A Bargain with the Boss (2 page)

Margaret shook her head. “He doesn't. Just last night...” Another tear ran down her cheek.

“Did something happen yesterday?” Amber assumed Margaret had meant yesterday, maybe late in the afternoon.

“He was in such a good mood. We had some wine.”

“You had wine in the office?”

Margaret stilled. Panic and guilt suddenly flooded her expression, and she took a quick step back, glancing away.

“It was nothing,” she said, focusing on some papers in her in-basket, straightening them into a pile.

Amber was stunned.

Jamison and Margaret had been together last night? Had they been
together
, together? It sure looked like it.

Margaret moved briskly around the end of her desk. “I should... That is...” She sank down in her chair.

“Yes,” Amber agreed, not sure what she was agreeing to, but quite certain she should end the conversation and get back to her own desk.

She started for the hallway, but then she paused, her sense of duty asserting itself. “I'll call the senior managers and give them the news. Did Jamison tell you about Dixon?”

Margaret looked up. “What about Dixon?”

Amber decided the news of Dixon leaving could wait a couple of hours. “Nothing. We can talk later.”

Margaret's head went back down and she plunked a few keys on her keyboard. “Jamison had a lunch today and a three o'clock with the board.”

Amber left Margaret to her work, her mind racing with all that would need to be handled.

Dixon was gone. Jamison was ill. And that left no one in charge. Tuck was out there somewhere. But she couldn't even imagine what would happen if Tuck took the reins. He wasn't a real vice president. He was just some partier who dropped by the office now and again, evidently giving heart palpitations to half the female staff.

* * *

A week later, Tuck realized he had to accept reality. His father was going to be weeks, if not months, in recovery from his heart attack, and Dixon was nowhere to be found. Somebody had to run Tucker Transportation. And that somebody had to be him.

The senior executives seated around the boardroom table looked decidedly troubled at seeing him in the president's chair. He didn't blame them one bit.

“What I don't understand,” said Harvey Miller, the finance director, “is why you're not even talking to Dixon.”

Tuck hadn't yet decided how much to reveal about his brother's disappearance. He'd tried calling, text messaging and emailing Dixon. He'd had no response. And there was nothing to go on except the cryptic letter his brother had left for their father, saying he'd be gone a month, maybe even longer.

“Dixon's on vacation,” said Tuck.

“Now?”
asked Harvey, incredulity ringing through his tone.

Mary Silas's head came up in obvious surprise and chagrin. “I didn't hear about that.”

She was in charge of human resources and Tuck knew she prided herself on being in the know.

“Get him back,” said Harvey.

Instead of responding to either of them, Tuck scanned the expressions of the five executives. “I'd like a status report from each of you tomorrow morning. Amber will book a one-on-one meeting for each of you.”

“What about the New York trade show?” asked Zachary Ingles, the marketing director.

Tuck's understanding of the annual trade show, a marquee event, was sketchy at best. He'd attended a couple of times, so he knew Tucker Transportation created and staffed a large pavilion on the trade-show floor. But in the past he'd been more focused on the booth babes and the evening receptions than on the sales efforts.

“Bring me the information tomorrow,” he said.

“I need decisions,” said Zachary, his tone impatient.

“Then, I'll make them,” Tuck replied.

He might not have a clue what he was doing, but he knew enough to hide his uncertainty.

“Can we at least conference Dixon into the meetings?” asked Harvey.

“He's not available,” said Tuck.

“Where is he?”

Tuck set his jaw and glared at the man.

“Do you want a full quarterly report or a summary?” asked Lucas Steele. He was the youngest of the executives, the operations director.

Where the others wore custom-made suits, Lucas was dressed in blue jeans and a dark blazer. His steel-blue shirt was crisp, but he hadn't bothered with a tie. He moved between two worlds—the accountants and lawyers who set strategic direction, and the transport managers around the world who actually got things from A to B.

“A summary is enough for now.” Tuck appreciated Lucas's pragmatic approach to the situation.

