The Billionaire’s Handler (11 page)

“Of course,” she said.

“Like a family illness or anything like that. Mr. Cochran was only trying to give you a break from demands on you for that short stretch.”

“Of course,” she said.

“I took the liberty of having your fridge stocked with just a few things. Fresh milk, fresh eggs. Bread. Not much. But so you wouldn't have to immediately run to the store.” He hefted the two suitcases from the trunk—she'd gone with nothing; and come home with cases that were chock-full. “I'll return your key. And I have a list of phone numbers here. Mr. Cochran. Myself. The list of contacts he discussed with you before. So if you need anything—anything at all—”

“Henry, Maguire fixed me. Completely. I won't need anything from anyone. I promise.”

Finally, he set down the suitcases, then stood at the front door like an awkward geek who didn't know how to stay or go. She said, “If you stand there a minute more, I'll throw my arms around your neck to thank you for all you've done for me.”

That did it. He took an immediate step back, eyes wide with alarm, and reached for the door. He said, “I think you're the best thing that ever happened to him, Carolina.” And then left, hiking back to the rental car at a speed designed to outwit robbers, bill collectors…or women who might hug him without restraint.

Then she was alone, for the first time in quite a while.

She wandered through the four rooms, feeling like a cat trying to find the right spot to settle. The apartment had been cleaned stem to stern. The sinks shined. The pink towels in the bathroom were hung straight. The book she'd been reading was still face-down on her nightstand—but dusted—and her gold-leaf lamp, a treasure inherited from her grandmother, gleamed when she flicked on the light.

She'd decorated every inch of the place—some from Ikea, some from yard sales, some from family attics, pulling together colors and textures she liked. When everyone first heard about the inheritance, they'd all urged her to move to a nicer place.

She could. But the reason the apartment no longer
felt like home had nothing do with furnishings or style or any other details like that. It was about feeling the absence of Maguire.

She would have to get used to it, she told herself. As crazy as it sounded, he was where her home was. Her heart. But that, of course, was foolish thinking.

A sudden sound jarred her thoughts—the phone. Her phone, her landline.

Two weeks ago, she'd caved at that torturous sound. Now she gulped and strode toward the phone. She'd left a life dangling.

She wasn't ducking and running from anything that mattered to her, ever again.

 

Maguire was on a video cam when Henry yelled out a hello. Henry'd been gone for three days. Maguire had been chasing his own heels the whole time, working nonstop. The video cam was essentially a business call between an Austrian, Japanese and British counterpart—it was no mean feat to find a time and time zone where they could all comfortably talk together. Their common project was still in the engineering stage, but they'd all invested several million. It was time to separate the men from the boys, so to speak. The lady from Austria very definitely was tough, but the discussion was tricky and complicated. Everybody might have their feet in the same water,
but they each had sharply different ideas about how to swim to the other side.

Henry showed up in the office doorway, saw what was happening, waved a greeting and disappeared—undoubtedly to raid the kitchen, Maguire assumed.

He couldn't cut the video meeting short. It had taken hell times ten to put it together to begin with. The project mattered. It was one of his babies right now, in spite of the precarious economy.

But he was as distracted as a porcupine with an itch. He finally got all the business accomplished and severed the call. Two in the morning was a tough time to negotiate. He jogged toward the living room, hoping to hell Henry wasn't already asleep.

He wasn't. Looking, as always, impeccable in unwrinkled sweater and slacks, he had the television on in the kitchen, some war flick, a tidy sandwich in one hand and a beer stein in the other.

“All hell's broken loose since you were gone,” Maguire said, and started the fill him in. Henry was due some R&R. Maguire had fires burning in Atlanta, Chicago, a sort-out with Jay in the middle, a stupid speech he'd somehow signed up for in D.C. Wednesday night. He was behind, of course, from having disappeared for the last two weeks.

“I need you home—”

“Which home, sir?”

“I'm going to base out of the Chicago condo for
the next while. I need you to call, get things opened up, food, all that—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you mind contacting Billingham for me. He'll be expecting a call, and I know I won't get to it. Folder's on the desk—”

“Yes, sir.”

