"Good." Abby looked up from the report. "Is this my copy?"
"Yep."
She found the appropriate file folder in her drawer and inserted the report. "I've got to make some time this afternoon to do some calling myself. I talked to the administrator at Leland Ridge last night, and she's getting hassled by the VA hospital in Champlain."
"Big surprise there." Marcie rolled her eyes. "We've had problems with them since that new guy took over."
"I may need to go out there for a visit. We'll see."
"If you ask me, I think you should just be able to offer a gentle reminder that we give them over a million a year to make sure certain needs get met."
"Some people don't respond to subtlety." People like Ethan Maddux, Abby thought wryly. She glanced momentarily at the picture of her parents on her desk. "Dad used to say, 'Some people are determined not to give you the option of using diplomacy. They want you to go straight to artillery.' "
"Well, that definitely seems to be the case here. I don't know what else we're supposed to do, short of threatening him."
"Get me his number, and I'll set up a site visit." Abby leaned back in her chair. "Anything else?"
"One other thing." Marcie frowned. "Sorry, but I tried to prevent this."
"What?"
"Deirdre Montgomery is coming in today. She has some ideas she wants to discuss with you about the fund-raiser."
Abby groaned. As a favor to Harrison, she had agreed to let his sister Deirdre serve as honorary chairperson of the event. Coming off her fifth divorce, Deirdre was feeling a little fragile, Harrison had told Abby. The title, he'd said, would give her self-esteem a boost.
As far as Abby and her staff could tell, Deirdre's self-esteem had gone from launch pad to orbit in record time. Within days of receiving the invitation, Deirdre had descended on the office with a list of demands—including an office where she could conduct her "duties." Abby had taken the matter to Harrison, who had asked her to be indulgent. Against her better judgment, she'd succumbed.
Though Abby generally liked Harrison's sister, she realized that the power had gone to the woman's head. As Deirdre's demands had escalated, Abby's patience had waned. "What does she want this time?" Abby asked.
"Something about the entertainment. I don't know. I try not to listen too closely to what she's saying."
"Me either," Abby concurred. "When is she coming in?"
"At one."
"All right. Call upstairs and ask Ellen if Harrison is free to join us for the meeting."
Marcie snorted. "Like he would. He doesn't want to be around the woman either."
"Yeah, well, he created this problem for us, so he can solve it."
Three hours later, Abby frowned at Deirdre Montgomery and made a mental note to wring Harrison's neck at the first opportunity. "I understand why you'd see it that way, Deirdre, but this is—"
"Abigail." Deirdre leaned forward in her chair and pinned Abby with a hard stare. "Am I or am I not the chairperson for this event?"
"I've explained that," Abby said, trying not to grit her teeth. Ethan Maddux might not appreciate hearing it, but he definitely had some personality traits he'd inherited from the Montgomerys. His aunt was just as irascible and inflexible as he was.
Deirdre pursed her lips. "And I explained to Harrison that I was not going to take this job if it was merely some title with no responsibilities. For God's sake, Abby, my name is on this foundation. Surely you can see why I have an interest in making this event spectacular."
Turning it into a spectacle was more like it, Abby thought irritably. "I'm not arguing that," she said, keeping her voice calm. "I'm just saying that I'm not sure you understand the solemnity of the occasion. We've always—"
"I know, I know. This is the way you've always done it. I just want to bring a little spice into the thing."
"Donors who are paying fifteen thousand dollars for corporate tables expect a certain level of… dignity."
Deirdre frowned. "If I were forking over fifteen thousand—"
"It would be fifteen thousand of my money," Harrison said smoothly from the doorway. "Hello, Deirdre."
His sister started to stand, but Harrison held out his hand. "Don't get up." He glanced at Abby. "Feeling any ill effects from your trip to San Francisco?"
