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"All right. See you in the morning then."

Dismissed, she thought. She was totally confused. She knew she wasn't the best choice for this assignment. Why, in her own department alone, she could think of two others, including her supervisor, who were more qualified to write this story. But she also knew this assignment was a tremendous opportunity for her, and if she did it well, it might pave the way for more rapid promotion within the company. She'd probably been a fool to protest.

Turning, she walked rapidly out of the office. She looked neither right nor left as she entered the reception area, passed Wanda, and let herself out of the executive suite.

Riding down in the elevator, she rehashed the entire conversation in her mind. Throughout the interview, there had been undercurrents—undercurrents Claire hadn't understood. But one thing she
did
understand.

No matter what he said, Nick Callahan was hiding something from her.

* * *

Nick stood watching as Claire Kendrick marched out of his office with a long, purposeful stride. He admired the way her pleated skirt swung against her slender, long legs and the sway of her blond hair as it shimmered like a golden curtain around her head.

His smile widened with satisfaction. From the first moment he'd set eyes on her—talking to a co-worker as he walked by—he was intrigued by her. Then, after investigating her background, he knew she had the qualities he was looking for.

Today's interview had been the clincher. Claire seemed perfect for what he had in mind. Smart. Determined. Hardworking. Loyal. And as the
piece de resistance,
she was quite lovely, with that silky-looking, butter-colored hair and those dreamy, gray-green eyes. Her skin looked soft and smooth, as if she'd been painted in watercolors, all delicate pastels covering a canvas of underlying strength.

Well-satisfied with his initial judgment, he turned toward Tim, who had walked to the windows and stood looking out. "Well, what do you think?" Nick asked.

Tim turned, giving him a thoughtful look. "I've already told you what I think." He grimaced. "Not that you paid any attention."

"I meant, what did you think of
her?”
Nick joined Tim at the windows and they both gazed out at what was visible of Houston's downtown area through the heavy rain. While they watched, lightning zigzagged across the charcoal sky.

"What I think of her is irrelevant," Tim said, a note of exasperation in his voice, "because I know you. When you decide to do something, it doesn't matter to you what anyone else thinks. You do it anyway."

Nick smiled. He
was
stubborn when he thought he was right, although tenacious was the term he preferred. His tenacity was the reason he usually got what he wanted, he thought with satisfaction. Because once he set a goal, he didn't let anything deter him from reaching it.

"But I can't help feeling there's something you're not telling me about this situation," Tim said.

Tim was no fool. And because he was Nick's friend as well as his legal counsel and right-hand man, Nick considered telling Tim the whole truth. But things might not work out, and if they didn't, it would be best for both Nick and Claire Kendrick that no one know what he was considering. "You're imagining things," he said mildly. But he couldn't meet Tim's eyes.

"All right, have it your own way. I've known you long enough to realize you'll tell me when you're ready to tell me and not a moment sooner. But, Nick ..."

Nick turned. Tim was frowning. For just a second, Nick felt a flicker of unease, but quickly dismissed it. Tim's prudence and cautiousness, which were two of his greatest assets, could also be his greatest weaknesses. Nick had learned long ago that a successful business coup required boldness, even a certain arrogance. You made your plan, then you stuck to it, using whatever tactic seemed to work best. The only time he'd ever failed was when he'd allowed emotions to rule his actions. He had no intention of ever repeating that mistake.

"Whatever this is about, just be careful," Tim finished darkly.

* * *

Claire tapped softly on Betty O'Neill's office door.

"Come in,” she called. “Well . . ." Betty smiled as Claire entered the cluttered office, "what did Mr. Magnificent want?"

Claire laughed. "Is that what you call him?"

Betty laughed. "Among other things. After all, the guy's got everything. Black Irish charm, Russian intelligence, tons of money." As she spoke, she ticked the items off on her fingers. Her eyes twinkled. "And he positively oozes sex appeal!"

Claire gave her a mock frown, although it was hard to resist Betty's gamine appeal. A tiny woman with dark hair and lively hazel eyes, she had an irresistibly cheery approach to life that Claire both admired and envied. "He
is
attractive," she reluctantly admitted, "but he's scary, too." She hesitated, feeling foolish. "He reminds me of a highwayman."

