Once in his office, he grabbed his suit from behind the door and continued into the bathroom. After a quick shower, he left the bathroom while buttoning his dress shirt, his tie undone and hanging around his neck.
His office phone rang, and he walked over to answer since Giana wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes or so. His sister’s name flashed across the display
“Hi, Em.”
“Now that you’re back near the rest of us, am I ever going to see you?”
Erik laughed, his youngest sister always one to get straight to a point. “Of course. I’m busy getting settled, that’s all. I’ll definitely see you Christmas Eve.”
“That’s more than a week away.”
He switched the phone to speaker and walked over to the table where he’d laid his briefcase while knotting his tie. “How about we grab lunch this week? Can you take a train from Stamford? Today is out, but Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“Let me see if a neighbor can get Allie off the bus on Wednesday. But in the meantime, how is it there? Weird going back to the place you used to work?”
“Not really. It was like starting some place new. My time in the Boston office was a long time ago.”
“So, is Beryl still with the company?”
He opened his attaché and removed some folders he’d taken home over the weekend. “As a matter of fact, she is.”
“She’s been there a long time. What does she do?”
“CFO.”
“That’s impressive. She always was a go-getter. Wouldn’t that position report to you?”
“It does.” He combed through the bag, hoping he hadn’t left the report he needed for a meeting at home. After a few seconds, he cued into his sister’s silence. “What’s wrong?”
“Must be difficult to see her after all this time. Especially as a direct report.”
“Well, yes. It’s been awkward.”
“Awkward probably only scrapes the surface. I mean, she was the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Start a family. Grow old togeth—”
“Okay. I got it. Yeah,” he admitted, “it hasn’t been easy.”
After the time he and Beryl had spent at the bookstore’s café and their subsequent walk, he’d been left feeling lonelier than he’d ever felt in his life.
Emma’s voice softened, almost sad. “Makes the victory kind of bittersweet, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“You got everything you’ve ever wanted from your career. Then you get the top prize and the one thing you forfeited is staring you in the face.”
He’d always valued his sister’s candor. This time, though, her insights made his head pound as if a jackhammer pressed to his temple. Anger he usually kept in his grasp quickly slipped away. “I didn’t forfeit my relationship with her! She was the one who—”
A noise at the door made him turn.
“Good morning,” Giana chirped, a plastic-looking smile pressed to her lips. “Can I get you a coffee from downstairs?”
Startled, he slipped on a president-worthy game face. “Good morning. No, but thank you.”
Erik waited for her to leave, mad at himself for losing control. He calmly went to his desk and lifted the handset to finish the call. Beryl’s return to his world filled him with emotions he didn’t know how to process and didn’t want to discuss. “I’d better get to work. Let me know about lunch this week.”
He hung up and opened his briefcase, but the conversation repeated in his mind like bad song lyrics. Years ago, he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with Beryl. Start a family. Grow old together. Now, friendship didn’t even seem possible when loftier goals had guided them to separate over a decade ago. Even if they tried, what if friendship didn’t work, and they had to face each other every day?
Erik dropped his head and shut his eyes, envisioning a scenario where Beryl’s position was filled with his buddy from his old job. The daily encounters with her would disappear, restoring his emotions to normal.
He lifted his chin and stared outside his office window into the endless blue sky, deceivingly mild in appearance, considering the frigid winter temperatures outside this morning. As misleading as the idea that if Beryl were out of sight, she’d be out of his mind. For the first time in years, he finally could admit that what he’d sacrificed years ago for the sake of career advancement might have been a mistake.
Chapter 7
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—
Seven wines for sipping. . . .
Beryl glanced away from the report figures and stared out her office window at the glittering city lights. The afternoon had passed fast. Too fast. She straightened the package for Erik, slid it into a manila envelope.
Jackie stood at her doorway. “Got a sec?”
“Sure.”
Her assistant came toward the desk, today’s bright red Christmas-bulb earrings swaying with each step. The jewelry matched new, seasonal green streaks Jackie had added to the spikes of her blond hair. “We’re doing a department secret Santa. Want to join?”
“When’s the exchange?” She’d been so consumed with the job search and worries about a new boss, she hadn’t sent out holiday cards or purchased gifts for her family or staff.
“Christmas Eve morning, at our all-day departmental brunch before the office closes early.”
“I think I’ll pass on the gift, but will join you guys for brunch.”
Jackie left. Beryl picked up the envelope and headed out the office door behind her. Erik had wanted these figures by three this afternoon, but with the morning interview and a few departmental emergencies after she had finally arrived, delivery was officially late. She stepped off the elevator and turned into his office suite.
“We enjoyed Saturday, too.” Samir Patel stood at Erik’s doorway, a book in his hands.
She paused when Samir continued.
“Looks like you and Chrissy hit it off. Sometimes these blind-date things work out.”
Erik mumbled something Beryl couldn’t quite hear, but she caught enough for a wave of jealousy to topple her over. The uncomfortable reaction passed as she inhaled and Giana’s perfume assaulted her nostrils.
