Dear Diary

by Nancy Bush

  Don swore fiercely and stalked down the hall.

  “I’ll tell her what you said,” Pamela sang out as she walked into Rory’s office. Nick didn’t have time to alert her to his presence. She stepped through Rory’s door totally unsuspecting and when she saw him standing there she shrieked to holy heaven.

  “Mr. Shard!”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Now how was he going to explain this? “I was just waiting for Rory.”

  “Rory called and said she’d be a few minutes late.”

  “Okay.”

  The smile that curved her lips was knowing, and Nick felt impatient. He stifled the urge to tell her he and Rory were just longtime friends once again. Besides, after the thoughts he’d been having lately, he intended for that status to change.

  Pamela set Don’s message squarely in the center of Rory’s desktop. Glancing Nick’s way, she asked, “Is there anything I can get you? Some coffee? Or tea?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  Her hips swayed from side to side as she left. Nick smiled to himself. Was that for his benefit? No matter what Rory thought, despite her comments about his ‘other women’, he was not interested in office liaisons. They were too complicated, took too much energy and more often than not ended in disaster.

  Except Rory was a special case.

  He heard rapid footsteps a few moments later and he straightened, but it was only Pamela, slipping into Rory’s office, then crossing her carpet in slow footsteps, careful not to spill a drop of coffee in the steaming cup she held out to him.

  “Look out, it’s really hot,” she said, turning the cup around for him to grab the handle. Her fingers grazed his as they made the transfer.

  “Thanks.”

  Rory walked in at that moment. Her gaze centered briefly on their hands. “Well, hi, guys,” she said, tossing her briefcase on a chair. She studiously avoided Nick’s eyes.

  “Morning, Rory,” Nick answered lazily. He felt the rush of longing so intense it startled him. She wore a dress today. Moss green and soft looking, with sleeves that stopped just below her elbow. A small delicate gold chain bracelet encircled her left wrist. He was mesmerized by that touch of femininity to an otherwise very businesslike appearance. He wanted to walk up behind her and slide his arms around her waist.

  “I was just bringing Nick some coffee,” Pamela said a little too brightly.

  “Good to have coffee in the morning.” Rory’s tone was neutral.

  “There’s a note from Don on your desk,” she said, taking her cue and heading for the door.

  “Oh, joy.”

  As soon as Pamela left, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Rory was doing her damnedest to avoid him.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Nick remarked casually as Rory picked up the note and read it.

  “I see.”

  “We, um, left on strange terms the other morning.”

  When she didn’t answer, and then didn’t act as if she were ever planning on answering, he asked dryly, “Aren’t you even concerned about my health?”

  She glanced up swiftly, her sapphire eyes frankly assessing; dark brows arched upward. “You look fine to me.”

  “I took a look at myself before I came, and I’d have to call you a liar. But since you are so concerned, yes, I do feel better. I should be a hundred percent by tomorrow.”

  Rory nodded, her gaze sliding away. Her blond-streaked brown hair had been tamed by two pins holding it away from her face. “Was there something else?” she asked when the seconds crawled by and he didn’t speak again.

  “You’re trying to shut me out,” he answered softly. “I’m here to tell you, it’s not going to work.”

  A flush crept over her skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Nick, leave me alone. Don wants to see me, and I’ve got a meeting with your friend, Marsden, in fifteen minutes.”

  “Have you talked to Marsden yet?” Nick asked curiously.

  “As a matter of fact, I talked to him this morning. I called the office to say I was running late and Pamela told me he’d phoned. So I called him on the way here.” Her brow furrowed. “Nick, he wants to divest himself of all his real estate holdings and become more liquid. I’m going to have my hands full trying to talk him out of it as now is not the time to sell. I thought he was supposed to be conservative. What is this, some kind of test?”

  “He’s probably pulling your leg.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Thank you, Nick. That’s just what I need, a client who wants to play games.”

  “He’s just breaking the ice. Relax, Rory. He won’t sell everything at once.”

