Holiday in Jamaica

by Tracy Sinclair

  "It's beautiful," she agreed.

  "Would you care to try on the pearls first?" he asked.

  "They aren't for me," Erin informed him stiffly. "Mr. Dimitriou is buying them for… a friend."

  The man looked from one to the other, sensing he had made a faux pas. Jason's eyes danced with merriment. "That's correct, and I think my… friend"—he mimicked her hesitation—"would like these. What do you think, Erin?"

  He had selected the pink-tinted pearls, the ones she would have chosen herself. To go with them, they all decided on an intricate ruby clasp shaped like the clustered petals of a flower.

  "Then that's settled," Jason said. "Can you have them ready for me and delivered to my office this afternoon? I must have them for this evening."

  The salesman assured him it would be done, and Jason produced his checkbook.

  Erin stood silently while the transaction was completed, unwilling to think about why he needed the necklace that evening. Not that it made any difference to her where he was going or with whom, she assured herself. She was merely angry at being used.

  I don't know what he needed me for, she fumed. He probably just wanted to show off, like a little boy doing cartwheels to impress someone. As if I care what kinds of presents he showers on his lady friends!

  When they reached the car, she hopped in quickly before he could assist her. Jason smiled derisively but made no comment as he gently closed the door.

  Settling himself behind the wheel, he said, "I'll have to tell my… friend what a big help you were in selecting her gift. I'm sure she'll be grateful."

  "That isn't necessary," she said coldly, turning her head away from his mocking smile and looking out the window.

  The next morning Jason called to say he wouldn't be in all day, and Erin banged the phone down in a pique. The necklace must have been a success—he had obviously had a late night! It turned out to be one of those days when everything went wrong, and she felt cross and out of sorts. Her electric typewriter worked erratically, the phone never stopped ringing and she broke a fingernail.

  About one o'clock the outer door opened and an older woman entered and made her way imperiously toward Jason's office. Erin caught only a glimpse of her carefully styled white hair and a beautiful light blue Chanel suit as she swept by.

  Jumping to her feet, she said, "Just a moment. Can I help you?"

  Pausing momentarily, the woman looked down her long aristocratic nose and said, "I've come to see my nephew. I am Jason's Great Aunt Harriet."

  As she faced her, Erin received a shock. This woman was wearing the necklace they had picked out the day before! But why hadn't Jason told her the pearls were for his aunt? Why did he let her think—remembering the amused look on his face, she realized he had enjoyed her silent disapproval. Once again she had jumped to conclusions, and now it seemed she owed him an apology. Would she ever figure out this maddening man?

  "Young lady, time is passing rapidly and I can't afford to get any older." The woman's voice brought her back to reality. "Will you please announce me to my nephew?"

  "I'm so sorry," Erin gasped, "but he isn't here. He won't be in all day."

  "Oh, bother! He told me to bring in some stock certificates I want him to look at, and I've just gotten them from the bank. Oh, well, you can give them to him." She handed over a large envelope. Then, noticing Erin's eyes glued to the necklace, she fingered the pearls and said, "Are you the young lady who helped select these lovelies?"

  "I went with him, but he really chose them himself," Erin assured her.

  The older woman smiled and immediately seemed less formidable. "I know it. Nobody makes up Jason's mind for him, but it's a good sign that he took you along. His taste in women is improving." She inspected Erin closely and, after a thorough appraisal, nodded and said, "Have him bring you to tea some day soon. You look promising. I can't stand those idle wenches he runs around with. I like a girl who has some purpose in life besides sitting around getting a suntan."

  And with those words she was gone as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving Erin with her mouth open. Great Aunt Harriet was as unpredictable as her nephew, she thought, and spent the rest of the day trying to sort out her feelings.

  Jason came in late the next morning. There were a dozen phone calls that had to be returned plus a mountain of paperwork needing his immediate attention. He greeted Erin impersonally, and she knew that any conversation except on business matters would have to wait. Besides, she wasn't sure exactly what to say.

  It wasn't till almost noon that he called her on the intercom. Erin grabbed her notebook and went into his office. As he hung up one phone, another started to ring. Motioning her to a chair, he answered it himself. A look she couldn't quite fathom came over his face, and he swung his chair around, speaking so softly Erin could barely hear him. After a few words, he swung back to face her. "I'm sorry, this is personal. Could you come back in a few minutes?"

  As Erin went back to her desk, his end of the conversation was coming over the intercom loud and clear. She had forgotten to close the key.

  "I'm sorry, darling, I meant to call you, but—" The voice on the other end of the line evidently interrupted, and there was an edge to his voice when he finally said, "You're being unreasonable, Marcia, and I don't have time to argue with you right now."

  Erin knew it was reprehensible to listen in on a private conversation, and she started toward the intercom—but very slowly.

  As she reached a reluctant hand toward the off-switch, Jason's voice was clearly audible once more. This time the irritation in it was unmistakable. "I never promised you anything; you knew the rules. If you've changed your mind just say so, and we'll forget the whole thing."

  The sound of the outer door opening caused Erin to jump guiltily. With one swift movement, she depressed the key and turned to face the visitor.