“Can I help you?”
Beryl spun to find the administrative assistant close, her neatly plucked brows raised. “I’m waiting to see Erik.”
Beryl stepped closer to the office door. Giana’s lack of respect was becoming an issue, one she’d take up with Erik if she did end up staying at the firm.
“Oh, hi, Beryl.” Samir glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No problem. I just walked in.”
“I’m through. Go on in.” He motioned to Erik and held up the book. “You’ve got a line out here. Thanks for this. Sounds like a good read.”
Her body tensed as she crossed the threshold into Erik’s office. She’d been a fool to let a few comfortable moments with him make her forget the rumors. Setting the package on his desk, she said, “Here are the budget figures. Sorry they’re a little late.” She started to leave.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?”
She stopped, turned around. “Nothing. You seem busy.”
“Not too busy for you.” His face softened with a tender smile that made her toes curl into her black pumps and knees wobble beneath her skirt. “I’m glad I ran into you at the bookstore café. It was the highlight of my weekend.”
“Me, too.” She smiled back, but an alarm of caution again went off inside her head. Erik’s easy manner and attentive gaze always made others feel special, a gift he probably used on his blind date, too. “Oh, in the package, you’ll note the biggest increases are marketing related. I believe they’re warranted, especially in light of some things going on over at the Holder Group.”
He blinked at her, then glanced at the packet she’d just handed him. “Oh, the budget. Yes. Beefing up our marketing was some
thing I wanted to address. I’m glad you’ve been proactive.”
“Good, then.” The question on her mind for days nagged at her. An answer could eliminate all her apprehension about him. She stepped closer to his desk and dropped her voice. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He reached into the manila folder she’d given him.
“Rumors say I’m on a short list of people you plan to replace at Global.”
He stopped what he was doing and slowly lifted his head, his face redder than usual. “What?”
“It’s going around the office that I may be out of a job soon. Or maybe they aren’t rumors at all.”
His jaw dropped, and he blinked.
“Simon Cook’s firing was part of the same rumor.” Gentle irritation hummed through her veins, his silence screaming the truth. “I don’t need to tell you how that ended.”
Erik managed to wipe away the splotch of guilt on his face, and fidgeted to make himself taller in his seat. “Beryl, you’re not new to life at the top of the corporate ladder. Sometimes people are replaced when new leadership takes over. It’s not personal. To answer your question, yes, there are some positions I’m looking into replacing. In fact, yours is under consideration. However, it’s highly unlikely.” He quickly returned to the package she dropped off.
Beryl’s head felt light and her breath clipped as she digested his response. Not yes, but also not no, which meant—
“I’ve got an idea, Boss. Let’s keep this thing between us professional from now on. No more scones or walks. Okay?”
He glanced up and blinked. “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s exactly what I want.” She walked toward the door, thankful she had that interview with the Holder Group already in her back pocket.
* * * *
Buzz . . . Buzz . . .
Erik’s cell phone vibrated from inside his top desk drawer. He pulled it out. “Hey, Matt.” He hoped this wasn’t a call to ask him how long before the CFO job was his. “It’s only eight thirty there. A little early in the day for you.”
“You know it. Got to make an eight-thirty conference call overseas in a few minutes. Trust me, I wasn’t happy about the time.”
“How’s Chicago? Cold?”
“Listen, pal, it’s not like you’re in the Sunshine State.”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. What’s up?”
“Want some news about Global?”
“Sure?”
“This was especially interesting because it affects you. Me, too.”
Erik lowered his pen. “Go on.”
“Yesterday, an eyewitness claims to have seen the Holder Group’s president in New York City, not Chicago.”
“So? A vacation is news?”
Matt chuckled. “Indulge me for once.”
“You’d better hurry. I’m losing interest.”
“I’m friends with a reporter from the Wall Street Journal. Yesterday morning he was doing an interview at the Plaza Hotel. Guess who he saw?”
“The First Lady? I don’t know.”
“He spotted your CFO, talking to your former boss.”
“Beryl Foster? And Doug?”
“Yup.”
“Is this reporter reliable?”
“Well, he didn’t send me physical proof, but it’s his job to write about business, and he knows the players. So I’ll give it about ninety percent reliability.”
Beryl’s visit yesterday and question about a firing rumor took on more meaning.
Matt interrupted his thoughts. “Has she been with Global long?”
“Since the start of her career. Saul held her in high regard.”
Matt’s keyboard clicked in the background. “Hmm. Cute. That’s my competition?”
“Good thing it’s not a beauty pageant. You’d lose.”
“No shit. Anyway, I figured you’d want to know she might one-up you on this personnel change.”
His desk phone rang. Beryl’s name flashed across the display. “Gotta run. Thanks for the warning. We’ll talk soon.”
He clicked off his cell phone and picked up his office line. His heart pounded with exaggerated thuds. “Morning, Beryl.”
“Good morning.” Her professional tone held none of yesterday’s displeasure. “I left out a page to the report. I wanted to drop it off.”
“Now is fine.”
