Perfect Partners

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  With the influx of enthusiastic new residents into Oregon and Washington, a whole new market was taking shape for companies such as Thornquist Gear. The way Joel saw it, that new market, which had yet to be firmly targeted and defined, was basically composed of people who liked the idea of being northwesterners but who did not know quite how to go about it. Joel intended to teach them with a new line called Pack Up and Go camping equipment.

  But he was not yet absolutely certain how to grab the attention of that new market. His small marketing department had come up with several ideas, but Joel had not felt solid about any of them. Now time was running out, and he had to make some decisions soon.

  He got up and moved restlessly back to the window. Too many firecrackers in the air. Charlie's death, the impending arrival of Letty Thornquist, the new ad campaign, the carefully planned slaughter of Copeland Marine Industries—it all added up to a volatile situation.

  The buzz of the intercom caught his attention. “Arthur Bigley is here, sir.”

  “Send him in, Mrs. Sedgewick.”

  The door opened. A very nervous looking young man with close-cropped curly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses walked into the office.

  “You wanted to brief me on my new position, Mr. Blackstone?” Arthur adjusted his tie with anxious fingers.

  Joel leaned back in his chair. “Sit down, Bigley. You'll be working for Ms. Thornquist when she arrives tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bigley sat down. “I'm very excited about that, sir. This is a wonderful promotion for me, sir, and I'm very grateful.”

  Joel smiled grimly. “I'm glad to hear it. Now, then, the most important thing you need to know in your new position is that I do not want Ms. Thornquist bothered by routine matters. Is that clear?”

  “I guess so, sir.” Arthur looked skeptical. “Uh, how exactly do I keep her from being bothered by them?”

  “You keep Mrs. Sedgewick informed of everything that happens in Ms. Thornquist's office. Mrs. Sedgewick will keep me informed. I'll monitor the situation and step in when I'm needed. That's how the chain of command works, Bigley. Do you think you can follow those simple instructions?”

  “Yes, sir. Definitely, sir.”

  “Excellent. I want to know everything that goes on in the president's office. You'll check with this office before putting through any calls to Ms. Thornquist, and you'll notify me of all visitors. You will be advised as to how to handle such matters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mrs. Sedgewick will give you further instruction about your day-to-day office routine. You may go now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Arthur shot to his feet and turned to leave.

  The toe of his shoe caught on the edge of the carpet, and he lost his balance. His arm swept out, groping for something to keep him from falling. He grabbed the arm of the chair, and it toppled over.

  “I think you'll do very well for Ms. Thornquist,” Joel said as Arthur Bigley picked himself up off the carpet and darted from the room.

  4

  Two weeks later Joel came to a halt in the doorway of the new suite of offices that had been assigned to the president of Thornquist Gear. The inner door was standing wide open, and he could see at a glance that Letty was nowhere around.

  He scowled at Arthur Bigley, who was seated behind the desk in the small outer room. Arthur, attired in a white shirt and tie, had been typing briskly. But he visibly flinched when he realized Joel was in the doorway. He looked up with an anxious expression. Joel noticed Arthur was not wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles and that he was blinking frequently. Apparently Bigley had decided to try contacts.

  “Where is Ms. Thornquist, Bigley? I was under the impression she was here in her office.”

  Arthur's rate of nervous blinking increased swiftly. It was clear he was alarmed to discover that he was being held responsible for the fact that Letty was not where she was supposed to be. “I believe she went down to the conference room on the third floor, Mr. Blackstone.”

  “There's no conference scheduled down there, Bigley.” Joel's patience was wearing thin and Arthur knew it, as did the rest of the staff. The past two weeks had not been easy on anyone, except possibly Letty. As far as Joel could ascertain, the new president of Thornquist Gear was thoroughly enjoying herself.

  “Yes, sir, I know that, sir. She said she had a special project going on down there this afternoon.”

  “What special project?”

  Arthur froze in his chair and blinked frantically. “I wouldn't know, sir. She didn't say what it was.”