Betty chuckled. “And just how many highwaymen do you know?”

Claire laughed. “Let me see. Um, exactly none.”

“That’s what I thought.” Betty pointed to her coffee. "Want some?"

"No, thanks."

Betty leaned forward, her eyes full of curiosity. "Tell me what our esteemed leader said."

"He's asked me to take on a special assignment."

"An assignment?” She frowned. “Why didn't he come through me?"

Claire repeated what she'd been told during the interview. "Funny, isn't it?"

Betty nodded. "Yes."

"He said the reason I was chosen is that I've done an article similar to this in the past." She gave Betty a brief rundown on the Middleton article, trying to make it sound as if this new assignment were perfectly logical, even as her brain told her it wasn't.

Betty took a sip of her ever-present cup of coffee. A knowing glint in her eye, she said, "If I didn't know that he never dates employees, my guess would be he's interested in you."

"Interested in me!" Claire felt her skin growing hot. What was wrong with her that she let her feelings show no matter what she was thinking? Why couldn't she be cool like other women managed to be? Like Peachey Hall, her best friend, would have been? Claire hated the trait that made her wear her emotions like so much costume jewelry, obvious to all. "That's ridiculous."

"Why is it ridiculous?"

"It just is." Claire knew she must look like a lobster, blushing furiously. "A man like Nick Callahan can have his pick of women. He'd certainly never pick someone like me."

"I happen to disagree. In fact, if you
weren't
an employee, I can't imagine him
not
being interested in you. Any man with eyes would be."

"Oh, Betty ..." Claire always felt uncomfortable when people complimented her. Peachey had once told her the mark of a gracious woman was the ability to receive a compliment with poise.

"Just say thank you, and be done with it," she'd advised Claire.

"But to my knowledge he's never dated any of the women who work for the company," Betty continued. "And it's not because they haven't tried."

Yes, Claire could see why women would go after Nick Callahan. As Betty had said earlier, he had everything going for him. Even now, thinking about those eyes of his gave her an unsettled feeling. "You don't think he's setting me up for something, do you, Betty?" Claire asked, giving voice to the niggling fear she'd tried to push down.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. It's just that something isn't quite right about all this, and it's driving me crazy trying to figure it out."

"You know, Claire, you may as well relax," Betty said. "Knowing what I know about our CEO, even if he has some ulterior motive in choosing you for this assignment, you're not going to find out what it is until he's good and ready to enlighten you—and not one minute sooner."

Claire stood. "You're probably right. I'd better use my energy to do a good job."

Betty smiled. "That's the ticket."

Claire smiled back. "I feel better already. Thanks, Betty."

"Don't mention it. But, Claire ..." Betty hesitated. "Be careful. Don't go falling for him."

Claire laughed self-consciously. "Don't worry. I'm not stupid. There's absolutely no chance of that happening."

* * *

Nick idly observed the well-dressed, noisy crowd from his vantage point at the far end of Heather Ripley's sumptuous living room. He propped his arm on the marble mantel as he watched her graceful approach. Under his breath, he murmured to Tim, "The queen cometh."

Tim laughed. "She
does
like to rule. And she thinks you and your kingdom are next in line."

Fat chance, Nick thought. He had no intention of falling into that kind of trap. Once was enough. Not that he harbored any ill feelings toward his ex-wife. Jill hadn't tried to deceive him. She'd never pretended to be anything other than what she was—a spoiled, pampered, self-centered woman. It wasn't her fault he'd ignored what his brain was telling him and had married her anyway. He grimaced. By becoming besotted with Jill, he'd lost his edge. He'd no longer been able to think clearly. And it had cost him. His personal life had become a battleground, affecting his entire life.

"Darling," Heather said now, gliding next to Nick and sliding her pale, bare arm behind his back. She rubbed her face against his dinner jacket, and he caught a whiff of her perfume, something heavy and sensuous. "Why are you hiding out over here? You look so dark and brooding, like Heathcliff, or something. Come join the rest of us."

