Dear Diary (20 page)

“Nick,” she answered, picking up her briefcase from the chair. “Go straight to hell. Do not pass go, and do not collect two hundred dollars.”

She was still distracted by the time John Marsden was shown into her office. In fact she was growing angrier now than she’d been during the fight with Nick. Just who did he think he was? She’d managed to thrust the memory of their weekend together to the back of her mind and she felt he should be able to do the same.

Was Nick crazy? Did he want to ruin the only lasting friendship she’d ever had?

“Good morning, Ms. Camden,” John Marsden said graciously, fingering the cigar in his vest pocket. “Would it be too much of an inconvenience if you joined me out on the balcony while I enjoy a cigar?”

“Not at all.” Rory quickly packed up her stuff and hurried out her door to catch up to him.

“I suppose we ought to get right down to it, then,” he said, eyeing her as they walked down the hall.

She nodded, and drew a deep breath while Mr. Marsden held the door open for her. Fingers of wind tugged at her hair and she was thankful she was wearing a jacket. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “I think selling most or all of your real estate holdings would be a big mistake right now. Most of your properties aren’t the kind that are selling. You’d be better off holding onto them for a while.”

He lit his cigar and took a few puffs, “What would you suggest?”

Rory examined his face. He wasn’t teasing now. She opened her briefcase and pulled out the file on his real estate holdings. For just a moment the memory of Nick in her bed superimposed itself on her pages. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “If you really want to sell one of them, the waterfront property would go for a nice price. But it’s so valuable it’s bound to go up at a rate that outstrips most other investments.”

He rolled his cigar thoughtfully. “Does Nick agree with you?”

“Actually, I’m not sure what Nick’s feelings are,” Rory answered tightly.

Was a smile hovering on the wily entrepreneur’s lips? Rory surveyed John Marsden suspiciously, but the gray-haired gentleman looked merely interested as he said, “Okay, let’s go over it together.”

“You’ve got yourself a handful there, Nick,” Marsden said on a wheezing laugh. It was the only truly old quality about him, a chronic condition that actually owed more to Seattle’s damp weather than age.

“You mean Rory?” Nick asked mildly, pushing the elevator button for the lobby floor.

“Seems pretty headstrong to me. When I mentioned your name, her back went up so fast it made me chuckle.”

“Exactly how did my name come up?”

“I asked her if you agreed with her ideas.”

“Ahhh.” Nick rubbed his nose to hide his exasperation. He could just imagine how well that went over. “And what did she say?”

“What she said doesn’t matter. What she meant was she thought your opinion was, er, nonessential.” Marsden was thoroughly amused.

“I can imagine,” Nick said dryly.

They walked through the main floor lobby and onto the street. It was drizzling and Marsden made a sound of disgust. “Damn weather,” he muttered. “Might as well move to Arizona.”

“You’d hate it,” Nick said. “It’s too nice and too hot.”

“You’re probably right.”

A black and yellow cab waited at the curb. John Marsden absolutely detested driving. Bending down to open the door, he suddenly patted Nick’s arm in commiseration. “Don’t give up on her,” he advised. “She’ll come around.”

“Who? Rory? We’ve been friends for years.”

“An excuse,” he snorted. “My wife said the same thing. But I convinced her to marry me anyway.”

Nick said, “I’m not looking to get married again.”

“You should be. You want children while you’re young enough to enjoy them, and a beautiful wife to keep you happy, you’d better start planning. Otherwise the years just pile up.”

“I think I’ve got some time yet,” he said. “I’m not certain I’m really cut out for marriage.”

Marsden’s glance was pitying. “Just because you made a mistake when you were young doesn’t mean you’ll do it again. And while on the subject, running off to San Francisco was a damn fool thing to do. What took you so long to come to your senses?”

“I had a business to take care of down there,” Nick replied, surprised to be put on the spot.

“Huh? So where is it now? You sure moved back with no problem.” He climbed into the cab and slammed the door before Nick could answer.

The old coot, Nick thought in exasperation. He’d moved back because the truth of the matter was most of his business did come from the Seattle area. Carving a niche for himself in San Francisco had been a tough battle. He’d fought and won. Sort of. But coming home had always been in the back of his mind, and it had proved easier than he’d ever dreamed possible.

Why had he stayed away for so long? Nick mulled that over as the elevator bore him skyward once more. Because of Jenny. He’d left his life with her behind him. No regrets. No uncomfortable moments. A complete break.

Except, was she really the reason? The breakup had been terrible, draining, depressing and almost soul consuming‌—‌for a while. But then it had been over; the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. He’d been free. So why had he run away?

Never one to delve too deeply into subconscious motivations that could only drive him crazy, Nick pushed to the back of his mind the niggling thought that he was on the verge of some ego-shattering conclusion. What did it matter anyway? He’d left. Now he was back.

