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She didn't answer because she couldn't answer, he thought, rocking forward in his chair, reaching for his phone, needing something, anything to do to keep his temper in check.
How had this happened? Where had he misjudged her?
"Never mind," he uttered shortly, unable to remember the last time he felt so cheated, or deceived. "I. know you want Friday off. Take it off."
Winnie sank back into her seat. "Please forgive me," she whispered, cheeks stained red, fingers kneading in her lap. "I admire you so much. I think the world of you."
"It didn't sound like that yesterday."
"I know, but it's not why you think." Her fingers tightened together. "Tiffany was gushing. Everyone gushes and ... " She took a deep breath. "I don't want to sound like one of them. I wanted to be ... cool"
"Cool?"
"Cool," she repeated shakily. "I've never been cool in my life and women are always asking about you, beautiful glamorous women, and I get insecure. I can't believe I'm even telling you this but it's true. I'm a geek. I just wanted Tiffany to think I was like her."
"Like her?"
"You know, sophisticated."
He hadn't heard anything so pitiful in years. His incredibly intelligent and capable assistant wanted to impress a ditzy airhead like Tiffany? Why?
He stared at Winnie hard, trying to see past the glasses and firm press of her lips and what he saw was a young oval face with a high, pale forehead and small rounded chin.
"You have my approval," he said after a moment. "Why do you need hers?"
She didn't move a muscle. Her fixed expression didn't change. Her stillness coupled with the heightened color in her cheeks reminded him of a painting, an oil portrait from the turn of the century.
"That's a good question, sir."
"Think about it," he said, frustrated, angry and not at all sure what to do. Should he fire her? Could he trust her? What was supposed to happen next? "Are you going to a job interview on Friday?"
She hesitated for the briefest moment. "Yes."
He was out of patience. Sitting forward, Morgan punched another button on his market monitor. The market was open. Trading had begun. "If you take the job, I'll expect two weeks notice."
Winnie looked away, stared past his shoulder to the wall of windows behind him. There was no emotion in her face. She looked like the serene, capable assistant he'd always known. "How did you find out about my job interview?"
His stomach felt hard, tight. He hated conflict. Hated feeling mistrustful. Charlotte had done a number on him, and while it'd been fifteen years since she betrayed him, some things were impossible to forget.
But Morgan didn't let any of his emotion show. He'd learned years ago to keep his personal life private. "Mr. Osborne's office called on Monday doing a reference check. I spoke with Mr. Osborne personally."
Winnie's head lifted, and her gaze met his, eyes large and worried behind the heavy glasses. "What did you say?"
He felt his lips twist into a ghost of a smile. ''That you were the best damn secretary I'd ever had."
*****
"Morgan, we're worried about you. Reed's worried about you." Rose Grady's precise diction was even more vigorous than usual. "Every time we turn on the television, you're there. We can't pick up a magazine without a story about you."
Morgan finished pulling his T-shirt over his head, having stripped off his suit and changed into jeans and a T-shirt now that he was home.
"You're sick of my press?" he teased, shifting the phone from one ear to the other as he headed for the kitchen.
"That's not what I mean," Rose retorted indignantly and Morgan could picture the elegant arch of her eyebrows rising higher. "We know how hard you've worked at putting the past behind you, but now these reporters are digging into everything. And I do mean everything.'
Morgan popped open the mineral water and took a long cool drink. "It's going to be all right," he said, wanting to believe his own optimism as he leaned against a stainless-steel counter, his kitchen huge and modem, big enough to accommodate a fleet of chefs. "The reporters will hound someone else soon. People get bored and move on."
"That's not all, Morgan. There's something else, and I'm not sure how to tell you, or even if I should tell you, but I don't want you to hear this from anyone else."
"Then tell me."
Silence stretched across the line. "I saw Charlotte."
Morgan froze. "What?"
"Charlotte came to the house."
It felt as if he'd been slammed on the chest with a shovel. He couldn't catch his breath. "Alone?"
"Yes."
He set the water down so forcefully the bottle rattled on the counter. "What did she want?"
"To hear about you. To know what you've been doing all these years."
Charlotte. Charlotte. "What did you tell her?"
Rose sighed impatiently. "I said, read the papers. Turn on the evening news. Morgan's life is everywhere."
He nearly smiled. Trust Rose to give an answer like that.
"She says, she made a mistake," Rose continued more faintly, as if delivering this information caused her great pain. "She indicated she wanted to make amends."
"It's been fifteen years."
"You once wanted this."
"Fifteen years ago."
"Five years ago," Rose rebutted.
Morgan shook his head slowly, angrily, not understanding why this had to happen now when he had so much pressure on him, when he had so many people depending on him. "How did she look?"
"Even more beautiful. She's certainly matured well. She's a classic beauty. What do you expect?"
His chest tightened. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to know this. "I don't want to talk to her."
"Fine."
"And I don't want to see her."
"Then don't."
But even as he said the words, he was laughing at himself. Who was he kidding? Even fifteen years after she disappeared from his life he still wasn't over her.
"Rose ... Mom... " Morgan pressed a clenched fist to his forehead, battling fears that very few knew about. "What do I do? How do I get out of this?"
"First of all, forget Charlotte, she's inconsequential," Rose said crisply, comfortable taking charge again. "And second, get rid of the press!"
"How?"
"Morgan, you're smart. Throw them a bone. Give the media a story ... and I don't mean Charlotte!"
CHAPTER FOUR
RIDING the subway to work the next morning, Winnie heard Mr. Grady's words ring in her head. The best damn secretary he'd ever had. It was the highest compliment she could be' paid. It was the highest compliment she'd ever been paid, and as pitiful as it sounded, those words from Mr. Grady meant everything to her.
She shifted on the subway seat, already sticky and warm despite the air-conditioning. Winnie told herself it was the summer heat wave making her feel a little hot, and more than a little bit crazy, but really, it had less to do with the thermometer than it did with her own feelings.
Two days from now and she'd be on a plane for the final interview in Charleston and she dreaded the interview now in Charleston, she dreaded her last day at Grady Investments, she dreaded everything to do with leaving.
Don't think about it, she told herself, as the subway arrived at her stop and she lurched to her feet. You have two weeks before you have to say goodbye. No reason to cross that bridge today.
The advice had been sound, but the moment Mr. Grady walked into the office, Winnie's heart did the same wild lurch it always did, making her feel as if she were on the subway or elevator again.
What was it about him that she loved so much? She stared at his eyes, his mouth, his chin and while the features were all perfectly shaped, her interest had less to do with the physical perfection than the intensity beneath.
