Dear Diary (34 page)

But it wasn’t always that wa
y, he reminded himself.
There was one senior partner in that L.A. firm whom you wanted to impress pretty badly. Remember him? Your father-in-law?

The air-conditioning was more effective in the office then in the front room, and Con stood in front of the vent, letting the chilled air rush across his face. He knew he wasn’t going to take Forsythe up on his offer. Someone else could be the man’s bleeding-heart lackey. It was a little late for a man like Forsythe to acquire a conscience.

Not that Con had anything against Forsythe’s business acumen. He was sharp as a tack. Cleverer than most. Certainly powerful enough. He was just a little too used to getting what he wanted.

Con didn’t know how long he’d been standing there before he heard footsteps in the hallway – a woman’s footsteps. He turned, and his gaze fell on the door just as a woman in a silver dress walked in.

“Oh,” she said, stopping dead upon seeing him. It was the woman from the ledge.

Her hair was blond and came down in soft waves. Beneath the fringe of gold-tipped lashes, a pair of green eyes regarded him uncertainly.

“I was just leaving,” Con said.

“No, don’t. I was just looking for… somewhere cooler.”

He had the impression she’d been about to say something else. His gaze traveled downward; he couldn’t help himself. The rest of her was sleek and curved. A pair of beautiful legs peeked from beneath an uneven silk hem. Light glimmered on smooth skin, and Con had to admit she was the most elegant woman he’d seen in a long, long time. He realized she didn’t know he was the man who’d called out to her.

“There must be three hundred people in the other rooms,” Con said. “It’s really hot.”

“Sweltering.” She glanced around, as if she didn’t quite know what to do now that he was here.

“Are you a client or an employee?” he asked.

“Of the firm?”

“Of the firm.” Con smiled back, but her gaze shifted away, and he sensed she was thinking about something else.

“None of the above.”

“Really. And here I thought you had to be one or the other to get an invitation.”

She gave him a swift, upward glance. “Which are you?”

“Potential employee, I guess.”

It was as if he’d said exactly the wrong thing because she stiffened. “Well, I guess I’m cool enough,” she said with a faint smile, backing out the door.

“Wait a minute. Where you going?”

Con followed her. He just caught the gleam of her silver dress as she turned the corner at the end of the hall. Like a schoolboy struck with puppy love, he kept after her, seeing her disappear into the crowd. Between the main room and the foyer. He hoped she wasn’t leaving.

The champagne tray came by again, but he shook his head, searching the room. He’d always been a sucker for mystery. And beauty, he thought wryly. The woman from the ledge had both.

He caught glimpses of her through the crowd, but like quicksilver, she never stayed long in one place.

“You’ll have to stand in line,” said a voice at his ear, startling him.

Glancing around, Con recognized the man who’d come to pull Joshua Forsythe back to the party. “For what?”

“For Candace,” he answered with a knowing smile. Thrusting out his hand, he added, “Ben Morrison.”

His handshake was smooth and curt, a message in itself. Con gave him a careful once-over. Morrison was the epitome of smooth, from his baby-soft face to his knife-creased suit to his polished black shoes. And he was hungry. Hungry for power. Hungry for success. Con knew those feelings only too well. Some part of himself that still regretted the past took an instant dislike to the other attorney.

Inclining his head in Candace’s direction, Morrison said, “Her dance card is filled, pal.”

“With your name?”

“Something like that.”

The one thing Con could never resist was a challenge. “I imagine the lady probably has a mind of her own. Let’s let her make it up.”

He strode into the crowd.

Candace was standing by a glossy, black baby grand, in the process of placing one empty champagne glass on a forgotten tray and lifting another. She still had that distracted air about her, as if her body had come to the party but her mind had strayed somewhere else.

Con leaned against one of the pillars near the front door, watching her. From this vantage point he could see her without being detected.

“More champagne, sir?” A black-coated waiter inquired.

“I don’t suppose you have Scotch? Or beer?” Con added hopefully.

