“We expected that.”
Cullen pointed to a number on the top sheet. “This is a problem.”
Daniel glanced down. That was a low number all right. “How are hits on the new Web site?”
“Increasing.”
“People buying subscriptions?”
Cullen nodded.
“Demographics?”
“Eighteen to twenty-four is the fastest growing sector.”
“Good.”
“Not fast enough,” said Cullen.
The intercom buzzed. “I have that number for you,” said Nancy.
“I’ll be right out.” Daniel stood up and clapped his son on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”
“But, Dad…”
Daniel slipped his suit jacket off the hanger on the corner coatrack.
“You’re leaving?” asked Cullen, glancing from the sales report to Daniel and back again.
“I’m thinking you’re right. A phone call is probably a bad idea.” He’d drop by Amanda’s office. That way she’d have a harder time saying no to a drink. He could call Taylor Hopkins from the car and have the facts and figures all ready to present.
Cullen walked backward, keeping himself between Daniel and the office door. “The reps will be expecting a conference call.”
“We can conference call tomorrow.”
Cullen came up against the door, effectively blocking Daniel’s escape. “You do realize we’re losing hope of catching Finola?”
“We’ll make it up in Web sales. That was the strategy all along.”
Cullen paused. “You do realize you’re on a suicide mission with Mom?”
Daniel cracked a small smile. “Your faith in me is inspiring.”
“Just laying out the facts for you.”
“Your mother’s an intelligent woman. She’ll listen to reason.”
Cullen put a hand on the doorknob. “What makes you think your idea is remotely reasonable?”
Daniel peered at his son. “Of course it’s reasonable.”
Cullen shook his head, his tone mocking. “Dad, Dad, Dad.”
Daniel held up his index finger. “Watch yourself. I may not be able to spank you, but I can still fire you.”
“You fire me, Finola will wax your ass for sure.”
Daniel pushed Cullen’s hand off the knob. “Young punk.”
“You got your will in order?”
“I’m writing you out of it in the car.”
Cullen gave him a mock salute and cocky grin as he stepped out of the way. “You’re making a bold move here, Dad. A lesser man would be quaking in his boots.”
Daniel hesitated for a split second.
Then he shook his head and opened the office door. He had twenty years of wisdom and experience on Cullen, and his younger son wasn’t going to make him second-guess his plan.
Daniel noticed right away that Amanda’s office was a startling contrast to EPH. It was smaller, darker, and where the Elliott building had lobby security, Amanda’s storefront door opened directly into the reception area, inviting any passerby to come right on in.
The young, multiearringed, purple-haired receptionist didn’t look as though she could stop a grandmother, never mind a criminal punk intent on harm. She stopped chewing her gum long enough to cock her head sideways in an inquiry.
“I’d like to speak with Amanda Elliott,” said Daniel.
The girl indicated the closed, frosted glass office door with her thumb. “She’s with Timmy the Trench. Be about five or so.”
“Thank you,” said Daniel.
The receptionist blew a pink bubble.
After checking a vinyl chair in the waiting room for dirt smears or chewing gum, Daniel sat down and sighed. The woman hadn’t even asked his name or his business with Amanda.
When the majority of your clientele was likely armed and dangerous, a person would think rudimentary security questions would be in order. First thing Daniel would do was install a metal detector at the entrance, and maybe station a couple of former Green Berets on the sidewalk.
A meeting with Timmy the Trench.
Nobody named Timmy the Trench could be up to anything remotely legal.
Fifteen minutes later, while, out of desperation, Daniel was leafing through a six-month-old edition of a competitor’s magazine, a short, balding man in a trench coat shuffled out of Amanda’s office.
“Can you call Courthouse Admin?” called Amanda through the open door. “I need to know the new trial date for Timmy.”
“Sure,” called the receptionist, punching the numbers on her phone with long, dark fingernails.
She glanced Daniel’s way and gestured to the open door. “Go on in.”
Daniel rolled to his feet, tossed the magazine back on the untidy pile and headed into Amanda’s office. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that he could be anyone, after anything.
“Daniel?” Amanda lifted her chin, rolling back a few inches on her office chair.
“Yeah.” He pushed on the door, and it rattled into place behind him. “And you’re damn lucky it is me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I am?”
He took one of the two molded plastic guest chairs opposite her desk. “That receptionist would have let anyone in here.”
Amanda tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear. “I suppose we could issue membership cards.”
He frowned. “You’re being sarcastic.”
“Am I? Care to guess why?”
Daniel leaned back and flicked open the button on his suit jacket. “It’s a defense mechanism. You use it when I’m right and you’re wrong.”
“When has that ever happened?”
“I have a list of dates.”
“I just bet you do.”
He paused, taking in the flash of her mocha eyes. She liked this. Hell, he liked this. There was nobody on the planet who could spar with him like Amanda.
She was quick on her feet and downright brilliant. That much hadn’t changed.
