A Promise to Cherish (8 page)

“I’ll pay you forty thousand a year, plus a company car and all the usual fringe benefits—profit sharing, insurance, use of a company credit card.”

While shock waves catapulted through Lee, she watched Sam lazily stir his drink, then lift a red plastic saber upon which four pickled mushrooms were skewered. His sparkling teeth slipped the first mushroom into his mouth, and his jaws began moving while hers went slack.

“Forty thousand a year?” The words scarcely peeped from her throat.

“Mmm-hmm.” His eyes lingered indolently on hers as he clamped those perfect teeth around the second mushroom. Mesmerized, still not quite able to absorb his offer, she watched as he ate all four mushrooms.

“You must be joking.”

“Not at all. You’ll work damn hard for it. If I say travel, you’ll travel. We’re bidding jobs in about eight states right now. Sometimes there’ll be late nights if we’re up against a deadline. Other times there’ll be night flights in order to get connections to the right city. I pay my estimators well, but they earn every cent of it.”

She was still too stunned to take it all in. “I don’t even know where your offices are.”

“On the other side of the creek, near Rainbow and Johnson Drive. I’ll take you over later to see them, if you like.”

Again she was astonished. The area he’d named was well known as one of the most prestigious in the city. It was generally referred to as the Plaza Area, named after the lush Country Club Plaza Shopping Center nearby. She was still pondering this when Sam Brown pulled a tie from the pocket of his blue linen sport coat, though she was so lost in thought she scarcely realized what he was doing. Without the aid of a mirror, he raised his collar, lay the tie underneath, buttoned his collar button, and began applying a Windsor knot to the tie by feel. Though her eyes were fixed on his hands, she was thinking instead of the pair of widewale corduroy armchairs she wanted so badly, thinking of the drapes she could pay off in no time, thinking of not having to give up the townhouse.

The ever-attentive Walter appeared as if out of nowhere. “Will there be anything more, Mr. Brown?”

“Ms. Walker and I will go into dinner now, Walter. Thank you.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll bring your drinks for you.”

Lee finally slipped out of her reverie to realize that Sam Brown was slipping a hand under her elbow and urging her to her feet. They followed at Walter’s heels. “House rules,” Sam whispered conspiratorially. “Men have to wear ties in the dining room.”

Lee made a feeble attempt to pull away from his commanding grasp. This is all too perfect. It’s going too fast!

“I’m not dressed—”

“You’re dressed just fine.” His eyes swept her from hair to her waist, and up again.

She felt obligated to resist one more time. “But . . . but I haven’t even said I’d work for you, much less won a bid yet. And you invited me for a drink, not dinner.”

He only grinned down at her cheek, squeezed the soft, bare skin of her inner elbow, and teased, “Let a man try to impress a lady when he’s trying his damndest, okay, Cherokee?”

That word, perhaps more than any other, brought her back down to earth. Cherokee. But it was too late now. They’d reached the dining room doorway, which opened off the lounge. She felt helpless as she was propelled along beside him. His thumb was rough on her bare skin as they paused just inside, and he was again greeted by name. “Evening, Mr. Brown . . . ma’am. Your table is all ready.” The man escorted them to a linen-covered table in front of a wide window that curved in a semicircle around half of the dining room. Lee looked onto a view of the swimming pool, ice rink, and tennis courts below. In the distance a line of tall trees indicated the meandering route of Brush Creek as it flowed eastward. The sun was slanting across the green lawn, from which Lee had difficulty pulling her eyes.

A nudge on the back of her knees reminded her that Sam Brown was solicitously waiting to push in her chair.

“Oh . . . thank you.” She settled herself, subjected to the tantalizing scent that wafted about him as he sat down across from her. He had no more than hit the chair when yet another solicitous employee of the Carriage Club was immediately at hand to state, “The evening special is shrimp marinated in wine sauce, seasoned with tarragon and served with herb butter. And how are you this evening, Mr. Brown?” Menus were opened crisply and placed first in Lee’s hands, then Sam’s.

He raised his dark brows, and a smile lifted his lips. “Hungry as a bear, Edward, and how are you?”

