Asking For It (16 page)

He didn't want to please Kate. But — it couldn't be helped. He refused to do a bum-ass job any more. If he had to be in charge of these kids, he was damn well going to take charge of them.

With utter competence.

Yes, utter competence, no room for failure. Griffith's gaze went to Orlando, who was looking back at Griffith with undisguised rancor. Griffith was so caught with considering the possible reasons for Orlando's hostility, he almost didn't hear the last thing Kate was telling
his
nine-year-olds.

"So I'm sure you're going to do a great job picking avocadoes this morning," she said, with a sound of command.

Griffith's throat seemed to clear by itself, an attention-grabbing sound. Kate stopped and looked down at him.

He smiled, pleased to be opposing her again. "Ah, Miss Kate. My men and I have not yet discussed what we're going to do this morning." He had a definite idea of what such a 'discussion' was going to touch upon, and how it would resolve. There was a tomato field that had been left in an awful mess the day before. If there was anything Griffith knew about self-respect it was that you had to clean up your messes.

Meanwhile, Kate's fine eyebrows were descending. "I appreciate your wanting to involve the children in decision-making, but according to the schedule — "

"Yes, yes, I know all about your schedule." Griffith waved an imperious hand. "But we have yet to discuss which of our responsibilities is the most pressing this morning." He looked at her.

She looked back.

It was a contest of wills in more ways than one. Who was going be top dog around here? That was one question. The other question was if Griffith could hold the woman's gaze without...showing anything. Could he hide from her the thoughts that had kept him up half the night? It would be death, he was sure, to let her know he was obsessed with her. By a kiss, no less, and a kiss that had hardly even been a kiss!

Oh, sure, he'd been turned on by her from the beginning, but he'd set off something in the tomato field last night, something...different. His heart beat very hard as he looked into her clear, deep eyes.

To his immense relief, she looked away. His heart began to thud down to a normal rhythm.

"Fine," she said, and tucked her clipboard under her arm. "Fine. I'll leave it up to you to figure out your responsibilities."