He remembered Cullen’s parting words. Perhaps he had underestimated how easy it would be to lure her over to corporate law. But he was definitely giving it his best shot.
“Have dinner with me,” he said on impulse. Then he saw her expression and realized his tactical error. Too bold, too up-front. It almost sounded like a date.
“Daniel—”
“With Cullen and Misty,” he quickly put in. As the boss, he could order their son to join them, right? If that didn’t work, he’d go straight to Misty. He’d heard through the family grapevine that she and Amanda had hit it off extremely well.
Amanda’s eyes settled into a glow. “Have you seen Misty?
“No, but I saw Cullen earlier today.”
“And everything’s all right with the pregnancy?”
“Everything’s fine.” Not that Daniel had specifically asked. But Cullen would have told him if anything was wrong. Right?
Amanda picked up a pen and tapped an open spot between two file folders and her Rolodex. “So, what can I do for you, Daniel?”
“Have dinner with us.”
“I mean right now.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. You went to all the trouble to come to Midtown. What do you want?”
Daniel hesitated. He hadn’t planned to plunge right in, right here, right now. But what the heck, he might as well lay the groundwork. “I was talking to Taylor Hopkins earlier today.”
“Let me guess, he wants my legal advice on a delicate matter.”
“He’s a lawyer, Amanda.”
“I know he’s a lawyer. I was making a joke.”
Daniel shifted. “Oh, right.”
She stood up.
Daniel quickly came to his feet.
She scooped up a stack of files. “Relax, Daniel. I’m just putting these away. You don’t mind if I organize while you talk?”
Daniel glanced from the overflowing bookshelves to a desktop and credenza piled high with papers. “Of course not. But why d
oesn’t Miss Gothic—”
“Julie,” said Amanda.
“Fine. Julie. Why doesn’t Julie do your filing?”
“She does.”
Daniel scanned the room again, biting his tongue.
Amanda followed his gaze. “She’s learning,” she clarified.
“You mean it used to be worse?”
After some hesitation, Amanda set the pile down on a wide windowsill behind her. “Did you come here just to insult my staff?”
From his vantage point, it looked as if Amanda had blocked the air-conditioning. On a humid August day in the city. “How long has she worked here?”
“Two, two and a half—”
“Weeks?”
“Years.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t ‘oh’ me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Just because Elliott Publication Holdings restricts its administrative staff to Ph.D. candidates—”
Daniel jumped at the opening, narrow as it was. “I wasn’t comparing you to EPH.”
She arched a brow.
“I was comparing you to Regina and Hopkins.”
The brow arched higher. “Who won?”
“Amanda—”
“Seriously, Daniel. How did I stack up to a cold, calculating, profit-obsessed, inhuman firm like Regina and Hopkins?”
Whoa. Where had that come from? Daniel blinked at his ex-wife.
She scooped up another armload of files and glanced around. “Thought so.”
From what he could see, she was randomly rearranging the mess.
Or maybe she was nervous. Now, that wasn’t a bad thing. It could give him an edge. “Why do you always treat efficiency and profit like dirty words?”
She smacked the files down on the one vacant corner of the credenza. “Because ‘efficiency,’ as you so carefully term it, is an excuse to treat people as profit generators.”
Daniel shifted that through his brain for a second. “People are profit generators. You hire good people, you pay them a fair salary and they make money for your company.”
“And who decides who the good people are?”
“Amanda—”
“Who decides, Daniel?”
He paused, trying to determine if it was a trick question. “The Human Resources Department,” he ventured.
Amanda pointed at the office door, the edge to her tone increasing. “Julie is a good person.”
“I believe you.” He nodded, realizing he needed to pull back. Their arguments escalated so quickly, it was difficult to keep the conversation on an even keel.
“She might not be the best typist or filer in the world. And she’d never make it past the screeners at EPH, but she’s a very good person.”
“I said I believe you,” Daniel repeated in a conciliatory tone, gesturing for her to sit back down.
Amanda drew a breath and plunked into her chair. “She deserves a chance.”
Daniel sat, too. “Where did you find her?” He was pretty sure it wasn’t through any of the reputable employment agencies.
“She’s a former client.”
“Is she a criminal?”
“An accused criminal. Jeez, Daniel. Just because they arrest you, it doesn’t mean you’re guilty.”
“What was she accused of?”
Amanda’s lips pursed for a split second. “Embezzlement.”
Daniel stared at her in stunned amazement. “Embezzlement?”
“You heard me.”
He stood up, taking a few steps across the small room, trying desperately to keep his composure. “You hired an embezzler to run your law office?”
“I said she was accused.”
“Was she innocent?”
“There were extenuating circumstances—”
“Amanda!”
Her eyes hardened defensively. “This is really none of your business, Daniel.”
Daniel clamped his jaw. He could see how she might have that perspective. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot again. It was his fault. He should have orchestrated the conversation more carefully.
He sat down. Then he leaned forward. “You have a soft spot, Amanda. You always have.”
