Читать книгу Marry in Haste - Heather Allison - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

THE following Monday, Abby arrived on the twenty-sixth floor at seven o’clock in the morning. She was armed with pieces of paper on which she’d scribbled the last-minute instructions Valerie had telephoned from the airport in Houston and astonishingly, again from Athens, waking Abby up in the middle of the night.

Quite frankly, Abby hadn’t relaxed until she’d called the cruise line to see if the ship had sailed. Even then, it wouldn’t surprise her if Valerie managed a ship-to-shore call.

Abby automatically sat at her own desk, then smiled when she remembered she was entitled to use Valerie’s office for the next month. Nancy and Barbara would be sharing receptionist duty. While she transferred her nameplate, calendar and glass paperweight from her desk to Valerie’s, Abby made a mental note to inform Mr. Laird of their schedule.

Arms full, she fumbled with the key to Valerie’s office door, the scratching sounds loud in the silence. Though always quiet, the twenty-sixth floor seemed eerie just because Abby knew she was alone.

The first thing she did after dumping her armload on the desk was to put Valerie’s nameplate in the drawer and replace it with her own. Abby had invested in the heavy etched glass because the design looked substantial, yet feminine, and more important than the brown plastic plates Laird issued to its employees. Beside it, she set the matching calendar.

The paperweight, though also of a heavy glass, wasn’t part of the set. Floating in the oval were foreign canceled stamps, reminding Abby of the places she could travel if she kept working toward her goal. She set the paperweight by the computer monitor.

Before she started to work, Abby drew the blinds all the way to the top of the windows and stared across the city of Houston. An orange sun burned through the exhaust haze as rush-hour traffic clogged the freeways.

No one in her family could understand the appeal of the big city to Abby. “Full of people, noise, traffic and pollution,” they said.

But Abby felt the excitement and energy—she’d yield on the pollution.

The city—this building—was where things happened and now Abby was an important part of it all.

Or she would be as soon as she figured out what to do next. Sorting through her notes, Abby shook her head. For a week, she’d been Valerie’s shadow and the recipient of volumes of minutiae, yet she wasn’t as secure in her knowledge of the routines as she’d like to be. It seemed that no day was a typical day, and Valerie kept entirely too much information in her head. She dispensed pieces of information out of context and whenever she remembered.

Abby decided that she’d start an instruction journal for the next time someone had to fill in as Executive Assistant.

She spent several minutes transferring notes into the master schedule, an oversized portfolio, and tossing snippets of paper before discovering a lump underneath the bottom layer.

A cassette tape. Mr. Laird’s cassette tape. It had probably been on Valerie’s desk when Abby dumped the papers onto it.

Popping the tape into the machine, she put on the headphones.

“Good morning, Abby.” Parker Laird’s deep voice sounded in her ears. “Please make the following schedule changes and have a revised copy on my desk as soon as possible.”

As Abby listened to the instructions, she was dismayed to realize that Parker had made the tape this morning, prior to her early arrival.

Did the man never sleep?

Abby concentrated on Parker’s rapid-fire instructions. Although in deference to her inexperience, he frequently elaborated on what he wanted and who the members of various groups were, Abby had to rewind the tape countless times. She had a headache before eight o’clock. She also had several hours’ work ahead of her and hadn’t yet made a copy of the receptionist schedule.

But of course, she reminded herself, that’s why the Executive Assistant had a staff. She opened the door connecting Valerie’s office with Barbara and Nancy’s and stopped.

The office was empty. It was also ten past eight.

Her intercom buzzed. “Abby?”

Parker. Abby leaped to answer it. “Yes, Mr. Laird?”

“You didn’t leave a message, so I didn’t know if you were in or not.”

There hadn’t been anything on the tape about a message. “I’ve been here over an hour.”

“I wish I’d known. I’ve been waiting for you.”

There was no censure in his voice, yet even alone in the office, Abby’s face heated. “I’ll be right there.”