Lucas raised his brows, silently asking the other men if there was anything else.

Tuck decided to jump on the opportunity and end the meeting.

“Thank you.” He rose from his chair.

They followed suit and filed out, leaving him alone with Dixon's assistant, Amber.

He hadn't paid much attention to her before this week, but now she struck him as a model of fortitude and efficiency. Where his father's assistant, Margaret, seemed to be falling apart, Amber was calm and collected.

If she'd wandered out of central casting, she couldn't have looked more perfect for the part of trustworthy assistant. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a tidy French braid. Her makeup was minimal. She wore a gray skirt and blazer with a buttoned white blouse.

Only two things about her tweaked his interest as a man—the fine wisps of hair that had obviously escaped the confining braid, and the spiky black high-heeled sandals that flashed gold soles when she walked. The loose wisps of hair were endearing, while the shoes were intriguing. Both could have the power to turn him on if he was inclined to let them.

He wasn't.

“We need to get Dixon back,” he told her, setting his mind firmly on business. His brother was priority number one.

“I don't think we should bother him,” she replied.

The answer struck Tuck as ridiculous. “He's got a corporation to run.”

Her blue eyes flashed with unexpected annoyance. “
You've
got a corporation to run.”

For some reason, he hadn't been prepared for any display of emotion from her, let alone something bordering on hostility. It was yet another thing he found intriguing. It was also something else he was going to ignore.

“We both know that's not going to happen,” he stated flatly.

“We both know no such thing.”

Tuck wasn't a stickler for hierarchy, but her attitude struck him as inappropriately confrontational. “Do you talk to Dixon this way?”

The question seemed to surprise her, but she recovered quickly. “What way?”

He wasn't buying it. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Dixon needs some time to himself. The divorce was very hard on him.”

Tuck knew full well that the divorce had been hard on his brother. “He's better off without her.”

“No kidding.” There was knowledge in her tone.

“He talked to you about his wife?” Tuck was surprised by that.

Amber didn't reply right away, and it was obvious to him that she was carefully formulating her answer.

He couldn't help wondering how close Dixon had become to his assistant. Was she his confidante? Something more?

“I saw them together,” she finally said. “I overheard some of their private conversations.”

“You mean you eavesdropped?” Not exactly an admirable trait. Then again, not that he was one to judge.

“I mean, she shouted pretty loud.”

“You couldn't leave and give them some privacy?”

“Not always. I have a job that requires me to be at my desk. And that desk is outside Dixon's office.”

Tuck couldn't help but wonder exactly how far-reaching her duties had become when Dixon's marriage went bad. He took in her tailored clothes and her neat hair. She might be buttoned down, but she was definitely attractive.

“I see...” He thought maybe he did.

“Stop that,” she snapped.

“Stop what?”

“Stop insinuating something without spitting it out. If you've got something to ask me, then
ask
me.”

Fine with Tuck. “What were you to my brother?”

She enunciated carefully. “I was his confidential assistant.”

He found himself easing forward. “And which of your duties were confidential?”

“All of them.”

“You know what I'm asking.”

“Then, ask it.”

Despite her attitude, he liked her. There was something about her straightforward manner that he admired very much. “Were you sleeping with my brother?”

As he looked into her simmering blue eyes, he suddenly and unexpectedly cared about the answer. He didn't want her to be Dixon's mistress.

“No.”

He was relieved. “You're sure?”

“That wouldn't be something I'd forget. My car keys, maybe. To pick up cat food, yes. But, oops, having sex with my boss just slipped my mind?” Her tone went flat. “Yes, Tuck. I'm sure.”

He wanted to kiss her. He was suddenly seized by an overwhelming desire to pull her close and taste those sassy lips.

“You have a cat?” he asked instead.

“Focus, Tuck. Dixon's not coming back. At least not for a while. I know you've had a cushy run here, but that's over and done with. You've got work to do now, and I am not letting you duck and weave.”

Now he really wanted to kiss her. “How're you going to do that?”

“Persuasion, persistence and coercion.”

