been kidding when he said his life was in shambles.
After a quick tour of the building with Penelope, who had the personality and warmth of an iceberg, Victoria started at the top of his to do list. Sorting his e-mail. She had to go through his personal account and first weed out the spam that had slipped through the filter, then compare the sender addresses on legitimate mail to a list of people whose e-mails were to be sorted into several separate categories. Which didn’t sound like much of an undertaking, until she opened the account and discovered over four hundred e-mails awaiting her attention.
There were dozens from charities requesting his donation or endorsement, and notes from family and friends, including at least three or four a day from his mother. A lot of e-mails from women. And others from random people who admired him or in some cases didn’t speak too fondly of him. Cross-referencing them all with the list of addresses he’d supplied her would be a tedious, time-consuming task. And it seemed as though for every e-mail she erased or filed, a new one would appear in his inbox.
When eyestrain and fatigue had her vision blurring, she took a break and moved down to number two on the list. His voice mail. Following his instructions, she dialed the number and punched in the PIN, and was nearly knocked out of her chair when the voice announced that he had two hundred and twenty-six new messages! She didn’t get that many personal calls in a month, much less a week. And she couldn’t help wondering how many of those calls were from women.
It didn’t take long to find out.
There was Amber from the hotel bar, Jennifer from the club, Alexis from the ski lodge, and half a dozen more. Most rang more than once, sounding a bit more desperate and needy with each message. The lead offender for repeated calls, however, was Charles’s mother. She seemed to follow up every e-mail she sent with a phone call, or maybe it was the other way around. No less than three times a day. Sometimes more. And she began every call the exact same way. It’s your mum. I know you’re busy, but I wanted to tell you…
Nothing pressing as far as Victoria could tell. Just random tidbits about family or friends, or reminders of events he had promised to attend. A very attractive woman from a good family she would like him to meet. And she seemed to have an endless variety of pet names for him. Pumpkin and Sweetie. Love and Precious. Although Victoria’s favorite by far was Lamb Chop.
His mother never requested, or seemed to expect, a return call, and her messages dripped with a syrupy sweetness that made Victoria’s skin crawl. How could Charles stand it?
Easily. By having someone else check his messages.
She spent the next couple of hours listening to the first hundred or so calls, transcribing the messages for Charles, including a return phone number should he need to answer the call. Any incoming calls she let go directly to voice until she had time to catch up. Between the e-mail and voice mail, it could take days.
“Working late?”
Startled by the unexpected intrusion, she nearly dropped the phone. She looked up to find Charles standing in the doorway between their two offices. She couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been standing there watching her.
“I’m sorry, what?” she said, setting the phone back in the cradle.
Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “I asked if you’re working late.”
She looked at her watch and realized that it was nearly eight p.m. She’d worked clear through lunch and dinner. “I guess I lost track of the hour.”
“You’re not required to work overtime.”
“I have a lot of work to catch up on.” Besides, she would much rather have been busy working than sitting home alone in the flat she had been forced to rent when her father could no longer afford to keep the family estate. Since she was born, that house had been the only place she had ever called home. But there was a new family living there now. Strangers occupying the rooms that were meant to belong to her own children some day.
Every time she set foot in her new residence, it was a grim, stark reminder of everything they had lost. And Charles, she reminded herself, was the catalyst.
He held up what she assumed was to be her new phone. The most expensive, state-of-the-art gadget on the market. “Before Penelope left she brought this in.”
She felt a sudden wave of alarm. His secretary was gone? Meaning they were alone?
She wondered who else was in the building, and if working alone with him was wise. She barely knew him.
“Is everyone gone?” she asked in a voice that she hoped sounded nonchalant.
“This is a law firm. There’s always someone working late on a case or an intern pulling an overnighter. If it’s safety you’re concerned about, the parking structure is monitored by cameras around the clock, and we employ a security detail in the lobby twenty-four seven.”
“Oh, that’s good to know.” Still, as he walked toward her desk to hand her the mobile phone, she tensed the tiniest bit. He was just so tall and assuming. So…there.
“It’s a PDA as well as a phone. And you can check e-mail and browse the Internet. If you take it to Nigel in tech support on the fourth floor tomorrow morning, he’ll set everything up for you.”
“Okay.” As she took it from him their fingers touched and she had to force herself not to jerk away. It was barely a brush; still, she felt warmth and electricity shoot across the surface of her skin. Which made no sense considering how much she disliked him.
“I’ve been going through your phone messages,” she told him. “Your mother called. Many times.”
“Well, there’s a surprise,” he said, a definite note of exasperation in his voice. “I should probably warn you that when it comes to dealing with my mother, you have to be firm or she’ll walk all over you.”
“I can do that.” Being firm had never been a problem for her. In fact, there had been instances when she’d been accused of being too firm. A necessity for any woman in a position of power. She had learned very early in her career how not to let people walk all over her.
“Good.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m on my way out, and since it would seem that neither of us has eaten yet, why don’t you let me take you out to dinner?”
First a lunch invitation, now dinner? Couldn’t he take no for an answer? “No, thank you.”
Her rejection seemed to amuse him. He shrugged and said, “Have it your way.”
What was that supposed to mean? Whose way did he expect her to have it? His?
“I’m going to the dry cleaners tomorrow to pick up your laundry,” she said. “Do you have anything dirty at home that I should take with me?”
“I do, actually. My housekeeper is off tomorrow morning but I’ll try to remember to set it by the door before I leave for work. Would you like my car to pick you up?”
“I can drive myself.” Her father had always had a driver—until recently, anyway—but she never had felt comfortable having someone chauffer her around. She was too independent. She liked to be in control of her environment and her destiny. Which had been much easier when her father owned the company. When she was in charge. Answering
