Rough Harbor

by Andrea Stein

  “I can forgive you, Michael,” she said, meaning it, “but I can’t forget and, quite simply, I can’t quite trust you. And I can’t live that way.”

  “Kit-Cat, please.” Only he used that nickname, and now she hated it. “Give me another chance; please let me make it up to you. Fly here, and then we’ll go to Paris for the weekend, or the Alps to ski. Or someplace warm, instead. Anyplace you wish. Please let me show you that I still care.”

  Caitlyn almost laughed, but that would have been a mistake. More than most men, Michael believed he possessed special gifts in bed. Like most women, Caitlyn had not found that to be the case, her attraction to Michael having been much deeper and more complicated than that.

  “No, Michael, absolutely not. It’s over. You made your choice when you decided to sleep with Zoë in our bed. I knew you were a flirt, but you crossed a line. You humiliated me, Michael, and that was the last straw, the last.”

  “Caitlyn, you made me realize my mistake. Please, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

  Just once, she thought, and mean it. To forgive didn’t mean to forget. “It won’t make a difference. It’s over. We’re over.”

  Caitlyn hung up, the click of the receiver adding to the finality of her words. He was probably calling her a bitch, but she decided she did not care, and this, too, was another step towards freedom for her.

  Chapter 14

  Caitlyn sat at her desk, mindful that the day was passing, her mind trying to focus on work. It wasn’t the phone call from Michael. No, it had been the morning with Noah on the beach and how her body had reacted.

  What had she wanted? Caitlyn sighed, her pen drawing doodles on a pad. She had wanted to kiss him, had wanted him to kiss her.

  It should have been easy to pass off as heightened emotion on both their parts. After all, Noah was grieving, and, well, she was… what? Grieving, too, after a fashion. Her engagement, her life in London, the death of Maxwell, who – if he hadn’t quite been her friend – had been something like a mentor. Not to mention all the other emotions Noah’s re-appearance had brought up: nostalgia, loneliness, anxiety and, even, of course, more than a little bit of lust. They hadn’t even kissed, but her body had reacted all the same.

  It had been months, possibly years, since she had felt like that, remembering the way her stomach flipped and her body trembled. Snatches of that summer came back. Bright, sunny days spent at the beach, or sailing, together, always together. They had been inseparable that summer.

  She needed to avoid him. That was the only thing to do. She was not going to get caught up with another man, not going to get caught up in the past and not going to get caught up with someone with whom she had as much history as Noah Randall.

  Resolved, Caitlyn turned her attention back to her desk and the unfinished work that was in front of her. When she had returned to Queensbay, Maxwell had made it clear to her that her main job was to bring new clients. She had understood why after being here. The firm had been on shaky ground, barely holding steady, making money for its clients, but not great amounts. Too many people wanted too much these days, and the slow and steady approach was in disfavor. Maxwell wanted to push a more aggressive strategy of making money, and Caitlyn was supposed to do her best to find clients with a higher risk tolerance.

  In London, she had gained a reputation as a networker, a woman with connections to people just starting to make money. Caitlyn’s strategy was simple. Find people, young and hungry, who were going someplace and help them before they became truly rich and sought after. Gain their loyalty early. Maxwell had once asked her how she knew, how she was able to spot her winners. She had told him it was a gut feeling, and since he often worked on that alone, he had not pressed. It was even simpler than that. She just looked for people like herself.

  He’d been pleased with her progress and authorized that the firm take a position in one of her picks, a small trucking company that soon announced it was being acquired, resulting in a nice little bump in the stock price. Caitlyn had made her first money for other people.

  <<>>

  “Mr. Harris wants to see you.” Deborah Muller put her head in. She was Sam Harris’s assistant, in her early thirties, with two children and a dentist husband. In her former life, she had been his dental hygienist, but got tired of sticking her fingers in people’s mouths and shifted to office work. She had red hair and green eyes and always seemed good-natured. Today, though, she was less than chipper and did not stop to chat with Caitlyn and give a run-down of her children’s busy schedules.

