Stranded in Paradise (2 page)

“Thanks,” Tess said as Nancy turned her back.

She opened the door. Len had made few changes to Dave's office. When she entered the world of mahogany and Prussian blue she found Len leaning back in Dave's chair, phone to his ear, staring out the big window behind the large desk that had been his father's for over twenty years. Len had that familiar pose, forefinger tapping the back of the phone as he spoke as if prompting whoever was on the other end to hurry it up. His sandy hair fell against his forehead in that boyish way he had. Tess felt her back stiffen as the old feelings tried to wedge their way back in. Yes, Len had his charms, she told herself, but there was a selfish side to the man.

“See you the first of the week,” Len said into the receiver, then hung up the phone and swung around. “Ah, Tess.”

She smiled, reminding herself of what this meeting was no doubt about. “Ah, Len.” She'd waited a long time for this moment, put in many a long day and given up countless weekends to make deadlines.

She sobered when he didn't return her smile, and uneasiness grew in the pit of her stomach. His life had changed tremendously when Dave died, she reasoned, he was just having a hard day.

She could be of invaluable help now that Dave was gone, of course, and she would. She knew the ins and outs of the company better than anyone, Len included. “Have a seat,” Len invited.

She sank into one of the familiar leather chairs where she'd spent many an evening after five sitting, talking business, and laughing over Dave's corny jokes. She wondered briefly if she and Len would have the same kind of relaxed, creative relationship after working hours. Maybe the man could change. She looked up into his eyes.

“You know the dot com business is a little bizarre right now, with so many companies folding,” Len said quickly as he raked a hand through his blond hair.

“Yes . . .” Tess replied uncertainly, wondering where he was headed. Was Len thinking of merging with another company?
Connor.com
was financially stable but right now wasn't the best time—

“The good news is a lot of qualified people are suddenly available.”

She shrugged. “True.”

“I was talking to a friend I went to college with. We were fraternity brothers, in fact.”

“Oh?” She crossed her legs and focused on him, wishing he'd get to the point. “What's his background?”

“Chuck Vinton has been V.P. of human resources at a West Coast firm, but they were bought out . . .”

A prickle of apprehension snaked down her spine.

“—and he's free, so I've hired him as our new vice president.”

For a split second, she felt nothing, as if she were in a tunnel without sound or reason. Vice president, he had said—vice president of human resources.

“I don't understand,” she said through her fog.

Len met her eyes. He enunciated the words this time, speaking slowly as if she were unable to comprehend. “Chuck's going to take over. He's exactly what
Connor.com
needs.”

Tess shifted forward in her chair. “You hired a
fraternity
brother for my job?”

“I knew you would have a hard time with this, Tess. Chuck isn't exactly taking your position. Your situation here with
Connor.com
has been unusual—Dad gave you a lot of responsibility. He may have made promises but that was when he was . . .”

“Promises be hanged! Len, you know me. I've worked seventy-hour weeks, skipped vacations, erased my personal life—”

“And I appreciate your hard work but I think the company's better served by hiring someone with more experience. Chuck has ten years under his belt.”

He toyed with an eraser, sitting up in his chair to slam dunk the rubber into a glass ashtray.

She seethed. Her life was falling apart and the dunce was shooting hoops.

So there it was: all her hard work, setting up the department from the company's foundation, was being tossed aside because Len Connor ran into an old college buddy. She should have known he'd pull something like this.

“I see.” She struggled to hold on to some shred of professionalism. “Then you're saying that I will be working for Mr. Vinton.”

Len swirled a gold pen between his fingers. “Well, you
could,
I guess, but the thing is . . .” he paused and she could see his jaw tense. “Chuck is bringing his own people; you'll have to apply for any openings that are left.”

“He's bringing—” She tried to absorb the shock. Her mind whirled. “So either I start from square one or I'm fired?”

Len shrugged. “Sorry.”

“You're
firing
me?” She stood up, pen and pad fluttering to the floor. The Uniball rolled under the desk.

“There is another open position in which you would fit well—”

“Where?” Her voice was almost a screech.

“Payroll.” He smiled, but there was a hint of condescension in that twinkle in his eyes.

Her lashes narrowed. “You're offering me a job in
payroll?”

He lifted his shoulders. “It's a good position. Decent pay. Punch out at five o'clock.”

She stopped him cold. “I am a manager, Len, not a payroll clerk. I have five years of experience hiring and managing
departments
full of payroll clerks and a dozen other employees. Len, this is a huge professional insult!”

His tone firmed. “I'm only doing what's best for
Connor.com
. You know that we've tightened our belts, that we've frozen new hires—”

Anger welled inside her.

“But you can bring in your fraternity brother and
his
people? Do I look that stupid, Len?”

He shifted closer to the desk. Beneath the polished wood, his foot tapped erratically. “Your years of service have been duly noted, Tess. It's a tough break, but you're resilient. In a few years, who knows, maybe you'll prove me wrong.”

She swallowed back an acid retort. “I'm thinking you're right. I can do better than
Connor.com
. Chuck does sound like the man to head the helm.”

Len shrugged. “Of course the choice is yours. Perhaps you need a few days to think about it . . . ”

“I don't need a
vacation
.” Right now she needed a two-by-four. A good solid plank to wipe the smirk off his silver-spoon-fed Harvard face.

He calmly met her wintry stare. “I'll hold the payroll position until I hear from you.” The phone rang and he picked it up, dismissing her with a nod.

