A Bargain with the Boss (13 page)

Amber gave a helpless laugh. “He was. He is. Oh, man, he was good.”

For the first time since it happened, she let the full bloom of their lovemaking rush through her mind. It had been amazing. And she wanted to do it again, so badly.

“At least there's that,” Jade said softly.

“You say it as if it's a good thing.”

“It's not?”

Amber straightened in the chair. “No, it's not. It would have been better to be disappointed.”

“So you didn't want to do it again,” Jade said with sage understanding.

“What is
wrong
with me? I'm no better than Margaret.”

“Who's Margaret?”

“Tuck's father's secretary. Turns out she's having an affair with him.”

“He's married?”

“Yes.”

“Tuck's not married,” said Jade.

“He's still my boss.”

“True. But that makes it risky, not immoral. Those are two totally different circumstances.”

“It was a mistake,” Amber said, more to herself than to Jade. “But I'm over it. I can do that. I'm tough.” She drew a bracing breath. “Now, what about you? Is everything still looking good?”

Jade's hand moved to her stomach. “She's kicking less. I bet it must be getting crowded in there.”

“Is that normal?” Amber's gaze rested on Jade's bulging stomach.

“The doc says it often happens that way. My back is absolutely killing me.” Jade moved and stretched in the bed.

“I'm sorry.”

“And I've got heartburn and an overactive bladder. I'll be so glad when this is over.”

“It won't be much longer,” said Amber, feeling sympathetic. “I've been thinking I better get shopping. Have you thought about what you'll need? Can you make me a list?”

“You don't have to buy me things.”

“You're going to need a crib and diapers.”

“There's a secondhand store on Grand. We could check there after I get home.”

“Sure,” said Amber, knowing the least she could do was to buy her new niece a crib. She didn't want to make Jade feel bad about her financial circumstances, so she'd figure out the necessities on her own and get them ready.

“I should head for the office,” she said, coming to her feet.

She wasn't looking forward to it, but she was confident that the more time she spent around Tuck in the office, the easier it would be to keep her feelings in perspective.

“In a way, it's reassuring,” said Jade, a look of contentment on her face.

“What is?”

“To know you're not perfect.”

“Who ever said I was perfect?”

“Mom, me, you.”

“Me?” Amber couldn't imagine when or why she would have said that.

“You don't remember the straight As?”

“I didn't get straight As.”

“You got a B plus in tenth-grade math.”

“See?”

Amber remembered it well. It was a blight on the report card, as if someone had painted a black, hairy spider in the middle of a butterfly collage.

“You set your alarm for six fifty-three every morning.”

It had made perfect sense to Amber. “I liked to lay there for two minutes before getting out of bed.”

“You knew all the food groups. You talked about them at every meal.”

“We didn't always have them.”

“We never had them. But you knew what they were. I remember Mom giving us each five dollars for candy. She was drunk, of course, in an ‘I love you, kids' mood.”

Amber didn't like to remember her sloppy, tearful mother professing her love for them. It was inevitably followed by a monologue of self-pity, then a rant about how they didn't love her back. Then she'd vomit and pass out in the bathroom. More often than not, leaving a mess for Amber to clean up.

“Don't go back there,” she said softly to Jade.

“I spent it all on chocolate,” said Jade. “You bought chewable vitamins. I was baffled.”

“I don't remember that,” said Amber, searching her memory for the incident.

“You were perfect,” said Jade.

“You make me sound pretentious and superior.” What could Amber have been trying to prove?

“You didn't want us to die of scurvy.”

But they hadn't been on the verge of malnutrition.

“We had juice with breakfast most mornings,” said Amber.

“I hate to admit it, but part of me is glad you jumped into bed with your boss. If you're not all good, then maybe I'm not all bad.”

“You're not bad, Jade.”

“I'm pretty bad.”

“No. And anyway, you're getting better.”

“I'm trying.”

“I'll try, too,” said Amber.

“Try to do what? Be worse?”

“Be, I don't know... Normal, I guess, less uptight and judgmental. Those are not attractive qualities.”

Jade grimaced as she shifted her back to a new position. “I realize now that you were trying to hold chaos together with your bare hands.”

“Maybe I should have let it go.”

Maybe if she had, Jade wouldn't have run away. Maybe if she hadn't been so morally superior, they could have worked together.

Then it came to her that she should do the same thing now—let things go. It was none of her business what Tuck did or didn't do with Tucker Transportation. Dixon's decisions were similarly his own. Why did she feel an obligation to control the situation?

“I can't see you doing that.” Jade looked amused.

