into the low car with more grace than most women he knew, but then Rachel had always had an air of refinement about her.
Over the years she’d worked for him, she had managed to polish some of his rough edges without making him feel boorish or embarrassed by his lack of sophistication.
He felt justified in offering his help now, despite her protests.
Brad slid behind the steering wheel, closed the car door and started the engine, which began to purr like a well-fed cat. He smiled. Before owning this particular vehicle, Brad had bought only trucks for his own use. They were by far the most practical transportation for business purposes.
For years after he knew he could afford to drive anything he wished, he continued to drive a pickup truck…until he’d seen this baby sitting in a show window three months ago. Practicality took a back seat to the sleek lines and high performance of the Porsche. He’d never had buyer’s remorse; he doubted very much that he ever would.
The car was a visible sign that he’d met his goals and become successful. His success meant he had overcome his early life. His past no longer had the power to cause him pain, because he had proven to himself that he wasn’t a loser. His new Porsche reminded him that he was a winner every time he saw it.
Rachel forced herself to lean back in the aircraft seat. She closed her eyes, already dreading the petrifying moment when the jet actually left Mother Earth and threw itself recklessly into the air, defying the law of gravity.
She did not like to fly. To be more precise, she absolutely detested flying and generally managed to avoid it, but there was no arguing with Brad.
Not that Brad had any idea of her strong aversion to flying. She’d been careful never to mention the matter to him. After all, there had never been a reason to call his attention to her weakness. Sometime during the years she had worked for him, Brad must have decided that she was a direct descendant of Wonder Woman—he thought that no matter what he asked of her, she could do it with ease.
Boy, was he wrong. For whatever reason—and she had no doubt an analyst would have a field day with this one—she had worked diligently to keep Brad’s illusions about her intact.
Until now. All she wanted to do at the moment was curl up somewhere and sleep for the next year or so. After what had happened last night, though, she no longer felt safe in her apartment.
Rachel gripped the arms of her seat as the plane barreled down the runway and leaped skyward. She prayed fervently that she wouldn’t embarrass herself by becoming hysterical and sobbing all the way to North Carolina.
Even with her eyes closed, she knew when Brad unfastened his safety belt and left the seat beside her. The company jet contained a fully equipped office. Wherever Brad went, he kept up with everything that happened in his company.
She kept her eyes closed in order to better concentrate on the sounds of the plane. Perhaps if she remained alert, she could warn Steve if a wing fell off or something.
She hoped Brad would be able to deal satisfactorily with Mrs. Crossland. He’d been so excited when Thomas Crossland asked him to build his vacation home in the mountains.
There was no reason for Carl to worry. Brad had an excellent track record for convincing a person that Brad’s way was the best way. Her being there on the plane with him certainly proved his powers of persuasion. He’d used them successfully on other occasions.
He’d convinced her years ago that helping him build his dream company would not only bring her wealth but also tremendous satisfaction.
What normal, red-blooded woman wouldn’t have fallen in love with him?
Of course she’d never, by look or deed, revealed her feelings to him. Not only would that have sabotaged her career, but it would also have sent Brad Phillips running for the nearest exit.
She almost smiled at that thought but, if Brad happened to notice that she wasn’t asleep, he’d want to continue to discuss her plan to take some time off. She wasn’t ready to go another round with him on that subject.
Rachel seldom discussed her private life with Brad. One of the ways she avoided personal topics was to turn his casual questions around to find out about his social life. Over the years he’d been surprisingly forthcoming about who he was seeing and who he had stopped seeing. Rachel wasn’t sure which was worse, imagining Brad with various women or actually hearing about them.
She’d formed a clear picture of his modus operandi in the romance department. There wasn’t an ounce of romance in the man, which was really a shame because he was the type of male that women fantasized about while gnawing on a knuckle and whimpering.
Working construction had honed his tall, rangy body into solid muscle and sinew. Along the way he’d acquired what appeared to be a permanent tan as a result of years spent working in the sun. She wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his trim good looks now that he spent a large part of his time indoors, but there was no doubt a hard body lurked beneath his custom-made suits.
As one of her friends so succinctly put it, if she hadn’t fallen in love with the man after working closely with him for years, someone would have needed to check her pulse to be certain she was alive.
He had no trouble attracting the attention of women, married or single, but the man appeared uninterested in their admiration. She couldn’t say he was classically handsome…his face showed too much strength for that. How he remained unaware of his ability to charm any woman he wanted into his bed was beyond her. Having known other men who used that particular skill to seduce women who could put them in touch with business contacts, she knew that Brad was an exceptional man. He never used his sensual appeal as a manipulative tool.
Rachel knew that he sometimes dated daughters of leading businessmen in Dallas, not because he ever mentioned them, but because he was frequently seen in photographs prominently displayed on the society pages of the daily newspaper. She knew when he’d stopped seeing one of them by the stack of phone messages he received, pleading with him to call.
She recalled one night about a year after she had gone to work for him. They had worked late at the office. As usual Brad had offered to feed her. Once they had eaten and he was in a relaxed mood, he surprised her by mentioning a couple of the women he’d been seeing, giving her new insight into his complicated thought processes.
They had been enjoying their after-dinner coffee when in a rare burst of curiosity, she asked, “I noticed that Caroline Windsor has been calling frequently during the past few days. Is there a problem with your relationship?”
He winced, making her wish she could cut off her tongue before it got her into any more trouble. “The problem is that she thinks we have a relationship,” he replied gruffly.
He must have registered her surprise at his comment because he continued in explanation. “You see, Caroline always gets whatever she wants that daddy can buy, which covers a lot of territory, given Carter Windsor the Third’s bank balance. She kept turning up whenever her dad and I met while planning his latest commercial venture, joining us for lunch and suggesting not too subtly that she was available for dinner.”
He sipped on his coffee and Rachel hoped he would continue with this story, because it sounded like a good one. There weren’t too many—all right, if she were being honest—she didn’t know of any man who wouldn’t be flattered by drawing Ms. Windsor’s attention, giving him an opportunity to get in closer touch with the Carter Windsor dynasty.
