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Why would Morgan meet a woman for business at the Tea Room? The Russian Tea Room, now more than seventy years old, was famous for its intimate atmosphere-red leather booths, shiny brass trim, glittering chandeliers. It was a romantic place, a mood place, a place that attracted musicians and artists and actors, not businessmen.
Winnie picked up the phone message again.
Charlotte. One o'clock. Charlotte. Russian Tea Room. Stomach knotting, she put the message back. It wasn't the old flame Charlotte, it couldn't be. If Morgan were seeing Charlotte at lunch, he'd tell her.
Wouldn't he?
****
Morgan was late getting back to the office, not returning until quarter past three. Winnie could hardly bring herself to look at him when he finally walked in. He was never late for conference calls, especially not when it involved Shipley's Bank.
She'd watched the clock and when two forty-five rolled around and he still wasn't back, she began fretting about his calls. She'd considered phoning him, asking what to do about his calls, but in the end she'd simply rescheduled them both, pushing each call back by an hour.
And that's what she told him when she found her voice. She bit back the reproaches; held in her fear, and acted like the efficient executive assistant he'd once hired her to be.
"Morgan, I've rescheduled your three o'clock call to four, and your four o'clock call to five."
But he didn't say thank you. He didn't appear grateful. He simply held out his hand for messages before heading for his office and practically slamming the door closed.
Winnie stared at his closed door. She struggled with her resentment. It wasn't right or fair that he treat her this way. He'd asked her to come in today. He'd called her, desperate for help. Give him time, she told herself, fighting for calm. Give him some time and he'll calm down, call you in, and maybe talk about what had happened at lunch.
But he didn't call her in, and he didn't open his door and at a quarter to four, emotions flying high, she opened his office door. "Are you all right?"
He wasn't even working. He sat at his desk but he was facing the window, not his computer. "I'm fine," he said, not bothering to even turn around.
It was like the old days, she thought. The days when he never made eye contact, never acknowledged her, never made her feel like a person.
But things had changed. They were different people now. She knew him, and he wasn't a cold person, or an indifferent person.
"Did something happen at lunch?" she asked as gently as possible.
"No."
"But when you left here earlier-"
"Winnie, I really don't want to talk." He swiveled around, his expression closed, eyes shuttered. "No offense, but I'd just like to be alone right now."
Winnie backed out of the office and closed the door.
She returned to the desk that had been moved in today for her use and tried to busy herself completing Morgan's expense account, but she couldn't concentrate on the receipts or the form itself. What had happened at lunch? What was he thinking right now?
Suddenly the intercom clicked on. "Winnie, I know you've just rescheduled the calls, but I need you to cancel them. Try to reschedule for tomorrow. Thanks." The intercom clicked off.
Morgan's new assistant looked at her. "Do you want me to do that, Miss Graham?"
Winnie swallowed, knowing how difficult it'd been to get both calls rescheduled once already. "No," she said, fighting frustration. "Let me handle this."
Winnie rolled forward at her desk, pressed the intercom button. "Morgan, it took a great deal of effort to get both calls rescheduled."
"And?"
"And they're going to be even more difficult to reschedule if you cancel them again."
"So your point is?"
She felt herself grow hot. "My point being that maybe you don't want to cancel the conference calls after all. Maybe you want to go ahead and get the calls done so you don't have to hassle with this tomorrow."
"I see." There was a moment of silence over the intercom. Winnie could feel Morgan's new assistant staring at her. The silence wasn't pleasant.
Finally Morgan cleared his throat. "Did I miss something?" he asked. "Did I give you a promotion?"
Her stomach did a flip. "No."
"You haven't been made partner?"
He was a jerk. He was such a jerk. Where was her copy of the book? There had to be a picture of him in the book somewhere. "No, sir."
"Then please don't give me career advice." The intercom clicked off.
Morgan's new assistant was staring at Winnie wide-eyed. "Do you still want to handle it, Miss Graham?"
Winnie grabbed her purse, her summer blazer and her keys from the desk drawer. "No. You take over. You're doing just fine."
Winnie spent an hour walking in Central Park before she finally made her way back to Morgan's apartment.
She didn't want to go to Morgan's place, didn't want to be anywhere near him right now, but she didn't have anywhere else to go. Earlier today Morgan had a moving company pack up everything from Winnie's apartment and put it all into storage until he found her a better place.
She hadn't wanted a new apartment. She hadn't wanted him to send the moving company. But as usual, Morgan won.
Mr. Foley let her in. "Mr. Grady has been phoning every fifteen minutes," the butler said. "He asked that you call when you got in and let him know you're safe."
"I'm safe."
"Well, give him a call. He's anxious to hear from you, and that reminds me, Mr. Grady also mentioned that your mother had phoned. They're staying at a hotel and that number is on a pad of paper in Mr. Grady's study."
In Morgan's office, Winnie turned on the desk lamp and discovered the pad of paper with her mother's name on it, but there were two numbers scribbled down, not one.
Winnie dialed the first number. "Margie Graham, please.'
The woman on the other end of the line hesitated.
"I'm sorry. There's no Margie at this number."
"No Grahams registered?"
"This is a private residence. I'm not sure who you're trying to call."
"I'm sorry. I've made a mistake," Winnie said, realizing it must be the second number she was supposed to dial.
"Wait, don't hang up!" The woman drew a short breath. "This is Morgan's number, isn't it?"
Winnie stiffened, muscles snapping like rubber bands in her shoulders and neck. This wasn't right. This didn't feel right and she didn't want to know more. "No," she said. "It's not-"
"But I have Caller ID on my phone. It says Morgan Grady on my phone receiver. You're calling from Morgan's house."
&nb
sp; Winnie didn't say anything. Her stomach hurt so bad.
Her eyes felt gritty.
"Is this Winnie?"
Winnie slowly sat down in the chair at Morgan's desk. "Who am I speaking to?"
"Charlotte."
Charlotte. The Charlotte. Winnie knew.
But Charlotte continued blithely along. "I'm an old friend of Morgan's. We were-"
"College sweethearts. Yes, I know."
