Redemption (33 page)

Claire started to smile with relief, but she remembered the headlines in today’s paper. Connor must not have seen it—and then it hit her what he had said. Matt had threatened to boycott the media? She knew how much movie studios depended on the vast publicity the media delivered each time a new film opened. That Matt would even consider giving that up—she took a quick breath. The implications of that she would consider later.

When her own job wasn’t on the line.

Connor tucked his hands in his pockets, a stance Claire had seen often—just before an opponent received a killing blow. “Now, with that disposed of, I’d like to discuss other issues.” Looking dispassionately toward the two men in front of him, he continued, “The proposal to open a branch of Kaslow’s in Atlantic City.”

This time, his gaze stopped squarely on Evan Kaslow. Claire was surprised to see Evan look nonplused. She would have expected the mention of his pet project to be met with interest. Instead, he nervously looked toward the door.

Connor didn’t waver, however. “Recently, it’s come to my attention that the contractors approached in regard to the possible construction of the Atlantic City store have been under investigation by the federal government. In fact, the Feds expect to file charges soon—on racketeering and collusion.”

It took Claire only a second to realize the full implication. Suddenly, she understood why Evan had been so eager to have his way with the Atlantic City project. A healthy kickback from the contractor would have gone a long way to replacing the bonus he had lost when Forrest bought out the company. It would have been easy enough to steer the contract the way of his favored builder. Though the project would have been put out to bid, there was no requirement that the lowest bidder be hired. It would have been at the board’s discretion to hire the contractor—on the recommendation from the VP of Stores.

Her stomach knotted again at the thought of dealing with contractors with close ties to the underworld. Apparently, Bernard had reached the same conclusion she had. “Were you aware of this?” he demanded of his nephew.

“Of course not.” But Evan wasn’t a good enough actor to pull off the innocent look. Dread pulled at his cheeks.

His uncle turned away, his glance resting momentarily on the figure in the portrait on the opposite wall. The look on Earnest Kaslow’s bearded face seemed grim.

But Connor wasn’t finished. “An investigator I hired has further informed me that there were several deposits made to your account recently, of a total which approximately matches that of your gambling debts to Atlantic City casinos.”

Bernard turned and faced Evan. “Is this true?” His voice was low and ominous.

“Of course not! And…I don’t know where this information came from but…but this is a violation of my civil rights!” Scraping a hand through expertly scissored hair, he managed to look offended as he muttered, “You can bet I’ll be talking to my lawyer about this!”

But Connor brushed off his threat. “The information will be public knowledge by this afternoon. If it’s your reputation you’re worried about, I would recommend you resign. Because I intend to cooperate fully with the investigators—as will everyone here at Kaslow’s.”

A sneer appeared on Evan’s country-club features. “That won’t happen—this is a family-run store! Kaslow’s loyalty is to its own.”

“No, Evan, it
was
a family-run store.” Bernard looked at his nephew with censure in his tired brown eyes. “And before we were forced to sell to Forrest—due to the wasteful projects
you
endorsed”—the accusing finger was now pointed at Evan—“the primary stockholder in Kaslow’s was me, you might remember. I bought out your father shortly after he lost his shorts on the stock market.”

Evan glared at his uncle. “He would never have gambled so heavily on stocks if you had loaned him the money he needed!”

“For his crazy schemes!” Bernard thundered. “He wanted to turn the business into a manufacturing operation. Can you imagine? Manufacturing hosiery right there in the rotunda!”

His tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before the secretary could announce her, Jackie Prescott burst into the room, seemingly unaware of the tension that gripped the occupants.

“Mr. Kaslow. Hello, Claire.” Jackie halted at the foot of Mr. Kaslow’s desk. She noticed Connor and, with a flustered smile, added, “Hello, Mr. Forrest.” Then she turned to Bernard, a smug look on her face. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just had to tell you…I figured out who spoke to the press about Claire’s past. It was one of our employees. I caught her snooping around last week, asking my assistant for background info, photos we might have on file. You remember Lee Ann Ellison. She works for”—her gaze swung to Evan Kaslow, standing in the corner—“your nephew. It was his assistant—if you can call her that—who’s the reason Kaslow’s had this round of bad publicity.”

Claire was the first to react as Bernard grabbed his chest. She rushed to his side, suddenly remembering his heart condition. He struggled to speak, then finally, just before his head slumped to the desk, he managed to get the phrase out: “You’re fired.”

No one in the room had to ask who he meant. Before Connor had finished punching 9-1-1 on his cell phone, Evan had slipped out of the room, with a last glance at the newspaper lying forgotten on his uncle’s desk.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I
F
Y
OU’RE
P
REPARED
T
O
A
CCEPT
the presidency of Kaslow’s on a temporary basis, I think I can almost guarantee an eventual permanent appointment.”

Claire hesitated. With Bernard Kaslow in the hospital recovering from a heart attack, she agreed it was necessary to appoint an interim president. Yet she had only been here a few months. Doubtless there were other qualified candidates among the board members, ones who hadn’t recently had their faces splashed across supermarket tabloids.

“I appreciate the offer, but aren’t you worried about the fallout? I mean, not only has my past just been the topic of gossip columns all over the country, but I would also be one of the youngest people to ever head up a department-store division. And though I certainly feel I’ve got the experience, there are people here who would disagree.”

Connor listened patiently to her objections, then did exactly what he intended to do all along.