  A stunning blonde appeared in the doorway, her long pale hair framing a beautiful yet petulant face. The elegantly simple linen dress she wore spoke of money, and her assured manner reinforced the fact.

  "I'm Veronica Melin. Tell Jason I'm here," she demanded.

  Her haughty attitude, as though talking to a slightly feeble-minded servant, triggered Erin's quick temper. She rose, intending to put this spoiled rich woman firmly in her place. As she searched for suitable words, a mental picture of Jason talking on the phone to still another of his girlfriends gave her an idea.

  Smiling sweetly, she gestured toward his closed office door. "Why don't you go right in? I'm sure he will be delighted to see you."

  Veronica swept by her, and Erin had all she could do not to laugh out loud. She would have given a great deal to listen in, but she didn't quite dare.

  Instead, she got out some papers and busily started to type.

  In what seemed a remarkably short time, Veronica came out of the office—shot out might be a better description! Although she kept on with her typing, Erin managed to steal a quick glance at the woman. She was overjoyed to see that she looked quite angry. But when Jason's door opened a few moments later, she began to have second thoughts. Having seen his temper on more than one occasion, she wondered apprehensively if she had gone too far.

  He lounged casually in the doorway, arms folded and one leg crossed negligently over the other, eyeing her cynically.

  "That was quite a stunt you just pulled. What was the idea of sending Veronica in without announcing her first?"

  His dispassionate manner was deceptive. Erin had seen just such a calm before the storm broke, so she answered warily, "I thought you would want to see her."

  "Even though you knew I was talking to another woman at the time?"

  "How could I know who you were talking to?"

  He didn't even bother to answer that, remarking instead in a judicious tone, "It looks very much like you wanted to cross me up with both young ladies, which is quite interesting." Looking at her with veiled amusement, he added, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous." And before sh
e could refute those ridiculous charges, he disappeared back into his office.

  Erin was so furious she almost kicked the table leg. The colossal ego of the man, thinking every female must automatically be in love with him! Was there no way to penetrate that smug conceit?

  She would be glad when Helen came back, Erin told herself. But a small voice posed a question. Would she really? In spite of the constant irritation of Jason, the job itself was interesting. She found herself looking forward to coming to work in the morning, something she never would have believed in those old days in the steno pool. Being involved in high finance was fascinating, and, as Jason's secretary, she felt a part of it. The infallible Mr. Dimitriou had made a mistake after all. Erin would be just as reluctant to relinquish her place as any of the other women. Not that she would ever let him know.

  No, when the time came, she would just have to remind herself of the unpleasant aspects. And there were some. The part of her job that Erin liked least was ordering Jason's endless theater tickets and dinner reservations. She also resented having to send flowers in his name—endless boxes of long-stemmed roses and orchids and spring bouquets. It was so demeaning that she sometimes had an almost uncontrollable urge to get the cards mixed up. But remembering Jason's amused remark about her being jealous, she managed to resist the temptation. Besides, it would be dangerous to deliberately provoke him. He had laughed about Veronica, but she would never get away with it twice.

  Erin saw the savage side of his nature again, but through no fault of her own. It was a call from Helen Demarest that triggered it.

  Jason was out of the office when it came, so Erin took the call. "It's so nice to hear your voice. Are you having a good vacation?" she asked tactfully.

  After a tiny hesitation, Helen answered, "Oh, yes, California is lovely, but it will be nice to get back."

  "Well, your job is waiting for you," Erin assured her. "Mr. Dimitriou made that perfectly clear when he asked me to fill in."

  "Isn't he wonderful?" Helen asked, and Erin seethed inwardly to think that this misguided woman could still be so blind to his real character even after the way he had betrayed her. "I'm so sorry I missed him," Helen added. "Give him my love and say hello to all the women for me."

  "I will," Erin assured her.

  "Is there anything new around the office?" Helen seemed to want to talk.

  "Nothing much, I'm afraid."

  "Oh… well, remember me to all the women. And let's see who else. Uh… is Harry Martin still around?" she asked casually.

  "The office manager?" Erin's voice showed surprise. Harry's domain was the general office, not the executive wing, and their paths rarely crossed. Helen couldn't really care what went on down there. She must be lonelier than Erin thought, grasping at any straw to keep the conversation going.

  "Yes, Harry is still here. Do you want me to say hello for you?"

  "Oh, no… that is… sure, if you happen to run across him," Helen said. "Well, I'd better hang up now."

  Erin replaced the receiver slowly, feeling pity for the other woman well up inside her. She had gone along with Helen's pretense of being on vacation, but no one else had. Even though the gossip had died down after a while, it still flared up periodically. The big topic of speculation, naturally, was who the father could be.

  Besides Helen, only Erin and the man involved knew the truth, and she was constantly guarding her words for fear she would inadvertently drop a clue. It was so sad. Having a baby should be the happiest time in a woman's life; instead, the poor thing was hidden away like a criminal.

  By the time Jason returned in the late afternoon, Erin felt really depressed. She had a headache and her low spirits were evident, but Jason was too preoccupied to notice.

  Striding purposefully toward the inner office, he called over his shoulder, "Bring your book and come in."

