by Debra Webb
Alone in her room she swore, vowing impossible retribution on Kathrein as she packed up the few items she’d pulled from her suitcase before meeting Rush at his office. She reached for her laptop and saw the corner of a paper caught between the monitor and keyboard. Carefully, she fished it out and her blood turned to an icy sludge in her veins.
“We await news of your interview.” The statement captioned a grainy color picture printed on plain copy paper of her and Rush having lunch.
Cold, her hands quaking, Lucy spun around, as if whoever had been here would suddenly appear. Asking how he’d managed this was pointless. She should have expected Kathrein to have someone following her, verifying she didn’t involve the authorities. Anger revved up and chased the cold from her skin. The creaky old man better stay far away when she was reunited with Gwen and Jackson because if Lucy ever saw him again she’d rip him apart with her bare hands.
She folded the paper in half and tucked the note deep into a document pocket in her laptop bag. After one last sweep of the room, she headed downstairs with her luggage. At the front desk she discovered Rush had paid the bill.
She wheeled on him, her temper seeking the nearest available target. “That wasn’t necessary,” she said, biting each word. “Get a refund so I can take care of it properly.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She planted her feet and gripped the handle of her suitcase to keep from lunging at him. “I’m neither helpless nor in need of your charity.”
His gaze skimmed over the lobby behind her. “Can we discuss this in the car?”
Of course the most eligible bachelor in the city wouldn’t want to make a scene in the middle of a hotel. She forced herself to take a breath, to be rational. A public argument would undermine her determination to impact his life as little as possible. She relented, struggling for composure. “Sorry.”
He cautiously reached out and took the luggage from her. With her suitcase and laptop bag stowed in the trunk, she slid into the backseat and he followed, nudging her across. “That wasn’t a challenge to your independence,” he murmured.
She folded her arms over her chest. “I disagree.”
“What is the real issue?” He shifted, one arm stretched along the seat back, his fingertips close enough to brush her shoulder if he chose. “You weren’t prone to tantrums before.”
“This isn’t a tantrum.” She scooted as far from him as the car allowed, her gaze on the city passing by. “This is resistance to you stepping in and just handling things for me. I’m your personal assistant, remember? Not the other way around.”
“Starting tomorrow. Today you’re my friend.”
She could hardly confess that his thoughtfulness made it harder to deceive him. “Friends don’t just pay a friend’s hotel bill,” she pointed out. “I’m not broke, Rush.” No, she was only breaking from the emotional pressure.
“Fine.” He withdrew to his side of the seat. “I’ll have payroll take it out of your first check.”
“Thank you.” She hid her misery behind a gracious smile. His solution might have made her happy if this new job was as real as he believed it to be. She supposed she could leave a check with Melva when this was over.
They didn’t speak again until they reached the boathouse. The driver pulled into the garage and waited as Rush carried her bags upstairs. Inside, the space held an empty, stale chill, confirming he’d moved out. He walked to the sliding glass door overlooking the yacht harbor and stood there, his back to her, tension radiating from his shoulders.
At last he turned around, but he didn’t smile. “A grocery delivery is scheduled. It should be here in a few hours.”
“You said you didn’t live here.”
His gaze drifted around the space. “I don’t. I made the call while you were packing up.”
“I see.”
His inscrutable gaze locked on her suddenly. “I wonder about that.” He toyed with his sunglasses. “There’s a thing tonight I can’t change, or we’d have dinner together.”
“I’ll be fine on my own.” The solitude would be a welcome relief after the travel and whirlwind day.
His chest rose and fell on a big sigh. “Did I ever tell you your independence is attractive?”
She snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth too late to smother the sound. “Not once.”
“I should have mentioned it.” His smile was wide and easy again, putting a spark in his cornflower-blue eyes. “Make yourself at home. I’ll have the most efficient car available delivered later.” He winked. “If you don’t like it, just let me know when you get to the office.”
“Great.” She was done arguing about his generosity. He’d just given her the one thing she needed, an evening alone to try and break into the deceased Garmeaux’s box. “What time should I be in?” she asked as Rush opened the door to leave.
“Melva is always there first,” he said with a wry smile. “I asked her to have the office ready for you by eight.”
With that settled, Lucy thanked him once more and closed the door. Much as he’d done, she turned her gaze to the boats and the sunlight sparkling along the dark water of the bay. She’d missed this. The view, the ideal address and homey space outfitted with luxurious finishes, the scent of the water and crisp ocean air that provided a deep counterpoint to the masculine scent and energy of Rush that saturated every corner.
Not anymore. The house had obviously been unoccupied for some time and the only fragrance was the trace of cleaning products. Telling herself that was for the best, she carried her suitcase upstairs to the bedrooms. She stopped short at the doorway to the master. It looked exactly the same as when she’d shared it with Rush, with the king-size bed sprawling across dark hardwood floors and the sleek furniture softened by soft white and nautical blue fabrics.
Troubled, she turned down the hall to the guest suite. If Rush found out and asked about her decision, she’d lean on his theory of a family visit and claim the master had more room for her sister and the baby.
