She checked her watch. Ten minutes early. Good. Better drop her things off in her office before heading to the boss’s suite on the seventh floor. Sliding her coat off as she went, Paige walked down the hall to her tiny office. Tiny, yes, but she had a window.
Anthony’s office at the end of the hall was windowless. It bothered him, but at least he had an office, unlike the assistant account reps, who worked in cheerless little cubicles. She hung her coat on the hook behind the door, dropped her briefcase under the desk, and locked her purse in the bottom drawer. Straightening her burgundy gabardine skirt and brushing off a few specks of lint from the jacket, she headed back out for her meeting with Mr. Weil.
His secretary glanced at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “Miss Langford, Mr. Weil is waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Hadley’s expression was as dour as ever. Paige had heard she’d worked for Ramsey & Weil from the beginning. She had to be close to seventy. Throwing her shoulders back, Paige knocked on Mr. Weil’s door.
“Come in,” he barked from inside.
Smoothing her face into a professional mien, she opened the door and strode in. One look at his expression, and she faltered. He looked serious. Seriously unhappy. What the hell?
“Have a seat, Langford.” He moved a pile of folders aside.
She took one of the chairs in front of his huge, imposing desk. “You wanted to see me?”
“Hmmm.” He scowled her way. “Meyer Construction needed our bid five business days ago. They never got it. They’ve gone with another supplier.”
An adrenaline shock hit her system, and her heart leaped to her throat. She gripped the arms of the chair. “That’s impossible! I sent that bid with a same-day courier two days before it was due.”
“Like I said—they never got it.” He leaned back in his expensive leather chair and fixed her with a baleful scowl. “I’ve also had two other accounts you handled complain that their bids were late, holding them up and delaying their contractors. If it weren’t for Anthony Rutger’s intervention, we would’ve lost those accounts as well.”
“Anthony’s…intervention?” Her mind spun with the implications. Anthony?
Her mind flew back to the day the courier had come to the lobby for the Meyer bid. She’d been in the middle of a phone call, and Anthony had offered to take the envelope down to the lobby for her. At the time, she’d thought it was sweet. Come to think of it, he’d also offered to put a few of her bids into the office’s outgoing mail bin for her. No, he wouldn’t purposefully sabotage her. Would he? They were a couple.
Heat filled her face. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Damn straight it won’t. You’re fired.”
“Oh, no. There’s been a mistake. I had somebody else put the bids in the mail for me. They must’ve forgotten, or…” Shit. Shit. Shit. She glanced around the office as the reality of Anthony’s betrayal sank in. “I won’t let it happen again, Mr. Weil. I’ll get the Meyer account back somehow.” She sucked in a breath. “From now on, I will personally put things in the out bin myself, and—”
“Miss Langford, you’re done here.”
The expression in his eyes was pitying, and she got it. Mr. Weil knew exactly what had happened, and ultimately, she was responsible. She’d been so naive, so trusting…Oh my God! I’ve been sleeping with the enemy. No wonder Anthony had insisted they keep their relationship a secret. Who would believe her if she claimed he was responsible for losing the Meyer account? Paige couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Black dots danced in front of her eyes. This couldn’t be happening, not to her.
“Paige”—Mr. Weil’s tone softened—“learn from this, and you’ll know better next time.”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like the wool her expensive designer coat had been cut from. “Give me another chance. I can’t be fired,” she croaked out. Harvard graduates don’t get fired.
“It’s already done. Security is here to escort you to your office. Take only your personal belongings.” Mr. Weil stood up and moved to the door. He swung it open, and George the security guard waited for her in the hall. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Humiliation. Shame. Mortification. A maelstrom of ugly emotions overtook her, and white-hot anger followed. Anthony. He’d done this to her. Why? She blinked away the sudden sting of tears. No time to deal with that now. She rose on shaky legs, lifted her chin, and walked out of the office without looking at Mr. Weil or George. Aware of the security guard’s presence behind her, she made her way back to the elevator with as much dignity as possible. Was that a smug look on Mrs. Hadley’s prune-like face? Paige lifted her chin a bit higher.
