Her Favorite Rival (4 page)

Audrey picked up her pen and started drawing circles on the notepad beside her phone.

“How’s everything else? Did you sort out the problem with the lawn?”

“What problem with the lawn?” Her mother sounded completely blank.

“The drainage. Last time we spoke you’d had some problems with flooding down the back.”

“Oh, that was months ago. Your father had someone come in and dig a ditch or something. Anyway, it’s all fine now.”

“Good.”

They talked about the weather and her parents’ garden for a few more minutes, then her mother insisted on “letting her go.”

Audrey closed her eyes, aware of the old, old hollow feeling behind her breastbone. Every now and then, her mother or father or sister said something that gave her a glimpse into the world they shared with one another—cozy dinners for three, outings to the theater, European holidays. Last week, a mother-daughter spa day.

And Audrey hadn’t spoken to any of them for over a month. Even after so many years, it hurt to know it all went on without her. She’d be lying if she pretended anything else.

“Definitely time to go home.”

Before she became completely maudlin and pathetic.

She snagged the strap of her handbag and her briefcase then stood. The room spun crazily as the blood rushed from her head, and she slapped her hand onto the desk to steady herself.

Whoa. Someone has low blood sugar.

She held out her hand, and sure enough it was shaking. It was nearly ten, and she’d been at her desk since six-thirty in the morning. Lunch had been two bites of banana and a snack-size yogurt—
hours
ago.

So much for knowing how to look after herself. Barefoot, she made her way to the staff room in the hope that there were some bananas left. No such luck. The cookie jar was empty, too, only a few crumbs in the bottom to taunt the truly desperate. She opened the fridge and eyed the detritus left from other people’s lunches. Squishy-looking fruit and dry, curled sandwiches. Blurg.

If you get to the point where you’re ready to chew your arm off, there’s a stash of protein bars in the bottom left drawer of my desk
.

She shut the fridge door. There was no way she was raiding Zach’s stash. There was something about the idea of accepting a favor from him that made her uncomfortable.

Her stomach growled, an audible counterargument to her thoughts. She looked around the kitchen a little desperately. She’d make herself another cup of coffee with lots of sugar. That should do the trick. She opened the fridge in search of milk, only to find none.

Damn it. She hated black coffee with a passion.

Stop being so bloody precious. Eat his protein bar and go home and get a good night’s sleep. Like a grown-up.

Gritting her teeth, she marched out of the staff room before she could think the matter to death. Zach’s office was on the opposite side of the department from hers. She paused in the doorway, then committed herself to his domain.

Like her, he had a company-issue desk made from blond wood veneer. The bookcase and filing cabinet were also standard-issue, but he’d hung a series of black-and-white framed photographs on the walls, arty shots of old buildings and other architectural features, as well as bringing in an old-fashioned wood-and-brass desk lamp. She’d been in his office for only brief moments before, and she paused in front of one the photographs. A moody photograph of a European street, it was stark and simple. She wondered if he’d taken it himself.

She gave herself a shake. She was here for sustenance, not snooping. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing his pristine desktop as she pushed his chair back to access the drawers, though. His blotter was unblemished, his in-and out-trays empty. By contrast, her own desk looked like a war zone: piles of papers, catalogs bristling with sticky notes, crumbs in her keyboard, a million reminders to herself scribbled across the blotter. She hadn’t sighted her in-tray for over a month, it was buried beneath so much paperwork. She prided herself on the fact that, if pushed, she could lay her hand on anything within thirty seconds, but the fact remained that Zach had her beat, hands down, in the anal tidiness stakes.