“If he still has a question, contact me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did we get a new security set up for the Elkon system?” Maguire poked around in the fridge, saw beer, milk, finally pushed aside debris, found some fresh OJ.

“No. You put that on hold until next month.”

“Well, let's push it up again. It's been on my mind. There's too much to protect to let that slide. Scare up the bids again, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, on Carolina. Let the weekend go, but check on her Monday.”

“No, sir.”

Maguire closed the fridge, turned around. “Beg your pardon?”

“I said no, sir. I'm not spying on Carolina.”

Maguire frowned. A headache had been playing slice-and-dice in his temples for three days. He was used to pressure. Used to having an impossibly heavy
schedule. Used to finding discipline and endurance when there couldn't be any left.

He just wasn't used to pain having this fist-grip on his heart.

“I wasn't asking you to
spy
on her, Henry. I was asking you to check in.”

Mild as milquetoast, Henry said again, “No.” And turned off the tube.

“You work for me, remember? I give the instructions. You say yes, and then follow through better than I would myself. That's your job. And you're great at it.”

“Yes, sir. Although you can outwork anyone I ever met.”

“Which is the point. I'm extremely busy. And it's not as if I were asking you to do anything. I just need to know that Carolina's all right.”

Henry stood up from the couch, dusted two crumbs from his trousers, took the sandwich plate to the kitchen and neatly slid it in the dishwasher. “I understand your concern, Mr. Cochran. That Carolina, she just isn't of the me-me-me generation. I don't doubt she can look after herself. I just think she could easily fall into her old ways.”

Maguire picked up that beat as if it had been on his mind. “Giving in to everybody. Riding herself ragged for everyone else. The calls will have restarted by now. Her family and friends and all will realize she's
back home. It'll start up again. I think she's stronger. I think she has good ideas on what to do. Stuff she
can
do. But I need to be sure.”

“Then call her yourself, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Henry didn't seem to hear. He aimed for the stairs, as if intending to crash for the night. “I keep remembering how she was when you first brought her here. Not hearing. Jumping at every shadow. I just think it'd be easy for her to get over her head again. I'm not all that positive you can teach a kitten to be tough.”

“Which is precisely why I want you to follow up and make sure she's all right.”

“Well, I would, Mr. Cochran, because I'm not looking to get fired. I love my job. I can't even imagine a job as good as this one. But she's not my business, sir. She's yours. If you don't mind my saying, I almost didn't recognize you when I walked in here. You obviously haven't slept or showered or apparently eaten since I left. You look like hell, sir, and that's putting it as politely as I can. I fully recognize that you've never appreciated advice—”

“Then it would probably be extremely wise for you to shut the
h
up, Henry.”

“But in my opinion, you don't just need to call her. You need to find her. I have no idea what was wrong with the men in South Bend in the past, but they can't all be shallow and blind. Someone is going to take a
look and have the sense to realize that she's absolutely one of a kind.”

Maguire's eyes narrowed. “You think I don't know that? But she's not a keeper for
me,
Henry. I kidnapped her, remember? She didn't ask me to be in her life.”

“So if she needs help now, you wouldn't be there?”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'd be there in two seconds.”

“Then call her yourself. To find out if she's all right or not.” Henry's voice rose a full decibel before he shut down and turned around, stiff-necked and red-cheeked. “I'm going to bed, sir.”

Maguire didn't answer, just stared after Henry. He'd never heard Henry yell before. Henry didn't even raise his voice for football games or tornados.

He could have fired him, of course, but Maguire couldn't imagine doing that for a single indiscretion. It wasn't as if Henry regularly—or ever—stepped out of line, or had given Maguire any reason to doubt his dedication.

Henry was loyal. Apparently he'd picked up some mighty loyalty to Carolina as well.

Henry just didn't understand, Maguire thought glumly. Once he'd kidnapped Carolina, everything changed. He'd had good reasons to steal her off, but
the “force” word was the bear. She'd been
forced
to be with him.

