Nick looked as if he was torn between laughter and anger. "I imagine he bit you for naming him Daisy."
Lauren ignored his mockery. "And when I was thirteen, I wanted sisters and brothers. My father obliged me by remarrying, and I got a stepsister who stole my clothes and my boyfriends, and a stepbrother who stole my allowances."
"What the hell does that have to do with us?"
"Everything!" She raised her hands in a gesture of appeal, then dropped them in defeat. "I'm trying to explain that I want you, but that I'm not going to let you hurt me again."
"I won't hurt you."
"Oh, yes you will!" she said, fiercely fighting back tears. "You won't mean to, but you will. You already have. When I left you up north, you went off to Palm Springs with one of your bed partners. Do you know what I was doing while you were there?"
Nick shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression guarded. "No. What were you doing?"
"I," Lauren said on a note of hysterical, choking laughter, "was sitting by the telephone waiting for you to call and knitting you a gray sweater to match your eyes." She looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "If we have an affair, you won't be emotionally involved, but I will. I can't detach my emotions from my body, hop into bed and have a wonderful time, and then forget about it. I'd want you to care, and I'd care. I'd be jealous if I thought you were with another woman. And if I knew you were, I'd be hurt and furious."
If he had mocked her or tried to persuade her, she would have burst into tears. But he did neither and she gained strength from that. She even managed a sad smile. "If we had an affair, when it was over you'd want us to be friends, wouldn't you? You'd expect it."
"Naturally."
"Then since our 'affair' is over, can we be friends now?" Her voice shook as she added, "I—I would really like to think of you as my friend."
Nick nodded, but he didn't speak. He simply stood looking at her, his gray eyes enigmatic.
Afterward, Lauren walked to her car, congratulating herself on the maturity with which she'd handled the situation. She had been honest and direct; she'd withstood temptation and upheld her principles. She had done the "right" thing, and she was a stronger, better person for it.
She folded her arms on the steering wheel and burst into tears.
14
« ^ »
Lauren spent the rest of the week working like a fiend at the office. At home she alternately thought about Nick and worried about her father's financial situation. The hospital was demanding half of the fee at once. The only thing she could think of doing was to sell her mother's splendid grand piano, but the thought broke her heart. It was her piano too, and here in Michigan she missed it. She missed being able to play, to work out her frustrations and disappointments at the keyboard as she used to do. On the other hand, her father was far from being well, and if he needed to go to the hospital again, she couldn't risk having him turned away because his last bill wasn't paid.
Late Friday afternoon, Susan Brook stopped her in the public relations department. "Jim's birthday is next week, on Thursday," she told Lauren. "It's sort of a custom here to bring a cake for your boss." With an irrepressible grin she added, "Cake and coffee is a terrific excuse to quit working fifteen minutes early."
"I'll bring a cake," Lauren quickly assured her. She glanced at her watch, said good-night to Susan and quickened her pace toward her desk. Philip Whitworth had called and invited her over for dinner that night, and she didn't want to be late.
On the way to her apartment to change her clothes, Lauren considered telling Philip about the Curtis deal. She felt uneasy about it, however. Before she interfered with anyone's reputation and job, she ought to be certain of what she actually knew. It occurred to her that Philip might consider news of the Rossi project "valuable information," and that he might pay her the $10,000 he'd offered, but her conscience screamed at her for even contemplating the thought. She decided to write to the hospital and offer $3,000. She might be able to borrow that much from a bank.
Over dinner later Philip asked her if she liked her job at Sinco. When Lauren replied that she did, he said, "Have you heard mentioned any of the names I gave you?"
She hesitated. "No, I haven't."
Philip sighed with disappointment. "The most important contracts we've ever considered bidding on have deadlines only a few weeks from now. Before then I've got to know who's leaking the information to Sinco. I need those contracts."
Lauren immediately felt guilty for not telling him about Curtis or Rossi. More than ever she felt confused, torn between her loyalty to Philip and her desire to do the right thing.
