Double-Cross My Heart (12 page)

“You’re such a wonderful person, and you do such good, reliable work. I tell everyone you’re my right-hand. But I need you to be more flexible, more friendly and out-going.”

With her short, silver-gray hair and slender, petite figure, Michele Broussard always looked ageless. Regardless of that, Eden thought, seeing the older woman through the haze of her anger, Michele was sixty-seven years old and neglectful of the company she’d founded. After her years of being alone, Michele was grabbing at her chance for happiness and throwing in Michele Cosmetics to sweeten the deal. How long would it be before she and Carl married?

Sitting in the chair in front of Michele’s hideously expensive desk, Eden wrestled with her own sense of honor. She didn’t want to do this. Part of her brain was screaming at her to stand up, spill the beans about the new anti-aging product, tender her resignation and walk out of here. She could find work somewhere.

But she wanted to be here. Deserved to be here.

And after all this time, what good had honor and hard work done her? Anger and disappointment tangled now with a profound sense of hurt and an over-powering urge to punish the woman standing in front of her.

“I know I need to relax and enjoy life more, but I
am
Michele Cosmetics,” Michele was saying as she sank into the delicate French Provincial chair behind her desk. “It seems strange to think of someone else running my little company. Still facts are facts, as Carl likes to tell me. None of us go on forever and I want to have fun for a change! I’m sure Wendi will be more than capable!”

Silently, Eden looked at her across the desk, unable to trust herself to speak. The woman had been on two three-month vacations in the past year while Eden essentially ran the company.

“When you’ve had time to adjust to the idea, I know you’ll help Wendi find her feet!” her boss said with cheerful determination.

“Eden,” the older woman said with a smile, “you aren’t feeling insecure, are you? I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy working here. Wendi doesn’t expect you to know everything off the top of your head. She’ll give you time to adjust to her requirements, but you have to work with her. You have a good handle on things around here. And don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get on wonderfully with Wendi, once you let yourself get to know her. From the time you started out as a secretary here, I knew you were a bright girl. You’ve grown into a terrific employee.”

Eden’s head felt like it would explode. She had a damned Masters in Business Administration, a degree earned through several years of draining evening classes and papers written in the early morning hours. She had the credentials and the experience to handle the company. And now she was being chastised and patronized for not helping the woman who was stealing her job away?

Michele swept on, “I’ve always seen the company as a family of sorts. After my own Jules died in the plane crash, my beloved employees were all the family I had!”

She gestured to the slightly faded picture of her teenaged son. “Had he not died so young, he would have made a wonderful father to our Michele Cosmetics family.”

After the second World War, Michele had come to the states as a war bride, only to be abandoned by her raffish husband. Struggling to support herself and her son, she’d mostly worked clerical jobs until founding the cosmetics company out of her garage when Jules had been a young man.

All this, and Michele’s well-known determination to give women a chance to support themselves, had long-earned Eden’s admiration. Michele Broussard was a beautiful, tough, old woman who’d fallen in love with a user and yielded her brain to him. Actually hired, at Carl’s urging, a lightweight parasite to succeed her as head of the company.

“Retirement,” the older woman shrugged in an intrinsically Gallic fashion. “Such an ugly word! But it must be, someday. Of course, that is why I’ve been concerned that we assist Wendi to understand the industry. We are in a tremendously competitive business.”

Michele paused, veering off her previous conversational topic. “Did you see the new line
Beauty by Georgette
is introducing? My dear, those shades! So terribly two years ago! What is George Thompson thinking?”

Michele’s laughter held a satisfaction that ratcheted up the buzzing in Eden’s ears.

The older woman rose from her desk, crossing the spacious office to the chair into which she’d flung her expensive briefcase. Rummaging in her case, she said. “Wendi is very bright. You’ll see. You’ll come to respect her as much as I do.”

“Here they are. The reports on the anti-aging cream.” Michele frowned as she looked at the pages before tossing them on her desk. “Its not looking good, is it? I told you I thought we were making a mistake with this Swiss person. What’s his name?”

“Robert Bergere,” Eden said with an irrational sense of guilt. She was deceiving Michele about Bergere’s work, but she knew she was doing the only thing she could in the situation. “He still seems optimistic.”

“Of course,” Michele responded with a swift smile. “He wants us to continue funding his product development program. Please make sure Wendi sees his reports. And make sure she understands them! I’m relying on you, Eden.”

***

Returning to her office, Eden shut the door and went to sink into the chair behind her desk. Absently, she opened the top right hand drawer and took out a Payday.

After unwrapping the candy bar, she bit into it and wondered where Alex was at that moment.

At his office, slaving over the plans that would enable him to rip off and destroy an entire company? Plotting the next step of the Michele Cosmetics take-over?

Or was he the kind of wheeler dealer who liked to keep multiple balls up in the air? Was he even now romancing some other gullible female executive to get her to help him gut another company?

The sudden thought made her sick. Frustrated with herself for caring who else he might be kissing, Eden got up and went to her small refrigerator. The chocolate milk she poured out for herself rolled smoothly over her tongue.

Angrily crunching her way through another bite of peanut-covered nougat, Eden sat down at her desk. She was eating too many Paydays this last month. Working her ass off had gotten her almost to the top, gotten her close enough to her goals that losing out at this point would kill her.

But, shit, she didn’t want to introduce Dave Sanders to Alex Holt.

Eden picked up her cell phone and punched in Dave’s office number.

