Heather Graham (28 page)

“You have?”

“Paul Crane called a dozen times yesterday. He had assumed you were only on a weekend trip. And …”

Katie’s eyes were like windswept seas. “And?”

“Kent Hart has been trying to get you all morning.”

Katie sat in her swivel chair and turned around to face her desk, showing Julie the back of her head.

“I don’t want to talk to him. Tell him I haven’t come in. Better yet, I flew to Paris. Tell him anything.”

Julie raised both brows, pondering her friend’s reaction. When Katie’s phone rang, she remembered that there was no one on the reception desk and moved to pick up the line. She answered, then put her hand over the receiver and told Katie, “It’s Paul. Where would you like me to tell him you went? South Africa?”

Katie looked up at her friend. “Fine.
No!”
she contradicted herself almost immediately, her eyes hardening. “Get a number, please, and tell him I’ll call him as soon as I ‘come in.’”

Julie shrugged and did as she was asked, scribbling the number on Katie’s blotter. She hung up the phone.

“Katie, I know about these things. If you do stay at
World,
you’re going to need a private secretary.”

Katie closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Julie.”

“Might help if you told me about it,” Julie advised softly, the warmth of her friendship in her voice.

Katie sighed. “I—I can’t. Not here at any rate. These little cubicles definitely have ears.”

Julie laughed. “Well, I have a break coming, and you don’t even have to be here. Let me get someone to cover the desk, and we’ll go out for decent coffee and a talk.”

“It’s a long story,” Katie warned.

Julie laughed. “I can’t wait. And don’t worry about the time—Raff wouldn’t dare fire me. I’m the only person who can stand him.”

Julie was about to walk out when the phone started ringing again. She paused to catch it quickly.
“World.
May I help you?” She looked at Katie again, placing her hand over the receiver. “It’s Kent Hart. What did you want me to tell him?”

“That I’m not here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hart,” Julie began, “Miss Hudson—” Julie broke off, pulling the phone from her ear with a grimace. “He says he doesn’t want to speak with you, either, Katie. He just wants to know that you’re alive and in one piece.”

“Then tell him that I am,” Katie said dryly.

Julie smiled and spoke to the telephone again. “She’s alive and uninjured, Mr. Hart … Yes, I’m sure, I’m looking right at her. As to being all in one piece—”

“Julie!”

Julie smiled serenely. “Excuse me, Mr. Hart. Another line is ringing. It was nice talking to you.” She hung up the phone.

“You’re supposed to be my friend!” Katie exclaimed. “Good Lord, I don’t need enemies.”

Julie laughed. “Meet me out front in five minutes. I’ve got to hear this story.”

Fifteen minutes later they were seated in a back corner of an attractive coffee shop on Park Avenue. Katie skimmed over a number of details, but she managed to tell Julie the gist of the weekend—emphasizing Kent’s sudden fury after talking to Sam and his certainty that Paul Crane was on the take.

“He might well be,” Julie told her.

“But where did he get off to tell any of the papers that he was about to become engaged? I should be able to sue someone!”

Julie shrugged. “Paul Crane isn’t the point here. You are—and so is Kent. Katie, you told me that you went back to him after all this happened.”

“Yes. That was a disaster, too, because that’s when his daughter showed up.”

“But that seems to have worked out well,” Julie said, smiling tolerantly. “It sounds to me like you’re really in love with the man.”

“How can I be after what he said?”

Julie laughed. “It isn’t a matter of ‘can.’ You are. And I don’t blame you for being angry. It was pretty vile, but …”

“But what?” Katie demanded miserably.

Julie hesitated, her beautifully manicured fingers running along the rim of her cup. “Look at it from his point: Paul is throwing threats all over the place, you’re in bed with Kent, and the papers are saying you’re about to be engaged to another man, a man who will be in direct opposition to him—and Sam Loper—in the Superbowl. It does look suspicious, Katie. And if he’s in love with you, it must have hurt like hell!”

“He’s not in love with me,” Katie said dully.

Julie lifted a brow. “It sounds to me as if he might have been trying to make it up to you.” She laughed. “And he did come running to save you from the snake. Twice actually. Except that the second time, the snake was only a rum bottle.”