“Thanks.” She hung up.
Last night, her parting comments had left him unbalanced, flustered, out of his normal skin. This news, though, could balance the scale.
He tried to focus on the material he’d been reading before Matt’s call, but instead listened for her footsteps. Several minutes later, she walked in: tall and confident, sexy as hell in some wraparound number that dipped into a V at her cleavage and hugged her hips.
“Thanks for your time.” She placed a sheet on his desk and adjusted herself on the edge of the seat opposite him. “I can’t believe I left this page out. The cash analysis . . .”
Should he just blurt out what he’d learned?
“. . . so for a short while, our cash dips . . .”
Or bring up their conversation from the day before, see if she told him on her own?
“. . . in other words, I’m hoping that by year-end—”
“Thanks,” he interrupted her. “I’ll review this more later. What I want to know is how your breakfast meeting with my old boss went yesterday.”
Her creamy pearl complexion flashed bright pink. “Beg your pardon?”
He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the feel of the driver’s seat. “Your breakfast. At the Plaza. I hope you and Doug enjoyed your conversation.”
At first she averted her gaze to the window and frowned. She slowly turned to him, all concern gone from her expression and her chin held high. “I did, indeed. An enjoyable and informative meeting.”
“It seems I wasn’t the only one holding secrets.”
“Given what I’d been hearing around here, only a fool would silently wait it out. We all need a paycheck.”
“True.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Any more questions about the report?”
“No, I’ll call if I do.”
She stood, quickly turned, and headed for the door.
Although he’d never admit it to her, nothing about the confrontation left him satisfied, only wishing he never had to hurt her again. Only wishing he didn’t hurt, too.
Chapter 8
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—
Eight scarves so silky. . . .
A whisper of soft breath caressed her cheek. Strong hands moved to her hips, eased her above his body. She stared down, lost in the desire of his gaze, never wanting him more.
His husky tone, so sexy and filled with need, ignited a fire between her thighs. “I can’t get enough of you.” Pulling her close, he claimed her.
The clock-radio alarm clicked on and Mariah Carey crooned about wanting to be with her lover for Christmas. Beryl cracked her eyes half open. “Bah, humbug,” she muttered and drew her duvet closer to her neck. Next time she’d set the buzzer.
The dream still teased her sleepy thoughts, stoking the fire already in her belly. She sank deeper into the mattress, her mind drifting back into a hazy place, replaying the details, making her squeeze together her thighs and . . .
God, no! Her eyes shot open. Her? Erik? An image flittered back from the dream. An image of her, straddling Erik, both of them naked. Oh, so realistic that her body screamed for— Stop! How would she face him at the office on Monday with this imprinted in her brain? She balled her fists, rubbed her eyes further awake. She must be insane to subconsciously still desire a man who had admitted he might fire her, although at least he had the guts to be honest.
The ding of her cell phone sounded. She stuck her arm out into the chilly bedroom air to retrieve it from her nightstand, curious who wo
uld be sending an e-mail this early in the day.
She tapped a few buttons and went to her in-box. Meg McNeil, a real estate agent in Northbridge, and her sister’s friend, had replied to Beryl’s message.
Hi, Beryl,
I’d be thrilled to help you with selling your father’s house. I’m free on the 27th and can stop by to talk about the home’s value. Will run some comps before then. Let me know what time works for you.
Meg
Beryl’s childhood in the small lake town had been filled with friends and adventures, many happy memories. The turnaround in her attitude had happened in high school, at a time when friends either had the urge to get as far away from there as possible for college or plant stronger roots in the community by staying. Beryl fell into the leaving camp, the desire almost an obsession. Her mother’s death had stolen some of the happiness Beryl associated with Northbridge. And her mother’s unfulfilled dreams helped form Beryl’s own goals.
Mom had finished college, but returned to Northbridge to marry and settle down. The discontent in her eyes whenever anybody moved away from town spoke volumes. Beryl never wanted to have such regrets. After Mom died, Beryl vowed to make her mother proud by leaving town and becoming something more.
More than what, though? The success she’d found at work had some drawbacks. Especially noticeable during times when family mattered, like the holiday season. A lonely weight that smothered her heart every year at Christmas unexpectedly hit, making a void in her chest inflate more than ever before. Without Pop in the picture again this year, the idea of losing her ties to Northbridge carried further sadness. Selling the house unexpectedly took on a sour taste.
Beryl tossed off the warm covers and was about to shut off the phone when an e-mail from Douglas Morrison caught her attention. She tapped it open as her feet hit the soft rug at the side of her bed. Sent an hour after yesterday’s phone call to offer her the job in Chicago, the e-mail contained the details of their formal offer, including salary, bonus, stock options, and a whole host of executive benefits. She stuck the phone back inside her purse. The offer should’ve made her happy, made her feel she controlled her destiny. But it didn’t. At this moment, her destiny seemed up for grabs, complicated by her own uncertainty about what might really make her happy. At least Doug hadn’t objected when she’d asked until the New Year to give him a formal answer.
Twelve Nights Page 6