"I'm just tired, Heather," Nick said.

"Oh, pooh." She adopted her little girl look—the one that was coy and flirtatious—the one she thought would get her anything she wanted. "You're
always
tired. You never want to do anything." She tossed her thick mane of red-gold hair.

"I work hard."

"I know that. But you have to play, too."

Now she batted her eyelashes, and Nick groaned inwardly. The mannerisms he'd thought so charming when he'd first started dating her had worn thin. Even her beautiful, thick eyelashes masking tawny eyes no longer had the power to sway him.

"Tim, you tell him ..." Heather wheedled. "All work and no play will make Nicky a
very
dull boy."

"You're a very dull boy," Tim said obediently, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. "How about me, Heather? Will I do as a playmate?"

"Oh, you!" She reached up, planting a kiss in the middle of Nick's mouth. "Don't leave early. I'm looking forward to spending the wee hours alone with you."

Nick resisted the urge to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. It was long past time to break off with her. "I can't stay tonight, Heather. I've got an early meeting in the morning."

Heather's smooth brow wrinkled, and her voice hardened. "I'm getting the idea I'm not very important to you, Nick. Is that true?"

"Of course you're important to me," Nick hedged.

"Then prove it. Stay tonight."

Nick sighed. "I'm sorry, Heather. I really can't."

"Well, in that case, I'll just to have to find someone who can!" She whirled around and in a swish of emerald taffeta, walked away, head held high.

"Methinks the lady's angry, milord," Tim said. He brushed his hair out of his eyes.

Nick knew he'd hurt Heather's feelings and that disgusted him. After all, what had she done that was so terrible? She'd behaved exactly the way she'd always behaved; he was just tired of her. That wasn't her fault and she didn't deserve this kind of treatment. Always before, when he'd broken off a liaison, he'd treated the woman fairly—been open and honest with her. He'd prided himself on his ability to break off his relationships without hard feelings. He usually just bought the woman in question something expensive—such as a new mink coat or a pair of ruby earrings—said all the right things to salve her hurt feelings—and all would be forgiven. In fact, he was still friends with most of the women he'd been linked with over the years. And he took satisfaction in knowing it. He sighed heavily.

"What's the matter?" Tim asked quietly. "Feeling guilty?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have come tonight. Heather's been making noises lately—serious noises—about marriage."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No, not really."

"Have you made her any promises?"

"No."

"Then why do you feel guilty? Heather's a big girl. She knows how the game works." Tim winked at a pretty brunette who was giving him the eye from the other side of the crowded room.

"People had the right idea years ago," Nick said. "Marriages were arranged in a businesslike manner. In exchange for this, I'll give you this. No crazy ideas about spending every minute of your time together, sharing every thought." As Nick talked, he watched Heather, who was regaling a group of four other people with a long story they seemed to find hilarious. She certainly was beautiful. Tall, slender, curved in all the right places. She was smart enough, she was entertaining, she was passionate. But she was also possessive and demanding. She would smother him. He'd had that sort of relationship once. It hadn't worked then, when he was younger and more flexible. It certainly would never work now.

No, he was right to break off with her. Right to proceed with his plans. He did want to marry again because he wanted children and a normal home life. But this time, he'd find himself a wife using the same strategy and careful planning he used in all his successful ventures.

An image of the slim, graceful young woman he'd interviewed earlier in the day filled his mind. He saw her as she'd looked that morning—calm and lovely, with hair the color of sunlight and eyes the shade of frosted leaves—listening to his proposition. He remembered her quiet dignity and the sharp intelligence he'd seen in her eyes.

She hadn't believed him when he'd told her his reasons for wanting her to do the story on him. But after stating her legitimate reservations, she'd accepted the assignment. Once she realized he wouldn't change his mind, she had given him no further argument. That acceptance had pleased him, reinforcing his belief that Claire Kendrick was sensible and rational, someone who would listen to reason, someone who could be managed. If there was anything Nick hated, it was someone who didn't know when to concede or when to cut their losses. Someone who allowed their emotions to rule their actions instead of logic.