She fanned her face and started for Mr. Laird’s office, then stopped. With Nancy and Barbara not in yet, there was no one to answer the telephone. And Abby hadn’t had a chance to print out Mr. Laird’s revised schedule.

Scribbling some instructions on a sticky note, Abby stuck it right in the center of Barbara’s computer monitor, then hurried into Mr. Laird’s office.

What a horrible start to her tenure as his Executive Assistant.

Breathless, she arrived at the center of power without noticing the air, the carpet or the view.

But she did notice Parker Laird.

He stood clear on the other side of the room behind a long table covered with maps. Without looking at her, he beckoned her forward with the barest movement of his fingers.

Abby didn’t know whether she was supposed to join him at the table, or take the usual spot at the end of his desk. Valerie always seemed to know, but Abby couldn’t tell how. She hovered uncertainly by the desk.

Parker pulled a swing-arm lamp closer to the map. “Did you forget to tell me you were in this morning?”

“There weren’t any instructions to do so on the tape you left.”

He didn’t respond and Abby just stayed quiet. He still hadn’t looked at her. At last, he straightened, tapped the map with his finger, stared some more, then abruptly wheeled around and strode over to his desk. “From now on, when you arrive, leave a message on my voice mail.”

“Yes, Mr. Laird.” Abby made a note. This was a routine Valerie hadn’t told her about. She hoped the oversight wasn’t on purpose, but suspected it was.

“Do you have a copy of the revised schedule?” Parker Laird, all white shirt and French cuffs, sat at the desk and swiveled to face her.

“I was working on it when you called. I left instructions for Barbara to print out a copy.”

Parker looked down at his watch and then at her. “And that will be...?”

Abby swallowed, torn between defending herself by exposing Barbara and Nancy, thus completely alienating them, or taking the blame for not being organized this morning. “As soon as possible, Mr. Laird,” she bluffed and met his gaze, pen poised.

He continued to gaze at her, his expression attentively blank, as though waiting for her to grasp some concept. She had a horrible feeling that he wasn’t fooled at all.

“Do you have any further changes to the schedule before we print out a final copy?” she asked, mostly to sound efficient in spite of her inefficiency.

“There’s never a final copy,” he murmured. “Only a most recent copy.”

“Do you have any further changes to the schedule before we print out the most recent copy?” Abby amended as though she hadn’t previously spoken.

Parker Laird blinked. He was looking at her as though he was inwardly amused and teetering on the edge of a smile.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Mr. Laird.”

He continued to gaze at her with the same expression.

“Oh!” Abby shot to her feet. “Coffee!” No, thank you, Mr. Laird. She cringed. “I—I’ll—”

He held up a hand. “Making coffee isn’t one of your responsibilities, but if you happen to be drinking a cup when I call for you, feel free to bring it with you.”

“Of course, Mr. Laird.” Abby was a tea drinker but couldn’t imagine ever being relaxed enough to drink in front of Parker Laird.

“In fact, should you want a cup, say, right now, you can get one when you bring the schedule.” He spoke in a measured tone with only the slightest emphasis on the last words.

Bring the schedule. Abby got the message. “Thank you, Mr. Laird.” Abby backed her way across the room. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Idiot, idiot, idiot, she chanted to herself as she raced back to her office.

Incredibly, neither Barbara nor Nancy had arrived. Abby sat at the computer, frantically opened the schedule file and typed in the changes, conscious of the passing minutes—conscious that the current fifteen minute block of time was allocated to “Phone Ian Douglass in Aberdeen” and not “Wait for Abby to type schedule.”

She was shouting, “Hurry!” at the laser printer when Barbara arrived, a cup from a gourmet coffee shop in her hand.

“A little frazzled this morning, are we?” she asked.

“Where have you been?” Abby snapped. She’d rehearsed various approaches at chastising Barbara and Nancy for their tardiness. This wasn’t one of them.

“Valerie told us to come in at eight-thirty this morning. She thought it would give you time to get organized.”

