by Amanda Uhl
Not what? What had he been about to say?
“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this.” He got up and went to the front of the plane. He must not want me to hear the call. Who was it? I pretended to read my magazine, all the while listening hard. I only caught about every fourth word over the sound of the engine.
“Kidding…Gina…do you know?…not Val…dammit…move faster…she doesn’t know…Seth…not good…Euroknight…stick with the plan.”
What didn’t I know? What was the plan? With all the craziness of my breakup with George, I hadn’t mentioned Euroknight to Charlie, had I? My mind was spinning in crazy circles trying to make sense of the conversation. Charlie had secrets. I knew that. As Bernie said, everyone had secrets. It shouldn’t be so alarming. But it was. How could I be with a man who was withholding information? My alter ego was shouting a warning in my ear, and I’d do well to listen. Guard your heart, honey, it said. Guard your heart. Ironic that just the other day it was telling me to take a chance.
“Sorry,” Charlie said, returning to his seat as if he didn’t have a secret conversation in the cockpit. “How do you feel about an early product launch? Looks like we may have some competition.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” There was only one way through the crumbling landscape ahead and that was forward.
“Abbott’s developing a similar product.”
I stared at Charlie, trying to make sense of his words. “How…how do you know?”
“I have a friend who works for the government. She keeps tabs on Abbott for me. They’ve applied for a patent on a product eerily similar to our own. We have no way of knowing how much information they have, of course, but now it’s a race to market. We’ve got to step up our game.”
“How do you think they got the information?”
Charlie eyes caught and held mine. “Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t you.”
I blushed, visions of my coming interview with Hugh Dabney floating in my head. “No…of…of course not,” I said. “So, who was it?”
“I’d give a lot to know,” Charlie said slowly. He looked at me as if he could read my mind. “But for the record, you haven’t told anyone else about your work on the new product, have you? Not Bernie, George, your mother…Seth?”
“No, no one,” I said.
“Good.”
He settled back in his seat and picked up his book, apparently satisfied. But I wasn’t satisfied. Far from it. “Charlie, if you didn’t tell anyone, and I didn’t tell anyone, you think Larry or…or Gina leaked information?”
“Not Larry. Gina is a possibility, but I doubt it. I believe our traitor is getting their information through more nefarious means.”
The hair on my body rose in response, every James Bond film I’d ever seen flashing through my mind. “Spying?” I asked.
Charlie shrugged. “Maybe. Could be a recording device. What’s clear is someone is feeding information to Abbott. I need to figure out who.”
My brain fog settled, and a question that had been bubbling in the back of my mind rose to the surface with sudden clarity, needing to be asked. I swallowed, my throat thick. “Charlie…why is it your job to figure out who? I mean, I know you’re family friends and all, but this seems to be above and beyond the call of duty as a friend. Why get yourself involved in all this mess?”
He rubbed a hand across the blond stubble already forming on his chin and gave a mighty sigh. “It’s complicated.” He checked his watch. “The plane will be landing soon. I haven’t had a chance to go over the details of our visit with you.”
Like a bear that found honey, I refused to be distracted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He grimaced, his face serious. “Perhaps I dislike cheaters.”
I shook my head. “I don’t like them either, but I can’t see spending my own time and energy trying to track down the company traitor. Let Larry hire someone to do that.”
“He has. He’s doing what he can.” Charlie rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, a habit when he was frustrated. I suspected he wasn’t used to having his motives questioned.
Suddenly, I was grateful we’d agreed to a hands-off week of getting to know one another. We clearly needed it. In my experience, keeping secrets didn’t bode well for long-term happiness. I tried again. “Charlie, you were hired to come up with a creative marketing plan, right?”
He nodded slightly, his hand still massaging his neck. His cell phone flashed an incoming text from Larry Reynolds. He glanced at it the same time I did, but ignored it, turning the phone over before I could decipher what was written.
“What am I missing? It’s not your job or mine to play detective. Besides, it could be dangerous. Why can’t you leave it to the professionals?”