She closed her eyes on a wave of guilt. She had to stay positive, had to believe all three of them would make it through this. Four, if she counted Rush. After quickly unpacking to complete the charade in case there was a visit from a housekeeper in the next few days, she headed back downstairs.
Feeling like an interloper in a space Rush had created for himself, Lucy set up her laptop on the traditional polished-oak desktop in the sleek home office. When everything was connected properly, she turned on the device and soaked up the view of the Golden Gate Bridge while she waited for her system to boot up.
Taking a seat in the black leather chair still adjusted to accommodate Rush’s taller frame, she opened her email. The contract from Gray Box was there, along with the new-employee handbook and other documents she should deal with.
The handbook made her smile. She was proud of everything Rush had accomplished, dragging himself from his stint in juvenile detention to these stunning heights. If there was a silver lining in this dreadful situation Kathrein had created, it was the privilege of seeing Rush content and happy and completely in his element as an industry leader.
An instant message window flashed open on her screen and she frowned at the unfamiliar name. A progress report is required.
Kathrein. As if the note in her hotel room hadn’t been bad enough. Lucy hunched her shoulders against the trickle of fear sliding down her spine.
Are your guests safe? She typed into the chat window.
Report first.
She sighed. He had the leverage and they both knew it. I am working on it, she replied.
You are wasting time, his next message warned.
As she was typing in her response, a picture popped into the window. Jackson smiled, perched on Kathrein’s knee. It looked as if they were a perfectly innocent grandfather and grandson until Lucy noticed the man standing behind Kathrein, holding a menacing black gun aimed casually at the baby’s head.
Her eyes welled with tears and her breat
h caught in her throat. Her fingers fumbled, but she managed to save the picture for later study, hoping to find a clue to their location. Knowing questions about Gwen wouldn’t be answered and pleas for mercy wouldn’t sway Kathrein, she told him what he wanted to hear and prayed she could make it happen.
You’ll get the files.
Waste no more time. Another picture appeared, this time of her and Rush facing off in the hotel lobby.
She rubbed away the rash of goose bumps that raced over her arms with this additional proof Kathrein’s man had been trailing her all day, well within striking distance. She couldn’t continue to be so naive and oblivious. How had she not noticed?
The chat window disappeared and Lucy raced for the half bath down the hall, her stomach no match for the stress of his vile threats. When the heaving stopped, she sat back on her heels and let the tears flow.
Standing on wobbly legs, she splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth, then she went back to the office and set to work to save her family.
Chapter Four
Thursday, December 17, 7:20 a.m.
Rush managed to reach the executive floor ahead of Melva and had the coffee brewing when she walked in. “Good morning,” he said as he continued work at Trisha’s—Lucy’s, he reminded himself—desk.
The older woman stopped short, staring at him through the glass walls. “You’re early today,” she called out.
“First time for everything,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted as he continued clearing the desk before Lucy’s arrival.
Melva walked over, her short silver hair styled as perfectly as her subtle makeup. He’d once tried to find out how old she was and been given a runaround he chose not to unravel. Sharp as a tack, she managed the various personalities of the Gray Box top executives with proficiency and kindness.
She wrinkled her nose at the nameplate. “Did you come to your senses about that one?”
And the occasional sharp, maternal touch, Rush added to his list of Melva’s attributes. “Trisha has been moved to marketing. A better fit for her skills.” He glanced up when Melva sniffed. “What? I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“The girl may have a degree, that doesn’t give her skills.” Melva glanced around. “Why isn’t she here taking care of this?”
A question Rush had deliberately stopped asking himself. The answers were too revealing. “I wanted to do it.”
Melva pursed her lips. “Knowing how that one was, I figured I’d better come in early to make sure there wasn’t a catfight when Lucy arrived.”
“Please,” he argued. “You’re early every day.”
She beamed at him with motherly approval. “Hiring Lucy is just what you need.”
“She’s overqualified to be my assistant.” Going on the offensive was the only way to save face.
“Better that than the underqualified string of spokesmodels you’ve been running through lately.” Melva opened a drawer and showed the contents to Rush before dumping everything into the box of personal items on the floor. “Look at this mascara, man-killer red lipstick and nail polish. The only job she wants is Mrs. CEO.”
“She knew my rules going in. So what if she takes care of herself?” Rush said. “I respect that.”
“I take care of myself,” Melva corrected. “What she does is different. She’s cotton candy and you know it. Pretty on the outside and no substance underneath.”
It was tough to defend Trisha, or any of his recent companions, to Melva. “I give her points for sticking it out through the transition.”
“Which transition would that be? Out of the executive suite or out of your life?”
Rush ignored this astute comment. Trisha knew he didn’t do long term. She’d used him for a career boost and he’d used her as a distraction for the media. It was a functional system and it sounded better than calling her an emotional crutch. It had been mutual and he’d been clear with her about the true nature of their association.