Edward leaned back and laughed softly. “I’m fine, sir. Leaving on my vacation tomorrow morning for my son’s house in Tucson. He’s got a new baby, you know, and we’ve never seen her.”

“I imagine it’s a little hard to keep your mind on marinated shrimp then, isn’t it?”

“For you, sir, not at all. Service is the same as always.”

They laughed together in the way of men who go through this ritual often. Lee noted the same camaraderie between Brown and yet another man who brought them goblets of ice water.

When they were alone with their menus at last, Lee admitted, “I am impressed, Brown. How could I help but be?”

“Tell me that when you’ve seen me in action in the office and it’ll mean something.”

She looked for signs of teasing and saw none.

This man, this Sam Brown, what did she know of him? Was he honorable or a scoundrel? Was his poise in these elegant surroundings an intentional smoke screen to hide his seamier side? He could charm the gold out of a person’s teeth—she had no doubt about that—but could he also be ruthless? He was handsome enough to turn any woman’s head, and that fact made it more difficult to assess his hidden traits. After all, she was making a business decision, and what he looked like had absolutely no bearing upon his character or his motives. Studying him now, Lee entwined her fingers, pressed her arms along the table edge, and bent forward until her breasts touched her wrists.

“Level with me, Brown. Would you hire me with the ulterior motive of exploiting me, like Thorpe did?”

She watched his eyes carefully as they registered faint surprise at her direct question, then glinted with brief amusement before that too disappeared and he asked matter-of-factly, “Could it be, Ms. Walker, that you have a hang-up about being Indian?” Immediately she bristled, but before she could respond he went on. “I did a little checking on you. You’re good, you’re honest, you’re young and ambitious. A man could do worse than hire a person like that as an estimator, especially when his corporation has all its officers intact. Besides that, it wouldn’t be far for you to drive. That’s always to an employer’s advantage.”

His answer set her back in her chair. “How do you know where I live?”

Again a glint of amusement filled his eyes. “You forget. Your suitcase had a tag on its handle just like mine did.”

Of course! How could she forget what had led her here in the first place? Yet it was disconcerting to think he’d been asking people about her.

“Tell me, Mr. Brown,” she began, “is there anything you don’t know about me?”

He looked up from his menu and she became uncomfortably aware that she was wearing a necklace shaped like an Indian arrowhead strung around her neck on a leather thong. But his eyes returned to his menu as he answered, “Yes, I don’t know why you bother to order your meals without potatoes when you don’t need to. The food here is tremendous. Don’t stint yourself tonight.”

His answer raised an instant prickle of female vanity, but she warned herself to accept the compliment with a grain of salt. Just then the waiter approached to take their order.

The meal was delicious, as promised. They ate it while discussing upcoming jobs Sam would want her to bid, projects she had worked on, nothing more personal until, over coffee, he sat back with one shoulder drooping lower than the other in a way with which she was already becoming familiar.

“Actually, there is a question about you that puzzles me,” he said.

She looked up, waiting.

“Why don’t you have records of employment before Thorpe Construction?”

“I do. They’re in St. Louis.”

“St. Louis?” Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, that’s where I lived before.”

“Before what?” Though his eyes rested lightly on her, she had the feeling he was drilling into her head.

“Before I moved here three years ago,” she answered with deliberate evasion.

“Ah.” He tilted his chin up, and for a moment she thought he might question her further, but just then the waiter arrived and laid a small tray at Sam Brown’s elbow and handed him a silver pen.

“Excuse me, Mr. Brown, your tab.” Sam scrawled a quick signature and rose to his feet.

“Come on, I’ll show you the office.”

Lee breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption, for the subject of St. Louis was not one she wanted to pursue.

As they moved past the tables toward the doorway, they were interrupted by an impeccably dressed man who leaned back in a chair, half turning to extend a hand. “How’s it going, Sam?”

“Fine. Took a job in Denver last week.” Brown released his hold on Lee’s elbow to shake hands, then politely performed introductions.

“Cassie and Don Norris . . . Lee Walker, my newest estimator.”

Lee considered spouting a denial aloud, but instead she politely shook hands with the Norrises.