"I told you Lauren wouldn't be able to help," Carter put in.
Lauren didn't know how she'd ever let herself get into this mess. In her own defense, she said, "It's too soon to know, actually. I've been reassigned to work on a special project on the eightieth floor, so I haven't been working full time for Sinco until yesterday, when Nick—Mr. Sinclair—flew to Italy."
Nick's name sent a bolt of electricity through the entire room, and all three Whitworths stiffened perceptibly.
Carter's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Lauren, you're fantastic! How did you manage to get yourself assigned to him? Hell, you'll have access to all sorts of confidential—"
"I didn't manage anything," Lauren interrupted. "I'm there because I happened to put down on my application that I speak Italian, and he needed a temporary secretary who was fluent in it to work on a special project."
"What kind of project?" Philip and Carter demanded in unison.
Lauren glanced uneasily at Carol, who was watching her intently over the rim of her glass. Then she looked at the two men. "Philip, you promised when I agreed to work for Sinco that all you would ask me to do was tell you if I overheard one of those six names. Please don't ask me about anything else. If I tell you, I'll be no better than the person who's spying on you."
"You're right of course, my dear," he instantly agreed.
But an hour later, when Lauren had left, Philip turned to his son. "She said Sinclair flew to Italy yesterday. Call that pilot friend of yours and find out if he can get access to his flight plan. I want to know exactly where in Italy he went."
"Do you really think it's that important?"
Philip studied the brandy in his glass. "Lauren obviously thinks it's very important. If she didn't, she would have told us about it without a qualm." After a pause he said, "If we can trace him, I want you to send a team of investigators over there to pick up his trail. I have a hunch he's working on something big."
Lauren glanced at the small thermometer outside the window of her bedroom as she pulled on a buttercup yellow sweater and slacks. Despite the sunny autumn Sunday afternoon, despite her luxuriously furnished apartment, she felt lonely and isolated. Shopping for Jim's birthday present would give her something to do, she decided. She was debating what to buy him when the sudden shrill ring of her doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
When she opened the door she stared in amazement at the man whose tall frame seemed to fill the doorway. Dressed in an open-collared cream shirt with a rust-colored suede jacket hooked negligently over his shoulder, Nick looked so unbearably handsome that Lauren could have cried. She forced herself to sound composed and only mildly curious. "Hi. What are you doing here?"
He frowned. "Damned if I know."
Unable to suppress her smile she said, "The usual excuse is that you happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to drop by."
"Now why didn't I think of th
at?" Nick mocked dryly. "Well, are you going to invite me in?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Should I?"
His gaze traveled down the entire length of her body, lifted to her lips and finally her eyes. "I wouldn't if I were you."
Breathless from his frankly sensual glance, Lauren was nevertheless determined to abide by her decision to avoid all personal involvement with him. And judging from the way he had just looked at her, his reason for being here was very, very personal. Reluctantly she made her decision. "In that case, I'll follow your advice. Goodbye, Nick," she said, starting to close the door. "And thank you for stopping by."
He accepted her decision with a slight inclination of his head, and Lauren made herself finish closing the door. She forced herself to walk away on legs that felt like lead, reminding herself at the same time how insane it would be to let him near her. But halfway across the living room she lost the internal battle. Pivoting on her heel, she raced for the door, yanked it open and hurtled straight into Nick's chest. He was lounging with one hand braced high against the doorframe, gazing down at her flushed face with a knowing, satisfied grin.
"Hello, Lauren. I happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to drop by."
"What do you want, Nick?" she sighed, her blue eyes searching his.
"You."
Resolutely she started to close the door again, but his hand shot out to stop her. "Do you really want me to go?"
"I told you on Wednesday that what I want has nothing to do with it. What matters is what's best for me, and—"
He interrupted her with a boyish grin. "I promise I'll never wear your clothes, and I won't steal your allowances or your boyfriends either." Lauren couldn't help starting to smile as he finished, "And if you swear never to call me Nicky again, I won't bite you."