  “Well, he sounded damn serious to me. And it’s not something to joke about anyway.”

  “Good God, woman. Lighten up.” Nick laughed.

  Rory clamped her lips together. “Don’t you think it’s revealing that I lose my sense of humor every time I’m around you?”

  He moved toward her, he couldn’t help himself. But she backed around the desk and glared at him. “I know Marsden’s your friend, but I would appreciate it if you’d stop acting like you and I have something going, okay?”

  Nick was taken aback. “What’s Marsden got to do with you and me?”

  “You told him you and I had a hot date on Friday. And that you spent the weekend with me. I grant you, that last part wasn’t intentional, but you can see how it looks to Marsden.”

  “I said we were having dinner together. And I did not tell him I spent the weekend with you.” Nick grew impatient. He hated over-explaining things. “I talked to him yesterday and told him I’d been sick. He’d been trying to reach me. He knows we’re friends.”

  “That phrase is certainly getting overworked around here, isn’t it?”

  “You’re making too much of this,” he clipped out.

  “And you’re not helping by acting like we’re seeing each other.”

  For a brief moment he glimpsed behind her feminine armor and saw how frightened she was. “I wish we were seeing each other, Rory. I’d like to start today.”

  “Wow. Okay. At least you’re putting your cards on the table.”

  “Marsden just knows we’re friends. He assumed I had a hot date Friday night, because I said I was going to dinner. When he found out it was with you, he probably just felt like teasing you. That’s all.”

  Rory was silent, her lips tight. Frustrated, Nick realized this little problem had only intensified her resolve to keep away from him. But he wasn’t going to let her.

  “Nick,” she said seriously, regarding him with an intensity that totally derailed his concentration. “I’m happy you trust me with Mr. Marsden’s account, but please don’t undermine me. Every time you make some kind of remark about us, it complicates things.”

  Her stubbornness was enough to try a saint. Worse, it was wrapped up in a rationale that he believed in himself. “I’m not undermining you, Rory. Stop being so afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You’re petrified.”

  The look she sent him was blistering, but her lips quivered and gave her away. If Nick had been anywhere but where they were, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her until they were both senseless.

  “I want to kiss you again,” he told her.

  The air escaped Rory’s lungs in a whoosh. Nick stood on the other side of her desk, but she felt suffocated by him. There was passion simmering in his gray eyes. He was so intense it scared her. He was right. She was petrified. And she did want him.

  Her gaze fell before his conviction. Her heart pumped hard and painfully. She wished he would just leave.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said stiffly.

  “No, I’ll go. I’ll be at the meeting.”

  Rory’s gaze jerked upward. “Let me handle this one by myself. Please. I don’t want to be your mouthpiece. I’ve got a reputation in this business, too.�
��

  His mouth tightened perceptibly. “I know that.”

  “And I’m not going to have everyone looking at me out of the corner of their eyes and whispering.”

  “No one knows that you and I were… in bed together.” His lips twisted humorously.

  “Watch it, Nick,” she warned.

  “I understand friends make the best kind of lovers.”

  “Who says that? I don’t believe it. And I don’t want to be your lover,” Rory said.

  “You’ve gotta stop this.” She walked around the desk and stooped for her briefcase, every nerve attuned to the man behind her.

  “Why did you choose investments?” he asked, taking her by surprise by the question’s swift change of direction.

  “What do you mean?” Rory straightened.

  “Why did you choose the same field I did?”

  “Now what are you trying to suggest? That I picked investments because you did?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “You and I are on the same track. We’ve always been on the same track.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” she said distantly. “Don’t take this wrong, but I’m just not interested.”

  He laughed aloud. “The hell you’re not, Rory. And I’m going to prove it to you.”

  “You’ll fail.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  She’d inadvertently given him a challenge and she could tell by the gleam in his eyes that he was ready and eager to meet it. She felt the first rush of panic freeze her blood. In a stab of honesty, she said, “I can’t be with anyone I don’t trust. Your friendship means everything to me, but I’d be a fool to want anything more.”