“A month ago, I wouldn't have been able to picture you writing your GED.”

“Those are opposites.”

“Not really.”

“Don't change, Amber. I need you just the way you are.”

For some reason, Amber's eyes teared up. She quickly blinked.

“I won't change,” she promised. At least not so that Jade could see. But she wasn't going to badger Tuck anymore. Nobody needed that. She was surprised he'd put up with it this long.

* * *

Jamison's eyes were closed, his expression lax, and his wrinkled skin was sallow against the stark white of the hospital sheets. Machines whirred and beeped as Tuck moved cautiously toward the bedside, screens glowing and colored dots of LED lights blinking in different rhythms. There was an oxygen tube beneath Jamison's nose and an IV line in his arm.

It was odd seeing him like this. Tuck half expected him to open his eyes, sit up and bellow out orders.

“Dad?” Tuck said softly.

Sounds from the hallway drifted through the glass door and windows: a phone ringing, a nurse's voice, a cart wheeling by and the ping of an elevator.

“Dad?” he repeated.

Jamison's pale blue eyes fluttered open, looking cloudy instead of sharp.

“Hi, Dad,” said Tuck.

He felt as though he ought to squeeze his father's hand or stroke his brow. But they didn't have that kind of relationship. There was no tenderness between them. Wary suspicion interspersed with crisp cordiality was more their style.

“Dixon?” Jamison rasped, then he coughed and grimaced with the effort.

“It's Tuck,” said Tuck.

Jamison squinted. “Where's Dixon?”

“He's still away.”

“Away where?”

“Sailing,” said Tuck.

“On the lake?”

“Off the coast of California.” Tuck paused. “I've been taking care of things while he's gone.”

Jamison's frown deepened. Then he waved a dismissive hand, the IV tube clattering against the bed rail. “Where's your mother?”

Tuck pulled in a chair and sat down. “She's with Aunt Julie.”

“Why?”

“Dad, you know you're in Boston, right?”

Jamison looked confused for a moment, then his brow furrowed deeply and he looked annoyed. “Yes, I know I'm in Boston.”

“And you understand that you had a heart attack.” Tuck was growing concerned with his father's apparent level of confusion.

“You must be feeling pleased with yourself.” Jamison's voice seemed stronger. He gripped on to the bed rails.

“How so?”

“You got rid of me. And you've sent Dixon off somewhere. What have you been up to without us?”

Ah, yes. Tuck's father was back.

“I didn't give you a heart attack, Dad.”

“I want to see your brother.”

“Get in line,” said Tuck. Then he regretted the sarcasm. “Dixon can't be reached right now.”

“Of course he can. Call him.”

“He's out of cell range.”

“Then, send somebody after him, write a letter, use a carrier pigeon for all I care.”

Tuck spoke slowly and clearly. “Dixon is gone. I can't find him and I can't get him back. That's why I'm here.”

“This is nonsense,” Jamison growled. “Just because I'm here in this hospital bed doesn't mean you can lie to me.”

“I'm not lying to you.”

“The business can't run without Dixon.”

“It is running without Dixon, Dad. It's been running without Dixon for nearly two months.”

Jamison opened his mouth, but Tuck kept on talking. “I'm here for your proxy.”

Jamison's eyes bugged out. “My
what
?”

“I've held off as long as I can. But I need to make some decisions. I need to hire new executives and I need a proxy vote for your shares.”

“It'll be a cold day in hell before I give you control of Tucker Transportation.”

“It's only temporary.”

“Where's Dixon?”

Tuck leaned slightly forward. “Dixon's gone. He left on his own and he hasn't come back.”

“What's going on? Why are you doing this?” Jamison groped for the nurse call button and pressed it.

Tuck pushed back the chair and came to his feet. “I'm not
doing
anything. I'm jumping in to run your precious company.”

“You don't know how to run the company.”

“You're right about that.”

The two men stared at each other.

A nurse breezed into the room.

“Mr. Tucker?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something is wrong,” Jamison stormed. “My son is telling me lies.”

The nurse looked to Tuck and he gave a slight shake of his head.

“Are you in any pain?” The nurse checked his IV.

“I'm not in pain. My other son, Dixon, can you bring him here? I need to talk to him.”

“I'm going to check your blood pressure.” As she spoke, the nurse wrapped Jamison's arm in a blood-pressure cuff.

“Dad,” Tuck began again, “you're in no condition to attend a board meeting.”

Jamison tried to sit up.

“Oh, no, you don't,” said the nurse, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her tone was calm but firm. “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated.”

“Is that dangerous?” asked Tuck, wondering if he should leave.

