Redemption (32 page)

He gazed at her in surprise. “You want to leave?”

She nodded. “I’m meeting Connor Monday morning in Philadelphia. He plans to speak with the other board members himself. Let them know I’ve got his support, despite the bad press.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No. I’d rather you stay here with Tripper.”

Matt gripped the shovel, not bothering to hide his displeasure. “I don’t like the idea of you going back there by yourself.”

“I’ll be okay. The worst of it has blown over. Connor also gave a statement to the press. Blurring the picture enough so that his judgment isn’t called into question.”

“What do you mean, ‘his judgment’? Doesn’t the guy have any faith in his employees?”

“Of course he does. But this is business. There are millions of dollars resting on something as delicate as the perception of propriety.”

“To hell with Forrest’s reputation.” He tossed the shovel against the wall. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Well, I can’t hide out here any longer. I have to face the music sooner or later.” Claire glanced back at him, her expression set in the hard line with which he’d become familiar. “I’ll be fine. Connor’s hired a guard and driver to escort me to work for the next couple of weeks.”

“I could’ve done that,” he said impatiently. Then, with hands on his hips, he added grimly, “Better yet, anyone who wants a piece of you should have to go through me first.”

She shook her head. “You’d draw enough of a crowd on your own. Besides, I need a favor from you.”

“Whatever you want, but I still think—”

“Can you keep Tripper here? For a few days? Just until this blows over. He’s out of school this week anyway, for spring break. I think he’d like to spend it out here, getting to know your family better.”

“Sure, you know he can stay. I’ve got to go to LA next week for a couple days, but he can stay with Mark and Mel.” He tilted his hat farther off his brow. “We need to talk—about what happened last night.”

She turned away. “Not now.”

He grabbed her above the elbow, preventing her from leaving. “Then when? There are things we need to get out in the open.”

But she remained stubbornly silent, focused on the mountain peaks in the distance. She looked about as chilly as the March wind. He gave a bitter laugh. “You don’t want to hear it, do you? What I can’t figure out is why. Because you don’t feel the same way, or because you don’t know how to handle the fact that you do?”

She ducked her head. “Matt, this isn’t the time. I’ve got too many things going on in my life right now, plus there’s Tripper to consider.”

“You’re damn right there’s Tripper to consider. Don’t you think what he needs now is for his parents to be together?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve told you before that’s a lame excuse for…for—”

“Then how about the fact that we have great sex?”

She gave him a cool look over her shoulder. “Was it? I really wouldn’t know. I haven’t had much experience.”

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it. It was fantastic. Mind blowing. Out of this world. The earth moved.” He laughed, releasing her at last. With the toe of his boot, he kicked at a snow clod. “Hell, and to think I used to envy Robert Jordan.”

“Who?”

“You know, the guy from
For Whom the Bell Tolls
. Not only does he get to blow up bridges, but he gets his girl too.”

“Doesn’t he die in the end?” Claire pointed out, ever practical, as she turned to face him again.

He grinned wickedly. “Yeah, but he still got a great fuck out of the deal.” Then he sobered. “Is that all I’m getting here? One night with Claire, and then it’s back to blowing up bridges…” He made a sound of an explosion.

“What is it you want, Matt?” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Two great fucks? Three? I told you, I don’t have any experience in that department.”

“You think that matters?” He shook his head, disbelieving. “I’m telling you, if you had tried any harder, I’d be in worse shape than poor old Robert Jordan.”

Spots of embarrassment stained Claire’s cheeks. “I suppose I was…a little…aggressive.”

“It’s okay, honey.” He grinned. “I didn’t mind one bit.”

“It’s not okay. I never should have—”

He broke in. “What, the sheets haven’t even dried and already there’s recriminations? What we did wasn’t wrong. We’re two people who happen to care for each other. I would use the word ‘love,’ but you seem to have some aversion to it.”

