Trust in Me (6 page)

“Margo,” he’d said when he’d come down to the coffee shop for breakfast. “I obviously upset you last night. Forgive me.”

His perfectly styled blond hair was brushed back from his forehead, and for a man of forty-four, almost no wrinkles marred his classic brow. Pale blue eyes held her gaze unflinchingly. For a minute, their coolness frightened her. Then they warmed a bit and he’d grasped her hand. “I misread the signals. I take full responsibility. Please forgive me.”

What could she say but yes? He’d done more for her than any man in her life—except Linc—and if nothing else, Margo was loyal. She’d smiled weakly and told him she’d forget it ever happened. His eyes had flickered with emotion that told her...what? That he wouldn’t forget it?

She’d wanted desperately to talk to Linc about this, but she hadn’t. He didn’t like Philip and had cautioned her against the man.
I don’t trust him, Margo. He’s too smooth. Too glib. And he looks at you like a man looks at a woman.

Margo had told Linc he was overreacting, that his obsessive protectiveness was leaking out and spilling onto her. After that, Linc only asked pointed questions once in a while....
Oh, was Pretty Boy’s wife there?...Are you sure you have to go on this trip with him?...Aren’t you spending an awful lot of time with this guy?

No, she
shouldn’t
share any of this with Linc, though she wasn’t sure she could hide it from him. He was her best friend, her veritable Rock of Gibraltar, but she should try to keep Philip’s pass from him. Just like she kept her feelings about Linc as a man to herself, and by tacit agreement, he did the same.

Margo shut off the lights and strode to the spacious foyer to secure the door and the alarm system for the night. Then she headed to the spare room she’d converted into an exercise area. It was connected to the guest room by an oversize bathroom with a Jacuzzi. She stretched briefly, then stepped onto the Nordic Trac, hoping to exorcise the sleep demons.

But this room conjured other images. As she stared at the doorway, she remembered Linc standing there, two months before...

She’d been working out while he took a whirlpool bath. He’d come to the doorway when he’d finished, clothed only in brief navy gym shorts, his skin glowing a rosy hue from the hot water. Droplets dotted his broad shoulders and chest. That boyish shock of chestnut hair fell around his always-mischievous eyes. Watching him, the desire she’d kept for years in an emotional container marked NO ACCESS had threatened to erupt. She’d gripped the exercise machine bars and picked up her speed.

“That felt great,” he’d said.

“Good.”

He’d shot her a puzzled look but hadn’t said anything else....

Angry at giving in to the temptation to wallow in the sensual images of Linc, Margo swore, purposely using words which would offend his minister morality. It helped to remind her that no matter what happened in their past, they had no future together.

They were at opposite ends of the salvation scale. Lucifer himself might rejoice in his taunting of them with their lustful feelings but no benevolent deity was going to bless their union.

By morning, she’d convinced herself.

o0o

PHILIP Hathaway’s office was a palace compared to Margo’s. Next door to the CEO—they shared a reception area which housed the executive assistant, Geraldine—it was the size of two junior executive offices, had a row of windows facing Sixth Avenue and a chrome and glass desk with a recliner like chair behind it. Bookcases lined the walls, sporting many of the awards he’d earned in his career at the company for which he was now second in command.

As Margo entered the plush surroundings, Philip sat off to the side at the conference table, seven of the upholstered chairs occupied by him and the department heads. Since Mark Linstrom had retired, she was filling in for the engineering department. If she took his place and became VP of Engineering, she’d attend this level of meetings regularly.

“I thought I’d shit when that bear came outta the woods,” the vice president of Sales quipped.

“You and me both, buddy.” Philip shrugged out of his cashmere sports coat and Margo glanced down at her outfit.

One of the few business concessions she refused to make was dressing like a man. Today she wore a light green sheath with a multicolored scarf at her waist. As with everything, she preferred heels.

He noticed her in the doorway. “Oh, hello, Margo.”

“Hi guys.” She entered casually and she circled around to the empty chair.

Philip glanced pointedly at the clock. “We’re all here. I guess we can get started.”

Eight fifty-five. “Am I late?” she asked, knowing she wasn’t.

