While the Fire Rages (11 page)

One of the people he had to see was a Casey Delheny, the architect Wolf had chosen for the multi-unit. That Brett had never heard of Delheny before was not at all unusual. He was kept doubly busy looking after his own bailiwick. He rarely ever poked his nose into either of his brother’s domains. Besides, were he inclined in that direction, Wolf would probably tell him to butt out. Brett smiled at the realization that their mother would very likely back Wolf. Violet Renninger had worked diligently at raising strong, independent sons!

That morning Brett had had his secretary call the architect to arrange a conference meeting. She had reported back to him that Delheny had a full schedule for the next day but would be happy to join Brett for dinner at the restaurant in the motel where he’d reserved a room.

If the man was that busy he was probably an excellent architect, Brett decided as he neared his destination less than fifty miles from the New Hampshire state line. Not at all disgruntled at having to wait on Delheny’s convenience, Brett planned on spending the day checking out the building site and surrounding terrain. Wolf had delineated the proposed project with his usual painstaking care. Though Brett fully expected to find everything exactly as Wolf had described, still, he had to see for himself.

The motel was one of a large chain, fairly new, and decorated to blend in with the locale in an elegant early American motif. Thinking the early Americans never had it so good, Brett found his own way to the large, comfortable room assigned to him. He was tired but, having eaten nothing since lunch, he was also hungry. After depositing his case on the luggage rack, he washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face, then strode out of the room again in search of sustenance, preferably in the form of a two-inch thick steak with a side order of Scotch.

On entering the motel lobby, Brett had noticed a sign advertising a restaurant lounge. Back in the lobby, he followed the direction marker on the sign to a dimly lit room. As he neared the lounge entrance the melodic sound of an expertly played piano assailed his ears, along with the slightly off-key blending of several voices. Over half the tables in the large room were occupied with quietly conversing patrons. Every one of the high stools around the piano held a would-be soloist. The combined strains of an old Billy Joel hit was not at all unpleasant.

Settling his elongated frame into a well-padded chair at a table in a far corner of the room, Brett smiled when a discordant note rose above the harmonizing voices. His smile broadened as, undaunted, the man who had hit the sour note continued, still slightly out of tune, till the end. And he joined in with his fellow patrons when they offered a round of applause for the impromptu rendition.

The atmosphere in the lounge encouraged relaxation and conviviality, and Brett felt the tensions of the day ease out of his taut body. With conscious determination he relegated the disturbing thoughts that had traveled north with him to the farthest corner of his mind. The ambiance of the lounge imbued a feeling of well-being. Brett convinced himself good food would fill the emptiness inside.

The menu presented to him by a soft-spoken waiter was limited but included an open steak sandwich that Brett promptly ordered, medium rare, with French fries and a small salad. He also ordered Scotch but, remembering his foolishness of the night before, requested both ice and water in it He had consumed the steak and salad and was putting the finishing touches to his fries when a young woman entered the lounge, glanced around, then, straightening her shoulders, walked directly to his table.

“Mr. Renninger?” she asked with just the tiniest bit of hesitation.

“Yes.” Brett eyed her interestedly but discreetly. Small, well rounded without being at all heavy, the woman was not actually pretty. Her looks were too strong to be defined as anything but striking. Her features were almost sharp. Her eyes were almost slanted. Her mouth was almost too full. Yet the combination was appealing. Hair as fair as Brett’s own was styled into a shining cap that framed her face to advantage. His perusal completed in seconds, Brett smiled in welcome of the diversion she presented. “What can I do for you?”

“May I sit down?” Interpreting his smile correctly, the hesitation disappeared from her voice.

Was she trying to pick him up? The idea intrigued Brett. Besides, he was curious as to how she’d known his name. “Please do,” he invited softly, rising to pull a chair away from the table for her. Brett didn’t get the chance to question her identity for she launched into an explanation as he reseated himself.

“My name is Marsha Wenger,” she said quietly. “Casey Delheny told me you were booked into this motel.” When this statement drew one pale brow into an arch, she clarified. “I asked for you at the desk. The clerk told me you were in here.”

“I see.” Of course, he didn’t, but, what the hell. He shrugged mentally. He wasn’t going anywhere, and she was attractive. “May I order you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” She paused, eyeing his empty glass. “That is, if you’re having another.”