Now…it would have been easy, so easy to call her, fly to see her, tell her he'd fallen crazy in love with her, that nothing had been right since she left. It was the truth.

But it was also the truth that he couldn't, ethically or morally, force Carolina to be with him again on any terms. To manipulate another situation would be the act of a control freak, not a lover. A bully, not a man hopelessly in love.

How could he ever know how she really felt if she'd never been free to make her own choices?

So he'd tied his own hands.

And it was killing him.

C
arolina parked in front of the old, redbrick house with a feeling of doom and gloom. Naturally, the wind was blowing up a tempest, shaking all the red-and-gold leaves, slapping her cheeks, sneaking down the neck of her old plaid jacket. She loved her parents, she reminded herself.

She was just looking forward to this particular visit on a par with, say, a double root canal.

She pulled a satchel, packages and bottle of wine from the backseat, then had to juggle them as she walked up the familiar brick path to the back door. “Mom! Dad!” she called out.

She'd spent a couple days feeling sorry for herself…
and trying to face that she'd never likely see Maguire again. The woman he'd kidnapped wasn't the kind of woman who belonged in his life. Things might have been different if they could have met like normal people. But they hadn't.

It just didn't pay to be kidnapped.

Rather than pine and whine any longer, she figured she'd better face her demons.

Her mom showed up in the doorway first, her dad stepping on her heels. Her mother was wearing a tiger print, had new highlights in her chin-length bob, wore snazzy red-framed glasses—and hurled herself at Carolina with a sob, a hug and a fog of Chanel No 19.

“Honey, I've missed you so much! I don't understand why you went off like that! Why you'd ever shut us out! I was so worried and upset! I just don't understand!”

Then her dad took over, enveloped her in a giant hug with tears in his eyes. “I'm so glad you're home again, princess. Your mom was terribly upset. Not me. I know you're a big girl, and can take of yourself. We're just used to being able to talk to you whenever we want to.”

“I know. And I'm so sorry, both of you.” Actually, Carolina knew they'd been told where she was, and how to contact her in case of an emergency. Her parents just couldn't conceive of any occasion where they
couldn't immediately reach her. She wasn't about to get into Maguire and the kidnapping, but they needed some explanations.

And she needed to face them as well.

Wine got poured. The wailing went on for a while. Apple pie slowed it down. So did the presents she'd brought for both of them. Eventually they all sat in the rust-and-brown den—no one ever sat in her mother's living room; life revolved around the TV. Family pictures dominated the walls, her mom's angel collection dominated the bookshelves and her father's latest model took up half the coffee table. All of it was as familiar as her childhood, evoked equal amounts of love and stress.

As did the conversation.

Her father hunched forward at a gesture from her mom, making Carolina guess that they'd choreographed this talk ahead of time. “Honey, your mother and I have been thinking. We think it's a good idea for us to move in with you. Or, if you'd rather, that you move in with us.”

“Dad, that's not necessary,” she said quickly.

“We think it is. We understand that you're grown up, that the last thing a young single woman would normally want is parents looking over her shoulder. But this whole inheritance business has been too much for you.”

“We can protect you,” her mother chimed in. “Take
care of things. Your dad could handle the finances, and I could take charge of your place, redecorating or whatever you need. We'll take the stress off…”

Before this got any hairier, Carolina stood up, opened the satchel she'd brought in. “You two are both right. I wasn't handling stress well. But actually, one thing I needed to figure out had nothing to do with me. It was about you two. And, Dad, I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything, princess.”

Carolina pulled out the sheaf of papers. “This is the paperwork for a trust that I created for you and Mom. It's set up to give you two a monthly discretionary allowance, but there's a lot of give-and-take in the setup. You might want something bigger now and then—like a car or a trip or something? Then you'd have to figure out how to work that out with taxes and social security and all.”

Before her parents could say anything, Carolina said quickly, “It's just all too much for me. I needed some expert advice. That's partly what I've been doing for the past two weeks. Getting that advice. Getting a crash course in finances from experts. That wasn't hard. But it would be hard for me to handle this trust on top of everything else, so I was hoping that between you and Mom—”

“Carolina,” her mother said firmly, “I still feel you
need us close by. This whole new lifestyle has put so much pressure on you, and—”

“Ruth Marie.” Her dad had been looking over the papers, had homed in on some of the bottom-line numbers.