“Not a rum bottle, just a glass.”

“What difference does it make? Katie, just what do you want? Do you really hate him? Do you really not want to see him again? If you love him, swallow a little pride. Go out and prove to him that he was wrong!”

Something felt very tight in Katie’s throat. “I just don’t know, Julie.” She flushed, but Julie was a dear, dear friend. “Julie,” she said softly, “I’d never been … with a man … like that before. And even after that, he called me a—”

“Yes, yes,” Julie interrupted shrewdly. “He had some horrible and certainly not very pleasant things to say. But if I know you, you’ve probably called him a number of not-so-pleasant things, too. It’s you, Katie, you’ve got to think.”

“I think I’m still furious … and I—I think I’m still in love anyway.”

Julie burst into laughter. “Then just what do you want?”

Katie pondered the question for a minute. “I want to tell both Raff and Paul Crane to go rot in hell. Then I want Kent to do just that. And then …”

“Then?” Julie inquired.

And Katie smiled bitterly. “I want Kent to come to me with an abject apology. I want him on his knees, absolutely begging for my forgiveness.”

Julie laughed. “That’s a tall order. And speaking of order, why don’t you get started? We’ll head back, and Raff can be the first to bear the brunt of your vengeance. I’m going to love this!”

“Good. I hope you’ve got another job lined up for me,” Katie said dryly.

“Don’t worry, you can always move in with me. And if worse comes to worst, I can play the violin. New Yorkers are great for supporting street acts.”

“Wonderful,” Katie murmured, but she was determined.

Raff was furious when they returned to the office—it was true that he couldn’t seem to move a step without Julie at the helm. He was further infuriated to see Katie.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” he demanded bluntly. “You’re supposed to be following Kent Hart!”

Katie clenched her hands. “Shall we discuss it in public or private, Raff?”

There must have been a go-for-the-jugular gleam in her eye, because Raff gave her question a moment’s pause, his eyes narrowing. “Hold my calls, Julie.”

“Yes, sir!” Julie saluted. Raff ignored her.

“Katie—my office, please.”

She stopped by her office and picked up her notes. When she reached his, she didn’t sit. She dropped her notes on his desk.

“I’m off the story, Raff. And if it means my job, I’ll clean out my desk.”

He stared at her silently. He was watching her for a weakness, Katie decided, searching for vulnerability.

But apparently, he didn’t find any. He leaned forward; his lashes fell briefly over his assertive eyes, then he smiled. “All right, Katie. You can go get started on some of the investigative stuff for the summer sporting issue.”

She felt numb. “You mean I’m not fired?”

“No.” Raff turned his attention to the calendar on his desk.

Katie felt stunned; she just couldn’t believe him. He looked up at her again, expectantly, then smiled again.

“You’re not fired. Go back to work.”

She didn’t say anything else. She realized then that Raff played out his bluffs; when they didn’t work, he acquiesced. She turned around quickly, not about to lose her job now for idleness.

When she reached her cubicle again, she saw the number for Paul Crane that Julie scribbled on her blotter. She pressed her lips together, ready to do battle again. Katie quickly tapped out the number with the eraser end of a pencil.

When Paul came on the line she lit into him furiously—making him fully aware how she felt about what he had done.

“Whoa, whoa! Honey!” he proclaimed, ignoring her anger. “Hey, I know what an honorable kid you are, sweet. That’s why I assumed it was marriage you wanted. How can you be so upset that I intended to give it to you?”

She sighed. “Paul, I told you—”

“Ah, come on, honey!” he said, undaunted. “Everybody loves a winner!”

Her heart took a sudden jolt. “A winner, Paul?”

“Wait till we win the Superbowl, honey. You’ll love being with me. Just like being with a god!”

“How can you be so positive you’re going to win, Paul?”

“Inside info, Kate.” He laughed huskily. Katie hesitated, not liking the sound of his voice. Kent had believed Paul could really be on the take—but didn’t there have to be more than that? Something nagged at her. Paul, whether he was on the take or not, would naturally be trying to do in the Saxons.

“Katie, honey, I’ve just got to see you, and we leave for New Orleans tomorrow afternoon. Please, let me come up and take you to dinner tonight?”