  It wasn't till after some lengthy dictation that she had a chance to tell him about Helen's call. "She sounded fine and she asked about everybody, even Harry Martin," Erin told him, hoping to make him feel guilty over Helen's thoughtful remembrance of all the staff. But his reaction was totally unexpected.

  Slamming his fist down so hard the pencils on his desk skittered, he shouted, "That slimy little toad! Don't even mention his name! I ought to—" Getting up, he shoved his chair back so violently it almost went over. Erin's lips parted in amazement, and he scowled at her, saying, "What are you sitting there for? Don't you have work to do? Get those letters out immediately!"

  She gathered up her book and beat a hasty retreat, her thoughts in a turmoil. What on earth had brought that on? Was it really Harry he was angry at, or was it something else? No, the mere mention of the man had turned him into a raging tiger. He actually looked like he wanted to kill him! But if he truly hated the office manager that much, why didn't he fire him? He had never shown such self-restraint before. Maybe it had something to do with Helen. That was a thought. Did Harry know their secret and was he using it to blackmail Jason? Somehow, she couldn't imagine anyone having the temerity to attempt it, but what else could it be?

  The interoffice phone rang, distracting her momentarily, and Erin received more bad news. Bob had left a message saying be wouldn't be able to take her home, and, glancing out the window, she saw that a tropical storm was blowing up and she hadn't brought an umbrella.

  The whole day had gone downhill. When she finally finished the stack of letters and put the cover on her typewriter, Erin was glad to escape, even into the storm. But her trials weren't over yet.

  The bus stop was a long block away, and, to make matters worse, she just missed her bus. Huddling dejected and cold under a dripping awning, she felt like bursting into tears. Water was trickling down her neck and she was so sunk in misery that when a horn blared almost in her ear, she actually jumped. Peering through the rain, she recognized Jason's Aston-Martin.

  "Get in," he called through the partially opened window. "I'll give you a ride home."

  But she shook her head perversely. "No, thank you."

  She was already wet to the skin, and the only way she could possibly feel worse was being cooped up in that car with him. Maybe he had a right to yell at her in the office, but this was after hours and she no longer had to take it. Putting her nose in the air to show utter disdain, she spoiled the effect by giving a mighty sneeze.

  Jason's patience was completely at an end. He flung open the door and bellowed, "GET IN THIS CAR!"

  Erin was so startled that she did as she was told and then wondered why. It was ridiculous the way this man could make her do anything he wanted.

  "I hope you're satisfied," she muttered. "I'm getting your fancy upholstery all wet."

  He looked at her and grinned, taking in the long red hair, darkened by the downpour to a shade that was almost mahogany. "You look like an Irish setter that's just been for a swim. No offense," he added hastily as her blue eyes looked stormily out from star-pointed lashes.

  "I don't know why you feel you have to take me home. It's out of your way, and I'm sure I'm keeping you from something more important," she said, shivering slightly in her clammy clothes.

  He reached into the back seat and brought out a lap robe. "Here, put this around you."

  "I don't need it," she answered primly, determined to assert herself.

  In answer, Jason veered abruptly toward the curb with a screech of tires. Almost before the car stopped, he took the blanket and started wrapping it around her like a cocoon.

  "What are you doing?" she protested.

  "If you're too stubborn to take care of yourself, then I'll have to do it for you," he said grimly. "Do you want to catch your death of cold?" His hands were anything but gentle on her body as he tucked the robe around her.

  "You don't have to treat me like a baby," she said.

  "I do when you act like one," he assured her. "You've been acting like a spoiled child all week, and frankly, I'm getting tired of it."

  "I've been acting like a child!" Erin cried
. "You're the one who threw a tantrum today when I simply mentioned that Helen had asked about Harry Martin."

  His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, but his voice was calm—dangerously calm—as he said, "I suggest you drop that subject right now. It doesn't concern you." But the tone of voice made it a command, not a suggestion.

  "The last thing I want is to pry into your personal affairs," she assured him. "In fact, that's my only complaint about this job."

  He looked at her questioningly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means there are some things I don't think are right."

  "Like what?"

  "I was hired as a secretary, and I dislike having to deal with your girlfriends. They call up all the time and… and… well, I don't see why I have to be the one to order all those flowers!" she ended in a burst of frustration.

  Something stirred deep in his eyes and he said softly, almost to himself, "So that's what's been bothering you."

  "Don't flatter yourself," she told him bitterly. "It doesn't bother me. It just takes up too much of my time."

  "Since I'm paying your salary and I'm not complaining, what difference does it make?"

  What be said was reasonable, which only made Erin angrier. Fortunately, they were just turning into her street, and she pointed out the house, ignoring his question.

  He pulled over saying, "If you're really that unhappy with the job, you can always quit."

  The temptation to take him up on it was great, if only to puncture his smug assurance. He thought she wouldn't do it—well, she would show him! But even as the angry words sprang to her lips, Erin realized how much she would miss going to the office every day. Somehow, insidiously, it had become the focal point of her life, and she couldn't give it up. But there was her pride to be salvaged, so, after a small hesitation, she said, "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

  "What makes you think that would make me happy?" He switched off the ignition and turned to face her.