The Highest Bidder. Maureen Child
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she said and hit the button on her phone. When she turned to him, Charlotte said, “It’s Derek Stone, calling from the London office.”
“Oh, good.” Grateful for the excuse to leave Charlotte and get back to work, Vance took the folder and stepped into his office. “Put him through, please, Charlotte. And after this call, hold all the others.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Waverly,” she said.
Vance closed the door then strode across the room to his desk, barely noticing the thud of his footsteps against the gleaming wooden floor. Paintings by undiscovered artists hung alongside a couple of old masters on the ivory walls. A long couch hugged one wall, with a low-slung table and two chairs opposite it. A wall of windows stood behind his desk, offering a view of Madison Avenue and the always-busy city of Manhattan.
Reaching for his phone, he turned his back on the view, dropped into his chair and said, “Derek. Good to talk to you.”
Completely drained, Charlie blew out a relieved breath and practically crawled back to her desk. The bright, cheerful smile on her face felt brittle enough to crack and she hoped to heaven that Vance Waverly hadn’t sensed just how nervous she was around him.
“Does he really have to smell so good?” she muttered as she fell into her chair and propped her elbows on the desk. Cupping her face in her palms, she told herself to get a grip.
Her hormones didn’t listen, sadly, and continued their happy little dance of excitement. This happened every time she got close to Vance Waverly and it was damn humiliating. How could she be so attracted to a boss who terrified half the people in this building?
But there it was. He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark brown hair that always looked a little tousled. His brown eyes had flecks of gold in them and his mouth almost never curved in a smile. He was all business and she had the distinct feeling that he was watching her closely, looking for any excuse he could find to fire her.
Which she was not going to allow to happen.
This job was the most important thing she had going for her. Well, she thought, sliding a glance at the photo of the smiling toddler on her desk, the second most important thing. But professionally, it was no contest. Working for Vance Waverly, a senior board member, was the chance of a lifetime and she wasn’t going to lose it.
Taking a breath, Charlie nodded and sat up straight. She glanced at the photo of her son, Jake, again, and reminded herself that she might have been hired as a favor to an old friend, but she had the qualifications to do this job brilliantly. She was going to stay positive and upbeat and cheerful if it killed her.
When her phone rang, she grabbed it quickly. “Vance Waverly’s office.”
“How’s it going?” a familiar, feminine voice asked in a rush.
Charlie shot a quick look at the closed door to her boss’s office as if to make sure he was locked away and oblivious to this phone call. “So far so good,” she said.
“What did he think of your ideas for the catalog layout?”
“You were right, Katie,” she said, imagining her friend down in Accounting grinning in response. Charlie had worked on the new layout for the catalog in secret, indulging herself with how she would have done things. Katie was the one who suggested she actually show her ideas to Vance. “He said I did a good job.”
“See? Told you.” Katie was typing as she talked; Charlie heard her fingers tapping wildly against the keys. “I knew he’d like what you did. He’s a smart guy. He’s bound to notice that you’re doing a terrific job.”
“In the last week, mostly he’s just been watching me, as if he’s waiting for me to screw up,” Charlie told her, with another glance at her baby son’s smiling face.
“Maybe he’s just watching you because you’re gorgeous.”
“I don’t think so.” Though that thought sent a skittering of something delicious whipping through her. Instantly, though, she poured metaphorical ice water on those feelings. She wasn’t here for a date. She was here to build a better life for her and her son. And this new job with the lovely raise was a big part of her grand plan. All she had to do was convince her new boss that she was indispensable.
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Katie countered. “Trust me, if I was playing for the other team, even I would hit on you.”
Charlie laughed at the very idea. Katie was juggling so many men she hardly had a moment to herself. But the truth was, Katie had a point. Most people looked at Charlie—blond hair, big blue eyes and boobs any Barbie doll would be proud of, and immediately came to the conclusion that she didn’t have a brain in her head. She’d spent most of her life proving people wrong.
The one time she had gone with her heart instead of her head …
“He’s not like that,” Charlie said with another look at his closed door.
“Honey, all men are ‘like that.’”
Charlie ignored that and lowered her voice. “I know he only hired me as a favor to Quentin.”
“So what? Who cares why he hired you, Charlie?” The sounds of typing stopped abruptly and Katie’s voice came across the phone loud and clear. “It doesn’t matter how you got there. The point is, the job is yours now. And you’re already proving that you’re perfect for it.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said. “Now, I’m going to do some perfect filing. Talk to you later.”
When she hung up, Charlie was still smiling.
Two
Two hours later, Vance crumpled the newspaper and tossed it aside. Fury rose up inside him but he quickly reined it in. Just as Tracy had promised, the story about a possible affair between Ann Richardson and Dalton Rothschild was on page twenty-six. For a second, Vance told himself that since the so-called story was buried in a small column on a page filled with ads, it might get ignored.
But the chances of that were actually slim to none. There was nothing people liked better than the makings of a good scandal and this one would be talked about for weeks. It wasn’t just the rumors of an affair, but the possibility of collusion that had him worried. He hoped to hell there was nothing to it, because if there was, they were looking at official investigations, charges—possibly even the destruction of Waverly’s.
He snatched up his phone, punched in a number and waited for it to be answered. When it was, he snapped, “Dammit, Tracy.”
“Vance, not my fault,” the woman on the other end said matter-of-factly. “My editor got a tip and we acted on it. At least I gave you a heads-up.”
“Yeah, for all the good that does me.” Tracy had called him late last night. Not much of a warning system, and he had a feeling she had only done it because she wanted to give him a little extra time to stew over it.
He stood up and turned to stare out at the city streets. Manhattan was sweltering under a vicious summer sun. Tourists strolled along Madison Avenue, getting buffeted by the quicker-moving locals who had places to go and didn’t want to linger in the heat.
“Is there any proof of this story?”
“You know I can’t answer that.”
“Fine. But if you have any other ‘tips’ let me know before you go to print, will you?”
“No promises,” she snapped. Then she asked, “Sound familiar?” just before she hung up.
Vance winced, knowing full well she shouldn’t be telling him a damn thing. A year ago, Tracy had been in his bed for a couple of months and when he’d told her it was over, he had reminded her that he’d gone into the affair warning her of “no promises.”
It was the same warning he gave every woman who entered his life. He wasn’t looking for long-term.