“I’m sorry about this, Miss Langford,” George murmured once they were alone on the elevator.
“Thank you, George.” She swiped at the single tear escaping down her cheek. “Do me a favor, would you?”
“Sure.”
“If you ever get the chance, hawk a loogie into Anthony Rutger’s coffee for me.”
“What?” He gave her a confused look for a moment and then laughed. “That’s the spirit. You’ll come out of this all right.”
Harvard grad fired from her first real job. She doubted she’d come out of it all right. With this on her record, who would hire her now? Shit. Shit. Shit. She wanted to stomp her feet and scream like a two-year-old. Her father had just been proved right. How had he put it? Oh, yeah. “Plumbing and construction are still predominantly male. Paige is brilliant, but she’s also naive and mostly fluff. She’s led a sheltered, pampered life…”
At the time she’d overheard those words, she’d tossed it off as another example of what a sexist he was, but now? Maybe she was nothing but fluff. Fluff with a very expensive, impressive degree. A degree that meant her daddy had deep pockets. Nothing more.
Somehow, they’d reached her office without running into anyone who mattered. George stood in the doorway while she emptied her briefcase of anything having to do with Ramsey & Weil. She tossed her things, including her purse, into her brand-new, butter-soft leather briefcase. It had been a present from her mom to celebrate her new job. She choked back the sob rising in her throat. How could she face her parents?
They’d spent a ton of money on her education, had supported and nurtured her all along. How could she tell them what a failure and a fool she’d turned out to be? She grabbed her coat from behind the door and followed George down the hall and onto the elevator to the front lobby. He took her ID card from her and stood by as the glass doors whooshed open once more.
“Bye, George. Thanks for being decent about this.”
“You take care, Miss Langford. Something better is going to come along. Give it some time, and you’ll see.”
“Sure.” Not eff-ing likely.
The worst part? Anthony’s betrayal and the cold, cruel way he’d used her. It was all so calculated, so detestable and deceitful. What had she done to deserve that kind of abuse? What had she ever done to him? She’d been so flattered by his attention from the first day she started working with him. He’d literally swept her off her feet, and now she knew why. Oh my God, what an idiot! Not only had she handed him the means, she’d invited him into her bed while he destroyed her career.
Shame stole her breath. A short half hour ago she’d been thinking he was “the one.” Nausea roiled through her, and a cold, clammy sheen of perspiration dampened her forehead. She covered her mouth with one hand and hurried to the sanctuary of her car. Once inside, she gripped the steering wheel and rested her forehead against the backs of her hands. Sucking air in through her nose, she let it out through her mouth until the nausea receded. She had to get out of here. She fished her keys out of her pocket, started her car, and sat up.
That’s when she saw him. Anthony stood watching her from the top step of the front entrance with a nasty smirk on his face. He lifted a hand, saluted her, and turned to walk inside. She gave him the finger, not that it did any good. He didn’t even see it. P
aige pulled out of her parking spot and headed for her condo.
Once she was behind closed doors, safely inside her own space, the tears came. She dropped her things on the floor, including her coat, and moved to the living room to collapse on the sectional in a defeated heap. What was she going to do now? Unlike her stepbrother Noah, whose maternal grandparents had set up a trust fund for him, the deal she’d had with her parents was that they’d pay for her education, give her a great start debt-free, and the rest was up to her. A few months out of the chute, and she’d already screwed up royally.
Thank God the condo she lived in belonged to her mom. She paid rent, but not a lot, and she’d already paid for March. That gave her almost the entire month to figure something out. She’d have to keep paying, or her folks would know something was up. Good thing she had a little bit tucked away in savings. She also had credit cards. Those she’d use only for emergencies. Maybe she could ask one of her uncles for a loan—or a job.
No. Word would get back to her dad, and she didn’t want that to happen. She had to find her own way out of this mess if she still wanted to convince him she was worthy of his trust when it came to LPS. Was that even a remote possibility anymore?