She hesitated again. She’d fully intended to tell him to take the fast route to hell. She didn’t really know what she expected to find out, but somehow, she believed there just might be something.

“Paul, let’s get this straight. I’m not engaged to you. I don’t even think I like you.”

He laughed, obviously not believing her. What the hell was the matter with men anyway? Katie wondered.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

“No. I’m already going to dinner with Julie,” Katie invented quickly. She didn’t want to be alone with him. “But you can meet us if you like.”

“When and where?”

Katie thought quickly. Then she gave him the name of a restaurant on Fifth Avenue and a time and quickly hung up.

“What am I after?” she whispered aloud, then she shook her head because she just didn’t know. Raff would call it a journalist’s hunch, but it didn’t have anything at all to do with her career.

She swallowed. She was supposed to be working. She didn’t want to work. Everything about her was tense; she felt as if her stomach were slightly sick, there was such a pain in it.

She stood up again, convinced that she was crazy. Then she walked back into Raff’s office, forgetting to knock, pausing with a little horror as he stared at her, a brow lifted at her invasion.

Katie swallowed, then nervously started toward his desk. Her notes were still on the corner where she had dropped them.

“I—I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“I think I can finish the story.”

He threw his pencil on his desk and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, leaned forward, and handed her the notes. “Then, please, by all means, do.”

Katie accepted the sheaf of papers but still stood there, watching him.

He emitted an exasperated sigh. “For heaven’s sake, Katie, what else? I have to work, too, you know. We can’t all go traipsing off to the pro games!”

“I need a favor.”

“What?”

“I can’t explain all this yet, Raff, but I need Julie. Do you think she could leave a little early with me?”

He threw his pencil down on the desk, then threw up his arms. “Go—take her—get out of here! You’re driving me crazy. Just be sure that you get her back here on time in the morning … and tell her to be damned sure she gets the desk covered by someone competent. Understand?”

“Yes, completely,” Katie murmured, moving quickly for the door. But she heard Raff’s quick rejoinder before she could close it in her wake.

He snorted with absolute impatience. “Women!” he exclaimed disgustedly.

Katie smiled. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel that she was dealing so terribly with men.

“I
DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY
we’re doing what we’re doing,” Julie murmured as she and Katie hurried along the street to reach the restaurant.

“Hey, what’s the complaint? We’re away from the office, and dinner will be on
World Magazine,”
Katie replied, rushing to catch the walk sign at the traffic light.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Julie paused, catching Katie’s arm. “You told me what you said to Paul. So not only am I amazed that we’re meeting him, I’m amazed the guy is taking a two-hour drive to see you!”

“Julie!” It was rush hour and people were walking all around them in a flurry of coats and winter paraphernalia. The sky was quickly darkening. Katie and Julie blocked a crowd that simply weaved around them.

Katie opened her mouth to try and give an explanation, then snapped it shut and started walking again.

“Kathleen Hudson, you explain this to me now! And explain why we had to go home first and dress up for a man you hate!”

Katie paused again. She grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know what we’re doing. Not exactly.”

“Oh, great! This is getting better and better! You don’t know what you’re doing, but I get to do it with you! You hate the guy, but we’re meeting him for dinner. He’s already got a crush on you so lethal that he’s announcing a nonexistent engagement to the newspapers, so you go to meet him looking like a million. Brilliant, Katie. I think you’re suffering from mountain fever.”

Katie cast her a dry, totally unappreciative glance. “I’m hoping he’ll be so taken with you he won’t be pressuring me.”

“What a friend!” Julie moaned. “The guy might be a possessive crook—so she hands him over to me!”

“No, it’s not that. Julie, listen. There are some nice things to be said about Paul, right? He’s courteous, good-looking, bright, a decent conversationalist.”

“I’ll go that far,” Julie agreed suspiciously.

“And,” Katie continued, “there are some not-so-nice things to be said about him—other than that he might be a cheat and a crook. Mainly, that the man is a braggart. Julie, he’s convinced that they’re going to win that game! Okay, suppose he is on the take. That’s still no guarantee. There has to be something else going on. I don’t know what, but if we can get him talking, he just might let something slip. After all, he thinks we’re a pair of women—”