She slid the bottom drawer open. Sure enough, a box of protein bars was inside. There were two flavors, Dutch chocolate and French vanilla, and she chose vanilla. She was about to shut the drawer when her gaze fell on a bottle of aftershave. She reached for it and lifted it to her nose, inhaling a light citrus scent with surprising spicy base notes. Mmm. Nice. She sniffed again, closing her eyes as she tried to identify what it reminded her of. The beach in summer? No, it was more intimate than that. Perhaps—

Abruptly she registered what was she was doing—hovering over Zach’s desk, sniffing his aftershave. She whipped her hand away from her face so quickly she almost dropped the bottle. She returned it to the drawer, being careful to put it exactly where she had found it, then closed the drawer. There was a memo pad beside Zach’s computer and she reached for the nearest pen to write him an IOU. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of the thing that she realized she wasn’t holding an ordinary plastic ballpoint. Black and shiny with warm golden accents, the pen had real heft to it. When she pressed it against the paper, it rolled effortlessly, silkily across the page. Then she spotted the tiny telltale star logo on the end.

Montblanc.

Wow. No wonder his handwriting was always so crisp and elegantly formed.

Must be nice to be able to drop three figures on a fancy pen.
She made a noise, unable to imagine a universe where she would have enough money to spare to allow herself that kind of indulgence.

She returned the pen to the caddy on Zach’s desk and escaped his office, taking with her the slightly guilty sense that she’d invaded his privacy. Checking out his photos and sniffing his aftershave and using his fancy-schmancy pen was hardly on a par with riffling through his underwear drawer, but if their positions were reversed, she knew she wouldn’t be thrilled to know he’d lingered over her personal effects. In fact, the thought of him examining her space in that way made her toes curl into the carpet.

In her office, she tore the wrapper off the protein bar and ate it with stolid determination, chewing and swallowing until the thing was gone and the edgy, shaky feeling had passed.

She let out a sigh of relief, then grabbed her bag, briefcase and shoes and headed for the garage.

Whether she liked it or not, Zach had saved her bacon tonight. She would make a point of thanking him for his generosity tomorrow—as well as replacing the bar, of course. Under no circumstances would she try to get close enough to find out if he was wearing any of that delicious aftershave, though. And she definitely wouldn’t ask him to confirm her guess about the photos on his office wall.

He was still the enemy, after all. Or, at best, her fiercest rival. It would never pay to forget that.

* * *

“
H
OW
DID
IT
GO
?” Megan asked.

Audrey sank onto the bar stool next to her best friend and let her bag slide to the floor. “I’m alive. That’s about all I’m willing to commit to right now.”

Twenty minutes ago she’d left the conference room after delivering her range review and enduring nearly an hour and a half of brutal, probing questions courtesy of Henry Whitman. He’d asked about her range initiative, grilling her on every possible detail, then branched out into asking about her strategy for the department, her thoughts on the retail hardware sector in Australia, her experience in the industry...

Even though it was only five o’clock when she emerged, she’d been so exhausted and wrung out she hadn’t hesitated to bail when she found Megan’s note indicating that she’d be waiting at Al’s Place. She’d said goodbye to her assistant, Lucy, and made for the exit as though the hounds of hell were on her tail.

Megan slid a glass of red wine along the bar toward her. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

“Does it come in IV form?” Audrey slumped forward, propping her elbows on the bar.

Megan pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Wow. He really gave you a going-over, huh? I pretty much said my piece, answered a few questions from the retailers and then buggered off.”

Audrey stared at her. “Really? He didn’t grill you on everything from your favorite color to whether you believe in the Easter Bunny or not?”

“It was an Easter Bunny–free conversation.” Megan’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I have no idea.”

“I think it’s a bad thing. He was obviously interested in you. Me, not so much.” Megan shrugged philosophically, her expression clearing. “Oh, well. As soon as I’m knocked up I’m out of here anyway, so it probably doesn’t really matter what the Executioner thinks of me.”

“I think we need a different nickname. The Interrogator is much more accurate,” Audrey said.

“The Interrogator. Nice. Has a good, intimidating ring to it.”

Audrey sucked down a mouthful of wine. “We should probably eat something with this.”

They both had to get behind the wheel to drive home, after all.

“Already on it. Cameron is bringing curly fries.”

“I knew there was a reason we love it here.”