“No, no.” Jonathan Norton, from Research and Development, smiled. “You gave us time to rehash our Deliverance experience.”

“Deliverance?”

“Margo’s young, Jon. She doesn’t know the movie.”

“I know the movie.” Margo was irritated but careful not to show it. “I just don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“We spent some time at Philip’s cabin on Glenora Lake this weekend,” Bill Smith, the head of manufacturing, told her. “It was...an experience.” He grinned a Burt Reynolds grin.

“So I see.” And she did. She’d come across this in the company where she’d worked before CompuQuest. “Just some good old male bonding.”

Philip flashed her a puzzled look.

She smiled sweetly, ignoring the question in his eyes.

As the work discussion began, Margo threw herself into the meeting. She was bothered by their exclusion, not that she was at their level yet, to be included, nor would she have even wanted to go to some ridiculous out-in-the woods weekend. It was just so
male
.

As Philip talked about new programs they were designing, Margo’s mind drifted to Linc and how tired he’d sounded on the phone Tuesday night. There were marked traces of fatigue in that baritone voice of his...

“Margo, where are you?” Philip asked. “I need a final update on the design for Jamison’s energy-management program.”

“Sorry.” She opened her folder before it hit her. “A
final
update? You told me to have the prelims for today.”

“No, I asked for a design. And the prelims for Laufler’s.”

He hadn’t. She studied him, rolling her Waterman pen between her fingers. “There must be some confusion, then.” Which both of them knew was false. Margo was organized and efficient. Everyone teased her about her Type-A personality. “I’ve only got the prelims on the Jamison account and haven’t started Laufler’s. I was waiting for the specs on the latter.”

Silence. Then Philip smiled, and shrugged. “No problem. You can work on it today.”

As they went on to the production schedule, Margo wondered what had just happened. She stayed behind at the end of the meeting to find out.

As the others exited, every one of them clapped Philip on the back and made some reference to the weekend. The Ol’ Boys Network at its best.

When they were gone, Philip faced her. “Something I can do for you?”

“Did you have a nice weekend?” she asked. Actually, he looked like he’d had a hell of a time. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin a little pale.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He cocked his head. “Did you?”

She nodded to the door and crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me Philip, did Martin go, too?”

“Martin?”

“T. J. Martin.” Her competitor for VP of Engineering.

“Sure, he came up.”

Now, that complicated matters. It was an obvious preference over her.

Philip stared at her. “Something wrong, Margo? You’re not still upset about Boston are you?”

“No. That’s behind us.” She stood. “And I’m not upset.” Circling the table, she made to walk past him.

He grasped her arm. And didn’t let go. “About Laufler’s?”

“What about them?”

“You’d better get to their account.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as I get the last of the specs I need.”

“You have them.”

“No, Philip, you didn’t give them to me.”

“Yes, I did.”

God, this was odd. “When?”

“Last week. I had Geraldine put them in your in-box.”

“I’ll check with Gerry. But your secretary doesn’t usually make these kinds of mistakes.”

“Neither do you.”

She raised her brows. “I didn’t this time, either.” She shrugged to release his hand. He held on for a moment longer, then let go. “I’ll be in touch.”

Her heart beating at a marathon clip, she walked out of the office, a million thoughts racing through her head.

Chapter 3

ANNIE Lang’s breath hitched in her throat as her son Matt’s color rose and his voice hiked up a notch. He paced around the cozy kitchen in his jeans and performance fleece, his Nike high-tops clomping on the tile. “I’m too old for a baby-sitter. Why can’t you just go to that stupid meeting and leave me and Faith here alone?”

It’s a normal adolescent reaction. Don’t blow it out of proportion.

“Oh, honey,” she said reaching out and grabbing his hand. He stopped in front of her, and she feathered back his dark hair. His shoulders were broadening and he’d topped her meager five-foot height months before. Every day he got to look more like Joe, except his eyes were more blue than gray, though they had the Murphy shape. Maybe the resemblance was why she worried so much lately. “We agreed that when you were twelve, you could stay alone. Less than a year to go.”

His brow knitted. “Johnny’s parents leave him alone.”

“Just your luck to end up with the Wicked Witch for a mother.”

