Deception. Donna Hill
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from the office, leaving a fuming Clint and the heady scent of her kush body oil lingering behind.
Stepping out into the corridor, she forced her breathing to slow down to normal. What had happened to her in there? Taking a deep breath, she continued down the hallway, just as Mark left his office, to the conference room. Terri stopped short.
A feeling of disaster spread through Mark. “How did it go? I think this is one great deal, Terri,” he said a bit too enthusiastically.
Terri glared at him. “We’ll talk later. Right now I think you’d better soothe Mr. Steele’s ruffled feathers. There’s no deal, Mark. Understood? When you’re through, I’ll see you in my office.”
She turned on her heel, leaving Mark to throw daggers at her back. She’d screwed him. Dammit!
Quickly Mark made his way down the hallway and rushed into the room just as Clint was putting the last of his notes in his briefcase.
“Clint,” Mark began apologetically, spreading his hands in a plea. “I had no idea that she was going to react this way. I can assure you that everything was set,” he lied. Actually, he had no idea that she would return to work three weeks early. He’d planned to have this deal signed and sealed before she returned.
Clint threw him a glowering look over his shoulder.
“I just need some time to talk with her,” Mark added. “I’m sure I can get her to—”
Clint turned to Mark. “I don’t beg for anything, Andrews. Boss lady has her reasons—fine. The hell with her. You should have known better than to waste my time.”
“Listen, Clint,” Mark implored, grasping at straws, “Terri’s just being difficult. She’s probably on a hate-all-men campaign. She’s recently divorced, and she lost her baby. Today’s her first day…”
Mark’s voice droned on as Clint absorbed the implications of what was being said. My God, what she’d been through was enough to floor anyone. Yet she’d stood there resolute and determined, only once letting emotion seep through that picture-perfect demeanor. His defenses weakened. How could you not admire a woman like that? He felt that he understood her. He knew all too well about pain and loss. That part of him wanted to soothe away the hurt that still lingered behind those mysterious brown eyes.
The snap of Clint’s voice cut off Mark’s litany.
“Try to see if you can get Ms. Powers to change her mind, and keep me posted.”
Mark hid his surprise behind a wall of conversation. “I won’t disappoint you, Clint. This deal is important to me, too.” You just don’t know how much.
Mark’s calculating mind went into overdrive. He’d have to pull this off and soon, or… No. He refused to think about the possibilities.
“Will you be attending the reception tonight at Tavern on the Green for the producers?” Mark asked.
Clint picked up his briefcase. “I hadn’t planned to. Why?”
“Well, I’ll talk to Terri again. I’ll be escorting her tonight. Maybe she’ll be in a more receptive frame of mind,” he concluded, giving Clint a sly grin.
Clint pursed his lips, considering what Mark had said. He generally shied away from formal affairs, believing them to be frivolous. But if it gave him the chance to see Terri again, he’d make an exception.
“I never confirmed my invitation,” Clint said slowly, “but I don’t think it should be a problem.”
“Great. So I’ll see you tonight.”
Clint reluctantly shook Mark’s hand and strode purposefully from the conference room.
There was one thing that bugged Clint more than anything else—a brownnose. And Mark Andrews fit the bill, he thought, as he waited for the elevator. But there was something else about Mark that disturbed him. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. At least not yet. But he would. Maybe he’d just let Steve check him out.
Terri plopped down onto the overstuffed, cream-colored couch that stood against the far wall of her office. Waves of apprehension swept through her. She wasn’t sure if what she was feeling was the stress of first-day jitters or the eruption of buried feelings that Clinton Steele had inadvertently dug up.
Adrenaline pumped through her limbs, forcing her body into action. She sprang up from her seat and paced the floor, crossing and recrossing the earth-toned-print area rug covering the parquet floor. Absently she stroked the polished wooden artwork and the array of greenery that adorned strategic locations throughout the tropiclike office. Clinton Steel disturbed her. There was no other word for it. Without effort, he’d made her think and feel things that she’d promised herself she’d never fall prey to again. Her husband, Alan, had been enough.
Terri shut her eyes and wrapped her slender arms around her waist as if to ward off some unseen attacker, momentarily reliving the months of agony. The knocking on her office door jarred her back to the present.
She spun toward the door, blinking back the visions to focus on Mark standing in the doorway.
She cleared her throat. “Mark. Come in.” She took a seat behind her desk.
“I think you’re making a big mistake here, Terri,” Mark began as he crossed the room and sat down, handing her a stack of documents to be signed.
She gave them a cursory glance and turned her attention back to Mark. “You know perfectly well how I feel about Hightower Enterprises.”
“Your opinion is archaic!” he snapped. “You left me in charge, and I’ve been doing a damn good job of running things around here. At least give me the courtesy of believing that I know what I’m doing. Do you honestly think that you can get anywhere in this world being a Goody Two-shoes? Be for real, Terri.”
Slowly she rose from her seat, her anger shielded behind her veil of serenity.
“You seem to have forgotten that this company is where it is today because we have values—whether you believe them to be legitimate or not.” Her eyes locked onto him.
Mark heaved a sigh and ran a finger around his shirt collar. Alienating her was not the answer. “Listen,” he said, forcing calm into his voice, “at least think about it. Three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at. Maybe this one time we could make an exception.”
“I doubt it. But I will give the proposal the benefit of another look.”
Mark’s hopes lifted. “That’s all I ask.” He headed for the door, then paused. “Do you still want me to pick you up this evening?”
“What? Oh, I’d almost forgotten. Yes, thanks. Is eight o’clock good?”
“I’ll be there,” he said, opening the door.
Watching his hasty departure, Terri realized that something was very wrong.
The swish of Terri’s black satin-and-chiffon gown blended delicately with the soft music and laughter that wafted from the ballroom.
Mark, clad in an elegant-fitting tuxedo, dutifully took Terri’s elbow and escorted her down the carpeted corridor of Tavern on the Green. Stopping briefly to check Terri’s stole, there were many who gave them a second look as the two made their way down the hall.
Bowing his close-cropped curly head, Mark whispered in Terri’s diamond-studded ear, “Are you ready for your grand entrance?”
“No way,” she whispered back as they neared the open ballroom. “And don’t you dare leave me, Mark Andrews,” she threatened. “You know how self-conscious I get in crowds. You’re going to take your share of wet kisses and damp handshakes like a man,” she teased.
“Thanks, I can’t wait,” he answered drolly, rubbing his index finger across his mustache.
At the entrance Terri was awestruck and took a moment to absorb