Her calm facade belied the tumult within. Could anyone guess that inside Kathleen was shivering with anxiety? She needed this job so badly. It went beyond economic necessity. She needed it to restore her sanity, her equilibrium, both of which had been unbalanced since she had sat in that hospital waiting room in Arkansas and watched Erik’s wife rush to his side.
Unconsciously, Kathleen squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to blot out the pain the vision still caused. Immediately, she opened them and darted a glance at the secretary, hoping that the woman hadn’t seen that moment of weakness. She hadn’t. She was leaning over a file cabinet behind her desk.
After two months, one would think the agony would have subsided, the ache would have become only a dull reminder; but the memory was there constantly, an open, gaping wound, still raw and bleeding.
Kathleen turned her face toward the wide picture window and gazed out at the San Francisco skyline. She noted the Transamerica Building and, far in the distance, the Bay, sparkling like a great sapphire in the brilliant sunlight.
How could she have been so naive? Why hadn’t she even considered the possibility that he was married? It had not once occurred to her. She had been so dazzled by the man, held by his magnetism, that she hadn’t looked beyond the obvious.
His seeming to care for her was all a sham. Tears of shame and humiliation clouded Kathleen’s eyes when she remembered how she had responded to him both physically and emotionally. His tutelage had been expert and she had been all too willing. The intimacies that had seemed so sacred when they had shared them now offended her.
At the hospital, when she had heard the pretty woman identifying herself as Mrs. Gudjonsen, by virtue of her name having the right to stand by Erik’s bedside, be privy to the information that had been withheld from Kathleen, she had wanted to flee, to run until she was exhausted and then slip off the edge of the earth to be swallowed up by oblivion.
She had fled. She had returned to the airport and waited there through the night while cleanup crews hauled away the wreckage of the crash and restored the field to operational capacity. Boarding the first plane going east, she had returned to Atlanta.
In the space of a few minutes, Kathleen Haley had grown up. Before, she had considered herself to be a mature woman, wise to the ways of the world, well acquainted with heartache and suffering.
What a fool she had been. Erik had robbed her of her innocence in more ways than taking her virginity. He had shown her just how self-serving a man could be. David Ross was an amateur compared to Erik Gudjonsen. Kathleen hadn’t known such intentional deceit could exist. Now she did. Never would she walk so blindly into any kind of relationship. The young woman she’d formerly been was gone. In her place was a woman with bruised hands and a bruised heart. Both would be a long time in healing.
She bought a Little Rock newspaper for several consecutive days, avidly poring over the accounts of the accident. Erik’s name never appeared on the list of casualties. To relieve her own mind, she called the hospital and was told he was mending well and would soon be released. When asked if she wished to be connected to his room or to leave a message, she declined.
Uppermost on her list of priorities was to close this chapter of her life. If she could have rubbed it out of her history, she would have done so, but that wasn’t possible. Her only hope was to put it behind her, chalk it up as a learning experience and go on from there. She wanted to start over, in another place, as another person, so she emptied her apartment and moved into a modest hotel until she could decide what to do.
For weeks, nothing happened. She read the classified ads in all the out-of-town newspapers she could buy on the Atlanta newsstands. She mailed letters of inquiry to major department stores all over the country, but if she received any reply at all, it was usually a polite but impersonal rejection. All the while, her bank account dwindled as surely as her spirits, which hadn’t recovered from the death-blow they had been dealt.
Then she saw a classified ad in a trade journal. There was no name, no telephone number, only a post office box to which to send a résumé. According to the ad, several jobs were open, but they weren’t listed specifically. Mechanically and without hope, she mailed the requested information, knowing that it was a shot in the dark.
To her surprise, she received an answer within a few days. If she was still interested in a job as fashion buyer, she was to call the enclosed telephone number and make an appointment.
If she was still interested! Quickly, Kathleen checked her bank balance and decided that if she lived frugally, it would be worth it to gamble on a trip to California.
“Ms. Haley?”
She jumped out of her reverie when the composed, assured secretary called her name. Another woman, chic, slim and fashionable, was coming out of the inner office. She eyed Kathleen with a calculating, shrewd look as she passed her on her way out the door. This applicant wanted the job, too.
“Mr. Kirchoff will see you now,” the secretary said graciously. “I’m sorry you had to wait.”
“Thank you,” Kathleen answered in kind. “I didn’
t mind.”
She walked on trembling legs toward the austere door and went in. Why was she nervous? This wasn’t like her. She was usually so sure of herself. Was this to be another legacy of Erik Gudjonsen’s? This uncharacteristic self-consciousness and insecurity?
With determination to put down her feelings of inferiority, she tilted her chin back and crossed the luxuriantly deep blue carpet toward the intimidatingly large desk.
The man behind it glanced up at her with a detached expression, then almost did a double take as he lifted his dark eyes in a full, long appraisal. “Ms. Kathleen Haley?” he asked in a well-modulated voice.
“Yes,” she said, smiling.
“Sit down please. I’m Seth Kirchoff.” Though he didn’t stand, she accepted the well-manicured hand proffered across the desk and shook it.
“Thank you, Mr. Kirchoff,” she said as she sat down. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She was gaining her momentarily lost confidence now. She knew that she looked the part of the stylish, competent fashion buyer. Her linen suit was lightweight, as was dictated by the season, but the antique gold color bespoke the end of that season. The slim skirt fit her size six body to perfection. The short jacket was crisp but softened to femininity by the cream crepe blouse underneath it. Her brown pumps and matching clutch bag were a treat to herself from Gucci she had splurged on during a trip to New York the year before. The gold spheres in her ears were the correct amount of jewelry. Her dark auburn hair, enriched by the color of the suit, had been pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, but again was spared from severity by the natural wisps that lay on her cheek. She had artfully applied her makeup, the carefully chosen colors coordinating with her ensemble and her own coloring.
She looked at the man across the desk and took in his own handsome features. His hair was dark and wavy, hugging close to his well-shaped head. He was very good looking in a sensitive sort of way. He was not ruggedly virile like—
Stop that! Kathleen commanded herself as she continued to assess Mr. Kirchoff. His mouth was sensual, soft. His nose was long, narrow and sculpted to harmonize with the rest of his face.
Handsome as he was, it was his eyes that arrested Kathleen’s attention. They were a rich chocolate-brown, deep, dark, but not mysterious, as such eyes were usually characterized. They were open, warm, and bespoke sincerity and… what?… Compassion?