Abby yanked the pages from the printer output. “From now on, please come in at eight o’clock. Even earlier, if you can manage.” She was so angry, she could barely look at Barbara.

“I’ll try, but it depends on traffic and the school won’t let parents drop off their kids before seven-thirty.”

At that, Abby looked fully at Barbara. “I was here at seven this morning,” she said evenly, “and there was an entire tape of instructions waiting for me.” Now do you see why Valerie named me Acting Executive Assistant?

Barbara apparently received Abby’s unspoken message. “What can I do?” she asked, stuffing her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk.

“I’m on my way back to Mr. Laird’s office. He has a meeting at ten and wants files pulled to study before then. Details are in my notes.”

Barbara pried the plastic cover off her coffee cup. “I’ll take care of it.”

Glad the challenge to her authority had come and gone quickly, Abby hurried back to Parker’s office. Outside, she drew several deep breaths so she wouldn’t arrive panting at his desk.

Parker was facing the windows as he spoke on the phone when Abby unobtrusively took her seat by the desk.

“Yes, Ian.”

This would be the eight-thirty call to Aberdeen. Abby remembered her vow to have something to occupy herself. Of course, she didn’t, so she studied the schedule, breaking down the tasks and assigning them to either Barbara or Nancy. She finished in three minutes, but pretended she hadn’t.

She would not look in the glass.

As she worked, her skin prickled. He’s looking at me.

But that was ridiculous. He wasn’t looking looking. He was probably simply staring blankly as he concentrated on his telephone call.

From her experience with Valerie this past week, Abby had learned that Parker liked to jot notes immediately after a telephone call, so when he disconnected the call, she remained quiet.

He scribbled a line or two, then looked toward her with a raised eyebrow.

She stood. “Here’s the schedule, Mr. Laird.”

“Call me Parker, Abby,” he said, taking it from her.

Call him Parker? Abby’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.

He glanced up at her.

“A-all right, Mr. Laird.”

“Parker.”

“All right, Mr. Parker.”

He blinked once, then said, “When you call me Parker, you get to drop the Mr.”

“Yes, sir.”

His brow furrowed. “It bothers you to use my name?”

Bother wasn’t the right word. Maybe uncomfortable was, but she didn’t want to admit to it. “Valerie always calls you Mr. Laird, so I’m used to it.”

He nodded. “Valerie has called me Mr. Laird since I was thirteen years old. I cannot break her of the habit. If it helps, think of Parker as a more efficient use of time. Only two syllables to say.”

Was he making a joke? “Yes, sir.”

He gave her a long look before saying dryly, “Sir would, of course, be most efficient of all.” Turning his attention to the schedule she’d set on his desk, he glanced through it. “The meeting at ten is informal and I don’t anticipate it lasting more than an hour. However—” he stopped and made a note “—my brother will be with us, and Jay is notoriously unpredictable, so we might stretch to lunch. I want you to be prepared to order sandwiches—that sort of thing. Valerie uses the deli down the street.” He waved his hand. “They make an assortment platter that’s worked well in the past.”

Abby knew what he was talking about. She’d called in the order before. “Yes, sir—Parker.”

“Abby?”

She looked up and met his gray gaze.

“Parker,” he murmured. “Just Parker.”

Nodding, she repeated, “Just Parker.” Parker, Parker, Parker, she drilled into her mind. What was the matter with her? By asking her to call him Parker, he was trying to put her at ease and she’d turned it into something awkward instead of just calling him by his name.

During the next ten minutes, Abby avoided calling him anything at all. “I’ll be back with the files,” she informed him when they’d finished, but he’d already turned his attention to the next event on his schedule.

Fortunately, Barbara had put the files he wanted on her desk. By the time Abby delivered them, Nancy had arrived and both women were ready for their next assignments. Abby showed them the schedule and the tasks, and without complaint or comment, they started working.

She sat down to catch her breath. She was refastening the barrette that clipped the hair at the back of her neck when the interoffice messenger wheeled in a dolly with two black boxes containing the morning’s correspondence, reports, messages, requests and memos.