As if you have any choice
. But, for once, Griffith didn't mouth the retort. He couldn't say he knew just where the balance of power lay any more, with him or with her... Or somewhere uncomfortably in between. So he simply watched her whirl and stride away, afraid to say anything.

~~~

Ricky didn't know what to make of it. On Tuesday evening, he sprawled in one of the big wooden chairs at a private table within the renovated splendor of UCLA's law library and squinted at the woman who was tapping madly away on her laptop at the table across from his. Deirdre was helping him catch up with his legal work.

Again.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. He'd only asked her to help him on Sunday because he'd thought it might give her the idea to reciprocate. She might ask Ricky for help with her work at Blaine Development.

If she would do that, he might finally find the dirt he needed to make Griffith Blaine forget building the Wildwood project.

Deirdre abruptly halted and bit her thumb. She frowned darkly at her screen. Ricky frowned darkly at her.

She hadn't asked him to help her with her own work, alas. But she had caught him up with his. She'd been such a whiz at looking up citations that by the time Ricky had come into his office on Monday morning he'd been back on top of things.

Ricky had been surprised...and grateful...and oddly touched. Other than Kate, he didn't know anyone who'd do so much for him. Not that he'd
needed
the help. Hey, Ricky didn't need anything from anybody. It was like his religion.

But Deidre's help had been...nice.

Now, rubbing his thumb against his teeth, he regarded Deirdre, with her dark hair in a simple ponytail, her tomato-red lipstick fading, and a look of quiet intelligence in the gaze she was training down at her computer screen. By no means glamorous, she was solid, sincere, genuine.
Helping him
again.

Ricky's stomach performed on odd, sideways lurch. He shifted in his chair and then stood up.

Deirdre's concentration finally broke from her work. She glanced up at him.

Ricky forced a smile, something light and unconcerned. "How're you doing?" he mouthed.

She smiled back, lifted a shoulder. Her gaze flickered back to her screen.

Irritated that her concentration appeared to be better than his, Ricky strolled around to her desk. There were
other
ways the woman could be helping him, like giving him a little physical attention, for example. They hadn't made love since Santa Barbara. Hell, neither one of them had had the time.

"Working hard," Ricky murmured. Behind her now, he set his hands on her shoulders.

"Mm," Deirdre replied. She moved her shoulders up and down in a gesture that approved of his hands there, but her concentration remained on her work.

Ricky began a light massage, determined now to get her attention. Meanwhile, he squinted at her screen, wondering what law citation had captured her interest so.

It wasn't a citation. In fact, it wasn't Westlaw at all. Ricky bent forward in order to read the title at the top. Then he went very still.

Deirdre was working on Wildwood.

Ricky's heart went tha-dunk, and then started to race. He took a moment, making sure he could school his voice. "Uh...what's that on your screen?"

"Mm." She bit her thumb again. "It's a loan agreement."

Ricky's heart kept racing. "Well, whatever it is, it looks like it's giving you heartburn."

Deirdre laughed, then covered her mouth and looked around guiltily. One rarely heard anything louder than a book hitting a table in the law library. She turned her head to glance up at Ricky. "You can see that?"

Ricky leaned down. "I can see everything. Including, from this angle, down your blouse. Nice bra, by the way. Do I get to take it off later?"

She almost laughed again, but stifled it in time, then swatted him in the stomach. "Animal."

Ricky chuckled, hoping to make his next words sound casual. "So what's the problem with the loan?"

"No problem, just..." Her words trailed off as she turned her attention back to her computer. Ricky held his breath as the seconds ticked by. Adrenaline zinged through him. There
was
a problem with the loan, with Wildwood in particular. He'd
known
.

Meanwhile, Deirdre tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. Abruptly, her fingers halted. Slowly, she looked up at Ricky.

His racing heart squeezed. Such a look she was giving him, a flicker of hope and a busload of trust. In
him
.

Ricky gritted his back teeth and steeled himself against Deirdre's expression. If there was something fishy about Wildwood, it shouldn't get built. It shouldn't get built anyway, not if it meant putting Kate and Camp Wild Hills out of business, but it would be even more wrong — and fully stoppable — if there were something illegal about it.

"There is a problem," Ricky said, low, calm...encouraging.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. "It needs Griffith's signature."

Ricky's brows snapped down. "That's a problem?"

Deirdre drew her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating.

"He doesn't want the loan?" Ricky asked.

"Oh, he wants the loan. At least...I assume he does."

Ready to shake her, Ricky merely tilted his head.

Deirdre appeared to sense his impatience. In a rush, she gave in. "I assume he wants the loan because the last time I saw him he was all hot to give this big presentation to try to get it, but that was a week ago — and I haven't seen him since."

Ricky stared at her. "What do you mean, you haven't seen him?"

Deirdre threw up her hands. "He isn't answering his phone, which is simply forwarding back to the office and ringing
my
phone. He's left no messages or emails. I have no idea where he is, or what's going on with him!"

Ricky's heart was beating so hard now he was afraid Deirdre would see it shaking him. Griffith had taken a powder? Or was this just worrywart Deirdre over-reacting? Maybe Griffith was on a bender in Las Vegas and would drag in tomorrow morning with a mother of a hangover.

Or maybe he'd absconded with the company coffers and was sipping Mai Tai's in Tahiti.

This could be dirt beyond dirt. A regular death knell for the Wildwood project... Or it could be all flash and no substance, a woman's vivid imagination and his own wishful thinking.

"So." Ricky went very slow. "I take it you've been holding the office together, all on your own, since last Tuesday?"

"The place runs itself." Deirdre sounded disgusted. "Do you know I'm the only person who cares that Griffith hasn't been around for a week? The only one."

Ricky's lips twitched. That was Deirdre, all right. Caring, even for a scumbag like Blaine.

"I called the police," she told him, pinch-lipped. "Even though Helen thinks he's romancing a client somewhere. I called the cops, and they filled out a report, but big deal. They aren't
doing
anything. The best they could do was ask me if I'm simply out of Griffith's travel-plan loop."

"Maybe you are," Ricky said.

Deirdre made a rude sound.

Ricky bit the inside of his cheek. "And the loan...?" That was the important thing.

"I've been putting off the bank, while keeping them interested, but I can't go on forever. One of these days — soon — that loan has to get signed, or they'll give the money to somebody else."

Ricky was so lost in the rosy idea that Griffith was going to screw up his own financing for Wildwood, that it took him a minute to realize Deirdre was looking at him as if she was expecting an answer.

He blinked. Had there been a question?

"Somebody has to sign for that loan," Deirdre said.

Ricky blinked again. Was she thinking...? "Oh, no," he told her. "You can't sign for that loan."

"Helen in accounting has been signing all the paychecks, with Griffith's signature on a rubber stamp."

Ricky straightened. "Uh uh uh. That's a different animal altogether." And he couldn't let Deidre keep that project alive, not when there was a good chance it was about to die a marvelous death.

"I know, I know." Deirdre's gaze was beseeching. "But Griffith must have spent a few hundred thousand on the development of that site. It will all be lost if we don't get the financing to actually build and then sell it."

Ricky didn't give a flying fuck how much money Blaine was going to lose. "You can't sign Griffith's name to that loan agreement. I'm speaking as a lawyer, Deirdre. You'd be taking on all kinds of personal liability, not to mention possible criminal charges. No, no. And besides it would be
wrong
." This last Ricky could say with utter conviction.

Deirdre looked suitably chastised. "You're right. I know you're right." Her gaze went past Ricky. "I only wish I knew what's happened to Griffith."

"I'm sure he's fine." Ricky fervently prayed the man was sipping Mai Tai's in Tahiti. He squeezed Deirdre's shoulder. "Meanwhile, you mind your p's and q's. I know you want what's best for the company, but Deirdre, there are some lines you just shouldn't cross."

She set her hand on top of his on her shoulder. Hers was a gentle, feminine hand, a hand that could stroke his body to mindless delight — and a hand that had looked up a shitload of cases for him on Sunday. Ricky suddenly heard his own words echoing back at him.
There are some lines you just shouldn't cross
.

"You're right," Deirdre said. "And thanks."

"Hey." Somehow Ricky managed a crooked smile. "I'm just looking out for you." And then, because he didn't want her seeing his face, he bent to kiss her. But he suddenly felt dizzy.

As if he wasn't sure any more exactly which lines he'd crossed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kate wasn't buying it. Griffith had to be up to something. He couldn't be serious about taking care of the kids and acting like a real camp counselor. The man was pure selfish slime.

Late Wednesday morning she passed her campers off to Arnie in order to conduct a spot-check of Griffith's activities.

She felt a spurt of satisfaction in discovering Bunkhouse Three was not in the barn stringing onions, their appointed job for the morning. She stepped into the cool, spacious structure and heard complete silence.

Ha, he was spurning the rules again, despising the kids. Acting like the kind of man she'd always known he was. Kate's lips curved grimly.

It took her twenty minutes to find him. He and his campers were splashing around in Wild Tail Creek, just below the fork where the water destined for drinking went the other way through the filter. Boys were jumping in and out of the creek, shouting and laughing and juggling clear plastic quart jars. Griffith stood barefoot on a boulder above this activity, smiling and shouting encouragement and directions.