They’d discovered Al’s Place a couple of years ago. A dark and dingy little bar in the strip of shops across from Makers, the rest of their colleagues gave it a wide berth, making it the perfect place for post-work bitch sessions and two-woman mutual sympathy parties. The floor was sticky and the decor firmly stuck in the eighties, but Cameron always gave them lots of pretzels and was never stingy with his pouring.

“Okay, the big question for you,” Megan said, twisting so she faced Audrey more squarely. “If Whitman came over all Robert Redford in
Indecent Proposal
with you, would you or wouldn’t you?”

Audrey let out a crack of laughter. Trust Megan to find such a unique, irreverent way to put the afternoon’s ordeal into perspective.

“Come on.” Megan nudged her. “Would you sleep with him to keep your job or not?”

Audrey considered that. Whitman had to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, but he was in good shape, no spare tire or jowly chops. If she squinted and the lighting was right, he might be considered a silver fox. But there was no amount of squinting that could erase those steely, all-seeing eyes.

“Not in a million years,” she said.

“What was it that did it for you? The sausage fingers or the seagull eyes?”

“The eyes. I didn’t even notice his fingers.”

“Oh, you will, trust me. They’re hard to miss.” Megan shuddered, then took a sip.

Audrey huffed out a laugh. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“I’m thinking he’s a socks-with-sandals kind of guy, too. I bet he breaks them out at the conference, along with bad floral shirts with short sleeves.”

Audrey nearly choked on her wine. “God, I’d forgotten all about the conference.”

She’d been so consumed with researching her new boss it had slipped her mind that she and her colleagues would soon be flying to sunny Queensland for three days of intense business powwows with more than six hundred member retailers.

“Only ten days to go.” Megan raised her glass in mock toast.

Audrey didn’t lift her glass in return. This would be her second conference in the capacity of buyer, and she wasn’t looking forward to being cornered by random retailers and taken to task over some imagined slight or oversight or deficiency. Throw Henry Whitman and his X-ray vision and hard questions into the mix, and the conference began to look like an endurance test of epic proportions.

“Look at it this way—it’s three days’ worth of sucking-up opportunities. We can all sing for our supper and make the big man feel suitably powerful, then come home again and get back to business as usual,” Megan said matter-of-factly.

“You really think it will be business as usual?”

Megan’s blue eyes became serious. “No. I think Whitman is going to go through us like a combine harvester. But there’s nothing I can do to stop that from happening, so I am going to do my best and live my life and take the worst as it comes, if it comes.”

They were both silent as they contemplated the truth of Megan’s words. Cameron broke the moment by sliding a bowl of golden fries in front of them.

“Enjoy, ladies.”

“Bless you. Animal fats to the rescue,” Audrey said.

They both reached for a handful of potato curls.

“Who do you think will go first?” Audrey asked.

Megan sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe Barry? And possibly Gordon. In my experience, guys like Whitman always have their own team they want to bring on board.”

Since Barry and Gordon both worked in the financial area, Megan’s assessment made sense.

“Out of us, I wouldn’t want to be Tom.” Megan referred to the buyer in charge of building materials.

Audrey nodded in agreement. Tom was a lovely man, but he was close to retirement age and definitely old school in his approach.

“I tell you who won’t be going, though—Zach. Fifty bucks he gets a promotion out of all of this.”

Audrey reached for the fries. “He’s not that good.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but he is. He’s smart, he’s good at what he does and he could charm a snake out of its skin.”

Audrey rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you have a soft spot for him.”

“Yeah, it’s called a vagina.”

Audrey shook her head at her friend’s outrageousness. “You are so lucky no one from work comes here.”

Megan stuffed a fry into her mouth before cocking her head. “You honestly don’t think he’s hot?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Audrey did know. She shrugged. “He’s okay. A bit too perfect, pretty-boy for my taste.”

“He’s not a pretty boy. He’s got that little bump on the bridge of his nose like he’s been in a fight. And he’s got that cowboy-to-the-rescue walk.” Megan mimed Zach’s confident swagger from her seated position.

“Does your husband know about your little obsession?” Audrey asked.