A fresh spate of tears tracked down her cheeks as another insidious thought wormed its way into her consciousness. How could she face her friends? All the brilliant people she knew were already climbing their chosen corporate ladders, leaving her in the dust—more like in the mud. The urge to run away and hole up somewhere overwhelmed her.
Noah. She could visit her brother. “Yes!” Her mind raced, and she sat up straight. She’d have a safe place to hide out until she could figure out the rest of her life, and nobody would have to know what had happened until she got back on her feet.
She swiped the tears from her cheeks. No use calling now, not like this, all weepy and stuffed up. Better get a grip first, or he’d hear the misery in her voice. She unzipped her boots, kicked them off, and rose from the couch. Act like everything is normal. She slipped out of her suit coat and let it drop to the couch before heading to the kitchen.
She leaned against the counter and stared out the balcony doors at the Philadelphia skyline. Could she manage to sneak away before news of her demise hit the grapevine? Anthony might put the word out himself to crow about the deed to his buddies. Her face grew hot, and anger stiffened her spine. She headed for her cell phone and hit speed dial. Noah answered on the third ring. “Hey, big brother. How’re things in Perfect?”
“Good. Things are good. What’s up, Paige?”
“I was wondering if I could come down for a visit. I have some time on my hands, and I want to see my favorite niece and nephew.”
“Of course. You know you’re always welcome, and we’d love to see you.” He paused. “Are you sure you can take the time off? Didn’t you just start that new job a couple of months ago?”
Her chest tightened, and she had to swallow a few times before she could speak. “I have the time, Noah.” She bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“Come on down. We’d love to have you.”
“I’m going to drive. I have a few things to wrap up here, and I’ll leave tomorrow sometime. I’ll see you when I get there. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Great. Looking forward to it.” Someone in the background said something, and she heard Noah cover his cell to answer. “I gotta go. We’ll talk when you get here.”
“See you soon. Love you.” Paige hit End Call and sank back down to the couch. At least she had somewhere to go while she licked her wounds and figured out the rest of her life. Funny. She was more pissed than heartbroken about Anthony. Proof that she knew nothing about life, love, or the pursuit of happiness.
Paige glanced at her dashboard clock as she turned into Ceejay and Noah’s driveway. It was almost midnight, and she didn’t want to wake them or their children. They’d given her a key to the carriage house when she’d come down for Toby’s baptism, and she still had it. Noah wouldn’t mind if she crashed there tonight. It would be far better than waking up the entire household at this hour.
She parked next to an old Chevy pickup—could it belong to Ceejay’s cousin?—then grabbed her stuff and headed out back toward the carriage house. Praying their dog Sweet Pea wouldn’t sense her presence and start barking, she tiptoed along the path from the gate to the door. All she had to go by was the scant light of the new moon.
So far, so good. Sweet Pea remained blissfully quiet. She dropped her bag on the concrete and rifled through the pockets of her purse for the key she’d stashed there. “Aha. Got you.” She fumbled a few times in the darkness, trying to insert it into the lock. Finally, she got the key in the right way, turned it, reached for the knob, and pushed, just as light flooded the interior. The door was yanked from her grasp so suddenly she fell inside, right into a naked man—a naked man wielding a gun.
“Aaah!” She squealed and scrambled back to regain her footing, staring in shock at the wild man before her. Shaggy blond hair hung down to his shoulders, and an untrimmed, tangled mess of a beard hid most of his face. Panic-filled brilliant blue eyes were riveted on her with a haunted look that stole her breath.
“What the hell?” he stammered, dropping the hand holding the gun to his side. He snatched something from the inside wall and covered his interesting bits.
A cowboy hat? She blinked. He stood five or six inches taller than her five-foot-five frame, and there was nothing to him but wiry muscle and bone. He had a nasty scar that extended from his right hip all the way down the front of his leg almost to his knee. Plus, he was bare-assed-like-the-day-he-was-born naked. Her brother wouldn’t allow anyone dangerous near his family, but still…She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him, going for imperious. “Put that thing away.”
