My One And Only (4 page)

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A
week after her trip to San Francisco, Abby put her pencil down on her desk so she could bury her head in her hands. A throbbing headache had started at the nape of her neck that morning and worked its way around to her temples.

She'd known things were bad. She never would have gone to see Ethan if she hadn't suspected how desperate Harrison's situation was. She'd been getting calls for weeks—from his board, his stockholders, and his family—begging her to reason with him.

Trouble was, nobody seemed to agree on what was reasonable.

A solid majority of his board wanted him to resign. If he didn't do
it voluntarily, they'd soon de
mand it. There were stockholders calling for a buyout, while others were demanding that Harrison fend off the takeover bid his competitors had appeared to launch several weeks ago. Stock prices were slipping, and most of Harrison's family were beginning to worry that the Montgomery purse was about to be tightened.

So she hadn't been completely naive, but nothing had prepared her for this.

Harrison needed a miracle.

In the week since her trip, Abby had spent what available time
she had pulling together the re
ports and financial statements for Harrison's
sprawling corporate interests. Though she was no expert, her long tenure at the company gave her a broad understanding of its inner workings. The Montgomery Foundation, which she ran with a small hand-selecte
d staff, operated completely in
dependently of Montgomery Data Systems. That had isolated her from most of the grim news about the company's financial outlook. The foundation's nonprofit status ensured a certain degree of separation.

But she'd learned more about MDS and its internal structure in the past week than she'd ever wanted to know. With an employee base of nearly six thousand workers in three countries, MDS had an interest in half a dozen other technology firms. Harrison had gambled big, and recklessly, on a couple of technological innovations. The shifting market had left him behind, and now his third-generation empire teetered on the edge of a hostile takeover.

The company he'd inherited from his autocratic and unforgiving father was crumbling. And while Ethan was right when he said the buyout wouldn't leave Harrison destitute, the cost to his pride was more than the old man could afford. Abby was sure of that.

She leaned back in her leather chair and turned to survey the vie
w from her eighteenth-floor win
dow. Harrison had saved her life once. She'd never forgotten that. So how in the world was she
supposed to tell him that she'd failed to save his?

When the buzzer on her intercom rang, she was tempted to ignore it. The last thing she needed was another member of Harrison's histrionic family demanding that she save them from the realities of fiscal ruin. After several moments had passed, she reluctantly pushed the button. Harrison had always been available to her family, and Abby had made a lifelong habit of returning the favor. "What is it, Marcie?"

"Abby, there's a call for you on line four. I think it's a prank. But he's really insistent."

"W
h
o is it?"

"Well, he says he's Ethan Maddux."

Abby's eyes widened. She hadn't really expected him to call. And given the near-legendary proportions of his feud with Harrison, it was no wonder her ever-efficient assistant hadn't believed him. Abby almost hoped Marcie had hassled him as only Marcie knew how. "I'll take it," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She pulled one of her clip earrings off and reached for the receiver. Gathering her calm, she pushed the button. "Hello, Mr. Maddux."

"You didn't think I'd call, did you?"

Blunt as ever, she noted. Abby twirled her pencil on her desk. "Frankly, no."

"I always do what I say. You'll learn that."

That sounded like a challenge, so she let it pass. "How was Prague?"

"Wet. It rained the whole time I was there."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was tied up in meetings. I barely noticed."

"When did you get back?"

"This morning."

Abby's fingers stilled on the pencil. If she hadn't expected his call, she certainly hadn't expected him to move h
er to the front of his back-in-
the-States agenda.

"Ms. Lee," he said, his voice sounding simultaneously impatient and commanding. "I've got a full day today. I don't have a lot of time right now."

"I understand. I asked for ten minutes, and I can tell you by way of—"

"Not now." She could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "I'm free for dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" Abby had the vague feeling that she was tumbling down Alice's proverbial rabbit hole.

"Yes. Even I stop to eat, Ms. Lee."

Dear Lord, was that a joke? "Um, yes, I guess you do."

"And after a day of airport food, I plan to enjoy the experience. There's a great steak house down the street from my office."

"You're in San Francisco."

"Yes. What if I make reservations for eight?"

"I'm in Chicago," she said, her jaw starting to ache from grinding her back teeth.

"I'll send you a ticket. You can pick it up at Midway at your convenience. Or O'Hare if you'd rather. Your choice."

"I can't fly out there tonight, Mr. Maddux."

"It's the best time for me
,"
he insisted.

"Well, it's not good for me." She forcibly relaxed her grip on the receiver. "I can't."

"Why not? Harrison got you tied up?"

There was nothing in Ethan's tone to suggest more than a polite inquiry, but Abby still bristled. "None of your damned business."

If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she heard him smile. "No, I don't suppose it is. Sorry. I've got jet lag. I'm cranky. And talking about Harrison always makes me surly."

"Then why did you call me?"

"I told you, I'm doing this for you."

Abby drew a calming breath. "Mr. Maddux—"

"Let me explain that comment before you misinterpret it." The creak of his chair traveled across the phone line. She could easily picture him leaning back in that massive leather desk chair and propping his loafer-clad feet on the polished sheen of his ebony desk. "Despite what you might think," he said softly, "I have an enormous amount of respect for you."