Brett’s smile was unknowingly sardonic. “Oh, I was planning to have several others.”

“All right then, I’ll have white wine.” Although her smooth tone had not altered, it was obvious his smile had confused her, for a tiny frown appeared momentarily between her perfectly arched blond eyebrows.

Satisfied with having thrown her slightly off balance, Brett’s smile grew into a grin as he motioned to the waiter for a refill. He remained quiet, scrutinizing her with what he knew was unnerving intentness until their drinks had been placed before them and the waiter had departed. Then, lifting his glass in a silent salute, he sipped appreciatively, lowered his glass, and queried softly, “I can’t help but wonder why Delheny would tell you where I’d registered.” His smile turned suggestive. “Unless Casey decided I’d appreciate a little entertainment and diversion.”

Although Marsha seemed startled at Brett’s use of the architect’s last name, her surprise was forgotten with his final conclusion.

“Casey decided no such thing!” she declared heatedly. “I am
not
a pros— call girl, Mr. Renninger!” Drawing a calming breath, she went on more quietly. “Casey mentioned your name quite casually and I—”

“Casually, Ms. Wenger?” Brett interrupted silkily, then added thoughtfully, “I beg your pardon. Is it
Ms.
Wenger?”

“Yes, it is.” Marsha sipped distractedly at her wine. “And I said casually because ... oh Lord, I’m screwing this up, and I wanted so badly to make a good impression!”

Now that he had her thoroughly rattled, Brett relaxed completely. You are a chauvinist bastard, he accused himself unrepentantly. Somewhere on the very fringes of his consciousness Brett knew he was, in a very convoluted way, trying to get at Jo through this stranger. Yet, unwilling to face the power his vulnerability placed in Jo’s hands, he refused to give a second thought to his own lack of logic. At this moment he simply enjoyed that fact that he had unnerved
any
woman.

“Don’t despair, Ms. ... may I call you Marsha?” he inquired respectfully—much too respectfully.

“Yes, please do. I—I—” Marsha had obviously not missed the nuance of a drawl in his overly polite request. Her expression revealing that she was indeed despairing, she grasped her glass and drank thirstily.

Suddenly Brett tired of the roasting game. Relenting, a little, he prompted, “You were saying my name was mentioned casually?”

“Yes, well, not really casually.” Marsha took a final gulp from her wine, then dove head first into an explanation. “We had lunch together yesterday, Casey and I. When I mentioned”—she winced over the word—”that I’d just mailed a resume off to you, Casey told me you were due to arrive in Vermont sometime today.” She wet her lips before continuing. “The name of this motel was not offered. I asked Casey point blank where you would be staying.”

“Resume?” Brett pounced on the one word.

Marsha winced again but answered at once. “Yes. Through a friend in New York I learned about the managerial position open in your offices. As I’d been considering relocating to New York City for some time now, I decided to apply for the job.”

“Go on,” Brett prodded.

“That’s all!” She smiled apologetically. “At least it was until yesterday. When Casey said you were coming here I decided to seek a personal interview with you.”

“Here? Now?” Brett’s expression and tone wiped away the image his casual pants and polo shirt projected, revealing the hard businessman that was never very far from the surface. “A bit unorthodox, wouldn’t you say?”

Marsha had the grace to blush with embarrassment. But she espoused her cause just the same. “I know,” she admitted boldly. “But I have always believed that the only way to get something is to go for it fearlessly. Up until now my method has always worked.”

Brett laughed. He had to. The woman’s honesty genuinely amused him. Settling more comfortably in his chair, he fixed on her with eyes sharp with interest. “Okay, Marsha Wenger, fire at will. Give me a verbal account of what is contained in your resume.”

Leaning forward tensely, Marsha began speaking in a tone devoid of inflection. Her recitation went on nonstop for a full twenty minutes. When she was finished she sat back and matched Brett stare for stare, her expression composed with the knowledge that her credentials were impressive.

In actual feet, Brett
was
impressed. He was also relieved. The open managerial position Marsha had referred to was the New England area manager’s job, which had not been filled since he’d figuratively kicked Bob Harley upstairs, the day he’d gone to the New York offices at his sister-in-law’s request. Brett had lost count of the exact number of people he had interviewed for the job during the last three weeks. Most of the applicants had been unqualified, some had been overqualified. Now, incongruous as it seemed, in a motel in Vermont, at a very late hour, Brett had found his new manager!

