number two?’ Dad won out, because I insisted, but not before the War of the Roses Part Two aired.”
“Has your father remarried?”
“When my mother flatly refused to take him back, Dad married the woman with whom he’d had the affair. It lasted less than six months. Apparently living with her wasn’t the same thrill as banging her.”
“If I can’t convince my mother to stay in Florida and work things out with my dad, my life as we know it will be over.”
“Wish I could be more optimistic, but based on my own experience, I’d say it doesn’t look good. The only thing you have going for you is that the affair took place on the Internet and not in person.”
“Well, Mom’s still not one hundred percent sure about that. I haven’t had confirmation as yet.”
“Oy! Parents. I thought we were the ones who were supposed to screw up their lives, not the other way around. They’re older and should know better.”
“True. And we’ve got enough to worry about. Our jobs could be hanging in the balance, our futures left in the hands of some unknown entity.”
Ellie’s computer signaled that she had mail. She hoped it was from her mother, but it wasn’t. It was a summons to appear in the office of the now defunct Herbert Moody.
Normally Ellie felt confident about her position. She was good at her job, and everyone around her knew it. But today for some reason she was filled with unease. The unknown always frightened her.
Mr. Moody might have been a turd, but he was her turd.
ELLIE DID NOT FEEL one iota better after talking about the possibility of her parents divorcing. Becky made it sound like a fait accompli, that there was no hope for her parents whatsoever.
So, as she made her way down the long hallway to what used to be Herbert Moody’s office for her so-called “interview,” she decided that if Rosemary did actually come to visit—please, God, save me!—she would do everything in her power to push for a reconciliation.
It was her duty as a daughter.
It was her duty as a woman who preferred sanity to madness.
It was her duty as—
The door was ajar, and as she stepped into the outer office, butterflies began beating viciously against the lining of her stomach. Placing her hand over it to calm her nerves, she smiled at the white-haired receptionist.
“Hello, Mrs. Greenlaw. How are you?”
“Hello, dear,” the older woman said. “Nice to see you again. It’ll be just a minute.”
Mrs. Greenlaw had worked for Mr. Moody for over thirty-four years and had survived with most of her brain matter and good humor intact, which Ellie thought was nothing short of a miracle.
“And what shall I call our new director, Mrs. Greenlaw? The memo didn’t list a name, which was probably just an oversight.”
“Oh, no, dear. That’s the way the director wanted them sent. Said he didn’t want anyone to form any preconceived opinions before he had a chance to talk to them.”
Thinking that was a strange approach, Ellie’s eyes widened momentarily. Maybe he was someone infamous, like O. J. Simpson, whom everyone knew had killed his wife, but was trying to start anew, anyway. Or that guy they sent to prison for stock fraud before it became fashionable and everyone started doing it.
The buzzer on the secretary’s phone intercom buzzed. “You may go in now, Ellie. Mr….” She got flustered and covered her mouth, then tee-heed about her almost gaffe. “The director is waiting to meet you.”
Pasting on a smile, Ellie smoothed out the skirt of her black wool Ann Taylor suit and pushed open the door.
The tall man in question was standing at the wall of windows with his back to her. The office was dimly lit, made even darker by the lack of sunlight. A light rain had been falling for hours, the sky gunmetal gray, which pretty much matched her mood.
“You asked to see me, Mr.—” She froze, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she zeroed in on the nameplate gracing the desk.
“Deavers.”
“Get sexual satisfaction any way you can.
(The Stones weren’t kidding.)
Buy a good vibrator and stock up on batteries!”
CHAPTER FOUR
“HAVE A SEAT, Ellie.”
“Michael!” She practically gasped his name, though she felt like hissing it instead. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
But the sick feeling of dread forming in the pit of her stomach told Ellie she already knew. He’d been hired to replace Herbert Moody.
Michael Deavers was now her boss!
Well, he was more than qualified for the job, and she wasn’t referring to his education and work experience. Michael was a first-rate, heartless bastard with a facile tongue, not to mention, a liar.
In the city on business, my ass!
“I think you should call me Mr. Deavers here at work, Ellie,” he said, interrupting her silent diatribe. “It would look better for both of us. I haven’t made it known that we had a prior relationship, though my superiors will probably find that out, if they dig deep enough.”
Eyes wide with innocence, she shook her head. “Did we have a relationship? I really can’t remember. It was so long ago, and very unmemorable.” His lips thinned ever so slightly, and Ellie smiled inwardly.
Score one for the dumpee.
“And I’d prefer not to call you anything, you lying—” She sucked in her breath, and her anger. “I thought you said you weren’t staying in New York. I should have known you’d twist the truth to suit yourself, Michael. It is your M.O., after all.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t staying, you just assumed it. What I said was—”
“Oh, save it.” She waved away his explanation with a flick of her wrist. “I’m not interested in your lame explanations. Been there, done that.” She rose to her feet. “I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other, Mr. Deavers, so I’ll be leaving.”
“Sit down, Miss Peters. It would be in your best interest to hear me out, if you want to continue working here. I won’t allow insubordination. I won’t allow my authority to be undermined, by anyone. I hope you understand.”
Ellie, who couldn’t afford to lose her job after signing a two-year lease on her apartment, reseated herself. Crossing her legs, hands folded primly in her lap, she said, “I’m listening,” but she was in reality shouting silently, Prick! Prick! Prick!
Where was a voodoo doll when you needed one?
“I