“You think you can coerce me?”

“What I think is that somewhere deep down inside you must be a man who wants to succeed, a man who actually wants to impress his father.”

She was wrong, but he was curious.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“You strike me as the type.”

“I never imagined I was a type.”

Truth was he didn't want to impress his father. But he did want to impress Amber, more than he'd wanted to impress a woman in a very long time.

Unfortunately for him, she wasn't about to observe him in the part of suave, worldly, wealthy Tuck Tucker. She was about to watch him fumbling around the helm of a multimillion corporation. He couldn't have dreamed of a less flattering circumstance.

Two

A
mber was torn between annoyance and sympathy.

For the past week, Tuck had arrived at the office promptly at eight. He seemed a little groggy for the first hour, and she'd fallen into the habit of having a large coffee on his desk waiting for him. She could only guess that he hadn't yet modified his playboy nights to fit his workday schedule.

She'd moved from her desk near Dixon's office to the desk outside Tuck's office. Tuck didn't have his own assistant, since he was so rarely there, but now he was taking on Dixon's work. He was also taking on Jamison's. Margaret had been out sick most days since Jamison's heart attack, so Amber was keeping in communication with directors and managers and all of their assistants, trying to be sure nothing fell through the cracks.

This morning, voices were raised behind Tuck's closed door. He was meeting with Zachary Ingles, the marketing director. They were two weeks from the New York trade show and deadlines were rapidly piling up.

“
You
were tasked with approving the final branding,” Zachary was shouting. “I sent three options. It's all in the email.”

“I have two thousand emails in my in-basket,” Tuck returned.

“
Your
disorganization is not
my
problem. We've missed the print deadline on everything—signs, banners and all the swag.”

“You need to tell me when there's a critical deadline.”

“I did tell you.”

“In an email that I didn't read.”

“Here's a tip,” said Zachary. But then he went silent.

Amber found herself picturing Tuck's glare. Tuck might be out of his depth, but he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't a pushover.

A minute later, Tuck's office door was thrown open and Zachary stormed past her desk, tossing a glare her way. “Tell your boss he can pay rush penalties on every damn item for all I care.”

Amber didn't bother to respond. She'd never warmed up to Zachary. He was demanding and entitled, always running roughshod over his staff and anyone else below him in the corporate hierarchy. Dixon put up with him because he was favored by Jamison, and because he did seem to have a knack for knowing how to appeal to big clients with expensive shipping needs.

Tuck appeared in the office doorway.

“Lucas will be here at ten,” she told him. “But your schedule is clear for the next half hour.”

“Maybe I can read a few hundred emails.”

“Good idea.”

He drew a breath, looking like he wanted to bolt for the exit. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I'm behind by two thousand emails.”

“Dixon was very organized.”

Surely Tuck didn't expect to rival his brother after only a single week. It had taken Dixon years to become such an effective vice president.

Tuck frowned at her. “So everyone tells me.”

“He worked very long and hard to get there.”

Yes, Tuck was arriving on time. And really, that was more than she'd expected. But Dixon had taken on far more than his fair share of early mornings and late nights working out systems and processes for covering the volume of work. Tuck seemed to expect to become a boy wonder overnight.

Tuck's tone hardened. “I'm asking for some friendly advice. Can we not turn it into a lecture about my sainted brother?”

“You can't expect to simply walk through the door and be perfect.”

“I'm not expecting anything of the sort. Believe me, I know that Dixon is remarkable. I've heard about it my entire life.”

Amber felt a twinge of guilt.

Tuck did seem to be trying. Not that he had any choice in the matter. And it didn't change the fact that he'd barely bothered to show up at the office until he was backed into a corner. Still, he was here now. She'd give him that.

“Zachary should have given you a heads-up on the branding,” she said. “He should have pointed out the deadline.”

“I shouldn't have missed it,” said Tuck.

“But you did. And you're going to miss other things.” She saw no point in pretending.

“Your confidence in me is inspiring.”

She found herself annoyed on Tuck's behalf, and the frustration came through in her voice.

