Читать книгу Ms. Taken - Jo Leigh - Страница 11
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ОглавлениеLARRY PODESKY, Bob Riverside’s attorney, wetted the tip of his finger slowly, then used that finger to turn to the next page of the legal brief. He went on reading line by painful line in a voice better suited to mortuary work than high finance. The mildly disturbing tableau wasn’t enough, however, to focus Charles.
The damn girl hadn’t even called. That’s what got him. The simple courtesy of a phone call this morning and everything would have been fine. He’d have had time to get a suitable temp, someone who knew how to make palatable coffee, who wouldn’t spill water all over Riverside’s pants. Things would have gone according to plan.
“…the party of the first part, will make appropriate restitution to landowners…”
Charles tried to focus on the contract, but his attention was waylaid by four drops of water on the conference table. Remnants of the mishap of an hour ago, they were perfect bubbles, contained within themselves, shimmering when Podesky jostled the table. For God’s sake, millions of dollars were at stake, and he was busy thinking about beads of water. He dismissed them, turned his attention to the pages before him, but every few words his gaze would dart over to the drops. It was all he could do not to leap out of his chair and blot the water before it could torment him further.
Damn it. Podesky might as well have been speaking Greek. Charles couldn’t listen, hadn’t been able to listen from the start.
He’d have to postpone his decision, that’s all. Which wasn’t a bad idea when he thought about it. Something was amiss here, and in his distraction, the only hint he’d had was the fact that Riverside’s face was a dull pink. Not just some of his face. All of it had a distinct rosy hue. Having met Riverside several times before, Charles knew this wasn’t the man’s normal complexion. The temperature in the office was a cool seventy-two, so what was making the man so nervous?
Charles was pleased he’d thought to do a little digging into Riverside’s past. If there were skeletons to be found, his man Sterling would find them. The importance of today was to listen well, get his own take on the man and the deal.
Unfortunately, he’d failed miserably on both accounts.
“…two-hundred seventy thousand dollars, to be held at Chase Manhattan Bank until such t—” Podesky stopped midword as his gaze jerked to the door of the conference room. Riverside followed suit and reacted with an open mouth and widening eyes.
Charles spun in his chair to see what the hell—
Ms. Dobson? Joan Dobson? With a white bandage on her forehead? With a dirty, torn skirt and blouse? With only one shoe?
She swept into the room like a strong gust of wind, heading straight for him. Her arms spread expansively and a smile lit her smudged face. “Charley!”
Charley?
She swooped down on him, giving him no chance to escape, and for a moment he wondered if she was going to kill him. It was obvious she’d gone off the deep end. He tensed, but instead of a knife in his ribs, he got a kiss on the mouth.
He would have preferred the knife.
She kissed him deeply, her full lips squarely on his, her body bent at such an angle that his head was forced back against his leather chair. Her hands landed on his shoulders, the touch there almost as shocking and intimate as her kiss. That is, until he felt the unmistakable wetness of her tongue.
He opened his mouth to protest, but a second later he realized his error. Her tongue, Ms. Dobson’s tongue, slipped into his mouth. Searching, teasing, it moved sinuously against his teeth, his own tongue. The indecency, the impudence shocked him so fiercely that he forgot how to breathe.
He moved his head, but she moved with him, a low rumble from her throat making it sound as if his attempt at escape was something entirely different. As if he’d moved to please her.
His hands found her shoulders somehow, and he pushed her back, but not before she nipped his lower lip. She straightened slowly, her smile mischievous, her eyes alight with what Charles could only guess was insanity. She must have been in a terrible accident that had caused her to lose all sense of propriety.
“I saw it, Charley,” she said, her intimate whisper sending aftershocks through his body. “I saw the personals. It was so clever of you to think of that. You knew I’d read it, didn’t you? And you knew I’d drop everything to be with you.”
He opened his mouth as he struggled to understand. But before he was able to say a word, she’d turned to Riverside and his attorney.
“Please forgive my intrusion,” she said. “But love makes for foolish choices sometimes. You see, Charley and I, we’re going to be married.”
Riverside cleared his throat. “Pardon?”
She laughed, the sound so out of place Charles wondered if he was dreaming. “I’m Holly Baskin,” she said as she walked around the table to where Riverside sat. “I know I must look terrible, but I couldn’t wait to get here. In fact, I left everything behind.” She turned to Charles, and the way she looked at him sent a shiver of fear down his spine. “I’ll need to get some things, sweetie, if you don’t mind.”
Holly Baskin? What in hell…? He shook his head, wondering if he should call the police or Bellevue or both. David. David would know what to do. He dealt with crazy people all the time.
Ms. Dobson sighed, her gaze all moony, like a love-sick calf. On the other hand, maybe that’s what people looked like when they were about to go over the edge. He opened his mouth to order her out of his office, but before he could say the first word she’d dashed to him once more, her blond curls bobbing merrily. Why had she said she was Holly? Blackmail? Dementia? Worse?