“Don't interrupt me,” her mother started to say, but her dad sank back on the couch and grabbed her mother's hand to make her sit down with him.

“I'm stunned, honey,” he said. “And of course I'll take this on. You're the most wonderful daughter…”

She wasn't sure Maguire would give her the same heaps of credit. She'd narrowly escaped having her parents live with her. Much as she loved them, it was that kind of suffocation that made her so crazy…weeks ago? Was it really only weeks ago?

It was dark when she left her parents' place, but she had one more thing to do before going home. The drive to Kalamazoo was a long two hours, but it was a city where she knew no one. It only took a few extra minutes to find an outside U.S. postal box.

She slipped the package in, and finally headed home.

 

“Sir.”

Maguire woke at the sound of the phone, and glanced, bleary eyed, at the hotel bedside clock. Maybe it was only eleven at night, but he'd been
running nonstop for almost a week, had been sleeping like the dead. Naturally he immediately recognized Henry's voice.

“Okay. Two immediate things, Mr. Cochran. Tommy insisted I call you and tell you that he won a prize for ‘most improved in speech.'”

“Thank you, Henry. That'll take a reward, I'm thinking, when I get back.”

“That's why I thought you'd want to know, sir. In case you wanted to contact him tomorrow.”

“And?”

Henry reeled off a number of business issues, none of which really required a call, and then suddenly suffered a dry cough. “A package arrived for you. I opened it, sir.”

“You're telling me this why?”

“Well, sir, I wouldn't have opened it if it had been marked Private. Obviously. I was just going through the regular—”

“Tell me what was in it, Henry, before I fall back asleep.”

“A T-shirt, sir.” Another discreet cough. “Gray. Light gray. A nice cotton. With a logo. It says, For the Sexually Gifted.”

Maguire's eyes startled open. “What!”

“It's postmarked Kalamazoo, Michigan.”

“I don't know anyone in Kalamazoo, Michigan.”

“Well, Mr. Cochran, someone in Kalamazoo
seems to think quite highly of you. In that one regard. I mean, if they don't know you, they're certainly making some interesting assumptions. And if the person does know you, then she seems to feel a unique motivation to applaud your, um—”

“That's enough, Henry. You're
sure
there's no note?”

“No note. No return address. Just the postmark.”

“Quit laughing, Henry.”

“I'm not laughing, sir. I just couldn't think of anyone in the universe who would have sent you this. I mean, no offense, sir. It's not the grade score I was thinking about. It was the humor of it. I don't know anyone in your circle of people who would have—”

Neither did Maguire. He had many, many acquaintances and business friends and family connections and work and charity people he knew. Most, he had a cordial relationship. Some, more.

None, though, with that kind of irreverent sense of humor.

None. Not a single soul.

It didn't make sense.

 

When Carolina opened the door, her sister strode in, handed her a package, started talking and never stopped. “I don't know who delivered this thing, but you must not have heard them knocking. Isn't it
crazy? And, Caro, why on earth are you still living in this dump?”

Carolina was momentarily stunned at the package—M&M's in a glass apothecary jar, labeled Tough Pills. She believed in miracles. Always had. But the only person who could conceivably find a way to leave that particular present on her doorstep—well, it was a stunner, that's all. It made her heart suddenly thump like a jackhammer.

Donna, in the meantime, was shedding leather jacket, shoes and scarf, still talking. “Come on, Carolina. You don't even have the security you need here. This place is ridiculous for someone with the money you have now.”

“Actually…I intend to move. There just hasn't been time.”

“That's so you. Your priorities are never like anyone else's. Some of us have a tougher road, you know. I'd rather be like you. Do what I want, when I want. I never planned to be a realist.”

When Carolina had asked Donna for a visit, she'd expected trouble. “Things not going so well with Mike?”

