Beyond The Boardroom(5)

"Wish I believed that," Patrick whispered and he suddenly looked every  one of his seventy-seven years. "But the mistakes I made are the point  of this conversation."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning don't do what I did." He pulled his hands from his pockets and  waved his arms to encompass the high-rise office, the awards and the  incredible view from the bank of floor to ceiling windows behind his  desk. "Right now, being in charge looks great. The challenge. The fun of  beating the others."

Shane shrugged.

"I know you, son," Patrick said, stabbing his index finger at Shane. "I  know you thrive on the competition, just like a true Elliott. But  remember, winning doesn't mean a damn thing if you've got nothing but  the victory to show for it."





Chapter 3





Rachel opened the freezer door for the third time in a half hour and  stared at her nemesis. It sat there next to a stack of frozen dinners  and mocked her silently.

Her own fault. She never should have bought it. But she'd had a weak moment right after work.

Well, actually, she'd been having plenty of weak moments lately. Every  time she thought about quitting her job and walking away from her only  connection to Shane Elliott.

"It's the right thing to do," she muttered as icy fog wafted from the freezer to caress her face.

Her hand tightened on the white plastic door handle and she squeezed as  if gripping a lifeline. She had to quit. She knew it. She'd only been  postponing the inevitable because she hadn't wanted to leave EPH until  Shane had won the competition between him and his siblings.

"Well, that excuse is gone. You've helped The Buzz do so well in this  last year that he's bound to win. What've you got left?" she asked  herself, knowing damn well there wasn't an answer.

She shivered, and reached into the freezer, her fingers curling around a  small carton covered in ice crystals. "Fine. I surrender. We both knew I  would or I wouldn't have bought you in the first place."                       
       
           



       

When a knock sounded on her front door, she backed up instantly, leaving  the carton where it was and slammed the freezer shut. She ran both  hands over her wavy blond hair, released from the tidy French twist she  kept it in while working. Then she automatically smoothed the gray skirt  she still wore and shuffled out of the tiny galley kitchen in her pink  fuzzy slippers. As she walked, she glanced at the pineapple shaped clock  on the wall.

Eight o'clock.

Great.

Shane would be just sitting down to his first glass of champagne with  Tawny the wonder girl. Glad she'd reminded herself of that. Oh, yeah, it  was definitely time to quit her job.

She passed her overstuffed sofa on the way to the door and absently  straightened a bright blue throw pillow. Rachel's gaze flicked quickly  around her West Village apartment in approval. Only a one bedroom, it  was plenty big enough for her. Plus, it was a family neighborhood, with a  deli on one corner and a small grocery store on another.

In the five years she'd lived here, she'd transformed the old apartment  into a cozy nest. She'd painted the walls a soft, French country  lemon-yellow and done the trim in pale off-white. The furniture was  large, overstuffed and covered in a floral fabric that made her feel as  if she lived in a garden.

Natalie Cole sang to her from the stereo on the far wall and from  downstairs, came the tempting scent of her neighbor Mrs. Florio's  homemade lasagna. With any luck, Rachel thought, scuffing her slippers  over the hardwood floor, she'd be getting a care basket of leftovers in  the morning. Mrs. Florio, God bless her, thought Rachel was far too  skinny to "catch a nice man" and took every opportunity to fatten her  up.

Smiling to herself, Rachel looked through the security peephole and sucked in a gasp as she jumped back, startled.

Shane?

Here?

He knocked again.

She took another peek and watched as he leaned in toward the fisheye lens and grinned. "Rachel, come on. Open up."

Quickly she gave herself a once-over. Still in the yellow silk blouse  and gray skirt she'd worn to work, she suddenly wished she was dressed  in sequins and rhinestones and on her way out the door to meet … anybody.

"How do you know I'm here?" she demanded. "I could be out on a hot date." Sure.

In an alternate universe.

"You're talking to me," he said, still grinning into the peephole. "So you're there. Now, you going to let me in or what?"

In the four years she'd worked for Shane he'd never once come to her apartment.

So what in heaven would bring him here now? Did he somehow sense she was going to quit? Was he trying to undermine her decision?

"This is so not fair," she muttered as she quickly undid the chain, then  twisted first one, then another dead bolt locks. Finally she turned the  knob and opened the door.

Shane didn't wait for an invitation; he crowded past her into the living  room, then turned around to look at her. In one hand, he held a bouquet  of lilacs-Rachel's favorite flower-and in the other a huge bottle of  champagne.

Stomach jittering, Rachel closed the door and leaned back against it. "What're you doing here, Shane?"

"This is a nice place," he said, glancing around at the apartment.

"Thanks."

"Wasn't easy to find," he added. "Had to go down to personnel and look up your records to get your address."

Her stomach did another wild twist and flip and she swallowed hard. "And why would you do that?"

"So I could bring you these," he said, handing her the lilacs.

The heavy, sweet perfume reached for her and Rachel just managed to keep  from burying her nose in the blossoms and enjoying the thrill of Shane  bringing her flowers. But there was something else going on here and she  had to know what it was.

"Shane, why are you bringing me flowers?" she asked, silently  congratulating herself on the steadiness of her voice. "Aren't you  supposed to be at Une Nuit giving Tawny a bouquet of daisies?"

"Tawny!" He slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead. "That's her name.

Why can't I remember that?"

"Good question," Rachel said. "Maybe because there are too many Tawnys, Bambis and Barbies in your life to keep them straight?"

He slanted her a look and then smiled and shrugged. "Maybe." Sweeping  his gaze around the room again, he started for the kitchen, talking over  his shoulder as he went. "Anyway, don't worry about what's her name. I  called Stash. Told him I couldn't make it and to give … "

"Tawny," Rachel provided as she followed him into her kitchen.                       
       
           



       

" … right. Told him to give Tawny whatever she wanted on the house and to offer my apologies."

"So you stood her up."

"Had to," he said, setting the champagne bottle down onto the counter  and shifting a look at the white cupboards. "Champagne glasses?"

Still clutching her lilacs, Rachel pointed with her free hand. "Just wineglasses, sorry."

He shrugged again. "That's fine." Then he opened the cupboard door, reached two glasses and set them on the counter.

This was too hard. Now that she'd seen him here, in her place, she'd  never really be able to get him out again. She'd always be able to pull  up the memory of him standing in her living room, rooting through her  kitchen. Heck, she'd probably never be able to look through the peephole  again without seeing his smiling face looking back at her.

"You shouldn't be here," she blurted, fingers tightening around the lilacs that must have cost him a small fortune.

Springtime flowers in the dead of winter? And she was sappy enough to  really enjoy knowing that he'd remembered her favorite flowers even when  he couldn't remember Tawny's.

His fingers on the wire cage of the bottle top, he paused to glance at  her. His gaze swept her up and down, from her tousled hair to the tips  of her furry slippers. Slowly a smile curved his mouth. "Why? You really  do have a hot date?"

Straightening up a little, she said, "I was planning on spending the night with two guys, actually."

"Yeah? Who?"

Rachel sighed. It was pointless to pretend, since she wasn't exactly dressed for going clubbing. "Ben and Jerry."

Shane grinned as he started working on the champagne cork again. "This'll be better."

"I don't know," she said, moving past him to grab a cut glass vase from  another cupboard. She glanced at him as she filled the vase with water.  "It's chocolate ice cream."

"Not nearly good enough for the occasion."

"Which is?" she asked, stuffing the lilacs into the vase and giving them one last, lingering caress.