“I’ve got to go get something decent to wear, but then I’ll meet you at your place later. We have so much to talk about.”
He leaned forward.
She bent over him, stealing his protest with another kiss.
The next second she straightened, smiled, then she was out the door. He should follow her. See that she didn’t steal anything, shoot anyone, jump out any windows. At the very least he should be on the phone with the police. But that last kiss…
It had affected him. Embarrassingly. Visibly. If he stood…
He shifted his chair up against the conference table. Riverside and his attorney stared at him with un-abashed shock. Riverside’s once pink hue was now closer to scarlet, and Podesky’s papers had fallen off the table.
Charles cleared his throat. Then again. “I’m sorry about that, gentlemen.”
Riverside looked at him, then at the door, then back again. “Your fiancée?”
“No. No, not at all. She’s my assistant.”
Podesky’s right brow rose.
“And her name isn’t Holly Baskin.”
“I see,” Riverside said, even though it was obvious he didn’t see. But then, Charles didn’t see, either.
“Uh, gentlemen, I think it would be best if we rescheduled.”
Podesky nodded, then bent over to get his file. Riverside just kept looking at him. Charles wanted them out, gone. He needed to calm down. To think this through. He needed to talk to David.
An electronic buzz made him jump, which wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened to Podesky. He not only dropped the file again, but the back of his head banged viciously against the bottom of the table when he reached for it.
Charles pressed the intercom. “Yes?”
“Uh, Mr. Warren?” the secretary said, her voice tentative and so soft he barely made out the words.
“Yes?”
“Uh, I think you’d better come out here.”
He let go of the button. The interruption had cleared his head a bit, and it had also managed to take care of his other problem, at least most of the way. He stood, pulled his cuffs down, straightened his tie, then faced Bob Riverside. “Pardon me.”
“Oh, sure,” Riverside said, although he still sounded dazed.
Charles left, trusting the men would see themselves out. But he didn’t head toward the outer office. Instead he took advantage of the empty hallway and regrouped. He couldn’t be rash. In today’s climate, it wasn’t safe to make a move without attorneys and human resources. If he fired her on the spot, there might be repercussions. On the other hand, she was a loon.
After a steadying breath, he entered the outer office. Ms. Dobson wasn’t there. The woman who was today’s replacement for Delia Robinson—he’d completely forgotten her name—seemed dazed. Her chair had been pushed back from the desk to make room for the open top drawer.
“I tried to stop her,” she said.
“Stop her from what?”
The woman blinked rapidly behind bottle-thick glasses, then tried to smile. “She said it was all right. That you wouldn’t mind.”
He headed toward the desk, struggling to keep his composure. Ayres. That was her name. “Ms. Ayres, what, precisely, happened?”
“She took the credit card. And some keys. I didn’t even know they were there. I swear. I never opened that part of the desk.”
“My credit card?”
Ms. Ayres nodded. She was young, almost as young as Ms. Dobson. He thought she might cry.
“Please find the number for David Levinson. Call him and put it through to my office.”
“Yes, Mr. Warren,” she said, her voice a little wobbly.
“And after that, please bring me three aspirin and a glass of water.”
“Yes, Mr. Warren,” she repeated, this time with a definite tremor.
“And Ms. Ayres?”
“Yes, Mr. Warren?”
“It’s all right. I don’t hold you responsible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Warren.”
He headed for his office, wondering what in hell he was supposed to do now. Call the credit card company, of course, and then…?
After closing the door behind him, he paused. Something was bothering him, aside from the obvious. She’d called herself Holly Baskin. Today was the day the ad was supposed to come out in that damn magazine. Had she gone to pick up a copy and been hit by a car? Had she been mugged? Or was it possible that this was just some horrible prank?
His phone rang and that got him moving. He answered as he sank into his chair. “Warren.”
“What’s up?”
“David, I’ve got a situation.”
“Shoot.”
“Don’t say that. Please.”
“Okay.” David’s voice had changed. It was subtle, but Charles knew him so well that he noticed the nuance. David was now sitting up straight at his desk. He had stopped fiddling with his paper clips. He was focused, and no one was smarter than David when he was focused.
“You know my assistant.”
“Delia?”
“The other one.”
“Jane?”
“I thought her name was Joan.”
“It’s Jane.”
“Oh. Well. Jane, then. She wasn’t in this morning.”
“Oh?”
“I had to use someone from the secretarial pool. She made god-awful coffee.”
“I assume this story is leading somewhere?”
“Right. I was in the middle of a meeting with Riverside and his attorney, and this girl, this Jane, barged in. Just walked into the conference room like she owned the place.”
“Really?”
“She had a big bandage on her forehead. She looked as though she’d been in an accident. Or perhaps she’d been mugged. I’m not sure.”
“Did you call a doctor?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she—”
“Yes?”
“She kissed me.”
“Pardon?”
“She kissed me. On the lips. In the conference room. She said she was Holly Baskin. That we were going to be married.”
Silence. No, not quite. Was that a muffled laugh? A slight tap on his door heralded Ms. Ayres and his aspirin, and Charles had swallowed the pills before David spoke again.
