by Gail Sattler
Finally, he continued. “You had no respect for my authority, and you had no idea what you were doing. Don’t think I couldn’t tell.” He grinned, and she forced herself to smile back. “The only reason I kept you on that week was because I was desperate. And then, by Friday, I saw that, due to your organizational skills, I was actually making progress again.”
Not sure if she had been complimented or not, Cindy blinked and stared.
“After awhile, I found myself enjoying my job again. I even quit smoking, and you kept my dander up enough to make me want to stick with it.”
Robert paused again, as if waiting for her to comment. Cindy sat, speechless.
“Before we discussed your raise I wanted to see your personnel file, but every time I ask Troy Thompson for it, he makes some excuse. Tell me, who lost out and what were you doing before we hired you as a diamond in the rough.”
Cindy stiffened her posture in the chair and folded her hands in her lap. She briefly sucked on her lower lip, then stared him straight in the eyes. “I worked for Fred’s Automotive Supplies,” she said abruptly.
His brows knotted, probably trying to figure out why old Fred would have needed a secretary.
“I was the shipper/receiver,” she blurted out. “And forklift operator.”
Troy had warned her that Robert would never stand for the gibes that would surely follow after everyone found out that his secretary turned out to be a lowly warehouse man, or warehouse woman as the guys had called her. And he would never forgive her for making him look like a fool, however unintentional. While Robert couldn’t outright fire her, Troy warned her that very soon he’d make her want to quit.
She hadn’t meant to deceive Robert, they’d just never gotten around to talking about her past experience. Robert wasn’t stupid. He obviously knew she hadn’t had the experience to go with the job when she first started. However, she knew he wouldn’t have expected this.
“Forklift operator?” The corners of his mouth started to curl upward as he stared at her. She could almost feel his gaze as he studied her from head to foot, taking in her dress, color-coordinated panty hose, matching high-heeled shoes, and new hairstyle, a far cry from the coveralls and safety work boots she wore in the parts warehouse.
He didn’t break eye contact the entire time. “Shipper/ receiver?” he asked again.
Unable to believe her eyes, Cindy watched as Robert leaned back in his chair, threw his head back, and laughed so hard his belly shook. She wondered if the entire floor could hear his loud guffaws, even with the door closed. Tears streamed from his eyes, which he wiped as his laughter started to subside.
“Oh, that’s good,” he chuckled. “That’s really good. I haven’t laughed like that in years. What a deadpan delivery. You really had me going there for awhile. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you crack a joke before.”
He laughed softly again. “I don’t know what’s with you and Thompson, but one day I’ll find out. I’m going to give you a ten percent raise.”
Cindy waffled between feeling relieved, insulted, and ecstatic at the raise. She mumbled a thank-you and headed for the coffee machine instead of her desk.
“Bring me one, too!” Robert called out after her. She heard him chuckle again. “I think I need it.”
Her hands shook as she poured both cups of coffee. As funny as Robert thought she was, she had told the truth. Her first job out of high school was delivering parts for Fred. As his clientele grew and he needed to expand—after a lot of convincing that a woman could do it—he gave her the shipper/receiver position. She’d enjoyed the job, until Fred retired and his son shut the company down and took off with the money. Most of all, she had appreciated the informal atmosphere working with the mechanics, truck drivers, and a few of Fred’s more eccentric clients, which was quite different than working with the executive and secretarial staff at Circuits, Inc.
Senior Vice President Robert Blackmore was in a category unto himself.
After delivering Robert’s coffee, she slunk away to her desk, where she worked in silence until lunch, then she tagged along with the other secretaries in order to keep her mind busy with meaningless small talk.
Upon their return, all five of them discovered mountains of paperwork invading their desks.
“What is this?” Brenda waved one arm over the onslaught of paper. “It’s not year end.”
Cindy, too, couldn’t believe the unprecedented volume that appeared out of nowhere. Robert littered sticky notes on everything, labeling most of the work as “urgent.” Resigned, she heaved a sigh and picked through the stacks of files and folders, knowing that the sooner she got to the work, the less overtime she would be forced to work.
To her dismay, in addition to the heavy workload, the phones rang nonstop. Trying to settle the phone on her shoulder, she searched frantically for the pen she had in her hand only a second ago. She was caught off guard when she looked forward, straight into the stomach of a well-dressed man in an expensive, European-cut suit.
When Cindy made eye contact with the visitor, she nearly dropped the phone. The man was significantly younger than the other businessmen who visited Robert, and a lot better looking, too. Since she was still on the phone, she nodded to acknowledge him.
Despite his age, which she guessed would only be a few years older than her own twenty-six, he carried a distinguished air about him, yet his smile radiated warmth rather than cool professionalism. His nearly black hair, which was longer on the top than the sides, had a light wave and framed his face to emphasize slightly rounded cheeks and a pair of gorgeous dimples. Even his nose, straight and patrician, was attractive.
Cindy collected herself and concentrated on the phone call.
When she hung up, the visitor handed her a business card. “My name is Montgomery Smythe. I have a two o’clock appointment with Robert Blackmore.”
