Intimate Betrayal (2 page)

He shook his head. “You can’t afford to hire the best. In
fact, I doubt you can afford to hire anyone. Your firm is in serious trouble. Although your proposal was by far the best one
I’ve received on this project, I don’t believe you had any business submitting it, because Fabrications simply can’t do the
job that you’ve outlined.”

“That’s not true!”

“It’s the way I see it, Annie. I’m sorry.” He paused, then added brutally, “You’re good, but you’re not good enough.”

“Wait a minute.” Her hands were clenched so tightly that her fingernails were digging into her palms. Without the Powerdyme
project, her company might not survive. “You’re telling me that I’m talented and creative, that I’ve suggested ways to solve
your design problems that occurred to nobody else, that my proposal is the best of the lot, and yet you’re not going to hire
my firm?”

“That’s right. I don’t think Fabrications is going to be around long enough for you to complete the job.”

“Well, it probably won’t be if we don’t get this project!”

The moment she’d spoken the words she regretted them. One of the primary rules in this dog-eat-dog business was never to display
your weaknesses to others. Bleed even a little, and the predators move in for the kill.

Oh God. Fabrications had meant everything to Charlie, and now that he was gone, it meant everything to Annie to keep it alive.
If the company died, she would be failing Charlie, and she couldn’t allow that to happen. It would be like losing him all
over again.

“So what would you have me do? Take you on charity? That’s asking rather a lot, even for a pretty young window. As I said,
I’m not a risk taker, at least not when I have so much at stake.”

And suddenly the present vanished and Annie could hear her own voice whisper,
“Oh, stop, please stop. I can’t. I’m not a risk taker, at least not when I have so much to lose.”

She jumped to her feet, wanting to run from the room.
Bastard!
she thought. Any doubt that he recalled that night three years ago had vanished. He remembered, all right. And he was just
as ruthless as everybody claimed.

But she already knew that. She’d known it ever since the night in England when he’d come so close to sweeping her off her
feet. He’d known she was married. So was he. Francesca Carlyle, his wife, was a beautiful, well-known San Francisco socialite.
But that hadn’t stopped him. And he was such a charming and skilled seducer that it almost hadn’t stopped her, either. He’d
been a smooth-tongued demon, with the tempting abilities of the Devil himself.

As for her, she’d been weak and foolish, warm, fresh clay to be molded according to his desires. She had never forgiven herself
for the way she’d acted. And when so soon afterward Charlie had shown the first signs of the cancer that had taken his life,
Annie had felt as if it were a punishment for the adultery in her heart.

In the end, though, she had rejected Matthew Carlyle, which must have been a blow to his masculine ego. Now, she thought,
he was getting even with her for that. He was punishing her. No doubt he’d been waiting for his chance to do so for the past
three years.

Summoning every shred of dignity she possessed, she moved to his desk and picked up the folder containing her proposal. “Thank
you for your time, Mr. Carlyle. I don’t think there’s anything more to discuss.”

“Annie…” he said softly, but she ignored him, turned
her back, and moved toward the door. As she passed the wastebasket, she sailed the folder neatly into it.

She would survive in the corporate design business
despite
Mr. Matthew Carlyle.

After several minutes of staring blankly at his computer screen, Matt Carlyle rose and looked out his window. Somewhere down
below, Annie would be getting into her car, feeling disappointed and angry. Scared, too, probably. Deep down inside she must
know that what he’d told her about her architectural design company was true. Annie was an excellent designer, but her husband
had been the firm’s CEO and guiding force. Charlie Jefferson had also been an award-winning architect, and Fabrications would
very likely founder without him.

It was a shame, because the city could use more small creative firms. It was unfortunate, too, that so great a personal loss
should also become a professional one.
But life is tough,
he thought grimly.
No point in getting sentimental about it.

Running a successful business was tough, too. Most small businesses failed. His own first one had bitten the dust after less
than a year. Annie had nothing to be ashamed of. And if she had half the gumption he credited her with, she’d stand up, brush
herself off, and find a way to start over again.