  Joel gave up. You could not get information out of a turnip. It was clear Bigley was in the dark. “The hell with it. I'll go see what she's doing myself.”

  “Yes, sir.” Arthur was enormously relieved to be off the hook. “Oh, I almost forgot, sir. There have been a couple more calls from that Philip Dixon person. I informed Mrs. Sedgewick.”

  Joel, who was already turning away, paused. “You told him what I told you to tell him?”

  “Yes, Mr. Blackstone.” Arthur risked an anxious smile. “I told him that Ms. Thornquist could not come to the phone, just as you said.”

  “And you didn't mention the calls to Ms. Thornquist?”

  “No, sir. Absolutely not. You said not to bother her with them, and I've been very careful to follow your instructions.”

  “Very good, Bigley. Ms. Thornquist has enough on her mind these days without having to deal with annoying phone calls.” Joel inclined his head in a brisk, brief nod of approval. “You're doing a fine job. Keep up the good work.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Arthur appeared on the verge of collapsing from sheer relief. He reached for a fresh sheet of typing paper and started to insert it into his machine. Then he abruptly leaped to his feet as if he had been stung. “Oh, no.”

  Joel frowned. “What the hell's the matter, Bigley?”

  “Nothing, sir. My contact lens just popped out, sir. I'll find it right away, sir.” Arthur dropped to his knees and began sweeping the rug with a cautious hand.

  Satisfied that damage control operations were in effect and functioning in the president's office, Joel headed down the hall to the stairs. He never took the elevator. You had to wait forever for the damn thing. At least it seemed to Joel that he had to wait forever. He noticed a lot of other people did not mind the short delays. At any given time he could find a large percentage of his staff standing around in the hall, wasting time while they waited for an elevator.

  He opened the stairwell door and started down, frowning in anticipation of what he might find in the conference room. During the past two weeks Letty had turned out to be energetic, unpredictable, and potentially the most explosive of the incendiary devices Joel was trying to juggle these days.

  She had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the business of learning all she could about Thornquist Gear. She was spending twelve hours a day in the building, working on the sales floor, out on the loading dock, and in the accounting department.

  Three days ago he'd found her trying on down jackets in the clothing department. The memory made him smile faintly. The thick, voluminous coats had swamped her small frame. The added layers of padding over her already pleasantly rounded bosom and hips had done amusing things to her figure. She had looked like a plump little pigeon with feathers fluffed against the cold.

  Joel, who had started to grin, had stopped immediately when she blithely informed him she thought Thornquist Gear needed to add a line of petite-sized down jackets.

  “These things look great if you're six feet tall,” Letty said. “But for those of us who are five feet four or under, they're a bit much.”

  “We'll talk about it later, Ms. Thornquist,” Joel cut in before the floor manager could add his two cents to the discussion.

  She nodded, temporarily satisfied. “I also want to talk about widening the color range. Look at these jackets. Rows and rows of dull blue, flat green, and off-red. Not very exciting.”

  That observation a
nnoyed Joel. “Those colors happen to be called midnight, khaki, and burgundy. They're the most popular colors in down jackets.”

  “Well, I think we should consider carrying jackets in yellow, bright red, and turquoise,” Letty said, waxing enthusiastic. “At least in the women's styles. Women like bright colors.”

  The floor manager started to nod in agreement.

  “I think we should discuss this at another time also, Ms. Thornquist,” Joel said very politely through his teeth.

  “Certainly. I'll just make a note.” Letty whipped out a pen and jotted a few words down on a clipboard she carried with her everywhere.

  Joel had given strict orders that Ms. Thornquist was to be treated with the respect due the president and owner of the firm, but that she was not to be bothered with petty details. Unfortunately, Letty had a way of prying details out of people. Just last Wednesday, Joel had walked into her office and found her immersed in a printout of extensive data about last quarter's sales figures. He was stunned to discover that she had been asking questions all over the building, and that by noon she had a disconcertingly thorough grasp of Thornquist Gear's current financial picture. It was sheer blind luck that she had not stumbled into information that would clue her into the Copeland Marine Industries takeover.

