False Pretenses (20 page)

“And now you're having to marry that awful woman to fill up the till.”

“True again.”

“Have you an agreement with her?”

“That's none of your damned business.” He rose and she saw his anger, and the lines of weariness on his face.

“You're working hard.”

“Yes, there's so much to be done, to be mended.”

“You don't have to marry her.” Why had she said that? Catherine stared at him, her eyes wide on his face.

“She's the best catch in town,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I bet she's got as much money as you do, little girl.”

She blurted out, “Were you in love with Elizabeth?”

Rowe lit a cigarette, inhaled once, and ground it out.

“You don't smoke,” said Catherine.

“Amanda must have left them here.”

“Rowe, I—”

“Please leave, Catherine. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Can I buy you a drink somewhere?”

“Aren't you afraid I'll come on to you?”

“I'd be shocked if you did. Perhaps you're afraid I'll come on to you.”

“That would be something, wouldn't it?” He looked at her. “Look, I don't want to go out with you, for whatever reason.”

She shook her head at him, swiping the back of her hand automatically against her nose.

“It's bleeding again,” he said. “Are you ill?”

“No, not anymore.”

He watched her wipe her nose.

“Coke,” he said. “I trust you're off it now.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good. You're too young to destroy yourself.”

“You sound like you care.”

He pointed toward the office door. “Good-bye, Catherine.”

“I'll see you in a couple of days, Rowe.”

“You might as well give it up, Catherine. I mean it. Oh, shit, I can't tell you a thing . . . All right, Thursday night, at Barney's.”

“Thank you, Rowe.”

He watched her leave his office and ran his hand through his hair. Why had he done that?

 

Millicent Stacy stared at the phone for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. She rose and went into Elizabeth's office.

“Yes? Something exciting, Milly?”

“Maybe. That was Mr. Harley's secretary on the phone. He wants to see you tomorrow morning. He wants to hand-deliver the agreement to you.”

“Interesting,” Elizabeth said. She wondered why. He certainly hadn't done anything in the meantime to change the situation. The men following him had reported that he'd gone about his business at the same time every day. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. Perhaps this time he wanted to plead, to beg.

Her eyes glittered.

“I'll be delighted to see Mr. Harley. I think I'll even take him to lunch.”

“What are you smiling about, Elizabeth?” Adrian asked, coming into her office. “You look like a judge who just sent another crook up the river.”

Elizabeth grinned at him. “Jonathan Harley wants to see me tomorrow, agreement in hand.”

“Signed, I presume?”

“I hope he does it in front of me. With my pen.”

“Do you want any reinforcements present?”

“Nope. Why spoil my fun? Now, what do you have for me?”

“Organization charts, with names and accompanying responsibilities, for the six companies located in the Northeast.”

“Number of women in managerial positions?”

Adrian shook his head. “Only twelve in all. And only one from the middle rungs.”

“Do you have their personnel folders, including all their performance evaluations?”

“You got 'em.” He plunked down twelve folders on her desk.

“After I've gone through these, Adrian,” Elizabeth said, “we'll set up meetings with all the management staff of the companies I select, here in New York. Then we'll see.”

“I assume the women will also be present?”

“Yes, I imagine most of them will. I want to see how they perform, how they deal with their male bosses, and how the men in turn treat them.”

“Have you ever considered setting up a castration center in Albany?”

“No,” she said, “and don't be sarcastic. It's an idea—I'll consider it. Just think of it. Our managers don't only retire, they get their performance permanently eliminated.”

That evening over dinner, Elizabeth, who'd reviewed all twelve folders in great detail, was telling Christian, “There are seven of them who deserve a lot more than they've got.”

She'd begun talking to him at last about work. He was more pleased than he could say. He was building her trust in him.

“Will you meet with the women individually following the meetings?”

“I sure intend to.” She toyed a moment with her glass of white wine. “It's odd, I know it. I was never a part of any movement, women's or otherwise. I was always just . . . alone. Me and my trusty piano.”

“And now you're using power in a positive way.”

“I'm glad you understand, Christian.” She gave him a glowing smile and he was so instantly horny that he wanted to fling her on the floor of the restaurant. Instead he said, “You've even made me aware. I was at a board meeting with the Westward Corporation—you know, appliances and all that—and I even brought it up. The other good ole boys looked at me like I had a crack in my brain.”

“What happened?”

“I made a luncheon appointment with the CEO. Since I can buy and sell him, I think he'll be receptive to my concern.”

“I think you're wonderful, Dr. Hunter.” And she meant it. She recognized at times, particularly at night when she was trying to get to sleep, that he'd helped her keep some balance in her life. She said suddenly, “Let's go back to my place, and I'll play for you. Whatever you want.”

“Is Kogi still keeping the piano dusted?”

