Lauren's eyes widened. An entire page had been devoted to the Children's Hospital Benefit Ball. In the center was a color picture of her—with Nick. They were dancing, and he was grinning down at her. Lauren's face was in profile, tilted up to his. The caption read, "Detroit industrialist J. Nicholas Sinclair and companion."
"It does look like me, doesn't it?" she hedged, glancing at the excited, avidly curious faces surrounding her desk. "Isn't that an amazing coincidence?" She didn't want her relationship with Nick to be public knowledge until the time was right, and she certainly didn't want her co-workers to treat her any differently.
"You mean it isn't you?" one of the women said disappointedly. None of them noticed the sudden lull, the silence sweeping over the office as people stopped talking and typewriters went perfectly still____
"Good morning, ladies," Nick's deep voice said behind Lauren. Six stunned women snapped to attention, staring in fascinated awe as Nick leaned over Lauren from behind and braced his hands on her desk. "Hi," he said, his lips so near her ear that Lauren was afraid to turn her head for fear he would kiss her in front of everyone. He glanced at the newspaper spread out on her desk. "You look beautiful, but who's that ugly guy you're dancing with?" Without waiting for an answer, he straightened, affectionately rumpled the hair on the top of her head and strolled into Jim's office, closing the door behind him.
Lauren felt like sinking through the floor in embarrassment. Susan Brook raised her brows. "What an amazing coincidence," she teased.
Nick came out of Jim's office a few minutes later and asked Lauren to come upstairs with him. Once they were in his office, he pulled her into his arms for a long, satisfying kiss. "I missed you," he whispered, then he sighed and reluctantly released her, linking his hands behind her back. "I'm going to miss you even more—I have to leave for Casano in an hour. Rossi couldn't reach me, so he called Horace Moran in New York. Apparently some Americans are snooping around the village, asking questions about him. I have a security team checking it out. In the meantime, Rossi's gone into hiding, and there's no phone where he is.
"I'm going to take Jim with me. Ericka's father panicked and sent Ericka to Casano to try to soothe Rossi. She speaks some Italian. I'll be back on Wednesday, or Thursday at the latest."
He frowned. "Lauren, I never explained to you about Ericka—"
"Mary did," she said, managing to look cheerful even though she felt miserable about his leaving. Besides missing him, she would also have another three or four days of anxiety, waiting to tell him about Philip. She definitely couldn't tell him now, when he was about to go away. His anger would ferment and simmer for days. She had to tell him when she could be with him to soothe it. "Why are you taking Jim?"
"When the president of Sinco retires next month, Jim is going to take over the position. By taking him with me, we can discuss immediate goals and long-range plans for Sinco." He grinned at her. "Also," he admitted, "I'm feeling very grateful to Jim for his interference in our lives, and I've decided to interfere with his. By taking him to Italy, where Ericka is… I see you understand my thinking," he said when she started to smile.
With a final hug he let her go, then he went over to his desk and began shoving papers into his briefcase. "If Rossi calls again, I've told Mary to transfer his call to you wherever you are. Assure him that I'm on my way and that there's nothing to worry about.
"We have four labs testing samples of Rossi's formula right now. Within two weeks we should know whether he's a genius or a fake, and until we know which he is, we'll assume he's not a fake and pamper him."
Lauren listened to his rapid-fire monologue with an inward smile of admiration. Being married to Nick was going to be like living on the fringe of a tornado, and she was going to be caught up in the whirl.
"By the way," he said, so casually that Lauren was instantly on guard, a magazine reporter called me this morning. They know who you are and they know we're getting married. When the story breaks, I'm afraid the press will start hounding you."
"How did they find out?" Lauren gasped.
He shot her a glinting smile. "I told them."
Everything was happening so quickly that Lauren felt dazed. "Did you happen to tell them when and where we're getting married?" she chided.
"I told them soon." He closed his briefcase and drew her out of the chair in which she had just sat down. "Do you want a big church wedding with a cast of hundreds—or could you settle for me in a little chapel somewhere, with just your family and a few friends? When we come back from our honeymoon we could throw a huge party, and that would satisfy our social obligations to everyone else we know."
Lauren quickly considered the burden a big church wedding would place on her father's health and nonexistent finances, and the highly desirable alternative of becoming Nick's wife right away. "You and a chapel," she said.
"Good." He grinned. "Because I would go quietly insane waiting to make you mine. I'm not a patient man."