“Only slightly,” said the nurse. She frowned at Jamison. “You try to stay calm.”

“I'm perfectly calm.”

The nurse moved to the foot of the bed, making notes on the chart.

“Harvey Miller resigned,” Tuck told his father.

“We have no finance director?”

“No.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. He moved to a different company. People do that sometimes.”

“Where did he go?”

“That's irrelevant. The important point is that I need to replace him. To do that, I need to formalize my position as interim president. So I need your proxy to vote your shares.”

“You can't be president.”

“Okay,” said Tuck, thoroughly tired of this argument and every other one he'd had for the past decade. “I won't be president.” He turned to leave.

“Dixon can be interim president.”

“Sounds good,” Tuck called over his shoulder. “Let me know how it all turns out.”

“Bring him here,”
Jamison shouted out.

“Calm down,” said the nurse.

Tuck stopped and turned back. “I'm sure he'll show up eventually. Until then, well, Tucker Transportation will have to survive without a finance director and without a president. I'm sure it'll be fine. After all, anything's better than having me in charge, isn't it?”

“Insolent,” said Jamison.

“So you always say. I'm here. I'm offering to help. Take it or leave it. It's entirely up to you.”

Jamison glared at him while the machines beeped his vital signs, the hospital hallway buzzed with activity and the nurse refilled his plastic water jug. Tuck almost felt sorry for his father—almost. Even when the man was all but desperate for Tuck's assistance, he'd only grudgingly accept it. How was that supposed to make a person feel?

“I'll give you my proxy,” said Jamison. “Time limited.”

“Fine,” said Tuck.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket as he returned to the bed, producing the letter his lawyer had crafted. “We can both initial on an end date.”

He approached the bed and maneuvered his father's tray into position. Then he jotted down a date one month away and stroked his initials next to the addition.

“I need my glasses,” Jamison muttered.

Tuck spotted the glasses on the bedside table and handed them to his father. Then he handed over the pen and watched while Jamison signed over formal control of the company. Butterflies rose up unexpectedly in his stomach.

He didn't want this. He'd never sought it out. But now that he had it, he found he didn't want to fail.

Ten

“T
his was all your doing,” Tuck said to Amber as he gazed at the aftermath of the party in the huge, high-ceilinged living room of his family's home.

Though staff had been ubiquitous throughout, she could see the mansion showed the effects of hosting two hundred people. The midnight buffet was being cleared away by the catering staff and the few glasses left on side tables were being dispatched to the kitchen.

“It doesn't look that bad,” she responded.

He pulled at the end of his bow tie, releasing the knot. “I'm not blaming you for the mess.”

“Then, what?”

He gestured to an armchair next to the marble fireplace.

Grateful, she sank down on the soft cream-colored leather. It was a relief to get off the four-inch heels.

Tuck sat in the opposite chair. “You convinced me I could do it.”

“Throw a party?”

Tuck was nothing if not a party guy. She had to assume he'd thrown dozens, if not hundreds, of parties himself over the years.

“I meant run the company. If you hadn't pushed me to start making decisions, I never would have gone to see my father.”

“And if you hadn't gone to see your father.”

“I wouldn't have hired Samuel and Gena.”

“I like Samuel and Gena.”

“So do I. I'm not sure how my father's going to feel about them.”

“Because they're too young to have such responsible jobs?” The two were both in their early thirties.

“I'm sure they won't fit his image of an executive.”

“Do you think clients will care that Samuel wears blue jeans?” asked Amber.

“Lucas wears blue jeans.”

“Operations and marketing are two different functions.”

“True,” Tuck agreed. “Thirsty? You want some ice water?”

“Sure.”

Amber expected him to rise and pour some water at the bar. Instead, he subtly raised a hand and a staff member was instantly by his side.

“Yes, sir?” said the neatly dressed waiter.

“Can you bring us some ice water?”

“Right away, sir.” The man withdrew.

Amber could only stare at Tuck for a moment.

“What?” he asked.

“Even knowing you were so rich, I didn't picture all this.”

He gazed around at the soaring ceilings, wooden pillars and expensive oil paintings. “It is rather ostentatious.”

“Flick of a finger and the ice water appears.”

“I thought you were thirsty.”

“I thought we'd pour it ourselves.”

“Aah. You're uncomfortable with the household staff.”

“I'm baffled by the notion of household staff.”

“It's a big house,” said Tuck.

“That doesn't mean you can't pour your own water.”

“Are you calling me spoiled?”

“I always call you spoiled.”