It was the Executive Assistant’s job to sort through everything and decide what deserved Mr. Laird‘s—Parker’s—personal attention and what could be handled by the staff.

She’d just reached for the brown routing envelope on top when the staff telephone started ringing. With resignation, she waited for the buzz on her phone.

Without a doubt, this first phone call would be some earth-shattering problem that she was illequipped to deal with. She dropped her head to her desk, and when the phone buzzed, it sounded loud in her ear.

“Peter Frostwood on line one,” intoned Nancy. She’d drawn first receptionist duty.

Peter Frostwood was the head of Laird North America. Of course. Hadn’t she expected as much?

“Abigail Monroe,” she said.

There was a brief silence. “I asked for Valerie.”

“I’m Acting Executive Assistant while Ms. Chippin is away,” Abby reminded him. There had been a memo sent to all department heads. She’d typed it herself.

“Tell Parker I need to see him ASAP.”

This was where it got tricky. Abby had to decide, without knowing if Peter Frostwood was the alarmist type, whether to interrupt Parker’s preparations for the meeting or give him the message at their noontime conference. Asking a highly-placed executive to explain himself was presumptuous. Interrupting Parker for every little thing defeated the whole purpose of an executive assistant.

“Mr. Laird is preparing for a meeting at ten o’clock and his schedule for the day is booked,” she explained. “Shall I put you through to discuss a time when it will be convenient for you to see him?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Abby buzzed Parker. If he objected to the interruption, he’d tell her. “Peter Frostwood needs to speak with you.”

“Okay.”

And that was all. She’d chosen correctly. This time.

Abby eyed the two full boxes. She’d gone through similar boxes with Valerie last week and knew there would be another load delivered in the afternoon.

As Valerie had taught her, Abby culled the papers into those requiring action, signature, and information. Valerie ranked the action items, but Abby didn’t feel capable yet. The production reports, long tedious pages of numbers, were to be entered into a spreadsheet program. That had frequently been Abby’s job and she was delighted to assign it to Nancy.

The phone continued to ring and Abby found herself falling behind.

She still had to prepare for the meeting and at nine-thirty, went in to set up the conference room.

Setting up for a morning conference meant making coffee. Though she didn’t drink the stuff herself, Abby had watched Valerie.

Parker Laird didn’t settle for the prepackaged stuff, oh no. Valerie had rattled off the names of the beans in his custom mix, along with the fact that he liked them roasted a precise number of seconds and freshly ground.

To Abby, a coffee bean was a coffee bean. She poured them into the grinder, then dumped the grounds into a metallic-filtered basket, added tap water and hoped for the best.

The rest of the tray would be just as complicated as Parker Laird, himself. No powdered packets of coffee creamer and no plastic cups. That would be too easy, Abby grumbled to herself. There must be skim milk, cream and regular milk. Parker served both natural sugar and white sugar, along with two kinds of artificial sweetener. The coffee would be poured into heavy royal-blue mugs with the Laird Drilling and Exploration logo in white.

By the time Abby had made a pot of decaf and had carried in the tray, it was only ten minutes until the meeting should start. Feeling rushed and flustered, she bent down and yanked open the credenza doors to look for the napkins bearing the Laird logo. These were white, with the logo in royal blue.

“Hellooo, Valerie, my love. Have you decided to leave your husband and come away with me yet?”

Eyes wide, Abby jerked upright. Leaning against the conference room doorway was a younger version of Parker. This was the wickedly charming black sheep, Jay Laird, himself. Abby had only seen the back of his head before in person, since he was rarely here.

He was as handsome as everyone said he was with the gray Laird eyes and black hair. His skin was attractively tanned and his features weren’t as sharply defined as Parker’s.

“You’re not Valerie.”

Abby shook her head.

He advanced into the room, interest in his gray eyes, a winsome smile on his lips. “Come away with me anyway.”