Abby studied him through narrowed eyes. This was the second time since her return from California that Harrison had mentioned the trip. As far as everyone on her staff knew, she'd made the trip to meet with two of the foundation's high-dollar donors—which she had, the same day she'd met with Ethan. Harrison's interest in the trip wasn't necessarily unusual. He generally took a personal interest in the workings of the foundation. But there was something she couldn't quite decipher in his usually benign expression—something that told her he at least suspected she was hiding something from him.
"Not too bad," she said carefully.
He looked at her for a few seconds, then took the seat next to Deirdre. "Now," he said smoothly, his implacable façade back in place, "let's talk about this business with the banquet."
Ethan settled into his first-class seat on the return flight from Prague. Irritated and exhausted after a grueling four days, he admitted that he had no one to blame but himself for the extent of his frustration. He'd been unable to take his mind off Abby Lee. That wasn't like him. He never had trouble focusing, but since his arrival in Prague, he'd found himself plagued with memories of their brief encounter. Mostly he thought about the way she'd looked at him when he'd told her about his past with Harrison. She'd looked simultaneously irritated and empathetic. He wasn't sure how she'd managed that, but he hadn't been able to shake the image.
The e-mail indicator beeped on his laptop, attracting his attention. He accessed the waiting message with a few clicks. At the name on the sender ID, his eyebrows lifted. While in Prague, he'd contacted an investigator friend in Chicago, asking for some general background information about Abby and how she'd come to work for Harrison. Ethan had made a habit in past years of keeping a more-than-casual interest in his father's business and personal lives. Though Abby and her work with the Montgomery Foundation, were not entirely unfamiliar to him, he'd wanted to know more. He hadn't expected an answer this quickly. He opened the message.
Ethan,
Generally as you suspected. Went to work for Montgomery ten years ago. Promoted to Foundation Director two years later. Sister Rachel is thirteen. Parents ran a restaurant on the waterfront. Died in still unsolved murder. Harrison hired her two weeks later. I'll brief you when I have more.
Ethan frowned and reread the message. It was scant, not at all like Charlie's usual reports. A basic, bare-bones kind of report with one tantalizing piece of information that piqued his interest. Unsolved murder. Harrison hired her two weeks later. The news was simultaneously perplexing and intriguing. He sent a response to Charlie, issuing a couple of specific instructions, then switched off the laptop with a shake of his head.
He was too damned tired, he told himself, to let Abby Lee keep him from getting a well-deserved rest as his plane crossed the Atlantic Ocean. He did manage to fall asleep quickly. But he dreamed of Abby's hair and a pencil with a chewed eraser.
* * *
A week after her trip to San Francisco, Abby put her pencil down on her desk so she could bury her head in her hands. A throbbing headache had started at the nape of her neck that morning and worked its way around to her temples.
She'd known things were bad. She never would have gone to see Ethan if she hadn't suspected how desperate Harrison's situation was. She'd been getting calls for weeks—from his board, his stockholders, and his family—begging her to reason with him.
Trouble was, nobody seemed to agree on what was reasonable.
A solid majority of his board wanted him to resign. If he didn't do it voluntarily, they'd soon demand it. There were stockholders calling for a buyout, while others were demanding that Harrison fend off the takeover bid his competitors had appeared
to launch several weeks ago. Stock prices were slipping, and most of Harrison's family were beginning to worry that the Montgomery purse was about to be tightened.
So she hadn't been completely naive, but nothing had prepared her for this.
Harrison needed a miracle.
In the week since her trip, Abby had spent what available time she had pulling together the reports and financial statements for Harrison's sprawling corporate interests. Though she was no expert, her long tenure at the company gave her a broad understanding of its inner workings. The Montgomery Foundation, which she ran with a small hand-selected staff, operated completely independently of Montgomery Data Systems. That had isolated her from most of the grim news about the company's financial outlook. The foundation's nonprofit status ensured a certain degree of separation.