“He lost his job. Again.” Donna rooted in the fridge, emerged with a soda, popped the top. Her blond hair was shoulder length. She still had the cheerleader body, the great smile, the gorgeous skin. The red-piped sweater and jeans fit her perfectly.
Growing up, Carolina had always known Donna was the beauty in the family, but lines had settled in around her sister's eyes and mouth.

“You've been dealt your share,” Carolina said sympathetically.

“I have. I swear to God. I look back now, and wonder how I could have ever believed Mike would hold a long-term job. I mean, he's the same guy I married. Lots of fun. Great with the kids. Always happy to play. Just doesn't have a single responsible bone in his entire body.”

“The kids?” Carolina watched her sister throw herself on the couch with a major sigh. Apparently the kids weren't going to be an easy topic either.

“The kids are just like all the other teenagers today. Spoiled rotten. None of them appreciate how hard I've had to work, what I do for them. Mike gets to be the fun parent. I haven't been fun in a long time.”

Carolina plunked down in the microfiber chair, still holding the apothecary jar. Slowly, she unsealed it, and popped in one of the tough pills. Her sister was still going on.

“Carolina…maybe this isn't the right thing to be honest about. But I resent your money. I resent that you suddenly got real estate on easy street without having to do anything for it. I just don't know how to act around you.”

“What's wrong with being like we always were?”

“No. It's not the same. It'll never be the same again.”

Carolina popped another tough pill. Then reconsidered and scooped up three, all red ones. “I've got the papers I told you about. The kids' education account. A nest-egg trust for you, with me as cosigner, that your husband has no access to. No matter what happens, you'll be okay.”

“That's nice. That's a big thank-you. But what if I can't make payments on our house? What if Jimmy gets in trouble with the law again? What if my car breaks down?”

“You're strung tighter than wire, Donna.”

“I know I'm being bitchy. I know. I'm just exhausted all the time. And you've got all this money, while I feel like a nothing and a no one. Mike says I should ask you for a house. Like, why should he have to work when he's got a rich sister-in-law?”

“And what did you tell him?” Carolina considered another tough pill, but decided the ones she'd had were working.

“That I wasn't asking you for a new house.” But she was. It was in Donna's eyes, not greed, but the pain of envy. “Mike got really mad at me. He said you were selfish. All about yourself. While we're the ones with growing kids and job troubles.”

Carolina doubted that Mike had actually said that. Donna was the only one in the family who'd
ever called her selfish. Donna, who married the high school football star and always expected her life would be golden.

“Donna, you're not going to agree with me on this. But I don't see the inheritance as totally mine.”

“Of course it is!”

“Legally,” Carolina agreed. “But the exciting part for me is getting to do something. Having enough money to make a difference. Having the chance to do something that matters to me.”

“Your family doesn't matter to you? I don't matter to you?”

“Yes. Of course the family matters. Of course you do. But no amount of money would make you happier with Mike, would it? Or make the kids any more appreciative?”

“Maybe it would. Maybe money would do all those things. For sure it would take away all the worry and heartache, let us live easier. I don't understand you, Caro. You're just thinking about what you want! What matters to you!”

When her sister left, Carolina threw herself on the couch and winced—even though there was no one there to see. She'd handled that on a par with an elephant in a china shop. Predictably, her sister had made her feel guilty and small and selfish. She'd wanted to cave in with every harsh word.

But she couldn't have Maguire believing that his tough pills hadn't worked.

She didn't want him believing that he'd made love to the Wimp of the Universe.

Maybe she hadn't suddenly turned into a brilliantly strong person. But she hadn't caved. She'd done what she thought was right and reasonable. And now, Carolina considered, she deserved a reward.

So she jumped to her feet, grabbed a coat and car keys, and hightailed it to a bookstore. She had just the thing in mind.

 

There was a spit of snow in the area when Maguire arrived back at the lodge. He'd worked himself crazy for the last two weeks, but now he had a break. It's not as if there was ever a complete shutoff button on responsibilities, but he planned some Tommy time, some walk-in-the-woods time—and some serious rest.