  “I’m going to the San Juan Islands this weekend,” he said softly, as if he hadn’t heard a word she uttered. “Come with me.”

  She’d never received the full force of Nick’s sexual energy before, and she didn’t like it one bit. That was not the kind of woman she was, and he should know it.

  “Nick,” she answered, picking up her briefcase from the chair. “Go straight to hell. Do not pass go, and do not collect two hundred dollars.”

  She was still distracted by the time John Marsden was shown into her office. In fact she was growing angrier now than she’d been during the fight with Nick. Just who did he think he was? She’d managed to thrust the memory of their weekend together to the back of her mind and she felt he should be able to do the same.

  Was Nick crazy? Did he want to ruin the only lasting friendship she’d ever had?

  “Good morning, Ms. Camden,” John Marsden said graciously, fingering the cigar in his vest pocket. “Would it be too much of an inconvenience if you joined me out on the balcony while I enjoy a cigar?”

  “Not at all.” Rory quickly packed up her stuff and hurried out her door to catch up to him.

  “I suppose we ought to get right down to it, then,” he said, eyeing her as they walked down the hall.

  She nodded, and drew a deep breath while Mr. Marsden held the door open for her. Fingers of wind tugged at her hair and she was thankful she was wearing a jacket. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “I think selling most or all of your real estate holdings would be a big mistake right now. Most of your properties aren’t the kind that are selling. You’d be better off holding onto them for a while.”

  He lit his cigar and took a few puffs, “What would you suggest?”

  Rory examined his face. He wasn’t teasing now. She opened her briefcase and pulled out the file on his real estate holdings. For just a moment the memory of Nick in her bed superimposed itself on her pages. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “If you really want to sell one of them, the waterfront property would go for a nice price. But it’s so valuable it’s bound to go up at a rate that outstrips most other investments.”

  He rolled his cigar thoughtfully. “Does Nick agree with you?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure what Nick’s feelings are,” Rory answered tightly.

  Was a smile hovering on the wily entrepreneur’s lips? Rory surveyed John Marsden suspiciously, but the gray-haired gentleman looked merely interested as he said, “Okay, let’s go over it together.”

  “You’ve got yourself a handful there, Nick,” Marsden said on a wheezing laugh. It was the only truly old quality about him, a chronic condition that actually owed more to Seattle’s damp weather than age.

  “You mean Rory?” Nick asked mildly, pushing the elevator button for the lobby floor.

  “Seems pretty headstrong to me. When I mentioned your name, her back went up so fast it made me chuckle.”

  “Exactly how did my name come up?”

  “I asked her if you agreed with her ideas.”

  “Ahhh.” Nick rubbed his nose to hide his exasperation. He could just imagine how well that went over. “And what did she say?”

  “What she said doesn’t matter. What she meant was she thought your opinion was, er, nonessential.” Marsden was thoroughly amused.

  “I can imagine,” Nick said dryly.

  They walked through the main floor lobby and onto the street. It was drizzling and Marsden made a sound of disgust. “Damn weather,” he muttered. “Might as well move to Arizona.”

  “You’d hate it,” Nick said. “It’s too nice and too hot.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  A black and yellow cab waited at the curb. John Marsden absolutely detested driving. Bending down to open the door, he suddenly patted Nick’s arm in commiseration. “Don’t give up on her,” he advised. “She’ll come around.”

  “Who? Rory? We’ve been friends for years.”

  “An excuse,” he snorted. “My wife said the same thing. But I convinced her to marry me anyway.”

  Nick said, “I’m not looking to get married again.”

  “You should be. You want children while you’re young enough to enjoy them, and a beautiful wife to keep you happy, you’d better start planning. Otherwise the years just pile up.”

  “I think I’ve got some time yet,” he said. “I’m not certain I’m really cut out for marriage.”

  Marsden’s glance was pitying. “Just because you made a mistake when you were young doesn’t mean you’ll do it again. And while on the subject, running off to San Francisco was a damn fool thing to do. What took you so long to come to your senses?”