But she'd learned more about MDS and its internal structure in the past week than she'd ever wanted to know. With an employee base of nearly six thousand workers in three countries, MDS had an interest in half a dozen other technology firms. Harrison had gambled big, and recklessly, on a couple of technological innovations. The shifting market had left him behind, and now his third-generation empire teetered on the edge of a hostile takeover.
The company he'd inherited from his autocratic and unforgiving father was crumbling. And while Ethan was right when he said the buyout wouldn't leave Harrison destitute, the cost to his pride was more than the old man could afford. Abby was sure of that.
She leaned back in her leather chair and turned to survey the view from her eighteenth-floor window. Harrison had saved her life once. She'd never forgotten that. So how in the world was she supposed to tell him that she'd failed to save his?
When the buzzer on her intercom rang, she was tempted to ignore it. The last thing she needed was another member of Harrison's histrionic family demanding that she save them from the realities of fiscal ruin. After several moments had passed, she reluctantly pushed the button. Harrison had always been available to her family, and Abby had made a lifelong habit of returning the favor. "What is it, Marcie?"
"Abby, there's a call for you on line four. I think it's a prank. But he's really insistent."
"Who is it?"
"Well, he says he's Ethan Maddux."
Abby's eyes widened. She hadn't really expected him to call. And given the near-legendary proportions of his feud with Harrison, it was no wonder her ever-efficient assistant hadn't believed him. Abby almost hoped Marcie had hassled him as only Marcie knew how. "I'll take it," she said.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She pulled one of her clip earrings off and reached for the receiver. Gathering her calm, she pushed the button. "Hello, Mr. Maddux."
"You didn't think I'd call, did you?"
Blunt as ever, she noted. Abby twirled her pencil on her desk. "Frankly, no."
"I always do what I say. You'll learn that."
That sounded like a challenge, so she let it pass. "How was Prague?"
"Wet. It rained the whole time I was there."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was tied up in meetings. I barely noticed."
"When did you get back?"
"This morning."
Abby's fingers stilled on the pencil. If she hadn't expected his call, she certainly hadn't expected him to move her to the front of his back-in-the-States agenda.
"Ms. Lee," he said, his voice sounding simultaneously impatient and commanding. "I've got a full day today. I don't have a lot of time right now."
"I understand. I asked for ten minutes, and I can tell you by way of—"
"Not now." She could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "I'm free for dinner tonight."
"Dinner?" Abby had the vague feeling that she was tumbling down Alice's proverbial rabbit hole.
"Yes. Even I stop to eat, Ms. Lee."
Dear Lord, was that a joke? "Um, yes, I guess you do."
"And after a day of airport food, I plan to enjoy the experience. There's a great steak house down the street from my office."
"You're in San Francisco."
"Yes. What if I make reservations for eight?"
"I'm in Chicago," she said, her jaw starting to ache from grinding her back teeth.
"I'll send you a ticket. You can pick it up at Midway at your convenience. Or O'Hare if you'd rather. Your choice."
"I can't fly out there tonight, Mr. Maddux."
"It's the best time for me," he insisted.
"Well, it's not good for me." She forcibly relaxed her grip on the receiver. "I can't."
"Why not? Harrison got you tied up?"
There was nothing in Ethan's tone to suggest more than a polite inquiry, but Abby still bristled. "None of your damned business."
If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she heard him smile. "No, I don't suppose it is. Sorry. I've got jet lag. I'm cranky. And talking about Harrison always makes me surly."
"Then why did you call me?"
"I told you, I'm doing this for you."
Abby drew a calming breath. "Mr. Maddux—"
"Let me explain that comment before you misinterpret it." The creak of his chair traveled across the phone line. She could easily picture him leaning back in that massive leather desk chair and propping his loafer-clad feet on the polished sheen of his ebony desk. "Despite what you might think," he said softly, "I have an enormous amount of respect for you."
Abby frowned. "Why? Because I was foolish enough to think you might be willing to help an old man who, for all his faults, took you in when you needed him to?"