To her surprise, he shrugged. “Fair criticism. If it helps, I often pour my own water, and my own whiskey. I even go so far as to open my own beer bottle.”

She couldn't help but grin. “Then, I take it all back. You're obviously a self-sufficient man.”

The waiter returned, setting down a silver tray with two glasses and a pitcher.

“Shall I pour, sir?” he asked.

“We'll be fine, thanks,” Tuck answered with a wry grin.

The man left.

“Okay, now you're just trying to impress me,” said Amber.

Tuck sat up and leaned forward. “Is it working?” He poured them each a glass, handing one to her.

“Be still, my beating heart.”

“You do know it's not always like this.”

“Always like what?”

“This many staff members, hanging out in the living room, dressed in a tux.” He tugged off the tie and undid his top button. “Other parts of the house are a lot less formal.”

She found herself glancing around again. “I would hope so. I'd be jumpy if I had to live in this 24/7.”

He took a sip of his water. “Want to know a secret?”

“Has anyone ever said no to that question?”

He chuckled. “I guess not.”

“Then, yes, do tell me your secret.” She took a long drink, realizing she was very thirsty after a martini and two glasses of wine.

“The place makes me jumpy, too.”

“Yeah, right.” She continued drinking the water.

“I never liked this room. Or the library. You should see the library. Talk about pretentious and forbidding. My dad's fortress. It's positively gothic.” He lowered his tone. “Nothing good ever happens in the library.”

“Now you really have got me curious.”

“You sure you're brave enough to see the library?”

“Oh, I'm brave enough. Besides, your father's not here.”

“Check out the lion's den while the lion's away.” He set down his glass. “You're very smart. That's what I like about you.”

She gave a saucy grin at the compliment, but it also warmed her heart. It was nice to think that Tuck considered her intelligent. She'd certainly gained great respect for his reasoning and judgment. She'd also come to respect his hard work.

The past two weeks, she'd found herself wondering if he'd always been industrious, but simply focused on things other than Tucker Transportation. There was no doubt he'd raised the bar on being Chicago's preeminent playboy bachelor.

He came to his feet. “Let's go.”

She rose and grimaced as her shoes pinched down on her swollen feet.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Would it be terribly rude if I took off my shoes?”

His mouth broke into a mischievous smile. “Shoeless in the library. You're a maverick, Amber, no doubt about it.”

“Good thing your father's not around to see this.” She peeled off the shoes and dropped them to the carpet.

“I may send him a picture.”

“And get me fired?”

Tuck headed across the room and she fell into step beside him.

“Nobody's going to fire you,” he said.

“You did.”

“I was mistaken. And I've learned my lesson.”

“Jamison was about to fire me. Dixon's the only one who hasn't wanted to send me packing.”

“What do you mean Jamison was about to fire you?”

“When he had his heart attack,” she admitted. “When I wouldn't tell him anything about Dixon. I swear the next words out of his mouth would have been
you're fired
.”

“But he had a heart attack instead.”

“I wasn't glad,” she hastily told him, assailed by a wave of guilt. “I mean, even to save my job, I would never wish a heart attack on anyone. Maybe I should have told somebody. I guess that would have been you. Should I have told you? Or... Oh, no, do you think it was my fault?”

“Wow.” Tuck came to a stop in the hallway, canting his body to face her. “You just did a whole big thing there all by yourself.”

He seemed unusually tall, unusually imposing and unusually impressive.

“I really hadn't given it enough thought before,” she said. “The man had a heart attack because I refused to help him. I'm not sure I deserve to keep my job.”

“My father had a heart attack because of one too many rib eyes, and a fondness for chocolate truffles and Cuban cigars. Don't beat yourself up.” Tuck put his hand on the knob of a dark paneled door. “Are you ready?”

“I'm not sure I'm through feeling guilty.”

“Yes, you are. Of all the stressors in his life, you'd be ranked near the bottom. If you want to blame anyone, blame Dixon.”

“Dixon
had
to get away.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know your opinion on that. Then, blame me. Or maybe blame Margaret. Keeping his affair a secret had to be stressful.”

Amber couldn't argue with that. Tuck pushed the door and it yawned open.

As she walked in, antique lamps came up around the perimeter of the rectangular room, giving it a yellowish glow. The ceilings were arched, the woodwork dark and intricately carved and the books were lined on recessed shelves, secured behind fronts of black metal latticework.

There were clusters of armchairs with worn leather upholstery. And in the center of the room was an oblong table, set on two massive pedestals and surrounded by eight antique chairs, upholstered in burgundy damask.

“I can picture him here,” she said, her voice sounding small in the imposing space.

