had managed to keep smiling, to pretend she didn’t understand Dex’s sleazy message. But when his hand had slipped under the table and slid casually up her thigh, her self-control had vanished. She’d told Dex what he could do with his charm and his nonexistent talent, and now here she was, still without a lead for Hollywood Wedding, the film that would determine the course of Triad’s future, and hers.
The apartment was warm and stuffy. Eve kicked off her shoes and headed straight for the air conditioner, sighing as the first cool blast came sweeping through the vents.
A shower, then bed, she thought as she took off her jacket. It wasn’t just the long day that had tired her, it had been standing around at that cocktail party, putting on a bright face to convince the world that rumors of Trident’s imminent demise were exaggerated.
At least the other rumors had eased off, the ones that had plagued her after fate had brought Triad into her life.
No. That wasn’t quite accurate, Eve thought as she undressed. It wasn’t fate that had handed her the top spot at Triad. It was Charles Landon, and that was why the rumors had flown.
Struggling film-production companies were as common as crabgrass, but for a multimillionaire to put a woman at the head of such a company when she had never held that kind of job before—that wasn’t common at all.
That Charles had done it on little more than a whim was something the rumormongers couldn’t comprehend. In her better moments, Eve had to admit it was hard to blame them. She’d had trouble comprehending it herself, she thought as she pulled the clips from her hair.
Her chin lifted in an unconscious gesture of defiance as a cascade of pale golden curls tumbled down her back.
But her relationship with Charles had been strictly business. She had not wangled responsibility for Triad from an old man in some cheap game played out between satin sheets. She had simply been in the right place at the right time, and Charles had taken it from there.
Sometimes she’d been tempted to stand up in a place like Spago’s, bang on a water glass and announce that to the world.
But she never had.
One of life’s most painful lessons was that denying a lie sometimes only gave it the aura of truth.
Eve had learned that at seventeen, when her foster father had tried to molest her. After months of complaining, someone had finally believed her. Eve had almost wept with relief, but it had been short-lived. Her foster father had pointed an accusing finger at her and convinced his wife and the social worker that it was Eve who’d come on to him.
No, Eve thought as she switched on the bathroom light, no, there was no point in denying the rumors about Charles and her. Ignoring them had been the right thing. The whispers had faded, then died—to be replaced by whispers about Triad and speculation about how long the company would take to fail.
But it wasn’t going to fail. She wouldn’t let it. Hollywood Wedding would save Triad, Eve was sure of it. All she needed was the right cast and location…
The breath sighed from her lungs. All, she thought with a little laugh, all.
Eve lifted her head and looked into the bathroom mirror. Her weary smile faded as she met her own cooleyed gaze. She could do it. She would do it. Charles Landon had handed her a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and she wasn’t going to let it slip away.
Absolutely nothing, and no one, was going to keep her from succeeding.
Deep in the Himalayas, Zach and Keri entered the inn.
“I’ll meet you in the lounge for drinks and dinner after I’ve showered,” he said, with a little smile.
Keri linked her arms around his neck.
“Wouldn’t you rather shower in my room?” she whispered “I’ll phone down for champagne, and——”
“Mr. Landon?” Zach turned. The innkeeper stood a few feet away, his expression solemn. “Sir, this just came for you over the wireless.”
Zach smiled as he took the message from the man’s outstretched hand.
“Don’t look so down in the mouth, Patel. Unless it’s my office wiring me that the market’s crashed…” His voice faded to silence as he scanned the slip of paper again. When he looked up, his smile was gone. “Hell,” he said softly.
Keri frowned. “What’s the matter?”
Zach ignored her. “I’ll need access to your wireless,” he said sharply to the innkeeper. “And I’ll expect the copter to be ready to leave in five minutes.”
“Of course, Mr. Landon. I’m terribly sorry, sir. May I offer my condolences?”
“Zach?” The woman’s voice called after him as he hurried up the stairs. “What’s happened? Where are you going?”
He paused at the top of the steps and looked down at her, his expression blank. Her name had gone clear out of his head.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid our plans are off.”
A pout spread across her pretty face. “What do you mean, off? You said——”
“I’ve got to fly back to the States. I just got word that my old man died.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
She waited. Zach knew he was supposed to show something, to feel something. But it was too late for that. It was years too late.
All there was time for now was the long journey home.
SOMEWHERE above the Rocky Mountains, the wild cry of a hawk rose on the early morning air. The sound awakened Zach instantly, just as it always had when he was a boy.
He lay back against the pillows. But he wasn’t a boy now, he thought wryly, he was a man, and as free as the hawk. There was no need to dream of the day he, too, could leave behind the Landon mansion and the valley it commanded.
He had done that, thirteen long years ago, and though he had returned from time to time, he had never missed this place.
With a sigh, he shoved aside the blankets, sat up and scrubbed his stubbled face lightly with his hands.
What time was it, anyway? He peered at the clock beside his bed. Six thirty-seven, said the unblinking red digital face. Zach groaned softly and put his head in his hands.
If he was at home in Boston, he’d have already been up half an hour. By now, he’d be shaved, showered and dressed; he’d be on his way downstairs to the sun room, where Howell would greet him with a polite good morning, a pot of freshly ground coffee and copies of the Boston Globe, the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal.
But he wasn’t in Boston, Zach thought as he rose to his feet and padded, naked, to the window. He was in Colorado. And getting up at six o’clock