"No." The gentle tone in his voice startled her. She'd expected fury. "It wasn't foolish."
"It felt foolish."
"Desperate, maybe. I'll give you that."
"That makes me feel better."
"As far as I'm concerned, your motivation carried weight with me."
"Motivation?"
"You did it because of your loyalty to Harrison. I might consider such loyalty misplaced, but that doesn't mean I don't admire you for it."
Abby traced the outline of her nameplate with her index finger. "Since when did you start admiring desperate women? I'm sure you meet your fair share."
His chuckle tumbled over her nerves with the soothing effect of hundred-year-old cognac. "There's desperation and then there's stupidity. I wouldn't put you in the latter category."
"Everyone who knows I went to see you does."
"Including Harrison?"
"I haven't told him yet," she admitted.
"Wise."
"Probably."
"Definitely. And that's another thing you have in your favor. You know how to admit that you're over your head. Harrison could learn a thing or two from you."
Abby pushed the nameplate away. "Look, I'm not really sure what you're getting at here, but I'm not going to get into a conversation about Harrison. I'm not comfortable with that."
"I can certainly understand why."
She let the comment pass. He had his reasons to be bitter, and as far as she could tell, they were good ones. "Look, Mr. Maddux, this is a really difficult day for me. I've got a major fund-raiser coming up this weekend, and I—"
"I won't keep you much longer," he promised. "Just let me make a proposition."
Her eyebrows lifted. "A proposition?"
"If the obstacle to dinner tonight is your sister, Rachel, then bring her along."
The question made her flesh tingle. "How do you know about Rachel?"
"I do my homework. How old is she—twelve?"
"Thirteen." Abby frowned. "I don't think—"
"Don't worry. I'm not invading your privacy. I just make it my business to keep informed about Harrison's life."
"Which means keeping informed about my life?"
He didn't miss the sharp note in her voice. "Put yourself in my place, Ms. Lee."
"I couldn't," she said honestly. "The Harrison you know and the Harrison I know are two entirely different men."
"And you t
hink your Harrison is worth saving?"
Abby let her eyes drift shut. "I think it will kill him if he loses the business."
"Then convince me," Ethan said softly, the challenge unmistakable.
"I can't come to San Francisco tonight—not even if I bring Rachel. Tomorrow's a school day." Did that sound as ridiculous to him as it did to her? As if the only thing preventing her from flying two thousand miles to have dinner with the man was her sister's first-period class.
"Don't you think a day in San Francisco would be just as educational as a day at school?" His chair creaked again. She heard his feet drop to the floor with a loud thump.
Abby grimaced. "Why are we even having this discussion? If you want to meet with me in person"—she flipped open her calendar—"then how about next week? I could do it on Thursday."
"I can do it tonight."
"Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Relentless."
"Absolutely," he assured her without a hint of remorse. "It makes me good at what I do."
"It makes you annoying."
"There are certain advantages to, ah, focus. In fact, I've heard it said that it's one of my assets."
Her breath came out in an irritated huff. "By whom?"
"Women."
Abby was glad he couldn't see the sudden flush on her skin. Blast the man. He was toying with her—and he was too damned good at it. Too late, she realized that her nervousness was making her fiddle with the top button of her blouse. She'd worked hard to break that habit, and now she forced her fingers to be still. "Look, Mr. Maddux, even if I wanted to, I couldn't possibly—"
"What if I meet you instead?"
"Excuse me?"
"What if I meet you instead? You can't come here, so I'll come there. I hadn't planned on the travel time in my schedule, but what the hell. I can catch up on my paperwork on the plane."
"I don't think—"
"Now what's the problem?" He was starting to sound exasperated. "Got a date?"
"That's not—"
"You're asking a lot of me, Ms. Lee. The least you can do is budge on a scheduling issue."
"You aren't—"
"If you have a date, break it. I'm sure he'll understand."
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