“I—I can’t do that.” She closed the cabinet doors. “I haven’t finished setting up for the meeting.”

He looked around the room. “Chairs, table... what more do we need?”

“Water,” Abby said.

“Ah.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his khaki trousers, he cocked his head sideways. “If I fetch the water, can we sneak away?”

Abby smiled in spite of herself. “Mr. Laird, you’re supposed to be at this meeting.”

He winced. “Jay, please.”

“Jay,” she repeated easily.

He regarded her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You know who I am.”

“Everyone knows who you are.”

“But I, alas, do not know who everyone is.”

Abby abandoned the microscopic hope that he might have noticed her sometime during the past four years. “I’m Abby Monroe. Ms. Chippin is on a cruise and I’m filling in for her.”

“A cruise.” He looked skyward. “She left without me.” He met her eyes with a soulful gaze. “I’m devastated.”

Abby laughed, feeling the tension of the morning melt away for the first time.

“So, you’ve drawn the short straw.” He tucked her hand through his arm. “Come tell Uncle Jay all about it.”

“About what?” With a smile, Abby disengaged her arm and picked up two empty water pitchers.

“About slaving for my brother. Do you have a life left?” Jay followed her into the tiny coffee bar.

There was hardly room for one person, let alone two, and Abby was aware that he was standing close behind her as she filled the pitchers with ice and water. “This is only my first day.”

“Quick!” He grasped her shoulders. “Run! Flee! Get out while you still can.”

Chuckling, Abby handed him a pitcher. “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“There’s work and there’s the rest of your life.” Jay carried the pitcher into the conference area. “My brother and I differ on how much time one should devote to each. You see, I work to live. Parker lives to work.”

It wasn’t her place to comment, though Abby thought fleetingly of the pictures of a smiling Jay that regularly appeared in the society news section of the paper. Parker always appeared in the business news section.

She followed Jay out of the coffee bar, positioned the pitchers on a tray and stepped back to examine the arrangement she’d made on top of the credenza.

“Looks like you’ve been doing this for years. Valerie couldn’t have done better.”

Jay had said exactly what Abby thirsted to hear. She exhaled and turned a brilliant smile toward him.

“Jay, I’ve been looking for you.”

Her smile vanishing instantly, Abby’s gaze flew to the doorway where Parker stood.

Something unidentifiable flashed in his eyes and she wondered if she should have announced his brother’s arrival.

“And now you’ve found me,” Jay said lightly.

“Pestering my assistant, I see.” Parker walked forward with uncharacteristic slowness and tossed file folders onto the oval conference table.

“Just giving her a hand with the meeting preps.”

Parker glanced at the credenza. “All appears to be in order.”

Though on the surface, both men were speaking in nonconfrontational tones, Abby sensed an underlying tension between them. Time to leave. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Laird?”

“Would you bring me the map I left on my worktable?”

Abby hurried into Parker’s office, uncertain whether he was angry or not. Surely she didn’t have to announce his own brother.

Abby rolled the map and headed back to the conference room. The two men were visible through the doorway. Parker had opened the files and was speaking to Jay, who wore a resigned look as he flipped through the papers in them.

“I would rather hire my own team,” he was saying as Abby quietly placed the map at Parker’s elbow.

“You arrive next week.” Parker’s voice was clipped. “You have no on-site support personnel and you have no experience.”

“I have experience,” Jay snapped. “It’s different than yours, so you discount it.”

The brothers locked gazes. Without blinking, Parker opened another file folder and pushed it toward Jay. “Ian Douglass is a good man with twenty-three years’ experience in remote drilling locations.”

“I’ll consider him. Thanks for the tip.”

“It’s not a tip. I hired him this morning.”

“Then you can un-hire him this afternoon.”

Abby held her breath and as discreetly as possible, tried to evaporate from the room.

“Abby, show everyone in here when they arrive.”

“Yes, Mr. Laird.”

He regarded her without expression, but Jay winked and Abby quickly turned away before Parker could see her smile.