WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?

by Naomi Horton

  She gave a small sigh of what might have been exasperation. "As you made abundantly clear the last time I flung myself at you, dear man. But the point is moot now. You are no longer married. That means you can do what the bunnies do, repeatedly and with enthusiasm. In fact, if I had the time, we could do it right here, right now."

  Conn looked up at her uneasily, not knowing if she was teasing or not. You never quite knew with Olivia. But to his relief she didn't seem inclined to start flinging her clothes off, and he relaxed again. "I've been divorced about nineteen hours and a handful of minutes, Liv. Why in God's name would I be interested in getting married again?"

  "Because I'm not Judith. Or Liza. I don't pretend to be in love with you, nor am I deluding myself into thinking you're in love with me. We're both wounded, both wary, both tired of the rubbish that comes with the marriage certificate. I've had two husbands in eight years, and each one told me he loved me and then, six months after the wedding, started trying to change me into the person he thought I should be."

  She drew her foot from his grasp and tucked it under her, leaning forward slightly. "Connor, I'm thirty-four years old and I am one of the most successful corporate lawyers west of the Mississippi. I'm a workaholic, I don't have the inclination or the disposition to be the sweet corporate wife, and most of the eligible men I know couldn't handle my success, my temperament or my hours."

  "And you think I can." He was intrigued in spite of himself.

  "I know you can. You're as obsessed about your work as I am about mine, so the fact I spend most of my time in the office wouldn't bother you. And you're man enough that my success and money doesn't bother you."

  She smiled. "You know as well as I do how cold it is out here in the big world of corporate success, Connor. I'd like to come home at night and have someone there, someone warm and uncomplicated. When I have a business or charity function to attend I'd like to go with a man I respect and admire, not the stud-of-the-week. I'm tired of playing the field. I like you. We seem to fit together pretty well. And I think it makes sense."

  "Sort of the ultimate corporate merger."

  "That's one way of looking at it."

  "Pretty cold."

  "You married for love twice, Connor," she said with quiet brutality. "Look what it got you."

  There was no denying she had a point. Not with the ink still wet on his second divorce.

  "And I want a baby." She said it with the impatience of someone face with a set of facts she can't quite believe. "If it wasn't for that, I'd agree to an affair. But my damned biological clock's ticking away like a time bomb. And, believe it or not, I'm just old-fashioned enough to believe a woman should be married to her baby's father." She smiled. "Sounds silly, doesn't it? You wouldn't think I'd give a damn."

  "It sounds anything but silly," Conn told her quietly. Kids. He and Judith had fought day and night over kids. He'd wanted them, she hadn't and there had been no room for negotiation. "It'll be rough, raising a baby and keeping your career in the fast lane."

  That had been Judith's problem with it, anyway, herself a businesswoman on the fast track.

  "Rough, but not impossible. I can do it."

  He had no doubt about it. "Is this a one-shot opportunity, or can I think about it for a few days?"

  She laughed quietly. "I hardly expect you to jump into another marriage nineteen hours and a handful of minutes after your last one ended, Conn. Think about it. Take as long as you need – but don't take forever." Smiling, she slid to her feet and eased herself across his lap, straddling him. "Of course, I could give you an added incentive right now … if you've got a few minutes." Her hand glided playfully downward.

  Conn caught her wrist firmly. "I thought you were in a hurry."

  "I am. But I can be fast and good."

  "A knack I've never mastered," he said calmly, turning his head to avoid her kiss. "I have a meeting in about five minutes, sweetheart, so don't get your engine revved too high."

  "You're too young to be a stuffy old man, Connor. Five minutes is plenty of time to satisfy both parties involved if you get right down to business." She moved her pelvis suggestively.

  "It takes me longer than five minutes just to figure out what tie to wear in the morning," Conn said with a laugh. "Cool down, Liv." Even if he weren't hung over, her offer held all the appeal of a hit-and-run accident.

  To his relief she laughed good-naturedly, kissing his cheek lightly, then swung off his lap and straightened her jacket.