“Yes, he never gives up.”

“Nor will I, Elizabeth.”

She went still for a moment, not wanting to examine what he'd meant by those words. He was her friend. She wanted nothing more. She couldn't handle the other, at least not now.

“It's all right, Elizabeth.”

She managed a smile. “You know me too well, Christian.”

“I'm trying. Are you ready? I want my savage breast soothed.”

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Harley is here, Elizabeth,” Millicent said.

It was all she could do not to rub her hands together. “Send the gentleman in, Milly.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Carleton. How lovely you look today.”

“I left all my conceited bones at home this morning, Mr. Harley, but it's a refreshing approach on your part.”

“Ah, you see that innocuous comment as pandering?”

“Correct. Now, what can I do for you? I understand you've brought me the signed agreement.”

“Not quite, but almost. Before I do sign it, I would like to try some new negotiations with you.”

“Forget it.”

“I said ‘try,' Mrs. Carleton. Surely you can't blame me for that, can you?”

He didn't seem at all like a man on the brink of surrender. She frowned at him. The men following him said he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary at all—no more consultations with any banks. Of course, there could have been phone calls to out-of-state banks . . . She'd have that followed up immediately.

She said, “I trust you haven't tried any banks outside Pennsylvania.”

“As in Utah?”

“Exactly.”

“No, I wouldn't dream of going to Utah or any other state. I figured you'd find out about it if I did, and stop it.”

“Quick as a flash, Mr. Harley.”

“Of course, any bank I approached for a loan would have to know about the note you're now holding.”

“Mr. Harley, what do you want?”

He smiled at her. “Just making conversation, Mrs. Carleton.”

“I'm a busy woman—”

“Yes, I know. I understand you've offered lunch. Shall we discuss my ideas over lunch?”

“As you wish.” She reached for her purse. “At least the weather is smiling on you today, Mr. Harley.”

“Don't you think it's about time you called me Jonathan?”

“No.”

“Well, that's clear enough.” He offered her his arm, which she ignored.

“Milly, I'll be back at one o'clock.”

“Yes, certainly, Elizabeth.”

“Do you think we should stop meeting like this?” Jonathan asked when they entered the Cantina.

“I eat most of my lunches here,” she said. “Because of José's surveillance, of course.”

“I can't get over a Mexican restaurant with Art Deco decor. Only in New York.”

Once they were seated, Jonathan said, “Are you having my phones bugged?”

She looked at him sharply. Had he known he was being followed? “No,” she said mildly, “but I suppose I should consider it.”

“I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you you could certainly trust me.”

“No, not on your life.”

Jonathan merely smiled at her, pulled an envelope from his breast pocket, and laid it on the table. “Here's the agreement.”

Elizabeth opened her purse and pulled out her pen. “And here's the pen.”

“Symbolic for you?”

She said nothing.

“Down with the nasty, pushy man? Rub his nose in it? Kick him metaphorically in his private parts?”

“You're reading all my thoughts quite accurately.”

“Before I sign, can we take a moment to talk things over?”

“Hello, José,” Elizabeth said. “Are you ready to order, Mr. Harley?”

They both ordered Perriers and lunch.

“Now, Mr. Harley, what could you possibly have to say?”

Jonathan sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. He looked completely at his ease. Completely in control. “First of all,” he said, “would you consider marrying me?”

 

E
lizabeth's eyes widened in surprise, but that was all. She sat back in her chair, trying to copy his body language.

“How very flattering of you, Mr. Harley,” she said finally. “Do I take it that if I marry you, you would expect some sort of dowry?”

“No,” he said, grinning at her. “You wouldn't have to give me a dowry. Not precisely, anyway.”

“Ah, the ‘not-precisely' catch.”

He grinned at her, and tossed a tortilla chip into his mouth. He said, still smiling, “All you have to do is promise to keep your fingers out of my various pies. I'm not a greedy man.”

“Not a greedy man, huh? And just what are you, I wonder, Mr. Harley?”

“Horny, for one thing.”

“Surely you have enough funds left to relieve that particular problem.”

“I have a thing for blonds.”

Elizabeth said sharply, “I think that's quite enough, Mr. Harley—”

“I should have said
natural
blonds.”

“Here is your burrito. You did order the
macho,
didn't you?”

“Yes, indeed,” he said. She watched him busy himself with his lunch, unperturbed.

“Should I take your silence for a yes?” he asked, looking at up her.

“Mr. Harley, aren't you afraid I'd do away with you in your sleep?”

Her voice was light, mocking, but once again he felt the pain in her and tried to draw back from it. “But you would have all the money, dear lady. There would be no need. You could simply boot me out the door when you tired of me.”

She felt a spurt of relief. He was once again being slippery, but that was now a known quantity. Of course, she had asked for it. Never, she thought, should she forget what he truly believed about her.