"Really?" She straightened the knot in his tie so that she'd have an excuse to touch him. "I never noticed that."
"Brat," he said affectionately, then he added, "I've written a check and given it to Mary. Put it in your bank, take a few days off and use it to buy your trousseau while I'm gone. It's rather a large check. You won't be able to spend it all on clothes. Use the rest of it to buy something special as a memento of our engagement. Jewelry," he said, "or a fur."
When he left, Lauren leaned back against his desk, her smile tinged with wistful sadness as she remembered Mary's words at lunch. "From that day forward Nick has never bought a gift for a woman… He gives them money instead and tells them to pick out something they'll like… he doesn't care if it's jewelry or furs…"
She shoved the gloomy thought aside. Someday, perhaps, Nick would change. In the meantime she had more to be thankful for than any woman alive. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was ten-fifteen, and she still hadn't done any work.
Jack Collins stared dazedly at the big round clock on the wall across from his hospital bed, fighting the grogginess he always got from the hypodermics they gave him before they took him down for tests. He tried to focus, to concentrate. The clock said ten-thirty. It was Monday. Rudy was supposed to call with the results of the investigation on the bilingual secretary who'd been assigned to Nick Sinclair.
As if he had conjured up the call, the phone beside his bed began to ring. He groped for it and missed, then brought the receiver to his ear.
"Jack," the voice said, "this is Rudy."
Jack slowly composed a mental image of Rudy's round face, his beady eyes. "Did you check out the Danner woman?" he asked.
"Yeah," Rudy said. "I checked her out, just like you said. She's livin' in a fancy condo in Bloomfield Hills, and some old guy is payin' her rent. I talked to the gatekeeper, and he said this old guy keeps the place for his mistresses. The last dame who lived there was a redhead. Old man Whitworth came calling on her one night and found her entertaining another man, and he threw her out.
"The gatekeeper says Danner lives nice and quiet—he can see her condo from his gate." Rudy's chuckle was lewd. "The gatekeeper said Whitworth isn't getting his money's worth out of her, because he's only been there once since she moved in. The way I figure it, Whitworth's gettin' old and…"
Jack struggled against the fog that seemed to cloud his senses. "Who?"
"Whitworth," Rudy said. "Philip A. Whitworth. I figure he's lost the urge and—"
"Listen to me, and shut up!" Jack rasped. "They're taking me downstairs for tests, and they gave me a shot that's putting me to sleep. Go to Nick Sinclair and tell him what you've told me. Have you got that? Tell Nick—" dizziness washed over Jack in waves "—tell him I think she's the leak in the Rossi deal."
"Sh
e's what? She is? You gotta be kidding! That broad is…" Rudy's tone changed from scorn to military self-importance. "I'll take care of it Jack, you leave everything to—"
"Shut up, damn you, and listen to me!" Jack rasped. "If Nick Sinclair is away, go to Mike Walsh, the corporation's chief attorney, and tell him what I said. Don't talk to anyone else about it. Then I want you to watch her. I want her office calls monitored. I want you to keep track of every move she makes. Get another man to help you…"
Lauren was staring dreamily into space when the phone rang on Tuesday morning. She was so happy and so excited that she could hardly concentrate on the mundane tasks of her job. Even if she had wanted to get Nick off her mind, which she didn't, it would have been impossible to stop thinking of him, because the office staff was teasing her constantly. She answered the telephone and absently noted the tiny click that had occurred every time she'd picked it up since yesterday. "Lauren, my dear," Philip Whitworth said smoothly, "I think we ought to have lunch together today."
It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. With every fiber of her being, Lauren longed to tell Philip Whitworth off and hang up on him, but she didn't dare. If she angered him, there was always the chance that Philip might tell Nick who and what she was before she had a chance to tell him herself. Then, too, she was living in Philip's apartment, and she couldn't move away while Nick was gone because he wouldn't be able to call her. If he called her at the office, she could tell him she was moving into a motel, but she'd have to invent a reason, and she didn't want to add an outright lie to her deceit. "All right," she agreed unenthusiastically. "But I can't be away from the office for very long."
"We can hardly dine in your building, Lauren," Philip reminded her sarcastically.
A frisson of alarm tingled over her at his tone. She felt uneasy about being alone with him, uneasy about what he wanted to say to her. Then she remembered Tony's and felt better. "I'll meet you at Tony's restaurant at noon. Do you know where it is?"