  "We would be good together, Conn. You know it and I know it. So think over what I said and get back to me."

  She looked at her watch and frowned. "Damn, I'm late! I have a major meeting in less than an hour with the top honchos in a big investment firm. If I can convince them we can save them a few million in tax write-offs a year, their business will be worth a fortune. Wish me luck."

  "You've got it." He got to his feet, suddenly distracted. Investments made him think of Alain DeRocher, which made him think of Andie, which made him think of her threat to marry and move to Montreal and have babies and play lacrosse and hockey or whatever the hell they did up there, leaving him and Devlin Electronics to fend for themselves. "And I'll, uh, call."

  "Damn right you will, Devlin. Or I'll have your head on a platter." A quick peck on the cheek, then she was gone.

  The door had barely closed behind her when it opened again and Conn glanced up, half expecting her to come flying back in to finish what she'd tried to start. But it was Andie, looking as cool and serene as always, although there was a glitter in her eyes that boded no good for anyone who got in her way.

  "She says you're going to marry her."

  Conn rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. "The topic came up, yeah. But don't run out and buy us a wedding gift quite yet, darlin'. It ain't over 'til it's over."

  "I've bought you two wedding gifts in the past eleven years," she said with an edge to her voice. "You don't get another."

  Conn leaned well back in the soft armchair and looked at her. "Relax, Andie. I'm not marrying anyone, all right? Although, to quote a good friend of mine from just this morning, 'I don't know what you'd have to say about it if I did.'"

  Her head lifted and she leveled a look at him that he'd seen bring strong men to their knees. "I think, as someone told me just this morning, that I have some right to know if you're going to marry that woman—" she bit the words out like poison "—for no other reason than twenty years of friendship."

  Conn opened his mouth to deny it, then sighed, rubbing his forehead, wishing his head would stop pounding. "Hell, Andie, I've had worse offers. I married Liza because I thought I loved her, and I married Judith thinking I was in love with her. And right now I'm sitting here thinking maybe – just maybe – that it's not the marrying part that gets me into trouble, but the being in love part. Maybe there is no such thing. Maybe you should just marry someone you don't hate too much, and take it from there."

  Something crossed her face – a shadow, a hint of pain, gone in an instant. He looked at her curiously, expecting her to say something, but she just turned away and walked to the door. And as he watched the door close behind her, the thought hit him that if he had any sense at all he'd talk her into marrying him.

  Although, he reminded himself as an afterthought, he couldn't marry his best friend. Because then she wouldn't be his best friend anymore, she'd be his wife. And then who would he turn to when the divorce came through?

  * * *

  Andie was still seething mad a couple of hours later.

  Damn it, no one – no one – could be crazy enough to jump into one marriage while barely disentangled from the last one. And Conn Devlin was about the least crazy person she'd ever met.

  Except when it came to women, she amended, fighting a surge of renewed fury. Heaven knows, she'd decided not long after he'd married Judith that it was a defective gene he had or something. Some sort of chemical imbalance that could turn a pragmatic and highly intel
ligent corporate shark into a complete idiot almost overnight.

  Granted, he hadn't had a fighting chance with Judith. She'd zeroed in on him like a heat-seeking missile five minutes after she'd met him, and his fate had been sealed before he knew what had hit him.

  Conn had been everything Judith had wanted in a husband. He was a self-made man, wealthy, well mannered and handsome as sin. He didn't slurp his soup or fumble with his cutlery; he wore a black tie like a fashion plate and could charm the frosty veneer off the most reserved dinner companion. He could choose a good wine, guide a sailboat, ride a horse, drive a fast car and handle a fast woman – and look damn good the whole while. On top of that, he knew people. Important people. And to a young and very ambitious businesswoman with the bit between her teeth, that was irresistible.

  For her part, Judith was probably what Conn thought he wanted in a wife. Beautiful. Brilliant. Highly successful. They'd made a spectacular couple for the first year or so, slicing a swath through Seattle's upper crust that people still talked about. But then, little by little, the dream had started to tarnish.

