His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (17 page)

“Yes, when he was in our offices three weeks ago.”

“Of course. No. There’s no picture of him up there. I tried dozens of times to get him pinned down, but he always missed his appointments. I’ve had photographers come here, too, but he always gets out of it somehow.”

I said, “I wouldn’t have thought he was camera shy.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think that’s it. He’s never been one for the limelight, that’s all. I remember when he was a child and used to visit his father’s office. He never made any fuss, was always so polite and friendly, even when everyone was tripping over themselves to do for him and he could have gotten away with murder, being the owner’s son.”

I nodded to encourage her to tell me more.

“I kept peppermints in my desk,” she said, “and I never forgot to give him one when he visited, he seemed to enjoy them so much. I found out years later, when he was grown, that he didn’t like peppermints at all. The elder Mr. Reeves sent me shopping for some small gift for his son, and on a whim, I picked up a box of fancy peppermints. When I showed them to the elder Mr. Reeves, he said, ‘You’ll have to take those back, Mary. Swap them for spearmint, or something like that. Gibson hates peppermint. He won’t even eat a candy cane.’ You could have knocked me over with a feather.”

Her eyes had a distant and soft look about them. “Figure that. All those years, the young Mr. Gibson eating those peppermints in front of me, even though he didn’t like them. Well, that’s just how he’s always been. Probably didn’t want to disappoint me.”

That description of a young Gibson was nothing like how I had imagined him.

I said, “Do you like working for him?”

“Oh yes. I could retire if I wanted, but I’d miss him and this place, and being useful. Come on. I’ll show you his office if you want.”

“I’d like that,” I said, adding inside, you have no idea how much I’d like that.

She took a different path back to Gibson’s office, noting the offices of various executives along the way. I didn’t pay much attention, still thinking about the peppermint story.

Kurt hardly glanced up as we sailed past his desk. Mary flung open the double doors and led me into Gibson’s office.

The first thing that hit me was his scent. It was here, in this room, a lingering hint of his spicy cologne. Every part of me went on alert as soon as I smelled it. I almost expected to see him sitting behind his desk.

And it was a huge desk, made of rich, highly polished, dark wood. A big, high-backed, brown leather chair sat empty behind the desk. I could picture him sitting there, looking at the wide-screen monitor on the left side of his desk, making notes on the pad of paper I saw laying there.

It wasn’t a particularly large office. In fact, Frank Linton’s office was bigger than this one, but then Frank Linton’s office was as oversized as his ego.

Gibson’s office was richly decorated, elegant and manly, in dark woods and leather. The far wall was nothing but glass looking out over the city, just like in the conference room. There was a sofa and some comfortable-looking chairs arranged in one corner, along with a wet bar, and a door that Mary said led to his private restroom.

Kurt suddenly called out from the other room, “Mary, phone. Your daughter.”

Mary said, “Oh, I’d better get that. You can keep looking if you want. Just don’t go poking around in his drawers, young lady.”

She said the last with a wink before she rushed out of the room.

I fought back a nervous laugh at the idea of poking around in Gibson’s drawers. Been there. Done that.

I noticed a coat rack near the door. One of Gibson’s suit coats was hanging on it. I slipped over to it, and couldn’t resist holding a sleeve up to my nose. It still smelled like him. I dropped it as quickly as I had picked it up, fearful that Mary might surprise me with a speedy return.

While I had the chance, I had to sit in Gibson’s chair.

It was too big for me, the seat being too high off the floor, and the supports in the back hitting me in all the wrong places. This was a chair for a big man. Gibson’s chair.

I twirled around in it a few times, then sat there facing the dozen monitors set into the wall behind the chair. I supposed when he was here, all the monitors would be on, feeding the boss the information he needed to make his many important decisions.

I leaned back and crossed my hands over my stomach. What must it be like to be Gibson Reeves? So many people, so many lives depending on you, counting on you to do the smart thing, the best thing, the right thing. Your mistakes could impact how many people? Thousands, at least. I didn’t know how many, for sure. Too many for me.

How did someone stand that kind of pressure? I thought that if I were faced with such choices, I would be too afraid of screwing up to be able to do anything at all.

It took a special kind of person to run an operation like this successfully.

I sighed. Then heard a noise behind me. I thought Mary must have returned, so I swiveled the chair back around to the front.

It wasn’t Mary standing there, looking at me as if I had ten heads.

It was Gibson. In the flesh.

I said, “Oh.”

He said, “Oh.”

And we stared at each other stupidly.

Gibson had just exited the bathroom, I saw, had been in the process of rolling down his shirt sleeves when he saw me. His tie was loose and hung from an open collar.

So that explained why his jacket was on the coat tree, and why the office smelled like him.

And then I realized I was sitting in his chair. My face must have turned all sorts of red with the realization.

I jumped to my feet. “I’m so sorry. I ...”

He said, “I ...”

But neither one of us got a chance to finish because Mary rushed into the office. “Mr. Reeves! Kurt just told me you were here. I had no idea. I must have missed you while I was giving Miss Crawford a tour. Of course I wouldn’t have dreamed of showing her your office if I knew you were ...”

Gibson broke in and said gently, “It’s okay, Mary. It’s fine. I know Ms. Crawford. And I’m sorry I surprised you. I should have called ahead.”

Mary said, “It’s your office and I guess you don’t have to call ahead to see if it’s okay for you to come here. We’ll just leave you in peace, won’t we, Miss Crawford?”

I said, “Of course.”

