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She pulled a dozen photocopied pages out of her briefcase and passed them around. "This is today's schedule. You'll see that each of you has half an hour with me. Marie has double-checked with each of your assistants to make sure there are no conflicts. If we've overlooked something, let me know and I'll rearrange your time slot. No preparations are necessary. I'd just like to get to know each of you, and get a feel for the way you see your department, its challenges, and how it fits in with Ruisseau's strategic direction. Once we've talked, we can arrange full-department meetings for next week, focusing on the key initiatives and projects each department is working on."
She waited until the pages had made their way around the table and everyone was scanning them. "Whatever unaccounted-for time I have today, I plan to use walking around with Stan, being introduced to as many staff members as possible. I'm not going to bombard you with hand-outs or espousals of my corporate philosophy. I'm not a windbag and I'm not a game-player. I'm a straight shooter, and I'd appreciate if you would be, too. If you have a problem, tell me. If you don't like an idea, say so. If you disagree with a point of view, give me your reasons why and support them with facts. And if you want to run something by me, or to say hello, or just to check me out and see if I'm really the nice person I seem to be or if I'm really a control freak who's just a great actress, come on by. My office is two doors down from Carson's. Firsthand experience is always the best way to find out."
Gathering up her briefcase and coffee, she made a mental note of where the chuckles came from—and where they didn't. "I'm heading to my office now. My first meeting's set for eleven o'clock. That's with you, Rita." She turned to the head of marketing, ensuring that she made direct eye contact. Good. Rita was nodding, and she looked enthused.
"So," Sabrina concluded, with a quick glance at her watch. "That gives all of you more than enough time to put your heads together and come up with an initial assessment of me." She headed for the door. "Someone will have to let me know how I measure up. See you at eleven, Rita."
CHAPTER 19
6:35 P.M.
Mt. Sinai Hospital
Carson was propped up on his elbows, watching the door like a predatory hawk, when Sabrina and Dylan walked in.
"Well?" he demanded.
"Well what?" Sabrina feigned ignorance, slipping off her jacket and slinging it over the back of a chair.
"Well, Radison told me twenty minutes ago that you were here.... It took you this long to waltz into my room?... What'd you do, stop for a five-course dinner in the lounge?"
"No," Dylan replied, pulling up two seats, one for himself and one for Sabrina. "We stopped to talk to Dr. Radison. We wanted an update. We had to wait. He was with another patient. There are one or two of those around, you know. Anyway, he told us you were doing better. Although I can see that for myself. You're cranky as hell." Dylan turned to Sabrina. "Like I said, he's a miserable patient."
"No shock there," Sabrina quipped back.
She wasn't fooled by Dylan's bantering tone. He was worried about Carson. She could see it written all over his face. And the way he was scrutinizing his friend, giving him a thorough physical inspection—it was far from subtle.
She found herself doing the same thing.
Walking over to Carson's bedside, she acknowledged to herself that, despite all the medical reassurances Dr. Radison had provided, she needed to see for herself that Carson was okay. She'd been uneasy all day, troubled by what his reaction must have been to Stan's news about Russ. Obviously, he'd jump to the immediate— and no doubt accurate—conclusion that there was a tie-in between his own assault and Russ's murder. So, on top of coping with his sense of loss, he'd experience a sense of guilt. He cared about his employees. He'd feel responsible. And—talk about the straw to break the camel's back—he had the additional burden of shielding and comforting Susan. He was a strong man, but he was in a weakened state. There was just so much strain he could hold up under, despite his unwavering show of bravado.
It was amazing how well she understood this man, almost on instinct. Then again, in many ways it was like gazing in the mirror.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sabrina spotted the dialysis machine, which had reappeared in Carson's room and was now sitting idly to the side. The sight made her insides twist. Not that its being there was a surprise. She knew Carson had undergone another dialysis treatment. Dr. Radison had told them so. She'd responded by asking him to put a rush on her tissue-typing. But, according to him, that was pointless, since it would be weeks before Carson was strong enough to undergo surgery—should it be needed.
Dammit. She was beginning to feel as frustrated and helpless as Dylan.
"Cut it out, both of you," Carson barked out, interrupting her train of thought. "You're about as subtle as bricks.... I'm fine.... Strong as an ox... I'm just losing my mind, lying here in this bed.... Can't do anything but think. And thinking sucks."
"I'm sorry about Russ," Sabrina said quietly, laying her hand over his.
Carson gazed down at her fingers covering his, and an odd expression crossed his face. "Yeah, me, too." His voice was rough.
"Everyone's going to the service," Dylan interjected, closely observing the exchange between father and daughter. "And the contributions to the YouthOp fund are spilling over on Marie's desk."
"Yes, the line at her desk looked like passenger check-in at JFK." Sabrina heard the tremor in her voice, and she mentally beat herself up. Losing control wasn't her thing. And now certainly wasn't the time to change that. What the hell was wrong with her? It had to be fatigue and tension combined with the adrenaline drop that followed a long, roller-coaster of a day. Still, there was no excuse.
She forced herself to get a grip.
"My staff's the best," Carson replied. He was watching her, and Sabrina knew it. "Including Russ. I expected nothing less... than total unity." He obviously sensed Sabrina's turmoil, because he gave her hand a hard squeeze before releasing it. "Hey," he chided. "I don't fall apart that easily.... Just ask Dylan... As for that machine you were staring at... it did its job.... Dialysis is a piece of cake.... Stop worrying."
"I'm not worrying," she retorted. This time her voice was steady. "Not only do you look better, you've got some color, you're breathing more evenly, and you're sitting up without support. As for being strong as an ox, maybe not yet, but almost—that is, if your grip's any indication." Her brows arched. "Or is it fear that's prompting your newfound strength? Are you worried that I destroyed your company in nine short hours?"
"The thought did cross my mind."
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but Ruisseau's better than ever." Sabrina gave him a smug look, filled with mock-challenge. "I even came up with a few ideas you haven't—at least not yet. But when you hear them, you're going to wish you had."
Rather than take the bait, Carson just studied her, his blue eyes probing. Abruptly, a grin curved his lips. "You're hooked. Damn. It took less time than I
