Think About Love

by Vanessa Grant

  Think About Love

  by

  Vanessa Grant

  © 2001, 2012 Muse Creations Inc

  musecreations.com

  If You Loved Me - Sample © 1999, 2012 Muse Creations Inc

  Cover design © Angela Oltmann, angieocreations.com

  eBook conversion services: by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Internal flourishes licensed from © bigstockphoto.com

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents in this book are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  If You Loved Me - sample

  Think About Romance

  The last thing successful businesswoman Samantha Jones envisions is her beloved grandmother in a nursing home - and having to fly to remote Gabriola Island to care for her orphaned infant niece. But family is as important to Samantha as her job with Cal Tremaine, and she’s determined not to let instant motherhood interrupt her career … until headstrong Cal offers something more tempting.

  Think About Me

  Cal’s rapidly growing software empire owes a lot to Samantha’s skills, and Cal isn’t about to let her get away. Yet when Cal gets his first look at Samantha outside the office, he realizes that he wants her to see him as a man - instead of as her boss. Suddenly he’s offering a marriage that will satisfy the judge in gaining custody of her niece, but what he wants is Samantha as his true wife … in every sense of the word.

  Dedication

  Thanks to Ann and Anne for the hearts,

  Janice and Missy for baby calendars,

  Grant for the open house and "that thing they do,"

  and Janyne for family court.

  Chapter One

  The call came on Samantha's direct line at thirteen minutes after three Wednesday afternoon. Cal, she assumed, because he'd been hovering restlessly all week. With a multimillion dollar contract just signed and fifty high-tech jobs to fill, Calin Tremaine was at his most restless.

  She let the phone ring a second time, then a third as she finished answering an e-mail from the security company she'd hired for Friday night. Then she picked up the phone, ready for Cal's next question.

  But the voice on the phone wasn't her boss's.

  "Samantha?"

  "Grandma Dorothy?" Samantha eyed the stack of unanswered messages on her desk. "How are you and the baby? Still terrorizing Gabriola Island?"

  She expected her grandmother's breathy laughter, felt a shaft of unease when it didn't come. "I'm in Nanaimo, Samantha. I need you."

  "Is it Kippy? An accident?" It was no use telling her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to quiet. Ever since the plane crash, she'd been too jumpy, too quick to assume the worst.

  "No accident, sweetheart, but we need your help."

  Marcy stuck her head in the door, mouthed Cal's name, and pointed to the phone. Samantha held up one hand, fingers spread, indicating she'd be five minutes.

  "Tell me," she urged her grandmother, her voice taking on the calm tones that had become habitual for her in times of stress. "Tell me what the problem is. If you need help with Kippy or money—" Money, she thought. Dorothy was probably short of money. Samantha kicked herself for not insisting she accept a monthly check to help with Kippy.

  "Moonbeam, you have to come up here."

  Moonbeam. It was years since Dorothy had called her that.

  "I can be there at the end of next week. I'll take a long weekend and we can work out whatever—"

  "Sam—Samantha..."

  Dorothy was crying!

  "Grandma, what's wrong?"

  "They say I'm not fit to look after Kippy."

  "That's crazy. You're fitter than most forty-year-old women. Grandma, who...?"

  A hiccup that might have been a sob. "I was in overnight. I shouldn't have been in at all—it was just a little pain, but Diana insisted. You know Diana Foley?"

  "Yes, of course I—in? What do you mean, in? In the hospital?"

  "I told the doctor I mustn't be in more than overnight, but he insisted and Diana said it would be fine. Absolutely fine, that Kippy was no problem. Samantha, you must do something!"

  "Grandma, I'll look after everything. Explain to me exactly what's happened. You're sick?"

  Dorothy had perfect health. At the age of sixty-nine, she walked three miles a day, pushing Kippy's baby carriage to the mailbox each day. "Why are you in the hospital?"

  "It's nothing serious. It's Kippy we need to worry about."

  "If Diana needs help with Kippy, I'll arrange for someone, and I'll come up this Friday night. We'll sort everything out." If necessary, if Dorothy really was sick, Samantha would bring Kippy back with her until her grandmother recovered.

  "You have to come now, Samantha."

  "I promise you, I'll look after everything. We talked about this last winter. If there's any problem, I can look after Kippy. We'll—"

  "The social worker put Kippy in a foster home."

  Samantha felt a lurch of nausea. "Kippy in foster care?" She remembered how frightened Sarah had been all those years ago, how Samantha had hidden her own fear and pretended confidence for her sister. How Dorothy had come and saved them both.

  She found a pen in her hand. "Give me the name of the social worker. And Diana's number. Have you called a lawyer yet?"

  Dorothy gave her Diana's number. "The social worker is Brenda Simonson. I don't know her number. She'll be in Nanaimo, but I'm not sure which office. I called Dexter Ames, the lawyer we used to arrange Kippy's guardianship last winter."

  Her mind seemed numb. She had to think. "I'll talk to Dexter, and I'll find the social worker."