She took a bite of her lunch, ignoring him.

“How is Dr. Hunter?”

“This is interesting, Mr. Harley,” she said, carefully setting down her fork. “Would you care to tell me why you're purposely trying to make me want to ruin you?”

“Am I doing that? Men, I suppose, can behave stupidly—and at the most inappropriate times. Since, of course, I'm completely at your mercy, I should be kissing your toes, shouldn't I?”

“I wouldn't mind at all seeing you beg.”

“All right.” He picked up the pen, her pen, and signed the agreement with a flourish. “There, Mrs. Carleton. You've won. My company goes into your maw on the day my loan is due—if I can't pay it, of course.”

“You forgot to mention that what you get out of it is the original offer from me. ACI stock or cash, whichever you wish.”

“And a seat on the ACI board?”

“No, not possible. Console yourself with the thought of all that money.”

“How could I forget your generosity? I've tried to find a likely metaphor. I like to think of what you're doing as just like someone coming up to a father who has only one child—a child he's very proud of and loves very much—and offering to buy the child, and when the father refuses, threatening ruin to the father and stealing the child anyway.”

“You seem to have a flair for the melodramatic, Mr. Harley. So you basically came here to New York to plead with me, biblically, to let your children go?”

“Just one child, Mrs. Carleton,” he said softly, deadly serious. Suddenly his expression changed, becoming boyish, roguish. “No, I came here to ask you to marry me. I couldn't very well do that over the phone. Besides, I needed to see you, needed to be certain that you were as beautiful as I'd remembered.”

“You're pushing it, Mr. Harley,” Elizabeth said.

“You'd get along great with my ex-wife. Why don't you have dinner with me this evening? Perhaps we could go to the theater—maybe
Phantom of the Opera?
”

“Or
Lion King
?”

“
Cats?
”

She started laughing, she couldn't help it. Jonathan stared at her a moment, then joined in.

“You don't laugh too often, do you?” he said after a moment.

“Enough,” she said. She stretched out her hand for the agreement.

Jonathan merely smiled. “I'll give it to you if you come out with me tonight.”

Elizabeth eyed him, wishing she could read his thoughts, understand his motives. Did he think to charm her into changing her mind about his company? That had to be where he was coming from. Well, two could play at that game. Why not rub his nose in it?
Why not let him try all his little male tricks? It should be very amusing.

“All right,” she said. “It sounds so delightful, how could I refuse?” She returned to her lunch, aware that he was now silent, obviously surprised, staring at her across the table. At least he hadn't believed he was irresistible to her. She wanted to laugh, to look at him and laugh, but she didn't.

She sipped her Perrier. “I don't eat at well-known restaurants, Mr. Harley, for obvious reasons. Why don't I meet you at seven o'clock this evening at the Pirouette?”

Jonathan didn't quite know what to make of how things had fallen out. What was she up to?

Then he decided what he would do. He smiled at her and said, “If we have dinner at seven, we'll have plenty of time for a club. How about it?”

“As you wish. Just not one of the famous ones—again, for obvious reasons.”

He nodded. “Do I get to pay for this lunch?”

Elizabeth merely shook her head and rose from her seat. “This evening, then, Mr. Harley.”

He watched her walk between the tables toward the front of the restaurant and wondered if she'd stand him up.

Elizabeth considered it at least a dozen times. The man hated her. He had to. But, she admitted grudgingly to herself that evening as she was dressing, no matter how much he annoyed her, how much he made her want to smack him, he made her feel alive. Even when her blood pumped with rage at something he'd said, she felt alert, involved. She shook her head at her mirrored reflection. No, she was in no danger of becoming a mushbrain over this man. No man, ever again.

Drake dropped her off a half-block from the Pirouette, precisely at seven o'clock. To her unadmitted relief, she saw Jonathan Harley standing just inside the
small restaurant door, talking to the doorman about the Mets. For the first time, she looked at him, really looked at him, and admitted objectively that he was a handsome man. He was a bit broader than Rowe, bigger-boned, his skin swarthy, his hair black. Beneath that suave, well-dressed exterior was a man of dubious motives. She wouldn't allow herself to forget that.

Thank God Rowe had taught her that a man with both looks and money was a deadly combination. And intelligence, she added to herself. And ruthlessness and cunning, and a vicious tongue, just like a snake.

“Hello,” Jonathan said, looking up. “You didn't stand me up. I was hoping you wouldn't. It took me a hell of a long time to find this place.”

“It's called the telephone book, Mr. Harley.”

“Tell that to the cabbie. No tacos here, I see.”

“No, but the shrimp here is exquisite.”

“Do you mind my saying that you look exquisite?”

“Just because I'm not wearing one of my uniforms?”