He couldn’t even define his time with Trisha as a relationship. That term had been eliminated from his vocabulary when Lucy walked out on him. Or maybe he’d never truly owned the term. Rush clenched his teeth as the familiar ache pulsed through his system. He’d promised Lucy anything personal between them would be at her request. It might have been the dumbest promise of his life.
His persistent attraction to her defied all logic, all common sense. She’d left him and he’d never quite been able to hate her for it. He’d been ready to propose, unaware that she’d been ready to move on. His bruised pride had been nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of loss.
Yesterday he should have sent her packing, yet he’d welcomed her into his business. Eagerly, damn it. He was settling for the smallest crumbs she might toss his way, yet he couldn’t stop himself, giving her the job, the boathouse and a car. All of it despite the secrets she was keeping. Throughout his dinner obligations last night he couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t keep his thoughts away from Lucy. She was back and he wanted to keep her right here where he could enjoy her every day.
He wanted to find a way to get her back into his bed, where he could enjoy her every night, as well. To do that, he’d have to make Melva’s day and extricate himself from any perceived personal ties to Trisha.
“Trisha will find someone in marketing to latch on to. It will be better all around.”
Melva’s pewter eyebrows arched, her gaze full of skepticism. She reached into the box and flipped open a notebook. Rush leaned closer, cringing at the looping handwriting and heart-shaped doodles filling the page.
Mrs. Grayson.
Mrs. Rush Grayson.
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson.
Mrs. Trisha Grayson.
Well, she had excellent penmanship. He groaned. “She knew better. I was clear.”
“You knew better,” Melva scolded.
“I never gave her a reason to think long term was an option with me,” he said, putting the lid on the box.
“Hmm, I don’t need three guesses why,” Melva replied. She hefted the box that contained every last remnant of Trisha’s time in the assistant’s office.
“Let me get that,” Rush said.
“It isn’t heavy.” Melva shook her head and turned. “I’m only stowing it under my desk for now.”
He knew better than to argue when she used that tone. With the desk clear, he sat down to deal with the computer, searching out any files or records Trisha might have added that Lucy wouldn’t need. Finding a mocked-up wedding invitation, he sat back in shock. The file had been created yesterday afternoon after he’d messaged Trisha to set up preliminary list of locations for the summer camps.
He should thank Lucy. Her unexpected appearance had helped him dodge a major bullet. Rush scrubbed a hand over his face and deleted the project from the desktop along with several other inappropriate items. Maybe he should just give Lucy a new computer to start fresh. He didn’t need to hide his personal life from her. There were always mentions and pictures of him online at gossip sites and in the society pages of the local papers. He hadn’t been a monk in her absence, he just hadn’t been happy.
The thought jolted him. Of course he was happy. He’d propelled his company to the top and made Gray Box the platinum standard of cloud storage security. His personal life entertained him and served a purpose. He didn’t need a serious, meaningful relationship for fulfillment.
So, what was his problem?
He powered down Trisha’s system and unplugged everything. Only the monitor would stay. With a text message, he ordered the hardware and software packages Lucy would need and arranged to have them delivered as soon as possible.
He might only have her on a professional level as a personal assistant, but he could be patient and creative about reaching his ultimate goals. What they’d shared was special, even if he hadn’t expressed himself well at the time. Their history gave him some excellent ideas about tempting her back into an intimate relationship.
It was five m
inutes before eight when the elevator doors parted and Lucy appeared. She seemed relaxed as she greeted Melva. Today’s dress was a deep sapphire blue. The color reminded him of the water of Wineglass Bay in Australia when he and Gray Box cofounder, Sam Bellemere, had visited several months ago as part of a private consulting gig.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders and her heels clicked softly on the marble floor. As she approached he found himself inadvertently cataloging all the differences between her and Trisha. From the smile to the shoes, the women were night and day. Lucy’s smile was confident and open, though at the moment she seemed a little shy, as if he might rescind his offer. Trisha’s smile most often appeared with a calculating gleam in her eyes that kept a man on edge. The women were built differently, Trisha tall and slim while Lucy’s shorter frame boasted lush curves that had filled his hands. Lucy had a thing for shoes, he knew, but Trisha’s spiked heels could have been registered as weapons.
Lucy paused at the door. “Good morning.”
Rush shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing at her and scaring her off. “Welcome to your first day at Gray Box. Has HR been in contact?”
Her smile widened. “I went through as many training units as possible last night. Whoever designed those for you did a thorough job.”
“Thanks.” Had he ever hired less than the best for any task? His gaze skimmed the desk that was Lucy’s now, an obvious contradiction. Well, he had the best person in his assistant’s post now and that’s what mattered. “A new computer will be here soon.” He stepped back and opened his office door. “Once you’re settled, grab a coffee and come see me. We’ll use this morning to get you up to speed.”
“Sounds good.” She stowed her purse and a slim laptop bag in the cabinet behind her desk. “I’m ready.”
“You didn’t bring anything to personalize the space?” With an effort, he suppressed a flare of anger. Was she marking time with him again? He wouldn’t tolerate it.
