Morgan didn’t let any of his emotion show. He’d learned years ago to keep his personal life private. “Mr. Osborne’s office called on Monday doing a reference check. I spoke with Mr. Osborne personally.”
Winnie’s head lifted, and her gaze met his, eyes large and worried behind the heavy glasses. “What did you say?”
He felt his lips twist into a ghost of a smile. “That you were the best damn secretary I’d ever had.”
“Morgan, we’re worried about you. Reed’s worried about you.” Rose Grady’s precise diction was even more vigorous than usual. “Every time we turn on the television, you’re there. We can’t pick up a magazine without a story about you.”
Morgan finished pulling his T-shirt over his head, having stripped off his suit and changed into jeans and a T-shirt now that he was home.
“You’re sick of my press?” he teased, shifting the phone from one ear to the other as he headed for the kitchen.
“That’s not what I mean,” Rose retorted indignantly and Morgan could picture the elegant arch of her eyebrows rising higher. “We know how hard you’ve worked at putting the past behind you, but now these reporters are digging into everything. And I do mean, everything.”
Morgan popped open the mineral water and took a long cool drink. “It’s going to be all right,” he said, wanting to believe his own optimism as he leaned against a stainless-steel counter, his kitchen huge and modern, big enough to accommodate a fleet of chefs. “The reporters will hound someone else soon. People get bored and move on.”
“That’s not all, Morgan. There’s something else, and I’m not sure how to tell you, or even if I should tell you, but I don’t want you to hear this from anyone else.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence stretched across the line. “I saw Charlotte.”
Morgan froze. “What?”
“Charlotte came to the house.”
It felt as if he’d been slammed on the chest with a shovel. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Alone?”
“Yes.”
He set the water down so forcefully the bottle rattled on the counter. “What did she want?”
“To hear about you. To know what you’ve been doing all these years.”
Charlotte. Charlotte. “What did you tell her?”
Rose sighed impatiently. “I said, read the papers. Turn on the evening news. Morgan’s life is everywhere.”
He nearly smiled. Trust Rose to give an answer like that.
“She says, she made a mistake,” Rose continued more faintly, as if delivering this information caused her great pain. “She indicated she wanted to make amends.”
“It’s been fifteen years.”
“You once wanted this.”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“Five years ago,” Rose rebutted.
Morgan shook his head slowly, angrily, not understanding why this had to happen now when he had so much pressure on him, when he had so many people depending on him. “How did she look?”
“Even more beautiful. She’s certainly matured well. She’s a classic beauty. What do you expect?”
His chest tightened. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to know this. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Fine.”
“And I don’t want to see her.”
“Then don’t.”
But even as he said the words, he was laughing at himself. Who was he kidding? Even fifteen years after she disappeared from his life he still wasn’t over her.
“Rose…Mom..” Morgan pressed a clenched fist to his forehead, battling fears that very few knew about. “What do I do? How do I get out of this?”
“First of all, forget Charlotte, she’s inconsequential,” Rose said crisply, comfortable taking charge again. “And second, get rid of the press!”
“How?”
“Morgan, you’re smart. Throw them a bone. Give the media a story…and I don’t mean Charlotte!”
CHAPTER FOUR
RIDING the subway to work the next morning, Winnie heard Mr. Grady’s words ring in her head. The best damn secretary he’d ever had. It was the highest compliment she could be paid. It was the highest compliment she’d ever been paid, and as pitiful as it sounded, those words from Mr. Grady meant everything to her.
She shifted on the subway seat, already sticky and warm despite the air-conditioning. Winnie told herself it was the summer heat wave making her feel a little hot, and more than a little bit crazy, but really, it had less to do with the thermometer than it did with her own feelings.
Two days from now and she’d be on a plane for the final interview in Charleston and she dreaded the interview now in Charleston, she dreaded her last day at Grady Investments, she dreaded everything to do with leaving.
Don’t think about it, she told herself, as the subway arrived at her stop and she lurched to her feet. You have two weeks before you have to say goodbye. No reason to cross that bridge today.
The advice had been sound, but the moment Mr. Grady walked into the office, Winnie’s heart did the same wild lurch it always did, making her feel as if she were on the subway or elevator again.
What was it about him that she loved so much? She stared at his eyes, his mouth, his chin and while the features were all perfectly shaped, her interest had less to do with the physical perfection than the intensity beneath.
There was something about him, she thought, putting the top of her pen to her mouth, something deeper, more complex than he wanted to reveal. But what?
“Good morning, Winnie.”
“Good morning, Mr. Grady.” She managed a firm, professional smile. It was the competent smile she knew executives preferred. “The president of Shipley’s Bank just called. Would you like me to get him back on the line?”
“Not just yet. I have a couple of things to take care of first. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“Of course, Mr. Grady. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”
“No. Just hold all calls.”
“Yes, Mr. Grady. I’ll do that, Mr. Grady.”
His door closed and she sank back into her chair and covered her face with her hands. Could she possibly sound more pathetic? Mr. Grady. No, Mr. Grady. Isn’t the sky perfectly blue, Mr. Grady?