“Well, congratulations, Lee. You’ve chosen a damn fine company there,” Don Norris offered. She murmured some comment, surprised at his unsolicited praise and hoping it was true. A moment later Sam urged her toward the door again.

As they moved through the lounge, she couldn’t resist glancing up at Sam. “Your new estimator? Aren’t you being a little presumptuous?”

Sam smiled and shrugged. “It eliminated a lengthy explanation. I could have said you were the woman who stole my suitcase in the Denver airport. Would that have been better?”

Lee turned to hide her grin as they reached the main lobby, crossed to the door, and stepped outside.

“You can ride with me,” he suggested. “It’s not far, and I can bring you back to your car afterward.”

He led her to a classy, off-white Toronado. Inside, the car smelled like him—the agreeably masculine and tangy scent of what she took to be Rawhide cosmetics. The front seat was luxurious, equipped with a stereo that filled the void while they drove in the waning summer evening.

It had been a long time since Lee had been in a car with an attractive man—and Sam Brown was certainly that! She watched the contour of his wrist draped over the steering wheel, the gleam of a gold watch peeking from beneath his sleeve, the relaxed fingers with dark skin and well-kept nails. She recalled the pleasant meal they’d just shared, his easygoing camaraderie with everyone at the club, the compliment Norris had dropped in passing, Brown’s glib sense of humor. She ventured a brief study of his hair, an ear, the side of his neck, but then his face swung her way and she looked quickly out her side window.

No doubt about it—she was beginning to like Sam Brown.

The office complex was new, modern, and pleasing to the eye. The late sun, slanting across its cinnamon-colored brick walls and smoked-glass windows, created deep triangles of shadow, accentuating the beauty of the buildings’ architectural design. In keeping with Kansas City’s claim that it had more fountains than any other city in the world except Rome, the buildings had been designed around a charming esplanade whose main attraction was a fountain whose running water created a design reminiscent of a dandelion gone to seed.

Sam guided Lee along curved concrete walks past cherry trees, and yews and more, every shrub so well-kept it appeared they were tended by a beautician instead of a gardener. The sprinkler system had come on, and as they sauntered between the buildings Lee breathed in the pungent scent of wet cedar chips clustered at the base of the decorative plants. Redwood benches had been placed strategically along the walks, and even the trash depositories were built of redwood, blending pleasantly into the environment. Tall ash trees had been planted alongside each building.

Sam unlocked the lobby door and held it open while Lee entered a spacious foyer carpeted in burnt orange. The stairs were carpeted as well and seemed to drop out of nowhere into the center of the lobby. A rich walnut handrail was smooth beneath Lee’s palm as she ran her hand along it appreciatively.

If she’d expected Brown to be a smalltime hood, his surroundings were suggesting otherwise.

At Suite 204 he fitted a key into the lock, pushed the walnut door inward, and held it also as she passed before him. Fluorescent lights came on, flooding the reception area.

Lee glanced around nervously. There was something so gloomy and deserted about the silent, empty office. The room was decorated in tones of blue, from royal to wedgwood, and the walls were hung with posters depicting various moments in the company’s history. They were framed in aluminum, fronted with glass, and hung on rich vinyl wallcovering that matched upholstered chairs and smoked-glass tables, where various construction magazines and equipment brochures lay.

The chink of keys brought Lee’s attention back to Sam.

“This is obviously the reception area,” he said, motioning her ahead of him around a free-standing wall that formed the backdrop for the receptionist’s desk.

The payroll office was the first cubicle behind the wall. Inside, a computer hummed softly and photographs of two toddlers stood on a desk.

“The computer runs day and night,” Sam informed Lee. “All our payroll and parts inventory are stored in it.”

There was a separate office for the bookkeeper and his assistant, followed by a large open area, also carpeted in deep blue, where slant-topped drafting tables were lined up. The arrangement preserved an overall feeling of space, for the smoky windows ran nearly ceiling to floor, and the sight of the ash trees outside helped bring the outdoors in. The suite was at the southeast corner of the building, thus the fading sun left this area dimly lit, for Sam hadn’t turned on the overhead lights here.