On the other hand, he reminded herself, she was both a woman and a widow. Not that a woman couldn’t be successful on her own—but
only a fool would deny that the old-boy network that was so instrumental in raising capital for new business ventures tended
to favor men.

Staring out the window across the hills of San Francisco,
Matthew Carlyle let his mind wander. Those blue eyes of hers, flashing fire, that fine gold hair that curved so delicately
around her neck and chin, that stubborn chin that tilted up just a smidgen when she was angry, the subtle yet alluring curves
of her body…

Annie, a widow.

Whereas he, of course, was still married.…

He considered and rejected various options until finally he came up with one that seemed attractive no matter which angle
he viewed it from.

He picked up the phone. A few minutes later, he hung up, satisfied. He’d done what he could. Now, maybe he could clear his
mind of the memory of Annie Jefferson’s anger and disappointment and instead remember her bright, hopeful smile.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

“Who?” said Annie.

“Matthew Carlyle. Don’t you think so?”

Annie shrugged, then managed a smile for Darcy Fuentes, her co-worker at Brody Associates, one of the largest architectural
design firms in the city. They were standing together in the salon of Matthew Carlyle’s yacht, docked in a slip in San Francisco
Bay, watching several well-dressed couples swing dancing. Among them were Carlyle and his wife, Francesca.

Actually, he’s not
that
handsome,
Annie was thinking. Sam Brody, their boss, who was also out on the dance floor, was more conventionally good-looking with
his amiable features, firm body, and perpetual California tan. Carlyle’s long arms and legs gave him a certain awkwardness,
and his features
were more sharply defined than Sam’s. It was like comparing Daniel Day Lewis with the young Paul Newman.

Besides, Annie couldn’t even look at Matthew Carlyle without feeling a knot of hostility form in her belly. She just couldn’t
forget that if it hadn’t been for him, Fabrications might have survived.

“I think Francesca’s drunk,” Darcy said. “She’s swaying a little more than she ought to be, and her husband seems to be keeping
quite a grip on her.”

“Maybe she’s depressed about turning forty,” Annie said.

“Why should she be? She looks about twenty-nine. I hate her,” Darcy added with a laugh as Carlyle and Sam Brody changed partners
and Francesca moved into Sam’s arms. “I should look so good when I’m forty.”

Annie raised her eyebrows in amusement. Darcy, a luscious brunette of her own age, thirty-three, was attracting a lot more
male appreciation than their hostess. “The birthday girl would trade bodies with you in a flash if she could,” Annie said.
“So would most of the women here.”

“Fat lot of good it does me,” Darcy said. “My love life sucks.”

“Compared to mine, your love life is a veritable cornucopia of sensual delights.”

“Yeah, but always with the wrong guy.” She sighed. “Our Venus and Mars aspects are never compatible.”

Darcy, a senior architect at Brody Associates and Annie’s closest friend there, was a passionate believer in astrology and
other New Age subjects. Before moving in next door to Annie in the North Beach district of the city, she had cast Annie’s
chart. “If we’re going to be neighbors as well as coworkers, we’d
better
get along together.”

The stars had ruled them compatible, and it certainly seemed to be true. Darcy was a top-notch architect—a woman who had succeeded
in what was still pretty much a man’s world. And Annie, who specialized in interior design, particularly for large corporate
projects, loved working with her. Their talents meshed nicely.

“I’m a fire sign—Leo—full of energy and enthusiasm and lots of grand plans,” Darcy had explained. “You’re a Cancer, a water
sign, and tenacious, sensitive, loyal, and attentive to details.”

“If we’re fire and water, how come we get along so well?” Annie had asked, amused.

“Well, we have several harmonious trines and conjunctions in our charts and only two squares, and I have Pisces rising, and
you have several other fire signs to go with mine.…”

Whatever
that
meant.