As usual, humor did the trick. Matt’s features softened and he shot her a half-grin. Her heart turned over in her chest at the look. “Yeah, sure. Every girl in school loves you.” Sometimes, owning DanceWorks, Glen Oaks’ only dance studio, had its advantages. “They say I’m the luckiest kid alive.”

Turning away, Annie bit her lip and swallowed hard. The last statement zinged her mother’s heart. She picked up the soup pot draining in the sink and dried it as an image from six years before surfaced, imprinted on her mind like a movie scene you couldn’t forget. Only this was all too real—five-year-old Matt, his body still bearing baby fat, diving in front of her, so afraid he was crying; but he confronted his father with determination.
Don’t, Daddy. No more.

“Mom? Did you hear me? I said it was okay.”

Annie sighed. There it was again. The anxiety in his voice that she dreaded almost as much as any sign of violence. She circled around. “No, Matt, don’t do that. If you’re mad, say it out loud. It’s the best way to deal with anger.”

“I’m not mad.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m
embarrassed
.”

“Aunt Suzie won’t tell anybody she’s watching you. And she’s fun to be with, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, sure, I love Aunt Suz.”

Suz
. It was what Joe had always called his sister.

The back door creaked open as he said the words, and a curly brown head poked in. Again, Joe’s eyes stared at her from under thick, dark bangs. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”

Annie smiled over at the twenty-nine-year-old woman. Since Annie’s parents—neglectful at best—had moved to a warmer climate, Suzanne Murphy was all the real family Annie and the kids had. Suzie slipped inside, her long, lean body muscled and fit from years of teaching dance. “Hi, sis.” Sniffing, she said, “Hmm, I smell minestrone. Save me some?”

Annie laughed. “In the fridge.”

Suzie hugged Annie briefly, then pinched Matt’s cheek. “Hey, guy, you grow another inch since last week? Geez, you’re big.”

“I’m eleven.” Matt grinned. “I’m supposed to be growing.”

Eleven
. As she stored the dishes and Suzie teased Matt about his oversize feet, Annie shook her head. It was hard to believe that Annie herself had been only two years older than Matt when she started
dating
Joey Murphy. And only three years older than her son when she and Joe first had sex. Annie shuddered at the thought of something like that happening to Matt.

“Hey, the kitchen looks good.” Suzie scanned the freshly painted cream walls and rim of blue stenciling around the top. Along with a new hardwood floor and gleaming white appliances, the room was a showcase. “You do this alone?”

“Nope, Wick’s Lumber put in the floor. Linc and the Donovans came over and helped with the rest.” She smiled. “Ronny did the stenciling.” Annie tried not to beam with pride over finishing off another room in this house. Six years before, while pregnant with Faith, she’d taken the savings she and Joe had managed to put away—if nothing else he was a good provider—and she’d bought this dilapidated property because it was so cheap and because she couldn’t stay one more night in the apartment she’d shared with Joe. Linc had said the house was a metaphor for Annie herself. She’d been beaten and broken, just like this place, and had healed herself as she’d renovated the house. He’d been right. Her goal was to provide a safe retreat for her family, an oasis from the stresses of their daily lives. All that was left to remodel was the upstairs.

Matt had taken a chair at the table and tossed a baseball up in the air; its rhythmic thud as it hit the glove was soothing to Annie. Suzie perched on a stool and questioned him about his team.

Soon, a high-pitched voice rent the air. “Aunt Suzie!”

Five-year-old Faith burst into the kitchen, a human tornado on pink-sneakered feet, and threw herself at her aunt. Faith’s thick, waist-length blond hair was the exact color and texture Annie’s had been at that age; it bobbed in a jaunty ponytail.

Slowly, Annie’s hand crept to her shoulder, where loose locks that turned curly when she cropped it replaced the heavy strands that she’d sheared—again, six years before—because Joe would never allow her to cut it.

She frowned, wondering why her ex-husband was on her mind tonight. She could go for days without thinking about him, even though, within two years of their divorce, a monthly reminder began coming like clockwork—the child support check that grew larger as time went on. As she finished cleaning up supper dishes, and the kids entertained Suzie, Annie remembered getting the first check. She’d rushed right to Linc...