I practically tripped I was in such a hurry to get out of there. I didn’t make it out, though.

Gibson said, “Go ahead, Mary. I’d like to speak to Ms. Crawford for a few minutes, please.”

Mary smiled and nodded at us both, then fled, shutting the doors behind herself.

I stood next to the desk.

Gibson stood in front of the bathroom door.

I mumbled, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you were going to be here today.”

He said, stepping forward, “No, not a problem. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I returned early.”

“Still, I probably shouldn’t have been sitting at your desk.” I gave a sheepish smile.

He said, all serious consideration, “You can sit anywhere you’d like.”

“Well, uh, okay. It’s um ...”

“How have you been?” he asked with a tentative smile.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

I took a few steps toward the door. “I’m here with two other people from Linton. We were asked to come today. So, I came and ... I should probably be getting back.”

“Of course,” he said. “I suppose so.”

“Yes, so. It was good to see you.”

“And you.”

I gave an awkward nod and got the hell out of there before I said anything even more clumsy and idiotic than what I had already said.

I muttered a quick thanks to Mary for the tour and raced for the elevator. By the time I reached the sixteenth floor, I was so embarrassed and overheated that I had to spend a few minutes in the bathroom getting my act together before I could return to the conference room.

God, that was so dumb. My stomach was in knots, both from the thrill of seeing Gibson again and the horrifying realization that I had been caught sitting in his chair like a goofy kid. It was excruciating.

I shuddered to consider what he might be thinking right now.

I eventually returned to the conference room, where I was as mute and unnecessary as I was before I snuck off to do my spy work. We all went to the building’s cafeteria for lunch, and I spent most of my time there not eating the rather good food and wondering where Gibson ate his lunch.

The afternoon dragged and it was around two p.m. when I realized I wasn’t doing what I had been sent there to do. I talked myself into being brave, reminded myself that Gibson wasn’t likely to be wandering the halls of the building, and I slipped away again.

I worked my way down the floors of the building, mostly hanging out in the break rooms, when I could find them, hoping to strike up conversations with anyone who happened to need a snack or a cup of coffee.

By the time I made it to the first floor and the reception desk, I had learned a few things, mostly that everyone was busy, had little time to socialize and were loyal to Roundtree and Gibson.

The receptionist at the front desk proved to be a good source of information, as receptionists generally are. She was a young woman, chatty and friendly, and after telling me what a great place it was to work, recommended that I visit the park behind the building and check out the big fountain there.

I followed her advice and easily found the doors that opened onto the park. I stepped out into the hot August air.

It was a large, lovely space, filled with shade trees and flower beds, wide stone-paved avenues that met in the middle of the park, a spot punctuated by a carved stone fountain that was probably twenty feet tall.

I took it all in. The park was ringed by four buildings, Roundtree on one side and three other similar-looking buildings on the other three sides. It was like a set, each piece complimenting another, all sharing access to the park.

A security guard was on post nearby and he smiled at me. He said, “Are you a visitor, Miss?”

“How’d you know?”

“The way you were looking around. Is this your first time here?”

“Yes. The park is spectacular. It’s huge.”

He said, “People enjoy it when the weather’s good. I hear there’s heavy competition for the offices that overlook it.”

“I bet. What companies are in the other buildings?”

“They’re all Roundtree buildings, Miss. Different divisions.”

“All four buildings are part of Roundtree?”

“Yes. This is the main administrative building. To your left is the headquarters for the pharmaceutical and chemical divisions. Across the way is the home of all things tech, computers, software, data security, that sort of thing. And to your right is financial services, some manufacturing and retail, mostly whatever doesn’t fit with the other two divisions.”

I could only shake my head. Astonishing. Four twenty-story buildings in one complex. And they weren’t tall, thin buildings. They were long and oval-shaped, stretching forever it seemed.

I thanked the guard in a daze and wandered off down the avenue toward the fountain. Thanks to the sprays of water, it was cooler there. I stopped and slowly turned in a circle, taking in all that was Roundtree Holdings, or at least all that I knew of in this city, anyway.

Remarkable. How had one man built all of this? I stood there for the longest time, watching the play of the water droplets in the sunlight, feeling more than a little overwhelmed that a man who was capable of creating all of this, had wanted me. It seemed impossible.

I looked down into the water, at the coins covering the bottom of the pool. Funny how people did that, I thought, always tossing coins into any fountain they passed, thinking it would grant them a wish. Silly superstition.

A deep voice behind me said, “Are you going to make a wish?”

I knew that voice. It was Gibson. I turned, smiled, and said, “Not really my thing. And anyway, I didn’t bring my purse.”

He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a coin. He held it out to me and said, “Here. This one’s on me.”

I took the coin from him, the awareness of how close I was to touching him nearly causing my hand to tremble. I turned back to the fountain. Made my wish and tossed the coin. Plunk, a tiny sound lost in the downpour surrounding it.

The wind shifted and sent some of the spray in our direction, so Gibson and I stepped away from the fountain to avoid being drenched. He pointed me to a nearby bench, and we sat beside one another, not touching.

We didn’t speak for a while, until Gibson asked, “What did you wish for?”

I quickly thought up a lie. “That you’d buy Linton Cosmetics.” A half lie, really. That was not my wish at the fountain, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. I did hope that he would buy our company.

I didn’t dare look at him while telling my white lie, so I couldn’t see his expression when he said, “I see.”

I said, “How could anyone not want to be part of this? It’s incredible what you’ve done here. Spectacular.”