  Getting ready to go into Sam’s office, Caitlyn took a moment to compose herself. He’d been having meetings with individuals all day long, each of the associates going into the office, the door swinging shut behind them, emerging sometime later with the same inscrutable expression they had worn before. She put on her suit jacket and smoothed down her hair. Ready as she could be, she followed Deborah along the corridor and into the small suite that was Sam Harris’s domain.

  Sam sat in his chair, gray hair neatly combed, impeccable in a dark charcoal suit and a red tie. He had a single file on the desk and over to the side, standing with his back to the door and staring out the window, was another man, arms clasped behind his back, brown hair curling over the collar of his jacket.

  Caitlyn almost stopped when she saw Noah, but forced herself on as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be having a meeting with both of her bosses, including the one whom she had recently been fantasizing about kissing.

  “Caitlyn.” Sam smiled and indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. She took it and sank into the seat that was too big for her. Perching on the edge, she was careful not to look or feel like the little girl who had been called into the principal’s office. Noah came and sat in a seat to the side of Harris, facing the both of them, the role of an observer rather than a participant.

  “I asked everyone to come in today to talk about the future of the firm and how things stand. As you might imagine, some people view this as a crossroads for the firm. A great deal of the company’s mystique was tied up in Maxwell. Without him, we need to very actively work to find a way to continue on, to ensure that the mystique does not end with us.”

  Caitlyn nodded. She was careful not to look over at Noah.

  “As you might know, Noah Randall inherited the firm from his father. However, that does not mean that there isn’t room for ambitious people to move up. Maxwell thought highly of you, and you’ve done an excellent job. We were very happy you were able to bring aboard Johanna Temple and Ryan Fitzhugh.”

  Johanna Temple had inherited two magazines from her father, both with flagging circulation and laughable ad revenue. In two years, she had managed to turn around one of them by making it the bible of the lady sailing set. A small but profitable niche. The other one, targeted to amateur tennis players, was also doing well, and Johanna was considering her next acquisition.

  Ryan Fitzhugh made commercials for ad agencies, which happened to pay well, if not exactly exalt him in artistic circles. Caitlyn was proud that she had been able to deliver.

  “We think that you will be an invaluable asset for the company, and in order to demonstrate that to you, we would like to offer you a raise and an additional bonus, if you agree to stay for another year as the firm makes its transition.”

  “Transition?” Caitlyn asked, still looking at Sam Harris.

  “Well, there are a number of options available to us, Caitlyn, and when they present themselves formally, they will be shared with all of the associates.”

  Noah was thinking of selling. Caitlyn looked at Sam and realized he thought Noah was thinking of selling to him.

  Noah confirmed this when he said, “It’s my decision that the company is best served by having professional managers such as Sam running it. In that way, we can all be sure that the company is well-positioned for any future opportun
ities. Things will go on a usual, with Sam handling the day-to-day operations.”

  Their eyes met, perfectly neutral. Caitlyn felt a surge of anger.

  “I see,” Caitlyn said.

  “At the current time, we expect everyone and everything to proceed as usual.”

  “What about promotions?” she asked.

  Harris looked at her. She ignored Noah.

  “When I came here, it was with the clear understanding that I would be considered for promotion.”

  “And there still is,” Sam smoothly rushed to assure her. “As I said, we’re proceeding as usual; however, since there is no written record of this agreement, we’ll have to follow the accepted schedule. You’ll be judged on client acquisitions.”

  “What about investments?”

  “Caitlyn, you know your strengths. Tommy Anderson will be heading the investment selection.” It was clear: deliver or else.

  It was on the tip of Caitlyn’s tongue to ask when she could expect that retention bonus, but instead she nodded, rose and left. She didn’t bother to glance back at Noah, though she felt him looking after her, looking for some sign that he was doing the right thing. She wouldn’t give it, she thought, since he had already made his decision. It did make her position that much easier, she thought, if he wasn’t around.