  Less than two years after he and Judith had been married, Conn had become withdrawn and uncommunicative and sullen-eyed, snapping at anyone who came too near, working crazy hours, shutting himself off. Andie had stayed out of it until New Year's Eve of that third year, when he'd turned up on her doorstep with no warning.

  Telling her date to get the hell out, he'd poured himself a triple of brandy and had downed it in two long swallows; then he'd flung the glass against the wall with a string of oaths that had made her stare at him in astonishment.

  And then he'd told her about Judith. About the fight they'd had, again, over his desire to have children and her flat refusal to even discuss it. She'd married him, thinking he was as focused on the fast track as she was, only to discover that he was ready to relax a little, ready to enjoy some of the perks of success. Ready to start a family.

  She was gone, he'd added tightly. She'd told him she was tired of it, tired of him. She was divorcing him.

  In the following weeks, Conn's mood had gone from bad to worse. Then he'd shaken it off and had picked up the pieces of his life.

  Except he'd been different afterward. More introspective. Quieter. Laughing less, spending more time alone. And a little colder, as though he'd shut off a part of himself and had no intention of ever letting anyone that close to him again.

  Andie swore tiredly. If she had any sense, she'd go home. Pick up a salad from the deli for supper. Have a long soak in her big claw-footed bathtub, up to her neck in boiling hot water. Crawl into bed and just sleep until—

  Her phone bleated and she reached for it wearily. "Yes?"

  "Mr. Beck and his son are here, Andie."

  "Here?" Andie sat straight up. "Now what!"

  She shot to her feet, grabbing her suit jacket off the back of her chair and pulling it on as she hopped around on one foot, trying to get her shoes back on. She popped her head into Conn's office and told him, then, pausing long enough to run a comb through her hair and freshen her lipstick, she took a deep breath and walked out into the reception area.

  Marc Beck saw her first. Grinning, he walked across and shook her hand warmly. "I nearly called you last night. A couple of symphony tickets fell into my lap at the last minute, and I remember you saying you like Chopin."

  "I love Chopin." Andie smiled.

  "Forget Chopin." Conn walked in just in time to catch Marc's offer, and as he strolled across to join the two of them, he found himself eyeing Marc speculatively. "Unless we can come to an agreement on this buy-out deal, you and I are still competitors in this business. And I'll consider any move you try making on my people as hostile." He smiled pleasantly enough as he said it, but there was a hint of very real irritation under the words.

  Who the hell did this pup think he was, anyway, asking Andie for a date? Especially here, on Devlin turf.

  Marc just grinned, seemingly unperturbed, his grip firm as he shook Conn's hand. "All the more incentive to get this deal hammered out and the money in the bank." He glanced at Andie, the smile warm. "I've always been partial to Chopin myself."

  Conn had the sudden irrational urge to suggest that if he liked the damn music so much, why didn't he go home and listen to it instead of coming up here to hit on Andie? But he hung on to his temper, reminding himself that the deal with Becktron wasn't in the bag yet. And on top of that, he was already walking on thin ice as far as Andie was concerned

  So he simply smiled blandly instead. "Our meeting was set up for Friday. What's the problem?"

  "That's one of reasons I like you so damn much, Devlin," a voice said from behind them. "You remind me of me. Straight to the point, and no wasted time."

  Conn turned around just as Desmond Beck came through the wide glass doors from the outer corridor. He was built like a small building, not too tall but as solid as concrete, with thick gray hair and deceptively mild eyes and a ready smile.

  Conn just nodded, waiting for it. Desmond Beck was a thorough, deliberate man, a brilliant engineer in his own right and a consummate businessman. Becktron had fallen on hard times in the past few years because of changes in the economy, not because of any mistakes its founder and president had made. Conn respected him probably more than anyone else in the industry.

  Then, abruptly, the congenial smile vanished and those mild blue-gray eyes turned the color of cold steel. "I've gone over the last offer you presented, and I still have some questions about the actual implementation, Devlin."