  Joel had gone straight down to Accounting that afternoon and instituted tighter controls on all computer printouts ordered from the president's office. Henceforth the requested printouts were to be sent to his office first. He would personally go over them with the new president.

  Sooner or later, Joel thought as he reached the third floor, he was going to have to deal with the Copeland Marine situation. After all, once he made his final moves, there would be no way to keep the takeover a secret. He had to have his explanations ready. They had to sound like good business and nothing more.

  Problems. Firecrackers waiting to explode.

  And the most potentially explosive factor of all, Joel now realized, was his own personal fascination with Letty Thornquist. It was dawning on him with increasing pressure that he wanted her. Badly. And he was not altogether sure why.

  The acute awareness he had experienced that night at her father's house in the mountains had not been a fleeting attraction fed by exercise endorphins, moonlight, and the proximity of a lady in a nightgown. He still wanted her.

  He had tried telling himself it was the novelty. Letty was very different from any other woman he knew. It was not just her oddly innocent enthusiasm or even her unusual, rather fey looks. Nor was it the vibrancy of her features, which more than made up for whatever she lacked in conventional beauty.

  It was something else that drew him, and it worried him. Letty was sweet, even endearing in some ways. She called forth a protective response in him that was ludicrous under the circumstances. He was the one who needed protection, Joel thought ruefully. As long as she owned Thornquist Gear, she was dangerous.

  Unfortunately that knowledge did not alter the surge of desire he felt whenever he was near her or the sense of possessiveness that was beginning to pulse just below the surface.

  In the past few days Joel had begun to realize that he was not only trying to keep a lot of firecrackers in the air, he was also trying to walk a tightrope.

  Maybe he should have gone to work for a circus instead of Thornquist Gear. Lately it was hard to distinguish between the two.

  Joel heard Letty's voice as soon as he opened the stairwell door and started toward the large conference room. Either she was talking to herself or there was someone else in the room with her.

  “That can't be right,” Letty called out. “Read that one again, Cal.”

  Cal Manford's voice droned in response. “‘Insert brace pole into section B of number three upright pole.’”

  “That's ridiculous. It doesn't fit. Are you sure?”

  “That's what it says, Ms. Thornquist.”

  “Who wrote that manual, anyway?”

  Cal hesitated, apparently thinking. “Someone in the manufacturing design division, I imagine.”

  Joel reached the doorway of the conference room and beheld a small scene of chaos. One of the new tents that had been manufactured to Thornquist specifications and carried the new Thornquist Gear Pack Up and Go label was in a state of partial erection.

  Not unlike his own condition these days, Joel thought. And for the same reason: Letty was in the vicinity.

  To be more accurate she was somewhere inside the precariously tilting tent. He could see one small, beautifully arched, nylon-clad foot peeping out from where the zippered door flapped open. A trim little ankle and a few inches of nicely curved leg were also visible.

  Cal Manford, the head of Marketing, stood nearby. He looked harried and useless with the instruction manual in his hand. He had taken off his jacket and was in his shirtsleeves.

  Manford was in his mid-fifties and sported a fringe of gray hair and a definite paunch. The paunch was the reason he was rarely seen without a jacket. Apparently the tension of trying to help Letty pitch a tent had overcome Cal's concern about the way his stomach hung out over his belt. Joel noticed there were damp stains under Manford's arms.

  Joel also noticed with a sense of irritation that Cal was staring at Letty's foot instead of the loose-leaf instruction manual.

  “Well,” Letty declared from inside the wavering tent, “if this is any example of how the rest of the manual is written, we'll just have to insist that the entire thing be revised. Nobody who was not already an expert could get one of these tents up in less than two hours. And even then I'm not sure it would stay up.”