She leaned over the desk, looking directly into his eyes. “If by a ‘soft spot’ you mean I look at people as more than drones, you’re right.”
He clamped his jaw, resisting the urge to respond.
She linked her fingers together and stretched them out as if warming up for a fight. “You want to critique my hiring practices? Let’s take a quick look at yours.”
“My people are the best,” he said.
“Yeah? Tell me about some of your people.”
“My secretary, Nancy, has a college degree in business administration, and she’s an expert with computerized office tools.”
Amanda lifted her pen again, tapping it rhythmically on the desk. “Does she have any kids?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she married?”
Daniel thought about that. “I don’t think so.” Nancy never had a problem working late. If she had a husband and a family, it might bother her more.
“Here’s a pop quiz for you, Daniel. Give me the name of an employee’s spouse. Any employee’s spouse.”
“Misty.”
“That’s cheating.”
Daniel grinned. “You did say any of them.”
“You know what your problem is?”
“I’m smarter than you are?”
She tossed the pen at him.
He ducked.
“You have no soul,” she said.
For some reason, her words hit harder than they should have. “I guess that is a problem,” he said softly.
She flinched at his expression, but then quickly recovered. “I mean you are so myopically focused on business and productivity and profit, you forget the world is full of people. Your employees have their own lives. They’re not just extras in yours.”
“I know they have their own lives.”
“In the abstract, yes. But you know nothing about those lives.”
“I know everything I need to know.”
“Yeah?” she asked with skepticism.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s contrast, shall we? Ask me something about Julie.”
“Julie?”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “The Goth receptionist.”
“Oh, Julie.”
Amanda waited.
Daniel searched his mind for a relevant question. “Does she have any previous convictions for embezzlement?”
Amanda sat back in her chair. “No. She has an apartment in the East Village. She has an on-again, off-again boyfriend named Scott. I think she’s too good for him. She’s taking night school courses in spreadsheet applications. Her mother is battling arthritis, and she has two nephews, from her sister Robin, that she takes to the zoo on Saturday afternoons.”
“Yet, she can’t file.”
“Daniel!”
“I don’t see your point, Amanda. She’s your employee, not your best friend.”
Amanda shook her head and pulled open a desk drawer, turning her attention to the jumbled contents. “Of course you wouldn’t see my point,” she muttered. “You hired Sharon.”
“Whoa.” Daniel’s shoulders tensed. His ex-wife had nothing to do with this. “That was out of line.”
“How is it out of line?”
“I didn’t hire Sharon.”
Amanda glanced back up. “Be honest, Daniel. Did you marry Sharon because you loved her sense of humor, her opinions on literature and her outlook on global events?” Her voice rose. “Or did you marry her because she could make small talk in three languages, whip up canapés in under an hour and she looked great in anything by Dior?”
“I divorced Sharon.”
“What happened? The canapés get soggy?”
Daniel stood. “I shouldn’t have come.” He hadn’t meant to upset Amanda. And he sure hadn’t meant to talk about Sharon. Shar
on was out of his life for good.
“Why did you come, Daniel?”
“It wasn’t to talk about Sharon.”
Amanda nodded. “Of course not.” Her eyes softened to that mocha color he loved. “I’m sorry. Do you miss her?”
“I divorced her.”
“But still—”
“I don’t miss Sharon. Not for one second. Not for one nanosecond.” Which, when he really thought about it, meant Amanda could be right. He frowned.
She stood up and moved around the end of her desk. “So it was the small talk and designer gowns.”
“You’ve got me on the ropes, and you’re willing to score points?”
“Absolutely.”
Daniel sighed. What had attracted him to Sharon in the first place? His father had supported the marriage, but that couldn’t have been all there was to it.
He was recovering from losing Amanda at the time. Maybe he simply hadn’t cared whom he married. Maybe he thought Sharon would be a safer wife. A wife that knew his world and wouldn’t expect things from him that he simply couldn’t deliver.
Like Amanda had.
“Daniel?” Amanda’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
He focused on her face. She’d moved closer, and he could smell her perfume. “Yeah?”
“I asked you when.”
“When what?”
Her mouth curved into a patient smile. “Dinner with Cullen and Misty?”
He stared at her smile. She was still so incredibly beautiful, with full lips, shiny hair, bottomless eyes.
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh. Friday, eight o’clock at The Premier.”
“Sure.”
“Good.” He had a sudden urge to touch her hair. He’d always loved running his fingers through its scented, silky softness. It was one of his favorite things in the world.
“Daniel?”
He curled his fingers into fists to keep them still. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I brought up Sharon.”
“Do you really think I hired her to be my wife?” He was genuinely curious.
“I think your priorities are mixed-up.”
“How?”
She paused. “You’re a very driven man, Daniel.”
“Yeah? Well you’re what’s driving me crazy at the moment.”
She tilted her head and a slow grin formed on her lips. “Then you should stop hunting me down.”
“You’re probably right about that,” he breathed, daring to move a little closer. “But, apparently, I find you irresistible.”
Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12 Page 18