“Tell him,” she said. “Tell them all. Tell them that it's
their
job to keep you appraised of critical deadlines, and not just in an email. Make it a part of your regular meetings. And make the meetings more frequent if you have to, even daily. I mean, if you can stand to see Zachary every day, that is.”

Tuck cracked a smile.

It was a joke. But Amber shouldn't have made it. “I know that was an inappropriate thing to say.”

He took a couple of steps toward her desk. “I don't have a problem with inappropriate. It's a good idea. I'll send them an email.”

“You don't have to send them an email.” Her sense of professionalism won out over her annoyance at his past laziness. “I'll send them an email. And I can triage your in-basket if you'd like.”

His expression brightened and he moved closer still. “You'd read them for me?”

“Yes. I'll get rid of the unimportant ones.”

“How will you do that?”

“I have a delete key.”

He leaned his hands down on the desk, lowering his voice. “You can do that? I mean, and not have the company fall down around my ears?”

Amber found herself fighting a grin. “With some of them, sure. With others, I'll take care of them myself, or I'll delegate the work to one of the unit heads. And I'll flag the important ones for you.”

“I swear, I could kiss you for that.”

It was obviously a quip. But for some reason his words resonated all the way to her abdomen.

Her gaze went to his lips, triggering the image of a kiss in her imagination.

She caught the look in his eyes and the air seemed to crackle between them.

“Not necessary,” she quickly said into the silence.

“I suppose the paycheck is enough.”

“It's enough.”

He straightened, and a twinkle came into his silver-gray eyes. “Still, the offer's open.”

She considered his handsome, unapologetic face and his taut, sexy frame. “You're not like him at all, are you?”

“Dixon?”

She nodded.

“Not a bit.”

“He doesn't joke around.”

“He should.”

Her loyalty reasserted itself. “Are you criticizing Dixon's performance on the job?”

“I'm criticizing his performance in life.”

“He's been through a lot.”

She didn't know how close Tuck was to his brother, but she had seen firsthand the toll Kassandra's infidelity had taken on Dixon. Dixon had been devoted to his wife. He'd thought they were trying to start a family while she had secretly been taking birth control pills and sleeping with another man.

“I know he has,” said Tuck.

“He was blindsided by her lies.”

Tuck seemed to consider the statement. “There were signs.”

“Now you're criticizing Dixon for loyalty?”

“I'm wondering why you're so blindly defending him.”

“When you're an honest person—” as Amber knew Dixon was “—you don't look for deceit in others.”

Tuck's gaze was astute. “But you saw it, too.”

Amber wasn't going to lie. “That Kassandra had a scheming streak?”

“Aha.” There was a distinct ring of triumph in Tuck's tone.

“I saw it, too,” she admitted.

He sobered. “I don't know what that says about you and I.”

“Maybe that we should be careful around each other?”

“Are you out to get me, Amber?”

“No.” She wasn't.

She didn't find him particularly admirable. An admirable man would have shown up to help long before now. But now that he was here, she'd admit he wasn't all bad.

“Are you going to lie to me?”

“No.”

“Will you help me succeed?”

She hesitated over that one. “Maybe. If you seem to deserve it.”

“How am I doing so far?”

“You're no Dixon.”

“I'm never going to be Dixon.”

“But you seem to have Zachary's number. I can respect that.”

It was a moment before Tuck responded. “How'd he get away with that crap with my dad?”

“He didn't pull that crap with your dad.”

“He's testing me.”

“We all are.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.”

But Tuck was faring better than she'd expected. And she seemed worryingly susceptible to his playboy charm. She was definitely going to have to watch herself around him.

* * *

At home in the mansion, Tuck found himself retreating to the second floor, spreading work out in the compact sitting room down the hall from his own bedroom. Stylistically, it was different from the rest of the house, with earth tones, rattan and stoneware accents. He found it restful.

The big house had been built in the early 1900s, with hardwood floors, soaring relief ceilings, elaborate light fixtures and archways twenty feet in height. It was far from the most welcoming place in the world, full of uncomfortable antique chairs and somber paintings. And right now it echoed with emptiness.

