“Water under the bridge,” he said easily, mostly because it was true. He’d never been one to dwell on the past. Not even on a night that had made him believe in miracles. Probably because in the bright light of day, he’d learned that dreams were for fools and miracles didn’t really happen.
Promptly at four in the afternoon, Mrs. Wycliff knocked on Jack’s office door.
“Come in,” he said as he saved the work on his computer, then looked up at his father’s former assistant.
“Here are the daily reports,” she said, placing several folders on his desk.
“Thank you.”
He frowned as he looked at the thick stack that would make up his evening reading. In theory, he knew plenty about running a company. He had the MBA to prove it. But theory and reality often had little in common and this was one of those times. If one of the employees was accused of homicide—that he could handle. Right now, a charge of first-degree murder seemed simple when compared with the day-to-day ups and downs of a publicly traded corporation.
“How is the staff holding up?” he asked the older woman. Although he was confident Mrs. Wycliff hadn’t been born into her position, he couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t worked for his father.
She clutched the back of the chair and shook her head in refusal when he invited her to take a seat.
“They miss him, of course. Your father was well liked in the company. Of course he would be. He was a good man.”
Jack was careful to keep his expression neutral. George Hanson had been a man of business. He had lived and breathed his company, while his children had grown up on the fringes of his life. That wasn’t Jack’s definition of good.
“Several people have stopped by to tell me how much they miss him,” Jack told her. It happened at least once a day and he never knew what to say in return.
She smiled. “We all appreciate you stepping in to run things. Hanson Media Group has been home to a lot of us for a long time. We’d hate to see anything happen to the company.”
“Happen?” He’d only been on board a couple of weeks. From what he’d been able to find out, the only problems seemed to be his father’s need to micromanage departments. Once Jack got the right people in place, he figured the firm would run smoothly.
Mrs. Wycliff smoothed her already perfect gray hair and absently fingered the bun at the back of her neck. “Your father was very proud of you. Did you know that?”
Jack wasn’t fooled by the obvious change in subject, but he figured he would do a little digging on his own before he grilled his assistant for information.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said.
She smiled. “He often talked about how well you were doing at your law firm. Of course he’d wanted you to come to work for the family business, but if the law made you happy, he was happy, too.”
Jack tried to reconcile that description with the angry conversations he’d frequently shared with his father. George Hanson had tried everything from bribes to threatening to cut Jack out of the will if he didn’t come work for the company.
He’d long suspected his father had shown one side of his personality to the world and kept the other side more private.
“We had a deal,” he said. “After law school, I got my MBA. Then I decided which I liked better.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a choice.”
“You followed your heart and your talents,” Mrs. Wycliff told him. “That’s what your father always said.” She smiled. “He brought in champagne the day you made partner.”
“Junior partner,” Jack corrected absently. Champagne? When he couldn’t get hold of his father, he’d left a message with Helen, his stepmother, telling her about the promotion. She’d sent a card and a stylish new briefcase as a gift. Ever polite, Helen had signed both their names, but Jack had known it was all really from her. His father had never bothered to call him back.
“He was a good man,” Mrs. Wycliff said. “Whatever happens, you have to remember that.”
“That’s the second time you’ve been cryptic,” he told her. “Want to tell me why?”
She had dark blue eyes and the kind of bone structure that spoke of great beauty in her youth. If she had been a different kind of woman, he would have suspected something between her and his father. But while George might have been interested, Jack was confident Mrs. Wycliff herself would not have approved.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice low.
“Can’t or won’t?”
She clutched the back of the chair more firmly and met his direct gaze. “I don’t know anything. If I did, I would tell you. You have my complete loyalty.”
“But there’s something?”
She hesitated. “A feeling. I’m sorry. I can’t be more specific. There’s nothing more to say.”
He’d known the woman all of two weeks, yet he would have bet she wasn’t lying. She didn’t know. Or she was a damn fine actress.
Feelings. As a rule, he didn’t trust emotion, but gut responses were different. He’d changed his line of questioning during a trial more than once based on a feeling and each time he’d been right.
“If you learn anything,” he began.
“I’ll tell you. I’ve been talking to people. Listening.” She swallowed. “I lost my husband a few years ago. We never had children and a lot of our friends have retired and moved south. This company is all I have. I’ll do anything to protect it.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded and left.
Mysteries he didn’t want or need. As for Mrs. Wycliff, while he appreciated her concern and her willingness to provide him with information, who was to say if they had similar goals? She wanted Hanson Media Group to go on forever, he wanted out. If those two objectives came into conflict, he had a feeling his once-loyal secretary would become a bitter enemy.
With employment came paperwork, Samantha thought two days later as she sat in an empty office and filled out her formal job application, along with pages for insurance, a security pass, a parking space and emergency contact information.
She worked quickly, still unable to believe she’d landed her dream job with little or no effort on her part. She’d been so excited to get going, she’d come in before her start date to do the paperwork.
“Thank you, Helen,” she murmured, knowing her friend had somehow managed to get her name on the short list of candidates. She’d wanted to mention that to Jack during their interview, but on Helen’s advice had kept quiet. For reasons that made no sense to Samantha, Jack, along with his siblings, thought Helen was little more than a trophy wife.
Hope I’m around when they all discover that there’s a very functioning brain behind those big eyes, Samantha thought.
She