“We have imported beer, sir.”

“That’ll do.”

He felt his gaze on the woman again.
Candace.

He became vaguely aware that the group of women huddled nearby was interested in her, as well. They were watching her sympathetically, and Con leaned closer to them, hoping to find out more about her.

“… It’s so unfair. I don’t know how she can even stand to be here. She’s been floating around like that all summer.”

“I can’t believe Jeff was really seeing Renée Southfield. Renée must be more interested in advancement than any of us guessed.”

“Advancement… and other things.” This last voice was scornful.

“It’s too bad about Candace, though. There is a lady with class…”

A lady with class
, Con thought idly. Yes, that was what she was.

The women’s conversation petered out, and they moved away, one of them giving him a dark look for eavesdropping. Con winked at her, then laughed as a wave of color rode up her neck.

The imported beer was brought with a frosted glass, but Con just lifted the bottle. His eye on Candace, he wove his way across the room toward her.

She gave him a slight smile of recognition as he approached.

“I hate to see a beautiful woman drink alone,” he said, leaning against the piano.

“I don’t mind being alone.” She took a sip of champagne. “Sometimes I even enjoy it.”

“Is that a polite way of saying ‘get lost’?” She didn’t answer, but Con was undaunted. Her lack of response only fueled his desire to know more about her. “You’re really a mystery, you know that? Not an employee or a client…” he added musingly. “That must make you some kind of friend of the family.”

“Some kind of friend,” she allowed.

Her eyes were shadowed, as if her thoughts weren’t particularly pleasant ones. Con was searching his mind for something else to say when she suddenly looked directly at him.

“Want some free advice?” she asked.

“Sure.” He half smiled.

“You won’t get far with Forsythe and Company dressed like that.”

Con glanced down at himself in surprise. “Dressed like what?”

“Like you are.”

“What makes you such an expert?”

“You don’t have to be an expert to know the Forsythe image,” she said. Then, apparently hearing how cynical she sounded, she lowered her eyes and murmured, “Excuse me. I’m still too hot.” In a swirl of silk and shivering silver, she headed out the French doors to the balcony.

Connor had experienced the brush-off a few times in his long career with the opposite sex, but never with such icy polish. She was a lady who knew her own mind, he decided, wondering why he felt compelled to change it. Grimacing, he followed her outside. She was right about one thing, it was too damn hot.

On the balcony he was greeted by her stony stare. He held up his hands. “Look, I give up. You want to be left alone – fine. But I needed some air, so you’ll have to share the balcony for a few minutes.”

Her eyes glanced down, then at the wrought-iron railing, then across the lake – anywhere but at him. Finally she emitted a soft sigh. “I’m not usually so rude. It’s just been a – a terrible day.”

He remembered the papers she’d tossed into the lake. “Bad news?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that I saw you outside, on the cliff ledge.”

Her intake of breath was audible.

“You threw something in the water. It’s no big deal. I just couldn’t help noticing.”

It hadn’t been his intention to back her into a corner, he’d only wanted to find out more about her. But she suddenly looked stricken.

“It’s not something I want to talk about.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business, anyway. Look… Candace… I’ve gone about this all wrong. Let me start over. The name’s Connor Holt, and I just wanted to…I don’t know…” In lieu of an explanation he gave a self-deprecating shrug.

She was waiting for him to finish, so Con struggled on, “It’s not every day I see a beautiful woman standing on a ledge looking like she’s going to throw herself off. It got to me. Then I saw you in Forsythe’s den, and, hell–” he raked his hand through his hair in frustration “– I just wanted to talk to you.”

The sound of the piano warming up came floating through the open door. A chorus of voices burst into the first verse of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

“It’s all so ridiculous,” she suddenly burst out, and to Con’s amazement her eyes were glistening with tears.

She swayed and he reached for her, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. She slumped against the railing. Con’s hand inadvertently grazed her hip as he tried to pull her into his arms. A moment later he was uncomfortably aware of the pressure of her breasts against his chest.