He looked her over. She didn't move, simply waited for him to finish his male inspection. “No,” was all he said.

Here, Jonathan noted, just as at her Mexican restaurant, the matre d' knew her, and was completely low-key. The restaurant was small, the lighting dim, and as they followed him to their table, no one paid them any attention. No one recognized her. Of course, she wasn't dressed at all flamboyantly, but the pale blue silk dress would have caught his eye. He wondered again if this was a good idea. When they were seated behind a bank of palms, he found that most topics of conversation were off limits unless he wanted her to throw her soup in his face.

He chose business, and managed to ask the right questions to ease the silence between them.

“I have worked very hard, but there's so much to learn,” Elizabeth said honestly over her endive salad.
“I hadn't the foggiest idea what a merger really was, for example, and the relationship between the acquired company and ACI. But I have good people to help me. Very good people.”

“I imagine that the responsibility for all those companies and their employees is enormous.”

His tone was sympathetic, interested.

“One thing I've learned is that your responsibilities and mine are the same. It's just the scope that's different. Like you, I have people who are responsible bottom-line for the operations under their aegis. Again, only the scope is larger, as are their respective staffs. Coordination on the top levels can be a bit dicey as well. Incidentally, I understand you acquired two smaller computer companies in the past couple of years.”

“Yes,” he said. “But of course they wanted to be bought. There was no arm-twisting.”

The garlic shrimp arrived. To Jonathan's eye, the serving wasn't enough to fill up a bird. He'd never cared for
nouvelle
French restaurants for that reason—beautiful presentation and very little substance.

He watched the waiter pour the chardonnay. He watched her down one glass and begin another. What would happen if he got her drunk? he wondered. It was an entertaining thought.

“If you don't mind, Mrs. Carleton, I'd like to ask you why. Why me?”

“I've told you this before, and I told you the truth. You're successful, you're profitable, and if you weren't so stubborn, we could have merged, with you remaining in power.”

“That will teach me to be hardworking and reasonably bright, won't it? The American Dream, backfired.”

“I have a question for you, Mr. Harley. When you have meetings that aren't going to be pleasant, at least
from your perspective, do you always attack personally?”

“No.”

“I believe I asked you that before,” Elizabeth said, frowning a bit as she drank more of the delicious chardonnay.

“You don't have any children, Mrs. Carleton?”

It was, should have been, a perfectly innocuous question, but Elizabeth felt herself tense, remembering the pain, the blood, so much blood, all over the place. “No,” she said.

“Do you want children?”

She got hold of herself. There was no reason to make him feel like a louse. He couldn't know about the miscarriage, or all the other unpleasantness. “I suppose that many women do,” she said. “Yes, I guess so. I've turned twenty-nine. The biological clock is beginning to tick, isn't it?”

“I have one woman manager who had her first child when she was forty.”

“You have an actual, real woman in a position of power?”

“Uncalled-for, ma'am.”

“Probably not, given what I know of you and your opinion of women. However, as you wish.” She finished off her second glass of wine. For a moment she looked at the empty wineglass, her expression vague.

“You have no children,” she said.

“No, I don't. I did for a total of three months.”

That got her attention. “What happened?”

“Crib death. No rhyme, no reason, no one's fault. The child is well and happy one day, and the next, he's just . . . gone.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Deep waters, very deep. The father and his one beloved child. Had he placed his company in the void? Stop it, Elizabeth. For heaven's sake, the man is gifted at verbal assaults.

“It must have been very difficult for you and your wife.”

For a moment he merely stared at her. Then he shrugged and refilled her glass. He nodded toward a waiter and asked for another bottle. He found himself looking briefly at her breasts. Don't be an ass, he told himself. She'd make love with a gorilla before she'd allow you to touch her. And of course he didn't want to touch her, except maybe to strangle her.

“As I said, no one's fault.”

“Do you want children?”

Jonathan said thoughtfully, “I suppose every man wants a son to carry on after him.” He watched her stiffen, and knew he'd uttered that stupidity on purpose. All he'd ever wanted was a healthy child.

Then she just nodded. “My father did. As it turned out, he had to make do.”

“Is that why you're turning your attention to the aid and succor of professional women? To right the wrongs of centuries?”

“I like to think of it as a redressing of the balance of power. Women have gotten the short end of the stick for far too long, I think.”

“Women have always exercised unbelievable power, Mrs. Carleton. For example, had you and your husband's roles and ages been reversed, it would have been impossible for him to marry you, a very rich older woman. Only a young, beautiful woman can gain what she wants so quickly and with so little effort.”

She was beginning to feel the least bit light-headed, and frowned at the newly filled glass of wine in front of her.

“You're exhibiting disgusting prejudices again, Mr. Harley. And here I was beginning to believe what you'd said.”