  "Samantha, what if they don't let Kippy come back?"

  "Of course they will. We're Kippy's family."

  "You're coming, aren't you?" demanded Dorothy as the door to Samantha's office opened again. She had one hand in the air to shoo Marcy away, but her assistant ignored the gesture and strode across the office to drop a message slip on Samantha's desk.

  Meet me ASAP in the boardroom. Cal.

  Her fingers crumpled the note.

  "I'll do some phoning," she told Dorothy in a super calm voice. "I'll find out exactly where we stand, get things in motion. Then I'll call you back. I'll look after this. What about you? This pain?"

  "I'm fine," snapped Dorothy in the voice Samantha remembered. "It's probably indigestion."

  Marcy was waiting, motionless on the other side of the desk, while Samantha wrote down Dorothy's hospital-room phone number, then said good-bye, promising to call back as soon as possible.

  "He wants to know how long," said Marcy as the receiver settled in its cradle.

  "Fifteen minutes, and get me the phone number for Dexter Ames. He's a lawyer in Nanaimo."

  "Where?"

  "Nanaimo. British Columbia. Canada."

  Fifteen minutes. It wasn't enough. If only this had happened on another day, another week, when she could rush to Nanaimo instead of acting at a distance. She had to find that social worker before her office c
losed for the day. She needed to talk to the lawyer, to Dorothy's doctor.

  Exactly when did government workers quit for the day in Canada?

  Diana Foley had the worker's phone number, but the woman wasn't at her desk. Samantha hit the intercom just as Marcy came through the door with Dexter Ames's phone number.

  Only five minutes until she was due to meet Cal in his boardroom. "Get Ames on the line. Tell him it's about Dorothy Marshall."

  She dialed her own phone, said, "Diana, it's Samantha Jones again. I haven't been able to get the social worker. Do you know anything else?"

  "Hi, Sam." Diana sounded breathless, as if she'd run to the phone. "All I know is that there's going to be a hearing. I asked if they could put Kippy with me as a foster child until Dorothy's out of the hospital, but the worker said no. I'm so sorry, Samantha."

  "Diana, I know you did your best. It's all right." Samantha saw that her telephone was flashing and hurriedly said good-bye.

  Dexter Ames, and she was due in the boardroom in two minutes.

  "I don't have the family court date yet," said Dexter. "I'll know more within the hour."

  One minute late for her meeting with Cal and nothing was settled. Family court sounded bad and urgent. Please God it wouldn't be until next week. Tomorrow was Thursday. By Monday she just might be able to slip away, but it would be irresponsibility of the worst kind to walk out now, less than forty-eight hours before she was due to oversee a massive employee screening process at the recruitment open house.

  She glanced at the pile of message slips on her desk, picked up her portable computer in its case, and walked out of her office. No time to check lipstick and hair. No time to think. She stopped at Marcy's desk, said, "I'm expecting a call from Dexter Ames. When he calls, put him through to the boardroom. And get hold of Del in development. Get a list of the volunteers he's enlisted for Friday."

  If all went well Friday night, Tremaine's would be playing host to dozens of top e-commerce developers in a massive headhunting expedition. The developers who already worked for Tremaine Software were an essential element of the open house. They would greet the candidates, talk about their own experience with Tremaine's, and generally build enthusiasm to work in a rapidly expanding, forward-looking company rich in advancement opportunities.

  The open house had been Samantha's idea. If it went well, she'd be one large step closer to a seat on Cal's board and a director's position in the company. Somehow, in the next few days, she needed to look after the welfare of Cal Tremaine's massive staffing needs, while rescuing her six-month-old niece from the clutches of the foster-home system.

  Chapter Two

  Cal Tremaine paced the boardroom. He disliked waiting, always had. He recognized his restlessness as one of the characteristics that had built Tremaine's into a company that could successfully bid on the Lloyd contract. But this week, he'd have been better off turning his back on things he couldn't control and leaving Samantha Jones to do what she did best.

  He'd successfully landed the contract to bring Lloyd's into the world of electronic commerce, and next spring, once Lloyd's Web farm was finished, Tremaine's would take over external management of all Lloyd's information technology. The contract meant huge new racks of hardware in their New York server site, dozens of new employees, and a tight deadline.

  He was itching to get to work, but nothing could happen until he had the men and women he needed, top developers who were probably even now working for the competition.

  Tremaine's was reeling from the consequences of doubling in size overnight. New premises to house the new personnel, negotiations with bank managers, developers, and equipment suppliers. New human resources people to deal with the endless regulations and complications of being an employer. Without Samantha Jones, he'd be up to his knees in mud about now.

  For the last year and a half, ever since he hired Sam from Mirimar Consulting, he'd been free to do the work he wanted, free to keep Tremaine's moving and growing. He loved the challenge of nailing a deal like Lloyd's from under IBM's e-commerce division, putting together a program design that could show the owners needs for information and e-commerce they hadn't imagined having. Loved the stimulation of seeing the project manifest from plan to reality.