Cindy hit the intercom button, but spoke to Robert through the phone for privacy to tell him his appointment had arrived.
After hanging up the phone, she looked up at Mr. Smythe, who responded to her acknowledgment of him with a smile and a nod, indicating fine manners, unlike many of Robert’s visitors, especially the notorious Glen Evans. She returned his smile and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Blackmore will be about fifteen minutes. Would you like to have a seat?”
As she spoke, his face paled and his eyes widened as though he had just seen a ghost. He stood still for a second, straightened his tie awkwardly, backed into the visitor’s chair catty-cornered from her desk, and sank down, never taking his eyes off her.
Cindy stifled an urge to run to the washroom, worried she had ketchup or something equally embarrassing on her nose. She discreetly glanced down at her blouse, but all her buttons were fastened. Rather than get up, she quickly stole a peek at herself in the reflection of Robert’s office window but couldn’t see anything obviously wrong.
Continuing to work, she tried very hard not to let him get to her, but after a few minutes of knowing she was being watched, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She met his eyes, but he didn’t stop staring at her, even though she stared right back.
Fortunately, the phone rang again, providing her with a welcome distraction. With the phone tucked into her shoulder, she continued her conversation and turned to retrieve a file from the cabinet.
When she turned forward again, Mr. Smythe was standing beside her desk. He must have thought she was too busy to look at him because he was leaning toward her with his eyes closed, making no effort to hide the fact that he was inhaling her perfume.
Cindy gritted her teeth, reassessing her opinion of him.
His eyes opened, and he blatantly listened to her conversation the entire time she talked on the phone. When she hung up, she wanted to throw the phone at him. And her pen. And the file containing the customer’s contracts, except that its contents were confidential.
She slammed the folder closed, then squeezed her eyes shut. Determin
ed to remain professional, Cindy folded her hands in the center of her desk and forced herself to smile politely between clenched teeth. “Can I help you with something?”
He leaned slightly forward. Cindy leaned backward. “Do I look familiar to you?”
If she hadn’t known better, he could have been the brother of Robert’s notorious friend Glen Evans. They shared the same dark features, although this man’s countenance was softer, and he was much better looking.
Since he stood so close, she looked into his eyes, which were the darkest chocolate brown she had ever seen, without a fleck of olive or green or any other color in them. They were gorgeous eyes. Eyes a woman could get lost in.
She blinked, ashamed of herself. “Not really. Do you have a brother?”
He shook his head and leaned closer. His voice held a slight waver that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “No, I don’t. Think back about five months.”
That was about the time she’d started working for Robert, but she didn’t remember seeing him before. She picked up his business card, which stated that he was Montgomery Edward Smythe, the systems manager from Smythe Computer Systems. Before working for Robert she had never dealt with any kind of manager, nor did she know anyone who even had a management job.
She tried to think of something away from work. They couldn’t possibly shop at the same supermarket because she lived in a dumpy neighborhood, and his suit was probably worth more than her car. The last place she thought of was church, but she knew everyone in the small congregation, at least by face, having attended there since she was a child. Besides, he appeared to be the type of man who couldn’t be forgotten.
Cindy looked at him as he continued to watch her. Her mind raced as she fought for a clue, anything that would jog her memory. She tried to make eye contact with any of the other secretaries for a hint, but they were too busy staring at him as he stared at her.
He rested his palms flat on her desktop, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that his hands were shaking. “Think. Where have you seen me before?”
She honestly couldn’t place him, but he apparently recognized her from somewhere, although it wasn’t enough to say from where it was. Either that or he was playing some kind of game with her. Cindy was not amused.
“I don’t know,” she stammered, knowing everyone was watching. She felt nervous enough without an audience. “Have you ever driven a truck for a living?” She doubted he worked as one of the mechanics on her delivery route from her early days with Fred, but anything was possible, and at this point, she felt desperate.
“No, but I did drive a yellow Porsche.”
“A Porsche?” She didn’t know anyone with that kind of money. In the back of her mind, she tried to remember what a Porsche looked like. Then her brain nearly went into overdrive as she stared into his face. The perfectly straight nose, the very dark hair—those and other small details started falling into place.
Cindy gasped out loud and covered her mouth with both hands. “You!” she gulped. “In the little yellow sports car!”
The man’s posture stiffened as he ran one hand over his hair, then rammed both hands into his pockets. His voice came out in a hoarse croak. “I wasn’t absolutely positive until now, but it was you. You didn’t tell me your name.”
Cindy couldn’t help but stare, taking in every inch of him from head to foot. That night in the car she had been too busy to study him closely, but what she’d seen had not been pleasant. The dark of nighttime had not hidden the blood splattered everywhere and the horror of his life-threatening injuries. Despite his tousled hair hanging in his face that night, she would never forget the agony in his expression and the hopelessness of what little movement he’d been able to do while he was trapped, waiting for what felt like an eternity.
Now in the bright light of the office she could see him perfectly, and he was a sight to behold. His immaculate and perfectly fitted, custom-tailored suit shouted style and money, and most of all, confidence. Everything about him was perfect, even his hair, which was combed and gelled back into a neat, executive style.