“Get me out of here,” she said, somewhat desperately, “before I make a complete fool of myself.”

“Where’s your car?”

“Across the bridge.”

He could see the golden strands at her crown in the slanting light from the windows. He didn’t know what her problems were, but he knew he wanted to help. Gently he helped her toward the back steps that led to the grounds, but the evening’s silence was shattered by a voice behind their heads.

“Candace! Where are you rushing off to?”

She tensed, and Con turned to see the newcomer. He groaned inwardly when he recognized Ben Morrison.

“Hello, Ben,” she said warily.

There were undercurrents here Con didn’t understand.

Morrison came over, the same false smile plastered across his face. “I see you’ve met Mr. Holt,” he said.

Con was a little surprised the man knew his name.

Candace’s face flushed, and she pulled herself away from Connor. “Er – yes.”

“Did he tell you about Joshua’s job offer? He’s our new left-winger. Out to save the little people.” Envy was written all over the young attorney’s face.

“Watch yourself, Morrison,” Con warned, unable to stop himself.

He feigned surprise. “I didn’t know I was stepping on toes.”

Con’s smile was a thin line. “I hope you have more tact in the courtroom, for Forsythe and Company’s sake.”

As Morrison’s lips tightened, Candace turned swiftly to Con. “You took the job?” she asked, her green eyes wide and vulnerable.

For some reason, his answer seemed extremely important to her. Because Morrison was listening avidly, he said ambiguously, “Not yet.”

“But you will.”

“Is that a crime? I haven’t actually–”

Con didn’t have a chance to explain before Morrison shifted position, sidling closer to Candace. “We haven’t had a chance to dance. Don’t leave yet. You owe me one.”

Con didn’t like the man’s moves one bit. He was gratified, therefore, when Candace leaned closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

Morrison’s hand was on her forearm. “One dance. That’s all.”

She was no longer leaning – she was pressed against Con. Cutting through the thick atmosphere, Con squeezed her shoulder and said briskly, “You ready?”

When she nodded, Con practically muscled Morrison out of the way as he guided her down the stairs. They were halfway across the bridge before she let out a shaky breath. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Any time.”

“Ben’s kind of–” she sought the right word.

“A prick?” Con felt a little twinge of conscience. There was something about Ben that cut close to the bone – he seemed a reflection of Con’s worst faults minus his good points.

She almost laughed. “Good breeding prevents me from any comment.”

Con warmed to her. He found himself dying to get inside her head and find out all about her.

“How did you know my name?” she asked. “You said it before Ben showed up.”

“He told me your name was Candace.”

Her brows pulled together. “That’s all he told you about me?”

Con grinned. “This is getting better and better. I mean, how much more is there to know?”

“Why do you want to work for Forsythe and Company? You seem–”

“What?”

She lifted one shoulder. “To have a mind of your own.”

“Does working for Forsythe and Company mean you can’t have a mind of your own?”

“Have you met Joshua Forsythe?”

“Briefly.”

“He likes total control.”

The breeze came up to tease her hair, blowing it across her lips. “That’s pretty cynical,” he observed.

“It’s the truth.”

“How do you know Forsythe so well?”

Her eyes searched his. “Do you really not know?”

“You’re not an employee or a client. You’re a friend.”

“I may have misled you there a little. I have worked for Forsythe and Company.”

“You’re an ex-employee?”

“Who’s sort of helping out this summer,” she admitted. “I’m an administrative assistant, I guess.”

“Then the mystery’s solved.” Con’s tone was light. “And I don’t care who you are, anyway. All I know is that I’d like to see you again.”

She looked out across the water. He waited for her to reply, but as silence lengthened between them, he realized she wasn’t going to.

“I get the feeling I’ve missed something important,” he prodded gently.

“Oh, I don’t know how important it is.” She leaned her forearms on the bridge railing and sighed. “My name is Candace Forsythe McCall. Joshua Forsythe is my father.”