  Chapter 15

  Caitlyn made it to her office, her face impassive. If she shut the door too loudly behind her, then so be it. She sunk into her chair, twirled it around so she could see the sliver of Queensbay Harbor. The sun was low in the sky, and the water danced with its reflected light. She was able to brood for only a few minutes before Heather rang her.

  “You have two calls.” Her stomach lurched.

  “From who?

  “A Mrs. Biddle and a Mr. Flynn.”

  Caitlyn’s stomach lurched. “Who’s Mrs. Biddle?” Caitlyn asked, the name not familiar to her.

  “One of your clients, from your newly assigned accounts. She’s threatening to pull her money out of the firm if someone doesn’t speak to her. Mr. Harris said you could handle it.”

  She told Heather to put Mrs. Biddle through and to take a message from Flynn. Just something else she needed to deal with later.

  “Hello?” The voice was too loud, as if the woman was shouting into the phone.

  “Yes, hello, this is Caitlyn Montgomery. Is this Mrs. Biddle?”

  “Yes, it is, where’s Jeffrey?”

  “Jeffrey?” Caitlyn asked and then remembered. He had left, a young man whose marginal brainpower was compensated for by superior family connections. He had decided it was time to try his hand at independent film producing. His timely departure had helped create the vacancy for Caitlyn to fill.

  “Jeffrey Sanders. I always used to speak to him.”

  “He’s left the company.”

  “I told them if they changed account managers on me one more time, I would take all of my money and store it under my pillow.”

  Caitlyn decided the woman was only half-serious, so she took a bit of a risk.

  “That would be very unwise, Mrs. Biddle. Your pillow won’t pay you any interest.”

  “You’re a good deal smarter than Jeffrey.” Caitlyn did not dispute that.

  “What can I really do for you, Mrs. Biddle?”

  “I need a date for tomorrow night. Jeffrey was always happy to escort me to these events,” Mrs. Biddle continued over Caitlyn’s astonished pause.

  “Yes, but I’m not Jeffrey,” Caitlyn said as she dug through the papers on her desk, desperately hoping to find something, anything on Mrs. Biddle. She pulled up a sheet and glanced at it. Her decision was made clearer by the amount of money in the account.

  “I’m free tomorrow evening.” Caitlyn decided she didn’t care when or what for.

  “Are you? Well, I suppose that you’ll do. You’re not a man.”

  “No, I’m not,” Caitlyn agreed.

  “It’s a reception, a cocktail reception. There will be photographers there. You can dress appropriately, I assume?”

  “I assure you, I can.”

  “Very well, my car will pick you up at five tomorrow.” Somehow, over the course of the conversation, Mrs. Biddle’s voice had changed from shaky and tremulous, to sure and commanding.

  “Yes, Mrs. Biddle, that sounds fine.” Caitlyn marked the date down in her calendar and thought about the problem of what to wear.

  Chapter 16

  Noah waited until he knew she was home before he knocked on her window. He came up from the beach and stood for a moment, under the light of the moon, looking at the house. Over a hundred years old, the house itself had been expanded as needed, so that the main shape of the house, a square, had been pushed out and up. But no matter what, the Montgomery family had always kept a wide, wrap-around porch, and now he could see Caitlyn silhouetted behind one of the tall windows, sitting in a small den or office, her back to the water as she looked into a small fire.

  Sitting in the study, with her thoughts focused on the day, she jumped when she heard the heavy tread on the porch and felt the slight rock of the house, followed by a rap on the window. She pulled back the curtain, and he waved. The door was open, of course, and he let himself in. Caitlyn had already changed, from her suit to jeans and a sweater with warm, thick socks on her feet. Noah took off his coat, and she hung it for him, giving him a quick view of her back. The jeans were old and faded and fit her tightly. He swallowed and looked around the place to let everything settle back to normal.