Charlie sighed, glancing my way. He grabbed my hand, rubbing his thumb across mine. Goose bumps raced up the back of my arm. “I’ve been down this road before with Panache. I can’t afford to invest my time and energy in a company that’ll up and fold. Val, it’s not that I don’t trust you. Believe me. You are the most honest person I know.”
Except for the interview with Abbott. My alter ego jarred my conscious, and I flushed, distracted from my mission. I tried to pull my hand away, but Charlie wasn’t done. He wrapped his fingers through mine and held on tight.
“The longer I’m here, the more”—his blue eyes stabbed into mine, direct and forceful—“important it’s become to keep Reynolds solvent. A lot of people would be out of a job, including you. I can’t let that happen.”
He brushed a stray hair from my eyes with one finger. And then he smiled tenderly, awarding me a brief flash of his dimples. “I need you to trust me, Val. There are good reasons for what I’m doing.”
A thump sounded as the wheels of the plane descended, reminding me we were still in the air and about to land. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. And then there was a couple of bumps in a row as we touched down, and his grip loosened, and he was turning to collect his gear. Any doubts I felt were pushed to the back of my mind as I hurried to find my luggage and exit the aircraft. We met up with the car and driver who would take us to our hotel where we could drop our bags off and go to the appointment, which wasn’t until 3 p.m.
On the drive over, my brain kicked into high gear. Secrets. They abounded at Reynolds. We all had them. I thought of my coming interview with Abbott Labs. I wasn’t a traitor for going on one interview, was I? I mean people interviewed for new jobs all the time. My guilty conscience kept me from hounding Charlie for the truth about his involvement with Reynolds. We were all entitled to a few little secrets, weren’t we? As long as we weren’t hurting anyone by keeping them.
And then we were pulling into our hotel, which wasn’t a hotel at all but some kind of mansion. “Charlie, where are we?”
Charlie smiled at me and took my hand. “C’mon,” he said. “I want you to meet my parents.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Shit. I looked down at my jeans and flats and up at the giant, marble-looking structure in front of me. I’m pretty sure my mouth hung open. I had seen lots of expensive homes growing up in San Francisco, but always at a distance. I certainly had never gotten a close-up view like this. Giant black planters almost as tall as me filled with pine trees surrounded by purple, pink, and yellow flowers graced both sides of the front entrance. There were double doors, each covered by a golden gate, the kind I imagined Saint Peter might have. I did a quick count of cement steps leading to the doors—thirteen. Unlucky thirteen. Charlie had said to dress comfortably, but I would have worn a dress or a skirt or something if I’d known I was touring a mansion and meeting his parents.
I was meeting his parents? Holy shit.
“Charlie…um…I don’t think…I mean…I wasn’t planning…”
Charlie placed two fingers on my lips. “Shh,” he said. “It’s not a big deal. My parents live in New York. We have time to kill, and we need a place to stay. They’ve made brunch. It’ll be fine.”
/> He removed his fingers from my closed mouth, but I could still feel their warm imprint. He grabbed my hands and tugged me along. “Leave the luggage. Someone will take care of it.”
He looked back at me, giving me a picture-perfect shot of his dimples and his toned body. Should I whip out my cell phone and snap a photo? Maybe not the best time. Still, when our week was over and fantasy time ended, it would be nice to have a picture or two to remember him by. “I promised you a wonderful week,” he said. “Sorry about this first part. But it’s necessary. Be brave.”
Someone must have expected us, because when we got to the top of the steps the golden gates and the doors beyond them opened of their own accord, and we stepped inside. I entered…heaven. There was no way else to describe it. If the outside looked impressive, the inside was dazzling. My eyes followed the white mosaic-looking floor up a sweeping marble staircase decorated with wrought iron and brass balustrades and to the side where a humungous carved mantel reigned over a wood-burning fireplace. This room opened into another large room, containing what looked to be fifteen-foot-tall ceilings and a glass wall facing an open patio filled with plants, flowers, and outdoor seating. It was as if someone had invited the great outdoors inside to play. A woman and man sat on the patio, talking. The man spotted Charlie and waved us over.