People often commented that Annie and Darcy had complementary looks as well as jobs. Annie had tawny hair, blue eyes, and
fair skin; Darcy’s hair was black, her eyes brown, and her skin a deep olive that held a tan year-round. Annie dressed elegantly
yet conservatively, in business suits with tasteful accessories. Darcy came to work in low-cut dresses that were tight and
short. She wore thick, dark mascara and heavy eyeliner that made dark rims around her eyes. Her long nails were usually painted
in deep shades of brown, purple, or red. Although Darcy never dressed in a “serious, businesslike manner,” she had no trouble
commanding the respect of the people she worked with, as far as Annie could tell.

“Well, I don’t know about their planets,” Annie said, scanning the crowd, “but I see some eligible types here tonight.” She
noticed that Francesca Carlyle was now giddily moving
from one partner to another on the dance floor, while her husband had returned to his table to sip champagne. “How about that
surfer type over there in the tight pants?”

Darcy shook her head. “This is San Francisco, remember? The good-looking single guys are all gay.” Then she considered the
surfer more carefully. “On the other hand,” she grinned, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Go get him, babe.”

As Darcy switched into her hunting mode and moved away, Annie wondered why she could not bring herself to do the same. Charlie
had been dead for nearly two years now, and it was time to stop hugging the wall at social gatherings.

But it was one thing to tell herself that and another to do it. She still missed Charlie. He had been her rock, her teacher,
her protector. Even though he’d been only five years older than she, he’d come from another world—a world of confidence, security,
and hope. He’d convinced her that anything was possible if you worked hard and held on to your dreams. And she’d believed
him because with Charlie, anything
did
seem possible. Until he’d been diagnosed with cancer.

He had been determined to beat the disease. When it became obvious that he couldn’t, he’d taken comfort in his belief that
everything his doctors learned from his suffering would help them to cure others. Charlie had always found the silver lining
in the cloud.

In tribute to everything he’d taught her, Annie had tried her best to hang on to that optimism after his death. When she lost
her company as well, the world had seemed very black. But perhaps Charlie had been right after all, because here she was a
few months later, a professional designer with an excellent job, partying with other professionals and
socialites on Matthew Carlyle’s yacht. It was certainly not a scene she could have imagined a year ago, when Carlyle had shattered
her dream of keeping Fabrications alive.

She had arrived late for the party, just as the yacht was about to begin its moonlit cruise in San Francisco Bay. The cruise
had continued during the dinner served on board and for an hour or two afterward, but now they were back in the slip at the
marina, allowing anybody who wanted to leave early to do so.

Annie was somewhat surprised that she hadn’t left yet, since Matthew Carlyle was the last person she’d ever wanted to see
again.

But she wasn’t sure if he even knew she was there. It must have been Francesca who had put her on the guest list. The socialite
and philanthropist was one of the leading lights of the building committee of the United Path Church, which had just hired
Brody Associates to design and build a cathedral. Annie had gotten to know Francesca during the proposal and bidding process.

The United Path Church was Francesca’s favorite charity. It was a fast-growing, interdenominational Christian sect led by
one of Annie’s dearest friends, the Reverend Barbara Rae Acker, whose work with battered women and AIDS victims was legendary
in San Francisco. The UPC cathedral would be one of the largest and most magnificent building projects the city had ever known,
and Annie was slated to be the project manager.

Although tonight’s party was to celebrate Francesca’s fortieth birthday, for Annie it was a celebration of her own astonishing
success.

“Hi there,” said Sam Brody, her boss. “You look radiant, Annie. Are you by any chance happy about something?”

His voice was mischievous, and Annie grinned. “You know why I’m happy.”

“Might it have anything to do with a certain cathedral—for which a designer by the name of Annie Jefferson did most of the
exquisite interior design?”

Annie hugged him spontaneously. She loved working for Sam. He was one of those people who seemed to bring sunshine with him
wherever he went. Sam had blond hair that shone like newly minted gold coins, blazing blue eyes, and an air of distinction
and old money about him. He’d gone to all the right schools and belonged to all the right clubs but he never displayed a hint
of social snobbery; he was warm, charming, and very approachable.