  “I had a business to take care of down there,” Nick replied, surprised to be put on the spot.

  “Huh? So where is it now? You sure moved back with no problem.” He climbed into the cab and slammed the door before Nick could answer.

  The old coot, Nick thought in exasperation. He’d moved back because the truth of the matter was most of his business did come from the Seattle area. Carving a niche for himself in San Francisco had been a tough battle. He’d fought and won. Sort of. But coming home had always been in the back of his mind, and it had proved easier than he’d ever dreamed possible.

  Why had he stayed away for so long? Nick mulled that over as the elevator bore him skyward once more. Because of Jenny. He’d left his life with her behind him. No regrets. No uncomfortable moments. A complete break.

  Except, was she really the reason? The breakup had been terrible, draining, depressing and almost soul consuming‌—‌for a while. But then it had been over; the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. He’d been free. So why had he run away?

  Never one to delve too deeply into subconscious motivations that could only drive him crazy, Nick pushed to the back of his mind the niggling thought that he was on the verge of some ego-shattering conclusion. What did it matter anyway? He’d left. Now he was back.

  Rory dunked her teabag in her cup, flushed with success. John Marsden had turned out to be a pussycat. She’d laid out her strategy clearly and distinctly and he’d gone with it. She’d expected him to haggle over every point, but instead he’d shrugged and said, “I think you’re right. Let’s leave the real estate and concentrate on the stocks. I made a fortune but I might be t
oo vulnerable now. What do you suggest?”

  What do you suggest? Rory could scarcely believe those words had come out of his mouth. And she’d suggested plenty. She didn’t consider herself the most flamboyant or aggressive investment advisor, but her judgment was generally sound. If the client wanted to take a flyer on a speculative stock or piece of real estate, she always asked him how much he was willing to lose. Some investors were flagrant gamblers. Others were misers. John Marsden, the supposed conservative, was a little of both.

  “Nick is looking for you,” Pamela said from the open doorway.

  Rory grimaced as she tested her tea. She’d burned her tongue several days earlier and didn’t feel like doing a repeat performance. “Tell him I’m taking a break and gloating.”

  “Your meeting with Mr. Marsden went well?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh, goody. This is the time for you to suggest you need your very own assistant. Someone responsible and personable. With years of experience.” Pamela’s hands were folded in prayer. She gazed beseechingly at Rory. “Someone who doesn’t want to work for randy Don anymore.”

  “I wouldn’t have enough work for you by myself,” Rory pointed out.

  “Hey, I’m great at looking busy. I can shuffle papers with the best of them. And check out my harried look.” Pamela sighed hugely and glanced around distractedly, biting on her lower lip.

  “Nick won’t be fooled.”

  “Speaking of Mr. Shard, you know he doesn’t have a personal assistant. He’s using Ellen, and she’s already overloaded with Sam and Carver. If you don’t have enough for me, maybe I could help out the boss man, too?”

  “And who will Don use?” Rory asked dryly, sensing she was getting to the crux of Pamela’s sudden interest in moving. Her complaints about Don Tisdale had been relatively minor until today.

  “Adriana could do it,” she said eagerly. “She likes Don, and she’s not all that busy. In fact, I kind of mentioned it to her, and she said she’d be more than happy to help him, too.”

  Pamela’s dark eyes were wide with innocence. Normally Rory got a kick out of her machinations, but this time she felt impatient. Ellen, whom Rory had chosen to field Nick’s calls and help with correspondence, was a wonderful right-hand woman for any CEO or business owner. She was also forty-five with an equally wonderful husband and three teenage children. Pamela was twenty-four, single, with long legs generally surrounded by very short, yet allowable, skirts. She supposed she was lucky Adriana seemed content to leave Nick alone. Rory still had moments of visualizing her making love to Nick against the kitchen counter. That image‌—‌a pure figment of Rory’s own imagination‌—‌seemed burned into her brain.