Master of El Corazon

Arden’s counter-attack was carefully planned. She’d spent the hour before dawn plotting it from start to finish. She would get to work a little late, just late enough for Lithgow to be lulled into thinking she’d accepted his growled command that she not show up at the office again. The nerve of him! She had done nothing to be ashamed of, and the very first thing she intended to do was make that point—forcefully—to her former boss, for that was exactly what he’d be, as of this morning, after she’d made her short but pointed speech.

‘You’re right,’ she’d say, after she’d marched into his office and shut the door, ‘I won’t press charges—assuming you arrange immediately for my transfer back to the New York office and for my immediate promotion to administrative assistant.’

If he gave her one moment’s argument—if he did, she’d—she’d...

She’d what? She’d collapse like a deflated balloon, that was what, because the only thing worse than the prospect of letting Lithgow get away with this was the thought of having to stand up in a courtroom and describe the humiliation of what had happened. Even worse would be having to explain things to Lithgow’s bosses. They were all the same, his kind of people; she could almost see the knowing little smiles of disbelief they’d give each other.

But things would never get that far. Lithgow wouldn’t call her bluff; he wouldn’t dare. Late last night, after she’d calmed down enough to think, she’d realised that her boss had as much reason to want to keep this quiet as she. Hell, he might even have more! He’d ticked off his sterling qualities for the stranger’s benefit, his community and church affiliations, his status in the company—none of them would change him from the lowlife he was into the decent man everyone believed him to be, but that was all the more reason he wouldn’t want a charge of sexual harassment hanging around his neck.

‘Buenos dias, señorita.’

Arde

n looked up from the menu. ‘Good morning,’ she said, and then she hesitated. Was the waiter looking at her strangely? Come to think of it, had the chambermaid given her this same off-centre smile, as if she knew something Arden didn’t?

She gave a little laugh as she set the menu aside. That was just what she needed now, a touch of paranoia to top things off.

‘I’ll have the melon,’ she said briskly in Spanish, ‘and toast. And a pot of coffee, please.’

She wasn’t hungry, despite having never had supper last night, but there was still time to kill and besides, she’d need all the strength she could garner for the confrontation that lay ahead. Methodically, she ate everything that had been served her, washed it all down with three cups of strong black coffee, then pushed back her chair and rose from the table.

The waiter materialised from out of nowhere and held out a small silver tray bearing the bill for her meal. Arden sank back into her seat and sighed. He wanted her to sign her name and room number, which was fine. It was just that the ritual was never the same. Sometimes you were asked to sign, and other times whatever bill you’d run up was automatically charged to the company’s account.

‘I’ll need a pen,’ she said. The waiter shrugged. ‘Una pluma, por favor, so I can sign for my breakfast.’

He gave her an embarrassed smile. ‘I am sorry, señorita, but I cannot accommodate.’

Arden sighed. ‘No problem,’ she said, opening her bag and digging into it. ‘I have a pen in here somewhere, if I can just—’

‘I meant that I cannot permit you to charge the meal to your room.’ She looked up, startled. ‘It is not my decision,’ he said quickly. ‘It is the decision of Senor Arondo.’

There it was again, that peculiar little smile. A chill of premonition danced along Arden’s spine, but she told herself she was over-reacting. Arondo was the hotel manager, but he’d only been here a couple of weeks. A screw-up was more than likely.

She dug some notes from her purse and tossed them on the tray. ‘Never mind,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘I’ll stop by later and sort things out.’

She made her way to the parking area and headed for the place where she always parked her car. But the green Ford wasn’t there. The slot was empty.

Arden swung around in a circle. Had she forgotten where she’d parked it? It didn’t seem likely, but anything was possible on a morning like this. The lot wasn’t very big; she would be able to see the car in an instant and—

It wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The chill came again, this time sending a shudder through her bones. Don’t bother showing up at work, Lithgow had said, and this morning she’d had to pay for her breakfast—a breakfast that should have gone on the company tab—and now her company-supplied car was missing. It took no great stretch of the imagination to realise what had happened.

Lithgow had already eliminated her as an employee. He’d taken back all the perks of her job.

Arden’s eyes narrowed. Was he really so sure of himself? Well, he was in for a big surprise.

‘Get ready, Mr Lithgow,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘because you’re not going to get away with this!’

Without a car, what should have been a few minutes’ trip to work became a half-hour walk. It was a hot morning and Arden felt sweaty and dishevelled by the time she reached her office. She longed to stop in the ladies’ room to splash cool water on her face, touch up her make-up and fix her hair, but the line between giving Edgar Lithgow enough time to build up a sense of false security and losing the edge she wanted was a narrow one.

It was better to confront him right away, she thought, pushing open the door to his outer office...

She stopped dead in her tracks. Julie Squires was sitting at Arden’s desk. The s.o.b. had certainly moved fast, she thought grimly, and made her way quickly across the room.

‘I want to see Mr Lithgow,’ she said.

Julie shifted in her chair. ‘I’m afraid he’s not here.’

Arden’s brows lifted. ‘Really,’ she said coldly.