Scent of Danger

It was the first time he'd actually said those words. And Sabrina felt them like a blow to her gut. "Carson..."

"Hear me out," he commanded. "Then you can blow me off if you want to. This has nothing to do with Dylan or Stan. Not personally or professionally. Stan's my COO. He's also my oldest friend. He'll continue to be both. Dylan's my corporate counsel. He's also my surrogate kid. Our bond's unique. That won't change. Neither will Dylan's place in my life or my company. Satisfied?"

Sabrina sucked in her breath. "I don't know what I am, or what you want of me," she replied, totally stymied as to where Carson was going with this. "I assumed you wanted to utilize my consulting expertise. Actually, I didn't even assume that. I thought that whole story was a smoke screen, one Dylan had invented to explain my being here. Then you asked me to sit in on this meeting. Now you're implying you want me to take on some major role in helping to protect Ruisseau. I'm not qualified...."

"You sure as hell are." Carson pushed himself up a bit more, trying to find a position that would help him get out his words faster and with more fervor. "You've fixed companies that are in the Dumpster. Mine's flying high. You understand the corporate sector. You're skilled at strategic planning. You're creative and proactive, and you've got the guts to use those qualities. You're a born leader. And you know what makes people tick. That's essential in understanding consumer products marketing, as well as corporate politics. You're smart. You're experienced. And you've got my blood flowing through your veins—right down to my heightened olfactory sense. Who better than you to see Ruisseau through this crisis?"

Sabrina's adrenaline had begun to pump. It wasn't the flattering portrayal, although it was certainly nice to hear that Carson thought so much of her. It was the reason for his blow-by-blow delineation of her assets. It had been done very deliberately, not to praise, but to lead up to something. And whatever that something was, every instinct told her it was big. Very big.

"What did you have in mind?" she questioned.

A hint of a smile. "Intrigued, huh?"

"Curious," she corrected. "Wary, but curious."

"You sense a challenge. And your adrenaline's picking up, no matter how much you wish it wouldn't. You can't help it. Like I said, it's in your blood."

"Carson, stop baiting me. What is it you want me to do?"

"On a simple, superficial level? Exactly what you said. Come on as a management consultant. Work with Stan. Assess the major issues facing Ruisseau. Set up an action plan for each key initiative. Drive the company forward. I'll pay you double your normal rates, to cover the inconvenience of keeping you away from CCTL for so long. Speaking of CCTL, I'd suggest you turn things over to that consultant you hired away from the snooty firm in L.A.—Deborah Ogden. Between her and that other winner you hired—Mark Weiss—they can run things for a few months. Whatever help they need, your assistant Melissa Andrews can provide. As for you, you can fly home weekends, be there Friday through Sunday—if you take Ruisseau projects to work on while you're in Auburn, and on the plane. You'll have to burn the candle at both ends. Because you're going to be busting your ass for me. I don't tolerate less."

The lengthy speech obviously taxed Carson's strength, because he finished by leaning back against his pillow to rest.

Sabrina was speechless—something that was getting to be a habit when she was around this man. He'd done major research on CCTL, that was for damned sure. "Exactly how much do you know about my company?"

"Just as much as I expect you to know about mine." He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to hold on to his rapidly ebbing strength. "Dammit," he muttered. "Goddammit."

"Carson, maybe that's enough." Dylan spoke up for the first time. "You said your piece. We've only got a few minutes left before Dr. Radison comes in and tosses us out anyway."

"Screw Radison." Carson forced his head upright. "Sabrina, you asked what I want you to do. The consulting part just skims the surface. The rest is more substantial, and more complicated. I want to make you an officer of the company. Specifically, president. Dylan can draw up the paperwork. He and Stan can also be the only ones who know about the appointment, if that's the way you want it. I told you yesterday, I'm not pushing you to announce who you are. Wait as long as you want." Weakly, he angled his head toward Dylan. "There'll be legal loopholes, like how does she vote at board meetings if no one knows she's president. Maybe by proxy. I don't know. That's your job. Come up with something. But I want her in there... if she'll do it." A heavy-lidded stare at Sabrina. "Will you?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

Sabrina couldn't begin to process Carson's request. Talk about a bombshell. She'd expected something major—but this?

Abruptly, she stood up and turned away, staring at the bare wall across the room. She was shaking, too overwhelmed to speak. She'd had it. This just might be the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Like I said, you're a wreck." There was no trace of sarcasm or banter in Carson's voice when he spoke, only comprehension and regret. "I'm sorry. You're on overload. You don't need more pressure. Certainly not from me. I wish I had more time... that I could let you think this through. Whoever shot me didn't give me that luxury. I need to take care of Ruisseau—for now, maybe for good. So I'm asking—will you do it?"

"I..." Sabrina edged a sideways glance at Dylan, who was scrutinizing her closely, his expression nondescript. "I don't know. I can't just give you an answer at the drop of a hat. It's too huge a—"

"Which part's the problem?" Carson's voice was raspy now, and he was starting to sound winded. "I assume it's not the consulting."

"No. No, of course not."

"Okay, then, is it the lifestyle—having two residences and a weekly commute? Is it being away from CCTL? Having a vested interest in two companies?" A sharp intake of breath. "Or is it being tied to me? If it is, say so. You've got the right."

"That's not it." She turned around to face him, this time making no move to hide the tears in her eyes. "I want to know you. I was going to bring that up myself. Ask Dylan. We talked about it last night. You just happened to beat me to it. As for making me an officer of Ruisseau, I... I'm touched and I'm flattered. And the challenge—you're right. I'd be lying if I didn't admit it excites me. But the enormity of what you expect—I'm not sure I can deliver. A long-term consulting project I could manage no problem. But the presidency of a company, your company, that's not just a temporary thing. Even if I agreed to stay at Ruisseau until you were well and back at the helm—which you will be—I couldn't make the arrangement permanent. It would involve my being in New York five days a week, reducing CCTL to less than my number one priority. I can't do that. CCTL is my baby, the same way Ruisseau is yours."

"We could work something out...." Carson was forcing out the words. "Half week here... half week there... any arrangement we could... Don't say no."

"Carson, please—stop," Sabrina burst out. "Not for me, for you. You're exhausted. Don't talk. Just rest. Let me think."

She raked both hands

through her hair, her mind racing wildly. Arbitrary thoughts ran through her head. President of Ruisseau—my God. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. She'd be working for a genius—a genius who was her father. She'd have a chance to get to know him, to share in his vision, to be part of a company he'd created and raised from infancy. And she wouldn't have to give up her own growing company. CCTL would still be hers; Carson had as much as said so. He understood the way she felt about her "baby." He'd been in that position himself.

Her presence at CCTL over the next few months was already in question, thanks to Carson's immediate health crisis. She was hell-bent on seeing through her kidney-compatibility process. And that meant time. To begin with, the tissue-typing results wouldn't be back for a week. Even if she flew home in the interim, she'd return to New York once the results were in. Then, if they showed she was the best donor match, she'd need to be examined by a nephrologist, go through a battery of tests. Finally, if the transplant became a reality, she'd be out of commission for at least a month. In which case, CCTL would have to do without her.