  But he hated the damned details of running a business. He'd never have started Tremaine's without Brent Martin as his partner to look after the admin, stuff—but Brent had walked out two years ago, leaving Cal in administrative chaos.

  Desperate, he'd hired Mirimar Consulting, who had sent Samantha Jones, M.B.A. Cal had taken one look at Sam's shining brown hair and soft matching eyes, and he'd known she wasn't up to it any more than Brent had been.

  Now he swung from the window and stared impatiently at the door Sam should have walked through three minutes ago. When he first met her, it had taken only five minutes to realize he was wrong about her.

  "I'll need all your financials," she'd announced ten seconds after the introduction, "and access to personnel records, especially people who've quit in the last two years."

  "Don't waste time on people who are gone. I need you to organize the future."

  Her eyes had flashed with penetrating intelligence. "Programmers like freedom, not chaos. It's worth your while to know why the valuable ones left. I've made a list of the information I need. If you authorize me to have access, I'll look after everything."

  She handed him a long list, then she relaxed in the chair, right here in this room, and for the first time he saw her smile. Why did Sam's smiles always seem to cover some secret he felt impelled to know?

  "Tell me where you want your company to be five years from now, then give me two weeks to collect information. A week from this coming Friday we'll meet again. I'll make suggestions and you can decide whether my ideas make sense."

  He'd quickly discovered it wasn't just Samantha Jones's ideas he needed. He needed the woman, her smile, her magic. Almost immediately, he'd felt the waters calm. Project leaders who'd been at odds for months seemed to have buried the hatchet, and Dee, Cal's assistant, stopped turning up at his desk with administrative emergencies several times a day.

  When Sam gave Cal her recommendations, she offered to find a manager to put them into practice. Cal had a better solution. He wanted Sam full-time, with no divided loyalties. She liked her consulting job at Mirimar's, and he smiled now, remembering that it wasn't the outrageous salary that had won her over. It was the promise of a director's position and a seat on his board after two years if she did a good job.

  When he bought Brent out, he'd vowed never to give up control of even the smallest part of Tremaine's to anyone again. But that was before Sam. The impulse to hire her away from Mirimar's was the best decision he'd ever made. Whenever he thought of the chaotic days before she came, he counted his blessings that, unlike many of his other employees, she seemed to have no private life. He just hoped to hell that she didn't do something stupid like decide to marry and have a couple of babies.

  If he had any say in it, Samantha Jones's ticking clock would remain silent until they were both old directors of Tremaine's.

  The clock had eaten another four minutes, and he fought the urge to pace through the new premises they'd just settled into, storm into Sam's office, and demand an explanation for her lateness. He'd been doing too much of that sort of thing lately. Frustrated because he had no choice but to wait until they ramped up their head count, he'd been looking over Sam's shoulder constantly. He shouldn't be demanding her presence in the boardroom for a review of Friday's strategy when in truth, he knew she would have the whole damned thing organized to perfection and would be busy as hell for the next two days keeping it that way.

  He wondered suddenly if her lateness might be deliberate, a tactic to remind him of their agreement that he wouldn't interfere in her administrative realm, so long as she kept him informed in their weekly meetings.

  No, he decided. Not Sam's style. They'd had a few territorial skirmishes, Sam's quiet firmness against h
is volatile impulsiveness. He doubted Sam had ever backed down from a battle, and he'd given her plenty of cause to balk by looking over her shoulder, interfering. But Sam was always direct. If she had a complaint, she'd tell him straight out.

  When he finally heard her heels clicking outside the boardroom, he stepped across the carpet to open the door. She had one hand out, reaching for the handle, and he saw her freeze when the door opened.

  "Did I startle you?"

  She shrugged and slipped inside, but the smile didn't come. "Sorry I'm late."

  She looked uncharacteristically harried. Why? He said, "I wanted to go over the procedures for screening the recruits Friday night, but if you're overloaded, we can do it tomorrow."

  She stood in the middle of the boardroom floor, the expensive carpet she'd chosen all around her, her eyes troubled in a way he'd never seen before. Something was wrong, but what? There was always some crisis in the computer business, but Sam always handled the rough spots so calmly they seemed smooth.

  This was different. She moved abruptly to one of the chairs at the side of the board table, and he thought her face wore the sort of look people had when they were about to say something unwelcome.

  Something like: Cal, I'm quitting.

  Panic boiled in his gut. Sam couldn't leave.

  She opened her computer case and set her laptop on the table. "This is probably a good time to go over the screening procedure, just in case there's—this is a good time."

  He frowned and prowled to the other side of the table. He didn't like the way she said just in case, as if she had come in here thinking of quitting.

  Inactivity was making him paranoid. Sam wouldn't quit. She was an ambitious woman. Six more months would get her the seat on his board she'd held out for when he hired her.

  "I've got the list of volunteers here," she said, turning her computer on. "All the project leaders are on it, except the two on vacation, and Tom Brennan. You left him in New York."