Rory dunked her teabag in her cup, flushed with success. John Marsden had turned out to be a pussycat. She’d laid out her strategy clearly and distinctly and he’d gone with it. She’d expected him to haggle over every point, but instead he’d shrugged and said, “I think you’re right. Let’s leave the real estate and concentrate on the stocks. I made a fortune but I might be too vulnerable now. What do you suggest?”

What do you suggest?
Rory could scarcely believe those words had come out of his mouth. And she’d suggested plenty. She didn’t consider herself the most flamboyant or aggressive investment advisor, but her judgment was generally sound. If the client wanted to take a flyer on a speculative stock or piece of real estate, she always asked him how much he was willing to lose. Some investors were flagrant gamblers. Others were misers. John Marsden, the supposed conservative, was a little of both.

“Nick is looking for you,” Pamela said from the open doorway.

Rory grimaced as she tested her tea. She’d burned her tongue several days earlier and didn’t feel like doing a repeat performance. “Tell him I’m taking a break and gloating.”

“Your meeting with Mr. Marsden went well?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, goody. This is the time for you to suggest you need your very own assistant. Someone responsible and personable. With years of experience.” Pamela’s hands were folded in prayer. She gazed beseechingly at Rory. “Someone who doesn’t want to work for randy Don anymore.”

“I wouldn’t have enough work for you by myself,” Rory pointed out.

“Hey, I’m great at looking busy. I can shuffle papers with the best of them. And check out my harried look.” Pamela sighed hugely and glanced around distractedly, biting on her lower lip.

“Nick won’t be fooled.”

“Speaking of Mr. Shard, you know he doesn’t have a personal assistant. He’s using Ellen, and she’s already overloaded with Sam and Carver. If you don’t have enough for me, maybe I could help out the boss man, too?”

“And who will Don use?” Rory asked dryly, sensing she was getting to the crux of Pamela’s sudden interest in moving. Her complaints about Don Tisdale had been relatively minor until today.

“Adriana could do it,” she said eagerly. “She likes Don, and she’s not all that busy. In fact, I kind of mentioned it to her, and she said she’d be more than happy to help him, too.”

Pamela’s dark eyes were wide with innocence. Normally Rory got a kick out of her machinations, but this time she felt impatient. Ellen, whom Rory had chosen to field Nick’s calls and help with correspondence, was a wonderful right-hand woman for any CEO or business owner. She was also forty-five with an equally wonderful husband and three teenage children. Pamela was twenty-four, single, with long legs generally surrounded by very short, yet allowable, skirts. She supposed she was lucky Adriana seemed content to leave Nick alone. Rory still had moments of visualizing her making love to Nick against the kitchen counter. That image‌—‌a pure figment of Rory’s own imagination‌—‌seemed burned into her brain.

Jealous?
she asked herself, annoyed.
Afraid Pamela or someone else might take your place in Nick’s affection if you turn him down?

If
you turn him down?

Rory couldn’t stand her own thoughts. She had no intention of getting involved with Nick. He was just restless and looking for someone new. Soon he’d stop this ridiculous chasing and get back to being her friend.

Pamela was looking at her expectantly. “I’ll mention it to Nick,” she finally said.

“Thanks, Rory. You are the greatest!”

Anytime, she thought dryly as Pamela practically did a cartwheel out the door.

Sipping her tea, she told herself it was just as well. Let Pamela run interference between her and Nick. She walked to the window, glanced at the weather and sniffed. Go to the San Juans with him? For an entire weekend? She’d have to be out of her head.

“There you are,” his voice suddenly said and Rory jumped, nearly spilling her tea. She turned to see him walking into her office. “So how’d the meeting with Marsden go?”

Recovering herself, she said, “You walked him out. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He wasn’t all that specific about the meeting. But from the satisfied look on your face, it appears you’re not as irritated with either him or me anymore. Went well, huh?”

“Did you tell him to agree with me?” Rory demanded suspiciously, her good mood evaporating. “Because if you did, so help me I’ll—”

“Marsden only listens to business advice if he thinks it’s worthwhile. It wouldn’t matter what you, or I, or even Almighty God, said if he didn’t agree.”

“You might have influenced him a little bit.”

“Have some faith in yourself. Your defense mechanisms are working twenty-four seven. I can barely get close enough to you to even look you in the eye. Marsden listened to you because your advice was sound. Period. And I, for one, am as happy as hell that he thinks you’re the person to handle his account. It’s one less problem.”

Rory wasn’t certain how to answer. Just what did he mean by all that? “You’re right,” she said stiffly. “I’m being too sensitive and ridiculous.”

“And it just kills you to admit it, doesn’t it?” He grinned.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

He draped an arm familiarly over her shoulders, and Rory had to force herself not to turn into a stone statue. She could smell his aftershave and feel the curve of his hip. “The San Juans are out?”

She nodded.

“No chance you’ll change your mind?”

She shook her head.

“I can be good,” he said, and the threat of laughter in his voice didn’t escape her.

“I believe it,” Rory said dryly, moving out of his hold. “But actually, I already have plans. Michelle and I are taking her twins out Saturday afternoon.” A small lie, but one she intended to make good on. “I can’t back out now.”