  "Then let's talk."

  "I'll be honest with you, Devlin. Some of our people think we should shop Becktron around a bit. See what other offers we can get. Frankly, I've been wondering myself if it's just our patents you want. And if, after you get them, you'll just chop up the rest of the company and sell it off like old china at a garage sale."

  "Your manufacturing facilities are outmoded," Conn said. "You survived on military contracts for years, but with the cutbacks in defense spending, you're halfway to bankruptcy, and we both know it. So let's stop dancing and get to the bottom line. Your patents are worth millions, and I'm willing to pay well for them."

  He held Desmond's gaze. "But a lot of what I want doesn't have a price tag. Creativity. Genius. I want the brains behind your Research and Development. I want your engineers, your scientists, your programmers. What they know and what they can do. If Becktron goes down the tubes, these people will be on the street. I'm offering a good deal to those we take on, and fair compensation to those we don't."

  He relaxed slightly, smiling. "Yes, I'm going to sell off what I don't need – outdated equipment, dead-end technology, some real estate. But everything that made Becktron what it is will still be intact."

  Desmond gazed at Conn for a long, searching moment, then nodded abruptly. "Hell, you're right. I can't compete in today's world. Things are changing too fast. And if I have to sell, I'd just as soon it was to you. You've done in ten years what it took me close to thirty to accomplish, and you did it without cheating or losing your integrity, which is no small thing these days."

  "But some of Becktron's top-level management don't see it that way," Marc said quietly. "We dropped by today just to tell you we want to deal, but that we feel we need to do some more talking. There are all sorts of issues at stake here – not just the business end, but the employees. Pensions. Seniority."

  Conn fought his impatience. He wanted this deal tied up now, not sometime next week or the week after or—

  Andie caught his eye just then and gave her head an almost imperceptible shake of warning, and Conn eased out a tight breath. The woman could read his mind like a Gypsy. Knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. He wallowed a grin and kept quiet.

  "May I make a suggestion?" Andie looked at Beck thoughtfully. "The concerns you've brought up today are valid and negotiable – it's just a matter of getting the numbers right. What you and Conn need to do to finalize this deal is to simply sit down somewhere
quiet where you can talk – am I right?"

  Desmond smiled. "I'm certainly willing."

  Conn fought a surge of satisfaction, keeping his expression blank, smart enough to stay the hell out of the way while Andie worked her magic.

  "Then I suggest we all go up to Timberwolf Lodge for a few days and settle things once and for all. We can book the entire lodge for ourselves. It's quiet and secluded and has all the amenities, plus full conference facilities."

  Desmond looked at her in surprise. "That," he said after a thoughtful moment, "is a damned good idea. Marc?"

  His son nodded, looking impressed. "Perfect. We've all been running in circles with this thing for weeks and everyone's tired. One last round of discussions, one on one, just might wrap it all up."

  "Do it." Desmond looked at his watch. "I have to go. Set things up, talk with Marc about anything you need, let me know when and where. I'll be there with my people."

  "Sounds great." Marc smiled down at Andie. "Maybe we'll get a chance to spend some time talking about something other than business while we're up there."

  Andie's smile widened. "That would be—"

  "Unlikely," Conn said shortly, not liking the way Beck was standing so damned close to her. Not liking the way he was still holding her hand after shaking it, either. Not liking anything at all about the man, as a matter of fact. Not his smile, the cut of his clothes, the way he carried himself – none of it. "We've got a lot of details left to work out. I doubt we're going to have much time for socializing."

  Andie gave him an unfathomable look, but Conn ignored her. And finally, after another round of handshaking and smiles – too damn much of each in Marc Beck's case, to Conn's way of thinking – the two men left.

  Conn headed back through Andie's office to his own, unsettled and irritable for some reason, thinking about the way Andie had been looking at Beck. Almost as though she actually liked the jerk, Conn thought in annoyance. As though she couldn't see through the high-priced suit and expensive haircut to the spoiled rich man's kid underneath.