Exposing the Executive's Secrets. Emilie Rose
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lane?”
“Can’t a woman rescue an old friend from the money-hungry masses without complaint?”
“Old friends. Is that what we are?”
Could they ever be friends again? Doubtful. But she could fake it long enough to get the closure she needed. “I hope so.”
“So this is you being self-sacrificing?”
His sarcasm stiffened her spine and heated her cheeks with a not-so-subtle reminder that she’d been something of a pampered princess when he left town. But that had changed. She’d learned the hard way not to take anything for granted—like happiness, promises or loved ones. “You have a problem with that?”
“You never could lie worth a damn. You get a quiver in your voice. C’mon. Spill it, Andrea. Why are we really here?”
She cursed the telling sign of her agitation and cleared her throat. “We have to work together. So anything that makes your life easier makes my life easier. Saving you from that—” she gestured toward the club “—seemed like a nice thing to do.”
“You’re claiming this is about work?” More sarcasm. He clearly didn’t buy her story. She couldn’t blame him.
Pursing her lips, she exhaled in resignation. This wasn’t going as well as she’d anticipated. She’d expected him to be grateful, not suspicious. “I need to know that I can count on you not to bail before Joseph’s back on his feet.”
His breath hissed. “I have my own business to run. I’ll stay until the headhunting firm I’ve hired locates an interim CEO, and then I’m out of here.”
She gaped and then snapped her mouth closed. “You can’t hand Dean Yachts over to a stranger. Your father would—”
“My father has nothing to say about it,” he interrupted in a flat don’t-argue-with-me tone.
Reeling, she scrambled to make him understand. “The doctors expect Joseph to make an eighty to ninety percent recovery from the stroke. His mental faculties are clear, but his stamina isn’t what it used to be. Knowing you’d be here is the only reason he agreed to stay out of the office while he recuperates.”
A balmy June breeze whipped her hair across her face and ruffled the edges of her gown, nearly baring her breasts. Clay’s gaze lowered to her cleavage. Her nipples peaked and an ache started deep inside her. Damn. It.
“I didn’t ask for an update.” Clay shifted deeper into the shadows. In the darkness she couldn’t read his expression. Did he like what he saw? Did he have even one moment’s regret for walking away from what they’d had? Had he thought about her at all since he’d left?
Stop it. It doesn’t matter.
But it did. Andrea clenched her fingers around the long chain strap of her sequined evening bag.
“You should have. He’s your father. In a couple of months he’ll be back on the job unless you rush him and he ends up endangering his health. Give him time to heal, Clay.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away, presenting her with his back—a broad, unyielding wall of resistance.
The creaking of the dock boards and the clang of the sailboat lines in the slips broke the silence, but the familiar sounds didn’t have their usual calming effect.
Ask him why he left.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. Because she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear his answer. What if he told her something hideous and then she had to face him daily for the next few months? But she would get the information out of him before he left.
Andrea sighed and plucked a strand of hair from her overly glossy—thanks to her friends—lips. She joined Clay at the rail, and the citrus and spice scent of his cologne wafted to her on the breeze. Memories washed over her, tugging at her like a strong riptide. Memories of a night very like this one. High school graduation night. The tiny cabin of his sailboat. Making love for the first time. Learning his body as he learned hers.
Stop.
She shifted restlessly and pushed away the past. Okay, so she still found Clay physically appealing. Big deal. That didn’t mean she’d let the current of attraction pull her under. He’d hurt her too badly for her to ever trust him again.
Stick to the agenda, Andrea. Focus on what you’re good at—your job. And the rest will follow.
She took a deep breath and launched into her practiced spiel. “Dean Yachts has a backlog of pending orders. You’ll have to plunge into the deep end if we’re to keep up with our production schedule. Your father will tell you whatever you need to know to stay afloat.”
His jaw hardened. “I don’t need his help.”
She bit her lip and battled frustration. Mending the breach between the men might be harder than she’d anticipated. “You may not need it, but Joseph needs you to ask for it. He’s depressed and more than a little shaken up by his brush with mortality. He’s looking forward to having you at home.”
He turned his head and met her gaze. She’d never considered Clay inflexible or implacable in the past, but his face wore both traits now. His square jaw jutted forward. “I docked my boat at Dean’s. I’m berthing there.”
“Security didn’t notify me.”
“Mom cleared it before I arrived.”
Neither Mrs. Dean nor security had informed Andrea, which was odd since Andrea was unofficially in charge at the moment. But then Mrs. Dean had been acting strangely since she’d let it slip that Clay would be coming home and arriving just in time to participate in the auction. But Andrea would worry about that later.
“You will go by the house to see your father, won’t you?”
“No.”
Another wave of frustration crashed over Andrea’s head. “Clay, Joseph needs his family around him.”
“It’s a little late for him to start thinking about his family.” Bitterness tightened his voice.
“What does that mean?” He remained silent and Andrea’s irritation and curiosity mounted. What had happened eight years ago to cause this rift? “It’s never too late to say you’re sorry.”
He pivoted sharply. Moonlight illuminated the flattened line of his mouth and his narrowed eyes. “Is that what you want? An apology?”
She gasped. As if an apology would be enough to fix what he’d done. “I wasn’t talking about me. I meant you and Joseph. He’s your father, Clay. Wake up. You could have lost him. Take this opportunity to fix things between you before it’s too late. You might not get another chance.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then explain it to me.” She crushed her evening bag in her fingers, half hoping, half fearing his answer.
He made a scoffing sound. “You couldn’t handle it.”
“Try me.” A minute dragged past. Two.
“It’s over, Andrea. Let it go.”
If only she could, but even now Clay’s nearness stirred things best left undisturbed. She traveled a few shaky steps down the dock being careful to keep her heels from getting caught between the boards. “Just in case you’re worried, I’m not interested in picking up where we left off. But we have to work together, Clay. I need your support in front of the staff.”
“You’ll have it.” He shadowed her down the dock. “Mother says you’ve single-handedly run the company for the past three weeks.”
Was that grudging respect in his voice? “I’ve done what I could, but we have over a thousand employees. It’s been a true team effort.”
“Why can’t you