“I didn’t recognize you. You’re. . .” She paused for the right word to describe the difference. Words failed her. “. . .okay.”
“I recognized your voice and your perfume.” He fumbled in his breast pocket and put on a pair glasses, then leaned over her desk until his face was about a foot and a half from hers. Already leaning as far back in her chair as possible, Cindy couldn’t move away. “I’m very farsighted. I didn’t see your face, especially since you were so close. I tried to find out who you were, but you disappeared without a trace. I have to see you again.”
“No!” She shook her head violently.
He returned the glasses to his pocket and straightened. “Please, let me take you out for dinner or something, so we can talk.”
Cindy hugged the file folder in front of her, using it as a barrier. “No, I can’t.”
“I know there’s nothing I can do to ever repay you, but please let me do something. At least let me replace the dress you wore that night.”
“That’s really not n-necessary. . . .”
“Please.”
“No, I don’t want anything from you. . . .”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Cindy,” she choked out. “My name is Cindy.”
The intercom buzzed, and Robert’s voice blared through it. “You can send him in now.”
Cindy stared at him in silence. Visibly shaken, he stared back. “You’d better go in now,” she said unsteadily.
He stiffened his posture. “Yes, of course.”
And Montgomery Smythe walked into Robert’s office.
Cindy couldn’t help but notice his limp.
The door closed, but she couldn’t look away. For the longest time, he had haunted her dreams. Now the man had a name.
She forced herself to open the file in the middle of her desk, but her brain didn’t register a single word. She could only raise her head to stare sightlessly at Robert’s closed door.
“Cindy? Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“Who is that man?”
Cindy blinked and turned. All four secretaries stared at her. “What?” She cleared her throat.
“Are you okay? What did he say about replacing your clothes? Has he done something to hurt you?”
“No,” Cindy mumbled. “Nothing like that.”
They continued to stare at her. Cindy lowered her head and pretended to concentrate on her work, never wanting a day to end so quickly.
Three
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smythe. I’m pleased to finally meet you. Have a seat.”
Monty returned Robert Blackmore’s handshake and sat in the chair in front of the large desk, trying to regain his composure. He stared into the man’s face, but his mind was blank. He only saw the face of the man’s secretary. Her name was Cindy.
As much as he tried, he couldn’t concentrate, even after months of planning and dozens of grueling hours of preliminary work. He started planning his presentation while laid up in the hospital.
Trapped was more like it. Lying immobile in a hospital bed for weeks, then stuck at home, incapacitated for eons. His long, drawn-out recovery had almost driven him crazy.
Much of that time, he’d thought about his special angel. Of course he knew she wasn’t a real angel, but in those weeks following the accident, in his mind, she was. He’d woken up a week after the accident in a fog. Then, he’d drifted in and out of consciousness for a few more days until he managed to stay awake with the biggest headache of his life. In addition to his head, his whole body ached in different ways, parts of which still hurt, even after all this time.
He never saw her face clearly. Not only had it been dark, but without his glasses, he couldn’t make out any details closer than an arm’s length in front of his face. In the tight quarters of his squashed car, she had been practically on top of him. His agonizing pain hadn’t
improved his focus either. He couldn’t see anything clearly after the collision at any distance. He’d never been in such pain in his life and hoped never to be again.
And just when he thought he was going to die, he heard her talking to God.
When he was finally coherent enough to speak and let everything sink in, the surgeon told him that, had it not been for the woman who appeared at the scene of the accident, he would have bled to death. In addition, if she hadn’t requested the right equipment to free him immediately from the wreckage, he would have died from the delay. The surgeons thought they’d lost him twice during surgery. It had been close.
He had no idea who she was. No one did. When he was finally able to get around, he’d tried to find her, although he still hadn’t figured out how he could ever express proper thanks for what she had done. He eventually tracked down everyone who’d seen her. Everyone. The police said she disappeared before they could take a statement. They didn’t even know what kind of car she drove. The ambulance attendants said she used a piece of her clothing to control some of the bleeding. The rescue squad said she did all the right things. The hospital staff said she’d phoned twice but only left the short message that God loved him and didn’t leave her name. Apparently, she’d called both times from a cell phone, because the hospital had no record of the number she’d called from. In desperation, he even talked to the tow truck driver, but he didn’t remember seeing her.
As a last resort, he managed to pin down the person who spoke to her at 911. They couldn’t trace her with the phone call, either. She’d called from his own car phone. They finally got so sick of hearing from him that they gave him a copy of the tape of the conversation. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d listened to it. The tape provided was the only tangible proof he had of her existence. He would never forget that soft melodic voice until his dying day—which, thanks to her, hadn’t been that night five months ago.
Just when he’d given up all hope of finding her, here she was. Now he’d seen her clearly, in the light. She had ordinary dark brown hair and a rather big nose for a woman. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but up close she had the most compelling smoky gray eyes. She exuded an inner strength that showed clearly, even on this, their first real meeting.
