron show you which programs he uses on his computer and how to get into them? I want all his passwords changed this morning.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I hate to add to your workload, but I may need some help with Ron’s work for awhile, until I get someone else in here.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“I offered the job to Boyd Hutchinson, but he hasn’t given me an answer yet.”
“He’d do a great job,” said Bart. “He’d listen, too, which is something Ron has never been good at. I’ll help in any way I can. I have an assistant to help with the accounting and I can hire another if necessary. I’d like to learn more about the investment part of the estate.”