“You don’t love me, Matt. You just want to marry me. You think you can put things right for you and Tripper by marrying his mother.”

“That’s not true,” he protested.

“Yes, it is. You don’t even like me very much,” she pointed out with an air of irrefutable logic he found endearing.

“Babe…” He shook his head, laughing. “What I feel for you goes way beyond like.” As long as he was putting his heart on the line, he decided to go all the way. “You’re a part of me, Claire. I can’t take a breath without thinking about you on the downswing. I picture your face, and I get this funny little tug, right here…” He jerked his thumb toward his chest. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. Hell,” he added with a rueful grin, “I don’t even feel that way about Sadie.”

Claire didn’t reply. She sought out the frozen peaks in the distance, again, as if lured by their impassiveness.

“Tell me you feel nothing for me, after last night. You can’t.”

“Last night was just sex. That’s all it was for me. I’m sorry I gave you a different impression, but—”

“You’re sorry.” He shook his head, amazed. “Jesus, Claire. Why don’t you write me a thank you note while you’re at it? ‘Dear Mr. Grayson, thanks for getting my rocks off. It was really swell. Another fine performance—’”

Claire rounded on him. “Right! I suppose you’re used to gratitude from every woman you take to bed. But as I said, I’m afraid I really don’t have enough experience to judge the performance. Perhaps I should get some, then get back to you with a score.”

The look in her eyes reminded him of a wild animal, an arrow piercing its heart. He had the feeling she was fighting for her life, while all he wanted to talk about was love.

But now she didn’t give him a chance. She took a gulp of cold, dry air and spoke again, her voice harsh. “We’re not filming a remake of
Love Story
here. This is real life.” She turned to him. “And right now, I’ve got to return to Philadelphia and try to salvage what’s left of mine.”

Matt watched her walk away, hands shoved in his pockets to keep from reaching out to stop her. Like a lovestruck fool, he had led with his heart. He had said the wrong thing, but then, he was beginning to suspect everything he said to Claire was the wrong thing.

If only he knew the words that would change her mind, make her look at him differently. He’d sure as hell run them by her right now.

At the airport that afternoon, Tripper still didn’t say a word to Claire. Matt started to intervene, but Claire shook her head. This was between her and Tripper, after all.

But she couldn’t resist touching him, placing a gentle hand on his head as she told him goodbye. He held his head stiff beneath her fingers. He wouldn’t be ready to forgive her for a long time, if ever.

Then she turned to Matt. His eyes were searching, asking her silently if she was sure she wanted to do this.

She smiled back reassuringly, absurdly grateful to him for keeping Tripper out of harm’s way. There was a strange kind of relief in her heart, knowing that Tripper was no longer her sole responsibility. Now there was someone bigger, stronger, to take care of him, to answer his questions, to teach him things she never could. Never before had she considered just what sharing parenting responsibilities could mean, but she was willing to admit there were advantages.

The tired smile Matt gave her before she turned to board the plane almost broke her heart, until she told herself the hurt look in his eyes was caused by the harsh Montana sun reflecting off the snow outside.

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
HERE
W
ERE
O
NLY
A F
EW
R
EPORTERS
waiting outside Kaslow’s entrance when Claire arrived Monday morning, and the security guards kept them at bay. Though they were more respectful this time, the sight of them brought back memories of ten years ago, when she had been hounded by the media. Just thinking about it gave her a queasy feeling, and she was very glad she had left Tripper with Matt.

This morning, though, she hadn’t even read the paper. She had bigger worries. Before meeting with Connor, who was flying in from New York, she had to face Bernard Kaslow. She had debated the form her apology should take. A memo? A formal letter? But in the end she decided this was something she had to do in person.

She crossed the rotunda, still quiet and dim, waiting for the store to open. Today the figure in the center of the fountain didn’t meet her gaze when she passed. Instead, Claire imagined, the goddess looked contrite.