  “I let myself in.” He said. Caitlyn was simmering, he could tell, and when she simmered, she was sexy – sexy as hell. Noah let himself enjoy that.

  “Fine,” she allowed, and he followed her down the hall. “I suppose you’ll want a glass of wine, too.” Her voice was even, clipped.

  He nodded and followed her into the kitchen. He looked around, noticing the changes.

  She noticed his study and said, “It’s all my mother’s doing. She spent the last ten years putting her own sensibility on the place.”

  “I like it,” Noah said, the stripped, lighter feeling appealing to him.

  “Do you? It’s growing on me. I wasn’t prepared for the change, but now that I’m here, I like it. It’s lighter, more open. Sort of sophisticated beach house instead of mid-century masculine, with all of the dark woods and colors.”

  Caitlyn padded her way back to the study and sat on the couch. Noah poked at the fire for them, and it roared up before settling down. He took a seat at an angle to her, in a chair.

  “I should apologize to you.” he said, “For not giving you more of a warning.”

  “Warning?”

  “About my decision.”

  “Sounds like things are going to stay the same.”

  “They will for awhile,” he acknowledged, looking at her. Her blue eyes were deep, dark, and he felt himself being pulled to them.

  “I was trying to avoid you,” she said, moving a fraction of an inch away from him. Noah moved closer.

  “My father, did he… did he say anything to you?”

  “About what?”

  “About what he was going to do with the company? Did he promise you?”

  “What? Promise me that I could have it? That he would give it to me or let me buy in?” Caitlyn laughed.

  “No of course not,” she lied, but then rushed on to the truth, “Noah, he wanted you to have it. Not me, not Sam Harris.”

  “But you still came back. Did you think, maybe… there was a chance?”

  “If I thought that, even for an instant,” she said, “I knew it wasn’t what he really wanted. It was his, Noah, for whatever reasons, and I am pretty sure he wanted you to have it.”

  He smiled. “But I don’t want it.”

  “What do you mean?” Her look was incredulous.

 
“Suppose your mother, for instance, had left you an art gallery or something and wanted you to run it. You, however, had a completely different plan for yourself, a different vision.”

  Caitlyn shook her head. “Not a fair comparison. I sell things. That’s what I do, and I do it well. Right now, I sell investment advice. There are times when I think I could be selling something else, even art. For me, it wouldn’t be about giving something up. I would just be shifting my energies and my talents in a different direction.”

  Noah looked at her. “So you would take it over, wouldn’t you? Do you want it?”

  “Noah.”

  “I mean it, Caitlyn. I’d give it to you.”

  “I don’t need your charity, Noah Randall. Just because you waltz back in here, after all these years, with enough money to buy anything you want.”

  Caitlyn sprang up, walked to the fireplace and stared down into it. “I’m not for sale, Noah. I don’t know what you think you heard about me, but I’m not a gold digger. I worked hard for everything I achieved. I did in London, and I will do it here. With or without you, or Sam Harris or the Randall Group.”

  She was quivering with anger. He’d hit a nerve, so he held up his hands and said calmly, reasonably, “Well then, I could sell it to you. Fair market value.”

  Caitlyn shook her head. “I don’t have the money, Noah, not that kind of money.

  Noah stood and crossed the room to her, standing close to her, putting his arms on her shoulders. The fabric of her sweater was warm from the fire. “Something could be worked out, couldn’t it – if that’s what you really wanted to do?”

  Caitlyn laughed, but it was bitter. “Things are complicated.”

  Noah shook his head. Things were always complicated with Caitlyn. But that was what made her so compelling.

  “So, what should I do?” His fingers seemed to leap to her without his being conscious of it, his hands twirling a strand of her dark hair. He felt the silky texture, caught the sudden flash in her eyes as her breath caught.