“I try not to,” said Tuck. Then he unexpectedly took her hand. “Come here.”

“Why?” A flutter of reaction made its way up her arm, crossing into her chest. She was instantly aware of Tuck as a man, her attraction to him and the fact that they were completely alone.

“I want you to sit.”

“Why?”

“Here.” He pointed to one of the armchairs.

“What are you doing?” She didn't know what he had planned, but something in his voice was arousing her.

“Sit,” he said softly.

She did.

“I want to picture you there,” said Tuck. “With no shoes.” He unexpectedly reached around her and unclasped her hair, letting it fall around her face. “Perfect,” he said.

Then he paused, his gaze squinting down.

“What?” She felt suddenly self-conscious.

“One more thing.” He reached out again, sliding his index finger under the spaghetti strap of her silver-and-ice-blue cocktail dress, dropping it down off her shoulder.

Her arousal ramped up, sending pleasure impulses along her thighs. She gazed up at him, unable to speak.

He took a step back. “
That's
what I'm going to remember in this room.”

Her entire body heated under his gaze.

He watched her intently for a full minute, his eyes dark and clouded with obvious desire.

“You want to see my favorite room?” he asked.

She knew she should say no. It was the only reasonable answer. His question could mean anything and everything.

But her lips stubbornly formed the word
yes
.

* * *

Amber looked surprised when they entered the second-floor sitting room. Tuck could only imagine that she'd expected something bigger and grander. She gazed at the earthy rattan furniture, the watercolors on the walls and the stoneware vases atop pale maple tables.

“Not what you were expecting?” he asked.

“Not even close.” She ran her hand over the back of the sofa, moving farther into the room.

With her bare feet, loose hair and the spaghetti strap still drooping over her shoulder, she seemed to belong here. She'd looked great in the library, the juxtaposition of such a feminine woman in such a masculine room. But here she looked fantastic. He wanted to close the door, lock out the world and maybe keep her here forever.

“It keeps me grounded,” he told her.

“I've never thought of you as being grounded.” Her pretty smile took some of the sting out of the words.

“What do you think of me as being?”

“Indulged, cosseted, lucky.”

“I suppose I'm all of those things.” He saw no point in denying it.

“It's more complicated than that.” She looped around and came back to him.

“Nice of you to say so.”

“I'm only being honest.”

“Then, nice of you to notice,” he said.

“It took me a while to notice.” She stopped in front of him, all fresh faced and adorable. Her skin was satin smooth above the dress, lips a perfect pink, her hair just mussed enough to be off-the-charts sexy.

He remembered her naked. He remembered every single nuance of her body, the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts, the blue of her eyes as passion overwhelmed her.

“Took me about half a second to notice you,” he said gruffly.

“What did you notice?” She was so close, it was about to drive him crazy.

The slightest movement of his hand and he'd be touching her waist, feeling the pulse of her skin. If he leaned in, just a few inches, he could kiss her. Or at least find out if she'd let him kiss her. He picked up the scent of her hair. His fingertips twitched with the memory of her skin.

“Your eyes,” he said. “Your shoes and your sassy mouth.”

“Somebody has to keep you in line.”

He eased slightly closer. “You want to keep me in line?”

She didn't answer, but her eyes darkened to indigo.

“Know what I want to do to you?” he asked softly.

Her lips parted.

He moved closer still, twining one hand with hers. He brushed back her hair, leaned in close to her ear.

“Kiss you,” he whispered. “Pull you into my arms. Peel that dress from your body and make long, slow love to you.”

“That wasn't...” Her voice went breathless. “What I was expecting.”

“No?” He placed a kiss on her shoulder, reveling in the sweetness of her skin.

“I'm lying.”

He kissed her again, closer to the crook of her neck. “Yeah?”

“It was exactly what I was expecting.”

“But you came up here with me anyway?” His lips brushed her skin as he spoke.

“Yes.” Her palms touched his chest, warm and intimate. “I want you, Tuck. I keep trying to ignore it.”

He drew back to look into her eyes. “I can't ignore it.”

“I feel as if we need to...” She toyed with a button on his dress shirt.

“Make love?”

“Set some ground rules.”

He tenderly kissed her lips. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

“This can't impact our working relationship.”

He cradled her chin with his palm, kissing her again. He didn't see how that was possible, but he wasn't about to disagree. “Okay.”

“You can't fire me, or promote me, or give me any better or worse treatment because I'm...”

“Completely and totally blowing my mind?”

“Tuck.”

“I'm not going to fire you.”

“Or promote me.”