She’d called earlier in the day and arranged to speak to him this evening. He was probably at his office boinking his latest secretary while his wife got ready to go to a charity event. Thank God, Dave’s personal soap opera was no longer her concern. She’d dumped him as soon as she’d realized he was married. Their relationship had played out to its sad little end more than three years ago.

More importantly to her today was the fact that Dave Sanders was a large stock holder of Michele Cosmetics and he just happened to sit on its board of directors. That was the thing that mattered right now. She’d relegated their personal history to the life-lessons file long ago.

The phone in her hand connected to Dave’s number.

“Hello, sweetness,” He said.

Eden wondered if he were making use of his caller I.D. or if this number was his bimbo-line where any caller would answer to “sweetness.”

“Hi, Dave,” she said, her tone dry.

“What can I do for you, sweetness?”

“Well, you can start by not calling me that,” she said tartly. “I’ve told you a hundred times how much I hate it.”

“I guess I’m just a bad boy,” Dave riposted. “You could punish me by coming over and spanking me really hard.”

“I’m assuming your sexual needs have been satisfied for the evening,” she stated, her voice dry. She’d met him a few times after work in the six weeks they dated. She knew all about the couch in his office.

“I’m not sure my sexual needs are ever truly satisfied,” he said honestly.

“Yeah,” she shot back, “and you probably need therapy for that, but, thank God, I’m not the woman to worry about it anymore. Listen, I’ve got a situation that I want you to help me with.”

“Anything, sweetness,” he said.

She might have been startled by the promptitude of his rash promise if she hadn’t had plenty of experience with the complete unreliability of his word. Only when his hide or his checkbook were directly concerned was Dave reliable.

Fortunately, their brief affair, conflicting as it did with both his marital promise and his duty as a member of board of the directors, gave her a handle on the two things Dave valued beyond his penis.

“I need your help with some dirty work,” she said flatly.

“Hey, I’m your man!” His laughing reply was typically swift.

“Don’t get all excited,” she recommended in a dry tone. “This particular situation involves corporate dirty work.”

“Sweetness,” he said genially, “I’m still your man.”

Fifteen minutes later, it was all arranged. A secret, private meeting in a damned hotel room in the suburbs. Just her, the married guy with whom she’d had a short-lived fling three years ago and the guy who thought he was deceiving and betraying her now.

What a happy threesome. These two men—one who routinely lied to women about being married and the other who was lying to Eden about pretty much everything else—deserved each other. She just wished she didn’t have to be in the room.

God, sometimes she hated being her.

***

Over breakfast in a coffee shop the next morning, Eden tried to take Sol Klineman’s temperature. There was no rest for the weary. All this manipulating left her exhausted. She much preferred the straight-forward path but her goal couldn’t be achieved that way. And giving up on the goal just couldn’t be done, no matter what she sacrifices she had to make.

“Sol, you’ve been Michele’s friend for more than twenty years,” Eden said, lifting a forkful of omelet made with egg whites. “You know what an innovator she has been, how hard she worked to get the company up and running.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes shrewd under puckered lids. “I have nothing but respect for Michele’s accomplishments. But I’m not really concerned about the past. Tell me why you asked me to breakfast today.”

Smiling at his bluntness, Eden cautioned herself against too much honesty. Sol was a forthright person, from her observation of his these past twelve years, but he wasn’t without calculation.

“I’m feeling the need to discuss the current situation at the company,” she offered, trying to maneuver into the topic by degrees.

“Okay.” He took a bite of sausage. “But first, tell me the truth, these reports the board members have been receiving the last six months—you’ve been writing them for Michele?”

Not sure where he’d gotten his information, Eden replied evenly, “Yes.”

“I thought so.”

Eden took a sip of her orange juice. This so-casually arranged breakfast with Michele Cosmetic’s most influential board member was going better than she could have hoped. Sol hadn’t baulked at meeting with her away from the office. She didn’t even have to work all that hard at quieting her conscience. What had to be done, had to be done.

Sol’s short, quick nod acknowledged her response and eased the tension in her chest. He already knew Michele wasn’t carrying her weight.

He said slowly, “This Wendi Williams, Michele’s replacement, she’s supposed to be able to take over in a year or so. I guess that time period will give Michele opportunity to accustom herself to the necessity of retirement. As people get older, it’s natural they want to take it easier, not have anyone to report to. Getting older myself has helped me to see this.”

“It may be natural for some people,” Eden commented, “but you’re certainly not in the ranks of the retired and I can’t see you worrying about reporting to anyone.”

He chuckled at her impertinence. “Oh, I have my bosses. Mrs. Klineman for one.”

“That I can believe,” Eden agreed, smiling. Sol’s wife zeroed in on her at every company social function. “Estelle frightens the wits out of me.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “She’s the kindest woman on earth. She just hates people being single when she thinks they need to be married.”

“You can tell her I’m not opposed to marriage,” Eden said, smiling. “It’s just that old problem of finding the right man.”

“He’ll come along,” Sol predicted.

“About Michele’s handing over the reins at the company,” Eden said, choosing her words carefully, “with her not attending to the decisions that have to be made, might the company not be in a lot of trouble in a year?”

“I suppose that could be the case.” Sol’s gaze was sharp. “Give me your honest opinion of Wendi Williams.”

Eden took another bite of her hash brown potatoes, chewing calmly despite the tension humming under her skin. Sol might be gentle to puppies and small children, but she wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss his tremendous business skills. He’d spent years honing his ability to troll the murky depths of the business world. A question like the one he’d just tossed at her shouldn’t be taken at face-value.

He’d love nothing more than for her to pour out the problems troubling her girlish-heart.