She pivoted on her heels and walked out.

Fired.

Sacked.

She had just been squeezed out—regardless of the “options” Len thought he was giving her. Payroll indeed!

Vaguely aware that Len's secretary was bent conspicuously over a file cabinet, she mustered a pleasant smile and made her way out.

Ducking into the executive washroom, Tess locked herself in a stall, refusing to cry—crying would leave her eyes red and puffy—but she breathed deeply for several minutes as she tried to harness her emotions. She would keep her dignity if it killed her.

Minutes later, she wet a paper towel and pressed it to her eyes, checked to ensure that her makeup was still flawless, then she returned to her office. There, laying on the top of her desk, sat the airline ticket for her business trip. A lot of good that was. The airline wouldn't allow her to transfer it into another name.

She stood staring at it. It would serve Len right to lose the cost of the ticket. She wondered why he hadn't mentioned her upcoming trip. Maybe he'd forgotten. She lifted the envelope and turned it over in her hands. Then in one swift move she tucked it into her briefcase. She wasn't sure why.

She had to get out of the office before she started blubbering, or worse yet before she went back and gave Len Connor a piece of her mind. She reached for her purse and briefcase, then, lifting her chin, walked quickly to the elevator. Len Connor would soon discover that Tess Nelson couldn't be replaced by a fraternity brother or anyone else.

The perky temp went on point. “Are you leaving for the day, Miss Nelson?”

“I'll be out of the office a couple of weeks,” she said weakly. Maybe by then Len will have called begging her to come back. She pushed the lighted button, aware of the curious eyes following her. She straightened, her chin lifting a notch. She knew that news of her firing would spread faster than small-town gossip once she left the building. Would anyone care that she'd been dumped? She doubted it; she'd made few friends among her coworkers but who had time for a social life with her workload? Anyway, she wasn't there to socialize. She was there to work. As they should be. That was how she'd gotten where she was, after all . . .

Mona.

The dread word surfaced in her consciousness as she rode to the ground floor. She could hear her mother's voice now:
Well, the news doesn't surprise me. You always mess up somehow.
She slid into her Acura, and flipped on the car defrosters. As she drove out of the garage, she realized that the rain was falling in sheets. She pulled into traffic, erratically swerving to miss an oncoming public transportation bus.

Len Connor could not humiliate her this way. She had helped his father build
Connor.com
. She couldn't be replaced by a ruthless whim, and that was all this ploy was. Len had always been jealous of the trust his father had put in her. Now that he was in charge he was rubbing her nose in it.

But he'd see
Connor.com
couldn't run without her— and it wouldn't take Len long to recognize it. Not once things started falling apart.

Tess unlocked the door to her condo and flicked on the light
.
More than anything else, her home was a deliberate reminder of how far up the ladder she had climbed. Colonial blue walls with white trim, white sofa, blue-and-white striped Queen Anne chairs, a tall lemon-yellow vase holding a silk arrangement of willows and forsythia had all been chosen to create an impression of pristine cleanliness. She remembered the dirty, dismal house she had grown up in and shuddered. How had she survived?

Shucking off her shoes, she made her way to the kitchen, where she scooped up a bowl of ice cream and topped it with a drizzle of Hershey's syrup. She dug her spoon in and lifted it to her mouth when she noticed a long hair trailing out of it. “Eww!” She groaned and gazed down at the counter where three more strands innocently lay. “Not again,” she said. She set the ice cream down and made her way to the bathroom where she studied herself in the mirror. It didn't
look
like she was losing her hair, but lately it seemed as if she'd found strands everywhere: in her checkbook, on reports for work, in her food . . .

She lifted a brush from the counter and gave her taffy-color hair a few strokes when the phone began jangling.

“Tess?” a voice said when she picked up.

“Beeg?” Tess said. Bee Gee had been her college roommate. She'd since made a name for herself as an artist working primarily in watercolor.

“Say, I was calling about your trip next week. There's this show in New York—”

“Oh, Beeg!” She moaned, the tears she'd so carefully held in now flowing freely. “That, that oaf Len Connor had the gall to fire me this morning! Can you believe this?”

“Oh, honey,” Beeg consoled. “I'm so sorry.”

Tess sobbed in big gulps. “He actually thought I'd take a job in
payroll
when he knows I've been practically running the company these past few months.”

“So, what are you going to do about it? How high up is his office? Maybe you could throw rocks at his window.”

That brought a smile to Tess's waterlogged cheeks.

“You always could cheer me up.”

“Maybe you should come next week anyway. It could be a vacation instead of a business trip. I'm sure you have money squirreled away.”

“I do still have the ticket . . .” She glanced at her briefcase by the door. “But it wouldn't be right. I didn't pay for it.”

“Was it right for Len Connor to fire you?” Beeg defended.

“No . . .”

“So you need time to regroup, think through what you want to do next. What better place than in Hawaii with your best friend?”

“You know I'd love to spend some time with you,” Tess began, “but I just don't know if I'm ready now. There's just too much . . .”

“And your perfect little schedule can't adjust?” Beeg said with kindness in her voice. “I know all about it. But if you change your mind . . .”

“I know where to find you,” she finished and Beeg chuckled.

“In the meantime,” Beeg said, “why don't you go find some nice big rocks to throw at that window? Boulders, maybe.”

After she hung up the phone, Tess returned to her ice cream and sat at the kitchen table as she ate. It had been at least six years since she'd seen Bee Gee Harris. No one had ever been a better friend to her.