“This is a little tricky,” he said, finally.
“I know that. What I need to know is what to do. The woman took my credit card. God knows what she’s charging. I have to call the—”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t call the police or anyone else. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because we need more facts before we do anything.”
“Facts? I’ll give you a fact. A crazy woman is out in the city with my credit card.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She said she had to pick up a few things and that…Oh, God.”
“What?”
“She said she’d meet me at my place. She took my keys, too.”
“Okay. So that’s where we’ll start.”
Charles heard papers shuffling. He wondered if he’d explained the seriousness of the situation adequately. The woman was nuts, and she had his credit card and the key to his home. And yet David didn’t seem unduly alarmed. In fact, his voice sounded utterly blasé when he said, “I’ll cancel my three. You clear the deck on your end. I’ll be at your place in half an hour.”
“Fine. Good.”
“And Charles?”
“Yes?”
“Order lunch, will you? I’m starving.”
Before Charles had a chance to tell David his request was completely inappropriate, David hung up.
Charles did the same. His gaze wandered to his bookshelves. The neat, orderly rows, the fine leather bindings. He liked the look of them, always had. He’d meant to go through them. Just last…last year he’d decided to go back to reading something other than the Wall Street Journal. He hadn’t, of course. The year had gone by in a blur of deals, of business lunches, of NASDAQ ups and downs. The company had grown, and the shareholders were going to see some healthy dividends. It was all as it was supposed to be. Only—
He shook himself out of his reverie and pressed the button for Ms. Ayres. He had to cancel his afternoon. All because of one little slip of a girl. He never should have hired her. Those curls of hers were a dead giveaway. She was trouble. Big trouble.
“I THINK WE SHOULD CALL the police.”
David shook his head. “It’s only four-thirty. Let’s give it till five.”
“By five, she could have wiped out Saks.”
“Charles, let me ask you something.” David leaned forward and pushed aside his beer so he could rest his hands on the dining room table. “Have you ever spoken to Jane?”
“Of course. She works for me.”
“I mean, have you spoken to her in a nonbusiness context?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Because you see her five days a week.”
“David, I don’t go in for that touchy-feely crap, and you know it.”
“I’m not asking if you’ve hugged her lately, just if you’ve talked. If you know anything about her.”
Charles massaged his temples, wondering what would happen if he took three more aspirin. Or maybe he should just have a drink. “I only know that up until today, she’d done an adequate job.”
“Have you ever heard of Pru Dobson?”
“The violinist?”
David nodded. “That’s Jane’s eldest sister.”
“Didn’t we see her play?”
“We did.”
“Hmm.”
“And have you heard of Felicity Dobson?”
“The name rings a bell, but—”
“The novelist.”
“Right.”
“Also Jane’s sister.”
“Really.”
“And maybe you’ve heard of Darra Dobson?”
He shook his head.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Just turn around.”
Charles obeyed, swiveling to face the window of his tenth-floor penthouse.
“See the billboard next to the Chivas Regal whiskey sign?”
He nodded. It was huge, hardly something he could miss, even if he wanted to. A seminaked woman stared hungrily at a seminaked man. She wore his underwear. He didn’t appear to be wearing anything except a smile.
“That’s Darra Dobson. Jane’s other sister.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding.”
Charles turned back. “Remarkable.”
“Yes. Four girls. Three of them international celebrities.”
“And then Jane.”
David nodded.
“That’s very touching, but what does it have to do with me?”
“I’m not sure yet. But I think your Ms. Dobson is in trouble.”
“So what am I supposed to do about it?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
“I think this is a matter for the authorities, David.”
“Not yet. Not until I speak with her.”
“She’s probably on a plane to Monte Carlo.”
He shook his head, propped his fingers in a steeple and peered over the top. “No. I don’t think so. I think she’ll be back.”
“David, I know what your grade point average was, so knock it off.”
“Knock what off?”
“Your Freud imitation.”
“I’m not the one who called looking for help, buddy boy.”
Charles sighed. “I know. I just—”
The sound of a key opening the dead bolt made both men jump. Charles looked at David. David looked at the door.
David stood. Charles didn’t.
Jane Dobson waltzed in and dropped several beige bags as she kicked the door shut behind her. The bandage was gone, revealing a considerable goose egg. She’d changed into decent, expensive looking clothes, and she had two shoes.
“Hello, Charley,” she said. “Hi, David.”
David nodded. “Hi.”
“What? No kiss?”
David shot Charles a quick glance, then smiled at Jane. He took her outstretched hands, then kissed her on the cheek. “You look wonderful.”
“Thanks. So do you. Did he tell you?”
“What?”
“That we’re getting married.”
“He mentioned it, yes.”
“Thrilling, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say.”
She let go of David’s hands and headed toward Charles. She was going to kiss him again, he just knew it. But this time, she’d get no reaction from him. None at all. The girl needed help. She was ill. Or psychotic.
She bent over him.
She smelled like roses.