“My parents,” Charlie said, and he couldn’t disguise the affection in his voice.
Charlie approached the woman, who got up from her chair and hugged him. “Hi, Mom,” he said.
“So glad you stopped to see us,” Mrs. Solanger said. Her hair was short and blond, parted on one side. Her faced was lined but polished, defying her age, but I guessed her to be in her mid-sixties. “It’s been far too long since we last saw you.” She shook her head at him. “Charlie, please don’t tell me you’re letting your hair grow long again?”
“No, I’ve been a little busy to get a haircut. Val here and I have been working on a plan to turn Reynolds Paints around.”
His mother ignored me, reaching out to tousle Charlie’s hair. “You’re in New York now. I’ll make you a hair appointment. How long are you staying?”
“A week. But I’m here on business, Mom, not for haircuts. I’ll get one back in Cleveland. I promise.”
Charlie draped one long arm around me and pushed me forward. “Meet my girl, Val. Val, this is my mother, Katherine Solanger.”
A pulse leaped in my neck. Had the man introduced me to his mother as his girlfriend? Or did he mean his assistant? I wasn’t sure if our one-week dating trial qualified me to girlfriend status.
“Hello, Val. Nice to meet you. Glad you could join us for lunch.” Katherine Solanger half-smiled at me and proffered her hand, like a politician at a rally, giving nothing away in her expression to indicate whether Charlie normally introduced women he was dating to his parents or what she thought of me. She was wearing a long white dress and a pair of open-toed sandals, which perfectly matched the opulent setting. She smelled like a spa. “Welcome to New York,” she said, her semi-smile remaining fixed in place.
His father’s handshake was heartier and friendlier. His blue eyes twinkled. His hair was more white than blond, but I could see where Charlie got his coloring and his looks. Mr. Solanger must have been a heartthrob in his younger years. “Glad you could join us,” he said. “How was the trip in?”
Charlie answered for both of us. “Great, Pops. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I’m fine. Pete has been doing most of the work since I’ve been down. You want some wine? What can I get you?”
“You sit, Pops. I’ll get it,” Charlie said. He crossed to a side table, where several bottles of wine sat chilling on ice. He looked at me. “What do you like? Red or white?”
“Oh…um…white,” I said. I could feel his mother’s eyes on me. I took a deep breath. I didn’t usually drink wine at eleven in the morning, but today I felt pretty confident I was going to need it.
Charlie handed me a goblet filled nearly to the brim and smiled encouragingly. He must have realized I needed wine, too, lots of it, because he brought the rest of the bottle to the table. He pulled out one of the patio chairs for me, waited for me to sit and sat next to me, placing his arm on the back of my chair.
“Don’t listen to the garbage your mother has been telling you,” Pops was saying. “She thinks every ache and pain I have is serious. It was heartburn. Doc says I’m fine. I’ll be playing tennis again before you know it.”
“Mom’s right to take it serious.” Charlie turned to me. “Pops had to have a stent put in the main artery leading to his heart about a month ago. He needs to eat healthier and keep his stress levels down, but he won’t listen to anyone about putting less time in at work.” He looked at his father. “You didn’t go into the office again this week, did you?”
Charlie’s mother answered as if the question had been directed at her and not Pops.
“Of course, he went into the office. He’d have to be dead not to go into the office. He feels guilty Uncle Pete is handling the business while he’s been laid up.”
Pops grunted. “I was only there for a couple of hours. Clarissa needed my help. Oh, by the way. She’ll be here soon. I told her you were coming.”
“Cool,” Charlie said, giving no indication if he was happy to see Clarissa, whoever she was, or not. “I’ll help out, too, while I’m here.”
“What are you hungry for?” Mrs. Solanger asked, looking at me, but directing the question to both of us. “Breakfast food, lunch? There’s all sorts of options on the sidebar. Help yourselves.”