She ought to be, Claire thought. Then she stepped into the open elevator and punched the button for the seventh floor.

Claire stood in front of Bernard Kaslow’s desk, her carefully worded apology still fresh in the stale air. Her attention focused on the man behind the desk, who stared at her with a grave look on his face. “You realize this is a very serious situation we have here. A financial manager who deliberately hid her past, a person who should inspire confidence in our lenders…” Bernard Kaslow stumbled for words.

Claire didn’t bother pointing out that Connor Forrest was the only lender they needed to worry about, and he had complete confidence in her.

Then Evan, who, to Claire’s dismay, had insisted on being present for the early morning meeting, supplied the words Bernard couldn’t locate. “For someone who claimed to have the good of Kaslow’s as her first priority, it’s surprising that there was never any mention of this…this incident.” Evan plucked a piece of lint off his jacket sleeve.

“Mr. Kaslow, I’m certain the whole thing will die down soon. I’ve issued a statement, admitting past mistakes—of a personal nature, I might add—that should set any minds at ease.”

“Still, the negative impact on Kaslow’s will be tremendous.” Evan licked his lips delicately, reminding Claire of a cat who had wallowed in too much cream. “We’ll be the laughingstock of financial circles.”

Bernard frowned. “Evan’s right. With a stain like this on our reputation,” he began, and Claire couldn’t help but remember that Bernard had shown little concern for Kaslow’s reputation when GrayWolf had dangled money—and publicity—in front of him.

A knock on the door interrupted him. At his booming “come in,” his secretary came into the room, a worried look creasing her forehead. Silently, she held out the morning’s newspaper in her hand. On the front page, just under the fold, a headline read: “Kaslow’s Smells a Scandal.”

Bile rose in Claire’s stomach.

Bernard grabbed the paper. His face flushed red as he scanned the article. Throwing it to his desk in disgust, he turned to Claire. “Do you see what I mean? The entire store will be affected by this…this garbage. And the Bendel account—who the hell could have known?” His voice grew raspy with anger. “Except you.” He pointed a finger accusingly at Claire, and for a moment, she was back in her father’s church, accusations of
Slut
and
Whore!
ringing in her ears.

But Bernard was much too refined to use such language. Instead, with Evan looking on almost gleefully, he rose from his chair and sputtered, “This could be compared to corporate espionage! I won’t have it! I simply won’t have an employee who can’t keep her priorities straight.”

The secretary gave Claire a pitying look as she walked out the door. Claire swallowed. Offering her resignation seemed the only recourse. Just as she was about to suggest it, the door opened and Connor Forrest walked in.

A hush fell over the room, as every eye was immediately trained on the man who owned Kaslow’s—lock, stock, and tie rack. He stood over six feet tall, with piercing blue eyes and the coal-black hair of his Irish ancestors.

It was rumored he had smiled once, after winning an amateur tennis championship match against the governor of California. Tennis, Claire knew, was the only activity in which he could be considered an amateur. In every other arena he entered, Connor Forrest played for keeps.

“Hello, Claire, Bernard.” He nodded toward each, then briefly let his cold gaze settle on Evan Kaslow before he turned back to Claire. “I’m sorry I’m late. Last-minute events in Europe delayed my departure from New York.”

She gave him a weak smile, trying not to look as grateful as she felt. He was the one person who had always had complete faith in her. She had forgotten how much she missed his quiet support.

“I trust things have settled down here.” He glanced sharply toward Evan, then at Bernard, who was leaning back in his chair now, mopping his forehead. Satisfied, Connor turned toward Claire and said in a low voice, “I understand the press has been lying low. My contacts have explained that may be due to the influence of Matt Grayson. Apparently he threatened to boycott any media whose coverage got out of hand.” His lips tightened in a line of distaste. He had a well-known aversion to the media himself. “The threat seems to have had some impact, on the tone of the coverage, if not the amount. I doubt the story will linger more than a couple of days.”