“I have complete confidence in you,” he told her, and Claire knew that confidence would carry a lot of weight in financial circles. When Connor Forrest spoke, Wall Street listened. The man
The Wall Street Journal
had once claimed could “backstroke in waters too turbulent for Warren Buffett” never second guessed his decisions.

And the truth was, Claire had been hoping all along the presidency would someday be hers. She just never expected to have the reins in her grasp so soon, and so soon after her public exposure. For ten years, she had dreaded being found out as Clarissa Peters; now, with Matt’s support, and Connor’s, she was beginning to believe she could weather the scorn that had been half-heartedly tossed her way. Even the article in the local paper had been much less lurid than the headlines made out. A couple of hours ago, she had been ready to resign; now, it looked very much like she would be getting a promotion.

Connor read her hesitation as acceptance. “I’ll make the announcement today. I don’t see any need to postpone it, and the sooner we get started, the sooner we can go over a few ideas I’ve been mulling over. I think you’ll find them interesting.”

And so it was done. By that afternoon, Claire was effectively the head of Kaslow’s. But she had no time to enjoy the perks of the new position. She and Connor spent the afternoon holed up in the conference room, going over plans for both Kaslow’s and the Forrest Group’s other business dealings.

It was almost like old times, talking shop with Connor. Claire had never found anyone else who shared her enthusiasm over business trends and economic principles. Their minds in tune, each often finished the other’s thoughts, a situation that also repeated itself when they played doubles on the tennis court.

But, despite the fact that she and Connor had much in common, she had never experienced with him that shiver of excitement she felt when Matt merely glanced her way, his green eyes teasing—or warm with desire. Or that rush of warmth to her belly when he grinned at her with that sexy smile, the same one that turned millions of women into Silly Putty. She was determined to put thoughts of Matt on hold, though. She had a company to run now and no time for sexy smiles.

The next few days were filled with meetings, plans, and late nights laying out the future direction of Kaslow’s. Claire had been pleased when the rest of the board had voted to accept her appointment. Her main detractor had turned in his resignation. Claire was already eyeing Bernard’s assistant, Christine Gillis, as a possible replacement for Evan. Christine had worked behind the scenes at Kaslow’s for years, and Claire knew she was more than capable of moving into a board position. There were several other women who, in Claire’s opinion, had been overlooked for mid-management positions.

Coming to work every morning, Claire realized she hadn’t felt so much energy since she had first gone to work for Connor years ago. He used to stop by her office on Saturday mornings to find her at her desk, a three-year-old Tripper playing quietly by himself in the corner.

She had hardly had time to miss Tripper. He still wouldn’t speak to her on the phone. Matt tried to insist, but Claire told him not to push.

She spoke to Matt every day, however. She had tried to thank him for throwing his weight around, protecting her from the media—she knew he didn’t normally stage Hollywood ego trips—but he brushed off her thanks. She realized that he truly didn’t care if his next movie bombed without media support if it meant lessening the heat on her.

And it had worked. The story was already yesterday’s news. Except for the sleaziest of the tabloids, the story had died after a couple of days—and with the star himself lying low, there was little to feed the flames.

Though they stayed away from him while he was in Montana, no doubt he would be assaulted with questions when he went to LA on Friday. He offered to cancel his meetings, but she knew he needed to wrap up post-production on
Lyin’ Hearts
before his next film began shooting.

“Tripper will stay with Mark for the day or so I’m gone,” he’d reassured her. “He and Ben are getting to be pretty good buddies.”

“I’m glad. Tell him David’s called a few times.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“No.” She swallowed her maternal instincts. She didn’t want to risk hearing her son refuse to talk to her again. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a week,” she told him, then hung up the phone.

She knew Matt thought Tripper’s reaction was harsh, but she had learned one thing well growing up: Punishment was never intended to fit the crime.

A few days later, music pounded from the speakers in Matt’s candy-red Porsche as he maneuvered the machine automatically through the smattering of cars on the freeway.

His conversation earlier this morning with Dr. Greenfield, the psychologist he had lined up to speak to as part of his research for
Outrage
, kept replaying in his mind. The character he played came from an abusive home, and Matt had arranged to speak with an expert in the field of child abuse in an effort to understand him better. Matt’s own awareness was limited to the dozens of shock stories that had been all the rage a few years back—stories of repressed memory, startling statistics, and the talk-show revelations of various celebrities.

Matt had listened as Dr. Greenfield described the lasting impact of abuse, the emotional toll taken on its victims years after the abuse itself had stopped. Fear of commitment, lack of trust—all to be expected when the most important figures in a child’s life bring nothing but pain, both emotional and physical.

“Abused children often have trouble making commitments as adults. They pull back in their relationships, preferring to stay on the sidelines. This stems from a basic lack of trust in human attachments. They’re reluctant to express feelings, afraid they’ll be shot down for having any.

“They often put up a good front. The tough guy on the playground, for example, is often an abused child.”

Matt had an image of Claire. She was tough, gutsy, always packing the first punch. She used words, instead of fists, killing looks instead of blows, but constantly she remained on the defensive, never letting her guard down, not for an instant.

But then, she had once, with him. Ten years ago. She had let him in, and as a result, she had been shamed, abandoned, and left to care for a child.

“Is it true they grow up to be abusive parents themselves?” he asked the doctor.

“Certainly, sometimes the pattern does repeat itself. But an abused child is equally capable of becoming a loving, caring, emotionally involved parent. Often, they may be determined for their child to have the love and support they never had. And, of course, a child is emotionally bound, in a way—guaranteed to return the love, so it’s a risk-free environment for testing those loving feelings that have been repressed all along.”