  “I'll, uh, mention the problem to Mr. Blackstone, if you like,” Cal volunteered uneasily. He was still staring at Letty's foot and still unaware of Joel's presence. “He approved the new line of tents, himself.”

  “Never mind. I'll talk to him about it. In the meantime we might as well keep going. Read the next instruction.”

  Joel propped one shoulder against the frame of the door and folded his arms across his chest. “Forget the next instruction. You're going to have to start all over again. You haven't got the ridgepole in place.”

  There was a sudden commotion inside the tent. “What are you talking about? Is that you, Mr. Blackstone?”

  Joel had found her insistence on office formality humorous at first. Now it was getting to be irritating. “Right. It's me, Ms. Thornquist.”

  Cal Manford swung around, startled. Joel could have sworn he looked both relieved and disappointed. “I was just helping Ms. Thornquist field-test one of the new tents.”

  “So I see.” Joel eyed the listing tent. “I take it there's a problem with the instructions?”

  “You can say that again,” Letty called out. The side of the tent bulged as she shifted position and in the process apparently rammed her elbow into the strong nylon. “Mr. Manford says this new line is designed to sell to novice campers. I asked him if it had been tested on any novice campers and he said no. So I thought I'd run an experiment. It's been a very educational experience.”

  “Obviously.” Joel shook his head and gave Manford a wry man-to-man, what-can-you-do-with-'em smile. It was the sort of smile men had exchanged among themselves when discussing female mechanical competency for several thousand generations. Cal returned it fleetingly, but he still looked worried.

  “I want to see how far I can get following the instructions. It's best to document the problems with them as we go along,” Letty said. She changed position inside the tent once more. Her foot vanished.

  Joel eyed the wobbling upright pole. “Come on out, Ms. Thornquist. I'll show you how to pitch a tent, if you really want to learn.”

  “No, no, no. That's the whole point. If I, a typical novice camper, can't do it myself using the manual, we've got a major problem with the new line. Don't you understand?”

  The rebuke took Joel completely by surprise. For one single, exceedingly unpleasant instant, he felt a wave of embarrassed heat singe his cheekbones. He was aware of C
al Manford watching him with an expression of uncertainty.

  Anger flashed through Joel, driving out the embarrassment. It was bad policy for the company's chief executive officer to be taken to task by the president of the firm in front of another member of the staff. Manford, like everyone else around the place, had to be reminded of just who was in charge.

  “If you'll get yourself out of that tent, Ms. Thornquist,” Joel said evenly, “I'll go over the manual personally with you. Step by step, if you like. We can see if there are any major problems with it. If so, they can be taken care of easily enough. Isn't that right, Manford?”

  Cal coughed and swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  At that moment one of the wavering aluminum poles fell over. There was a small scream from inside the tent as the entire structure collapsed.

  “Oh, my God,” yelled Letty. “Joel, do something. Get this thing off me!”

  So much for office formality.

  Joel eyed the writhing mass of yellow nylon. Letty was neatly trapped beneath it, floundering about like a netted fish. Cal Manford looked horrified and baffled by this new development.

  “Uh, Ms. Thornquist? Are you all right, Ms. Thornquist?” Cal called anxiously.

  “No, I am not all right.” Letty's voice was muffled by the tent fabric.

  Joel straightened and held out his hand. “I'll handle this, Manford. Give me that manual. I'll help Ms. Thornquist complete her field test.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cal shoved the manual into Joel's fingers. He summoned up a nervous smile. “If you don't need me any longer, I'll get back to my office.”

  “Do that.” Joel dismissed him with a glance and walked across the room to the churning tent. He reached down, took hold of the lightweight fabric and several loose poles, and hauled it all upward.

  Glasses askew on her nose, topknot in complete disarray, Letty crawled out of the tent door on her hands and knees.

  Wispy tendrils of hair hung in her face. The skirt of her conservative gray business suit was more than normally rumpled. It was hiked up well above her knees and twisted back to front. Her peach silk blouse had been tugged free of the skirt's waistband.