She wasn’t lying when she said there were lots of options. There were eggs, quiche, bacon and sausage, waffles, cold cereal, three kinds of sandwiches, two salads, three soups, and a cartful of desserts. So this was how the other half lived. I pictured myself trying to eat a giant sandwich while Charlie’s mother dissected me and decided a bowl of tomato soup and a pear salad might be my safest choice. Charlie filled his plate with all three sandwiches. By the time we got back to the table, and I took my first bite, a slim blond everyone called Clarissa arrived, hugged Charlie’s parents, helped herself to chicken Cobb salad and eyed me coolly across the table.
“Hi. You work for Charlie?” Clarissa directed the words at me but looked at Charlie as if to say, Who the hell is this?
Before I could answer, Charlie spoke. “Clarissa, meet Val. She and I are dating.”
If I had any doubt what Charlie meant when he said, “my girl,” I didn’t now. His hand rested against my naked shoulder and lightly stroked, sending goose bumps down my back.
“Val’s employed by Reynolds right?” Clarissa asked, as if I wasn’t there.
I put on my best game face, rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans, and dived for my wine. This was Charlie’s idea of a good time? I was going to kill him. I plastered on a fake smile. “I’ve been at Reynolds for more than three years.”
“She’s the best product manager we have.” Charlie squeezed my shoulder. “Indispensable.”
“That’s interesting,” Clarissa said, and took a small sip of wine. “How long are you here for, Charlie? Maybe we can grab lunch tomorrow?”
Charlie set down his fork. His hand on my back stilled. “Not this time,” he said. “Val and I are only here for a few days. Thought I’d show her the island.”
Island? What island? Across from me, Mrs. Solanger coughed into her soup. She set her spoon down, wiped her mouth, and looked me up and down—or at least what she could see of me since I was seated. “Val, tell us about yourself. You grew up in California, right? Where about?”
Calgon, take me away. I fortified myself with more wine and prepared for Twenty Questions. “San Francisco.”
“That’s nice. But you live in Cleveland now? Did Charlie tell you? We own a small place on Lake Erie, as well as a house in Beachwood.”
I nearly choked on my wine at Katherine Solanger’s idea of what Julie had described as their palace on Lake Erie. I was sure my two-bedroom apa
rtment was a mouse’s hole compared to their place. “Um…yeah, I live in Cleveland. Do you stay there often?”
“Not as much as we’d like. You know, I believe Charlie once dated a girl from San Francisco. What was her name Charlie…Laura?”
Clarissa snorted. “Laura wasn’t from San Francisco. That was Melody. Remember? The girl who never wore a bra underneath her tank top. And she couldn’t carry a tune, regardless of her name.”
Charlie balled up his napkin and threw it across the table at Clarissa. “That was a long time ago. Quiet, or we’ll talk about Norris.”
Clarissa held up one thin hand and smiled. She cared for Charlie. It was in the way she looked at him. Could this afternoon get any uglier? I longed for my big, red comfy couch.
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Clarissa said, but she gave Charlie an intimate smile to indicate she wasn’t angry with him. “Although I do wonder about your taste in women.”
Was that a dig? Clarissa gave me a cool smile and dug her fork into a piece of quiche. Yes, I was fairly certain it was a dig.
“And how is Norris these days?” Charlie asked. “Still handing out political propaganda?”
“Norris doesn’t deal in propaganda. He knows what he wants and has the credentials to win it. He’s a shoo-in for judge.”
Was Norris her boyfriend? Clarissa set her napkin aside and got up from the table. “I’d love to stay and chat longer, but I must get back to the office. Charlie, text me. Val, nice to meet you.”
I could have sharpened an ax on the smile she gave me. She blew kisses at the table and left the way she came, which must have been a secret door or something, because I didn’t see her entrance or exit.
And finally, the tortuous meal came to an end, and Charlie was ushering me back into the black sedan we’d arrived in, and the driver was whisking us off to our meeting with the New York designers. I settled back on the seat and rubbed my temples, trying to alleviate the pounding in my head.