Abby frowned. "Why? Because I was foolish enough to think you might be willing to help an old man who, for all his faults, took you in when you needed him to?"

"No." The gentle tone in his voice startled her. She'd expected fury. "It wasn't foolish."

"It felt foolish."

"Desperate, maybe. I'll give you that."

"That makes me feel better."

"As far as I'm concerned, your motivation carried weight with me."

"Motivation?"

"You did it because of your loyalty to Harrison. I might consider such loyalty misplaced, but that doesn't mean I don't admire you for it."

Abby traced the outline of her nameplate with her index finger.
"Since when did you start admir
ing desperate women? I'm sure you meet your fair share."

His chuckle tumbled over her nerves with the soothing effect of hundred-year-old cognac. "There's desperation and then there's stupidity. I wouldn't put you in the latter category."

"Everyone who knows I went to see you does."

"Including Harrison?"

"I haven't told him yet," she admitted.

"Wise."

"Probably."

"Definitely. And that's another thing you have in your favor. You know how to admit that you're over your head. Harrison could learn a thing or two from you."

Abby pushed the nameplate away. "Look, I'm not really sure what you're getting at here, but I'm
not going to get into a conversation about Harrison. I'm not comfortable with that."

"I can certainly understand why."

She let the comment pass. He had his reasons to be bitter, and as far as she could tell, they were good ones. "Look, Mr. Maddux, this is a really difficult day for me. I've got a major fund-raiser coming up this weekend, and I—"

"I won't keep you much longer," he promised. "Just let me make a proposition."

Her eyebrows lifted. "A proposition?"

"If the obstacle to dinner tonight is your sister, Rachel, then bring her along."

The question made her flesh tingle. "How do you know about Rachel?"

"I do my homework. How old is she—twelve?"

"Thirteen." Abby frowned. "I don't think—"

"Don't worry. I'm not invading your privacy. I just make it my business to keep informed about Harrison's life."

"Which means keeping informed about my life?"

He didn't miss the sharp note in her voice. "Put yourself in my place, Ms. Lee."

"I couldn't," she said honestly. "The Harrison you know and the Harrison I know are two entirely different men."

"And you think your Harrison is worth saving?"

Abby let her eyes drift shut. "I think it will kill him if he loses the business."

"Then convince me," Ethan said softly, the challenge unmistakable.

"I can't come to San Francisco tonight—not even if I bring Rachel. Tomorrow's a school day." Did that sound as ridiculous to him as it did to her? As if the only thing preventing her from flying two thousand miles to have dinner with the man was her sister's first-period class.

"Don't you think a day in San Francisco would be just as educational as a day at school?" His chair creaked again. She heard his feet drop to the floor with a loud thump.

Abby grimaced. "Why are we even having this discussion? If
you want to meet with me in per
son"—she flipped open her calendar—"then how about next week? I could do it on Thursday."

"I can do it tonight."

"Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Relentless."

"Absolutely," he assured her without a hint of remorse. "It makes me good at what I do."

"It makes you annoying."

"There are certain advantages to, ah, focus. In fact, I've heard it said that it's one of my assets."

Her breath came out in an irritated huff. "By whom?"

"Women."

Abby was glad he couldn't see the sudden flush on her skin. Blast the man. He was toying with
her—and he was too damned good at it. Too late, she realized that her nervousness was making her fiddle with the top button of her blouse. She'd worked hard to break that habit, and now she forced her fingers to be still. "Look, Mr. Maddux, even if I wanted to, I couldn't possibly—"

"What if I meet you instead?"

"Excuse me?"

"What if I meet you instead? You can't come here, so I'll come there. I hadn't planned on the travel time in my schedule, but what the hell. I can catch up on my paperwork on the plane."

"I don't think—"

"Now
what's the problem?" He was starting to sound exasperated. "Got a date?"

"That's not—"

"You're asking a lot of me, Ms. Lee. The least you can do is budge on a scheduling issue."

"You aren't—"

"If you have a date, break it. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I don't have a date," she spat out before she thought better of it.

"Ah."

Abby didn't even attempt to decipher that remark. "As it happens, my sister has a cooking class this afternoon. She has one every Tuesday afternoon, which I don't suppose your surveillance reports revealed about the details of my life. She cooks with a chef at four-thirty on Tuesdays,
and she and I eat dinner together at six, after her class. So I can't break
that
date. And I don't even want to."

"With a chef?" he probed. "No kidding?"

God, the man was insufferable. He actually managed to sound interested. "Rachel's got kind of a flare for gourmet cooking," Abby said, out of some perverse desire
to overburden him with informa
tion. "She wants to open her own restaurant."

"Like your parents had?" he asked.

Abby swallowed. So he knew that as well. There were few holes in his information, it seemed. "Yes. And actually, she's quite good."

"Good, There's nothing like an excellent meal to chase away the lingering effects of jet lag. I'll look forward to it."

"You can't come."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't." She realized her voice had risen several decibels, and reached for her patience. "Because you can't," she said again, more quietly.

"Ms. Lee, does it occur to you that I'm offering to fly halfway across the country and give you my undivided attention for the bulk of an entire evening? Do you have any idea how much people usually pay for that privilege?"