Last week, they'd moved his father to a specialized care facility in Boston. His mother had gone with him to stay with her sister. His mother had asked her trusted staff members to come along for what looked to be an extended stay.

Tuck could have replaced the staff. But he was one man, and he had no plans to do any entertaining. Well, maybe a date or two, since he didn't plan to let his responsibilities at Tucker Transportation keep him celibate. But the house still had two cooks, two housekeepers and a groundskeeper. He couldn't imagine needing any more assistance than that.

For now, he headed down the grand staircase to meet his college friend, Jackson Rush, happy with both the opportunity for conversation and the break from office work. While Tuck had studied business at the University of Chicago, Jackson had studied criminology. Jackson now ran an investigations firm that had expanded around the country.

“I hope you have good news,” said Tuck as Jackson removed his worn leather jacket and handed it to the housekeeper.

“Dixon took a private jet from Executive Airport to New York City,” said Jackson.

“But not a Tucker Transportation jet.” Tuck had already checked all the company records.

“Signal Air,” said Jackson.

“Because he didn't want my dad to know where he went.”

“That seems like a solid theory.”

The two men made their way into the sunroom. It was dark outside, not the perfect time to enjoy the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the sunroom was less ostentatious than the library.

“So he's in New York.” As far as Tuck was concerned, that was good news. He'd worried his brother had taken off to Europe or Australia.

“From there, it looks like he took a train to Charlotte.”

“A train?” Tuck turned his head to frown at Jackson. “Why on earth would he take a train? And what's in Charlotte?”

“Secrecy, I'm guessing.” Jackson eased onto a forest-green sofa. “He wouldn't need ID to buy a train ticket. You said your dad tried to stop him from leaving?”

Tuck took a padded Adirondack chair next to a leafy potted ficus. “Dad was terrified at the thought of me actually working at Tucker Transportation.”

“Then, I guess things didn't work out so well for him, did they?”

“Are you making a joke about his heart attack?”

“I didn't mean that the way it sounded. From Charlotte, our best guess is Dixon went on to either Miami or New Orleans. Anything you know of for him in either of those cities?”

Tuck racked his brain.

“A woman?” asked Jackson.

“He's barely divorced from Kassandra.”

Jackson shot Tuck a look of incredulity.

“She was the one who cheated, not him. I doubt his head was anywhere near to dating again.”

“Well, we're checking both cities, but so far he's not using his credit cards or hitting any bank machines. And there's no activity on his cell phone.”

Tuck sat back. “Does this strike you as bafflingly elaborate?”

“Your brother does not want to be found. The question is, why?”

“He doesn't know about my dad,” said Tuck. “He doesn't know he's abandoned Tucker Transportation to me alone. If he did, he'd be here in a heartbeat.”

“Anything else going on in his life? Any chance he's got an enemy, committed a crime, embezzled from the company?”

Tuck laughed at that. “Embezzle from himself? He's got access to all the money he could ever want and then some.”

“An enemy, then. Anybody who might want to harm him? Maybe the guy who slept with Kassandra?”

“Dixon's not afraid of Irwin Borba.”

“What, then?” asked Jackson.

“He said he needed a vacation.”

Tuck wanted to believe that was the simple answer. Because if Dixon was at a beach bar somewhere drinking rum punch and watching women in bikinis, he'd be back home soon. It had already been two weeks. Maybe Tuck just had to hang on a few more days without sinking any ships—either figuratively or literally—and he'd be off the hook. He sure hoped so.

“There's a major trade show coming up in New York,” he told Jackson. “And we're launching two new container ships in Antwerp next week. Surely he'll return for that.”

“He's expecting your dad will be there.” Jackson restlessly tapped his blunt fingers against his denim-covered knee.

That was true. Dixon would assume Jamison would represent the company in Antwerp.

“Have you checked his computer?” asked Jackson. “Maybe he's got a personal email account you don't know about.”