“If you insist.” He tossed the cowboy hat to the recliner.
“The gun!” She slapped a hand over her eyes. “I meant the gun.”
“Well, that’s not where you were looking.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE LAST THING RYAN EXPECTED to find when he yanked that door open was the hot little number standing before him. She wore an expensive black leather jacket, snug jeans, and high-heeled leather boots—also high quality. Diamond stud earrings and a matching pendant twinkled at him in the fluorescent light.
Lord have mercy, she was a looker—tawny-blonde hair, perfect skin, curves everywhere, and the face of an angel. Her eyes had been all over his naked self a second ago. Now she was blushing like a virgin.
What did she expect? After the eye-raking perusal she’d subjected him to, how could he resist giving her an eyeful? Besides, he’d been half in the nightmare that woke him when he reached for the door. His brain still hadn’t come completely up to speed.
“Hold on.” He put his .357 on the coffee table, grabbed the jeans draped over the arm of the couch, and shoved his legs into them. “All right. I’m decent.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing in Noah and Ceejay’s carriage house?” She tipped her face up in challenge, keeping her gaze above his shoulders.
Ryan stared down into the lovely pair of green eyes glaring at him. Glaring? Wait just a doggone minute. She was the one breaking into his apartment, and now she had the nuts to look down her very fine nose at him? Ryan could see the judgment and the dismissal in her expression. She looked at him like he was some kind of crazy homeless guy.
Granted, that might have something to do with the smart-ass hat toss. Still, it bothered the thinking part of him, but the nonthinking part? If the instant hard-on he’d gotten was anything to go by, that part didn’t give a frog’s fart what she thought. It just wanted in.
“What the hell am I doing here?” Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He’d play along with her obvious assumptions. Exaggerating his Oklahoma twang and donning his hillbilly hat, he let her have it with both barrels. “I think y’all have that question backward, darlin’. This here’s my apartment. The
question is, what are y’all doing with a key to my place?” He held out a hand for the key.
Her mouth tightened into a straight line, but she didn’t give him the key. “I thought this was Langford & Lovejoy’s office.” Her lovely brow creased with confusion mixed with a touch of suspicion.
Ryan raised an eyebrow and performed his own down-the-nose look. “Not anymore, and even if it were, this ain’t exactly what you’d call normal business hours, now is it?” He winked. “Please tell me you’re Perfect’s idea of a welcome-to-town gift, because I’m definitely in the mood to accept.”
Her eyes threw embers hot enough to set him aflame. “Ass,” she hissed.
“Hey, now. I see no reason to call names. You’re the one breaking and entering here. Not me.”
Barking started from up at the big house. The back door light came on, and the lovely little perp leaned over, picked up her suitcase, and gave him her back. Ryan grinned as she disappeared around the corner. He shut the door and paced around the living room.
The exchange had been exhilarating, and the buzz thrumming through his veins made him restless and edgy. He needed to do something. No way could he fall back to sleep now. Not that he wanted to anyway. He’d made the mistake of going to bed too close to sober, and the nightmares had begun almost the moment he’d closed his eyes.
Should he drink himself into passing out? Naw. He had a better idea. Ryan strode back to the bedroom and tugged his duffel bag out from under the bed. He unzipped it and fished around inside for the sketch pad and charcoal pencils he’d bought on a whim. Coming back to the living room, he tossed them on the coffee table, the only piece of furniture he’d brought with him from Texas, and headed for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
Settled on the couch with a steaming mug in his hands, Ryan conjured his midnight visitor’s image. Her face, a perfect oval with wide-set green eyes, a fine straight nose, and full lips, had captivated him. And if that hadn’t done it, her generous curves would’ve. Thinking about the way that leather jacket and tight jeans hugged her figure sent blood rushing to his groin again. And what about those high-heeled black leather boots? He groaned. How long had it been since he’d had sex? Too damn long.
The Difference a Day Makes (Perfect, Indiana: Book Two) Page 2
