Facets (58 page)

“I’m not.”

“I’ll see that paperwork. Then I’ll decide for myself.”

Despite John’s command, Cutter was in the driver’s seat, and he knew it. He was the one calling the shots. “I’ll have my lawyer contact you later today to arrange a meeting.”

“I won’t be in later today.” John glanced at his watch. There was a faint tremor in his hand when he braced his fingertips on the desk. “I have one meeting at eleven and another at two. I won’t be returning to the office today.”

“Then he’ll contact you in the morning. You have until Friday to make a decision. That should be enough time.”

Without acknowledging the statement one way or the other, John lifted his briefcase from the side of the desk and started for the door.

Cutter had never been one to kick a dog when it was down, but John wasn’t any ordinary dog. “If you’re hoping to stall long enough to put a counterattack together, don’t,” he advised. “The smear starts at the first hint of a fight. Once it starts, you’ll have trouble finding another position.”

John stopped at the door with his hand on the knob.

To his back, Cutter said, “And don’t think that you’ll be able to set up shop somewhere else and then force a hostile takeover of the St. George Company. We’ll be putting through some stringent anti-takeover clauses. You won’t have a chance.”

John turned the handle, opened the door, went through, closed the door behind him. He walked at an even pace, one impeccably shod foot following the other with mechanical ease. He was aware of an odd, almost distant shaking inside him, but his mind couldn’t seem to focus in on it. Although he held his briefcase, his hand felt empty. That was pretty much what he felt all over. Empty. Stunned. Alone.

He looked for the anger in him, looked hard and deep, and it was there, he supposed, but he didn’t have the strength to drag it up to the surface. The same thing went for his cockiness. He was tired of fighting silent ghosts. It seemed he’d been doing that all his life, trying to find the spot that was just right for him. He thought he’d found it. He thought he’d made it. Being at the helm of the St. George Company filled most of his needs.

Now he was going to lose it. Cutter had it all worked out. John knew enough about business—he’d been the one to take the company public in the first place—to know that it would happen just as Cutter had said. Without Patricia and Pam, he’d lose it. He had counted on them. Assumed. He didn’t know why. But he had.

The front door was before him, but he saw the faces back in the library as they had just looked at him. There had been no warmth, no support, no understanding. Except in Hillary. She had had tears in her eyes and a fist pressed to her mouth. She was the only one of the bunch who felt anything for him, anything at all.

Was it pity, or compassion? He didn’t know. Pity, he didn’t want. He still had his name. He still had his pride. He still had a future.

Compassion was something else. He could deal with compassion, he supposed.

But not right now. Taking a long, hard breath, he closed his eyes for a minute and dug down deep for composure. He had a meeting to make, and he didn’t want to be late. He was known for punctuality. It was part of the executive image—on time for one meeting, so that he would be on time for the one after it, and the next, and the next. He was a busy man. He was important. He was in demand. It was time to get going.

Hillary heard the sharp close of the front door. It echoed through the silence that had filled the library since John’s exit. Blinking back her tears, she looked around at the others in the room. They didn’t look triumphant. She wished they would. Then she could be angry. She could tell them what hypocrites they were for having criticized John over the years, when they’d just done to him what he’d done to them.

No, they didn’t look triumphant. But that didn’t mean they were going to change their minds. She couldn’t ask them to, and even if she did, they wouldn’t. They had worked too long and hard to get where they were. And she had to admit that Cutter was right about the poetic justice in what had happened.

Through it all, John had kept his dignity. She was proud of him. He hadn’t embarrassed himself or her by resorting to tantrums or yelling matches. He had known he was beaten. His final words were simply a way of saving face.

Lord, she felt for him. And he had looked so alone as he walked out that door.

Whirling around, she pulled open the door and started after him. But by the time she reached the front steps there was no sign of him at all.

Cutter was behind her. After a minute, he took her hand. “What now, Hillary?”

She looked up the street again, thinking that maybe John would somehow reappear. But he didn’t. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding just as she felt, on the near side of panic. “I think I’ll try to call him later.”

“What if he hangs up on you?”

“Then he hangs up. He’s done it before. I’ll wait a little while, then try again.”

Cutter squeezed her hand. “You deserve more.”

“I know. I know, Cutter. But he’s all I ever wanted.”

“You wanted a career.”

“Because I couldn’t have him.”

“You still have your book.”

She thought about that for a minute, thought about why she’d written it, what she had hoped to get out of it. Then she shook her head. “I’m not finishing it.”

“Not finishing it at all?”

She shook her head again.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Too close. Too hot. Too painful.” She took a shaky breath. “I thought I wanted revenge. But revenge hurts. Besides,” she tried for a smile and failed, “I don’t know how it will end. How’s that for a reason?”

“As good as any for now,” he said so kindly that she fought back a moan. In the next breath, she slipped an arm around his neck and gave him a tight hug.

“You’re my friend. Can I call you sometimes?”

“I’ll be mad if you don’t.”

Drawing back, she patted his lapel. “Mad is for dogs. But you’re a man. A good man.” She sent him a timid look. “Will you be angry if I stick with him?”

“Angry as hell. You deserve better than what he’ll give.”

“But I love him.”

“Which is something I’ll never understand.”

She paused, swallowed, shrugged. “Me neither. But that’s the way it is.”

He seemed about to say more, then thought better of it and simply said, “I want the world for you, Hillary.”

There were tears behind her smile. “Same here,” she whispered. After giving his lapel a final pat, she trotted down the steps and went off up the street.

Cutter watched her until he heard Pam’s voice. “Will she be all right?”

He turned, smiled, put a hand to her neck because he badly needed to touch her. “I don’t know. It’s such a crazy thing, what she feels for John.”

“It always has been. I’ve never understood it. He’s been so cruel to her, yet she keeps going back for more.”

“Some women do that.”

“But I want her happy.”

“Maybe she will be.” He swore softly. “All these years she’s been on his side, and the bastard never saw it. He has a gold mine in her. If he doesn’t see that now, he deserves to go right down the tubes.”

Pam slipped an arm under his jacket and around his waist. She was feeling strangely deflated. “I thought it would feel so good,” she said quietly. “I thought there would be this tremendous high, this fantastic sense of victory, this . . .?glee. But there isn’t.”

Cutter knew just what she meant. “That’s the difference between us and him. He would have felt it.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“Resign. He’ll go elsewhere. He’ll do fine.”

She tipped her face up against his shoulder. “Does that bother you?”

He met her gaze. “No. He can do what he wants. I just want him out of my hair. Out of your hair. Away from this company. Once that’s done, he’s lost the power to hurt us.”

They looked at each other in silence for several minutes.

“It’s been a long time in the coming,” she whispered.

“I’ll say,” he whispered back.

“There’s so much we’ve lost.”

“But so much we’ve gained. We both have names and careers. We have an incredibly beautiful daughter. And we have time, lots of time down the road.”

Pam felt a pang of sorrow. “Brendan doesn’t. We’re starting a new treatment program next week, but it may buy a few months at most. Things don’t look good, Cutter.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her close.

“Will you be there for me when it happens?” she asked.

“You know I will.”

“Even when I’m sad and grieving? I do love him. It’s very different from how I love you, but I’ll miss him when he’s gone. Can you live with that?”

“It’s what makes you you.”

His comment was what made Cutter Cutter, and she loved him all the more for it. Slipping her arms around him, she took strength from the sound of his heartbeat for a poignant moment, before kissing him lightly and going back inside.