“You got it.”

“I-I beg your pardon?” Marsha blinked in surprise. After his long silence, it was clear his sudden pronouncement had startled her.

“The job.” Brett smiled. “It’s yours. When can you start?”

Marsha straightened abruptly, as if she’d been pinched in a very delicate spot. “At once!” she squeaked, then hedged. “Or, that is, as soon as I can relocate to the city.”

“All right.” Brett nodded his acceptance. “If you’ll drop all the pertinent information off here at the desk tomorrow, I’ll fax it in to the office and have personnel prepare the necessary forms.”

Marsha opened her mouth to agree but before she could speak Brett added, “Are you employed now?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll want to work out notice.” It was not a question. Brett’s tone indicated she had better want to work out a decent notice.

“I gave my firm a month’s notice three weeks ago.” Marsha was not quite successful in hiding her annoyance.

It would seem quite a bit happened three weeks ago,
Brett thought wryly. The thought reminded him of Wolf and his own temporary tenancy as head man in the New York office. The thought also reminded him of Jo, and that coated his voice with irritation.

“You do realize, I assume, that I’m only filling in for my brother, and the status quo might change when he’s back in command?” At the harsh sound of his voice Brett modified his question-statement. “Understand, he will take my recommendations under consideration, but the final decision is his.”

“Yes, Casey outlined the current situation.” Marsha smiled. “I was also led to understand that
if you
hired me, your brother would very likely retain me.” Her smile widened, revealing small, straight white teeth. “Casey seems to know your brother quite well.”

“Indeed?” Brett murmured coolly, wondering at both her smile and her opinion. How buddy-buddy had Wolf and this Delheny become? he mused. He did not voice the question to Marsha, preferring to judge the extent of the men’s friendship for himself.

Marsha appeared to take Brett’s coolness and preoccupation as a hint for her to leave for, after swallowing the last of her wine, she picked up her purse and pushed her chair away from the table. Her actions drew an alert, questioning glance from him.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she explained. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Alone?” Brett’s smile held sheer enticement. “Stay and join me for another drink,” he invited softly. “We’ll discuss your problem of relocation,”

Brett found Marsha as easy to charm as most of the other women he’d come in contact with ... excluding Jo Lawrence, that was. Again the flashing memory of Jo sent a spasm of annoyance through him. Damned woman! He’d wipe all consideration of her out of his mind, or kill himself in the effort! Giving Marsha his warmest smile, he underlined his desire to keep her company. “You will stay, won’t you?”

“Well, yes.” She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that was easy on Brett’s ears. “If you like.”

“I do,” he assured her firmly, consigning all thoughts of a tall, willowy body, a breathtakingly beautiful face, and a pair of maddeningly arousing lips to the farthest reaches of hell. Brett was content to smile at Marsha encouragingly until their fresh drinks were served,
then
he encouraged her to talk. ‘Tell me exactly what has to be done to accomplish this move to the big city.”

“First”—she held up a long, slim forefinger—”I must finish out my month’s notice which, in actual days, amounts to seven. Then I’ll have to face the distasteful task of going through my things to decide what I want to take with me and what I will store temporarily. My friend has offered me the use of her sofa until I can find a place of my own, so I can’t take too much of my own stuff along.” She paused to gaze contemplatively into her wine. When she again raised her eyes to him, they were cloudy with consternation. “I understand finding a decent apartment in the city is the next thing to impossible.”

“But not completely impossible,” Brett assured her bracingly. While she’d been speaking a germ of an idea had stirred to life in his mind. Now, playing for time to allow the germ quiet in which to sprout, he took a long moment to taste his drink, savoring its bite on his tongue. In his foolishness over one kiss, Brett felt sure he’d revealed far too much of his feelings to Jo. Here, sitting next to him, was a way to disabuse her of any notions she might have conceived about his emotional state. The consideration that he’d be using Marsha didn’t bother him in the least. He would be helping her as well and he’d be careful she was in no way involved afterward. The decision made to proceed, Brett put his hastily formed plan into action.