Blame It on Paradise (10 page)

Jack’s jaw locked so tightly, his rear molars cracked. He studied the travel documents but only because it was something to do other than crumple them in his fist and drive them through Burke’s grin. His charter from Darwin to Christchurch would leave in one hour, so he scarcely had time to pack and find transportation to the airport, never mind shower in the water that was surely running cold by now.

He scrubbed his hand over his eyes as he realized he wouldn’t have time to return to Lina.

Feeling slightly sick to his stomach, he went to the nightstand and snatched up his cell phone to see that eleven messages awaited him. His back to Burke, who sidled closer, he punched in his retrieval code and listened to them. Each was from Reginald and they became more and more stringent. The deadly calm of the last message left no uncertainty in Jack’s mind as to what he had to do next.

“Unless you’ve been eaten by sharks, Jack, I expect to see you in my office within the hour of your arrival in Boston,” Reginald said in the bloodless fashion he typically reserved for Burke. “Do not disappoint me, Jackson. Your future at Coyle-Wexler depends on it.”

Jack pitched the phone onto the nightstand, where it struck the wooden top and skidded onto the floor.

“You might want to give me your file on Marchand,” Burke whispered over his shoulder. “I’ll need to get up to speed before my meeting on Tuesday. I assume you’ve met him? Opened a dialogue? I’m sure I can close whatever deal you’ve started. You have started negotiations, haven’t you, Jack? Or have you been otherwise occupied?”

Jack whipped around and stared at Burke through narrowed eyes. He refused to satisfy him by answering his questions, delight him with the lack of progress he’d made, or even ask how he knew that Jack had definitely been otherwise occupied. Jack went to the closet and dragged out his valise and garment bag. He set his bags on the bed and began stuffing his clothes into them, hesitating only when he came to one of the new linen shirts Lina had chosen for him.

I’ll leave a note for her with Levora on the way to the airport,
he told himself as he put on a clean shirt.
I have to let her know that I left b
ecause I
had
to, not because I wanted–

Burke’s continued babbling penetrated Jack’s reverie. “It came as quite a shock to me when Rex sent me down here, especially on such short notice. One minute I’m putting for par on the eleventh green at Brookline, and the next I’m on my way here.” Burke stepped out onto the patio but soon returned, grunting under the weight of two suitcases, a valise, an over-the-shoulder garment bag and what looked suspiciously like a purse. “And here I plan to stay,” he repeated breathlessly, “to succeed where you’ve failed, Jacky boy.”

Jack angrily zipped his valise shut, dragged it off the bed and started for the door.

“Don’t look so down, Jack.” Burke’s smile transformed into a sour grimace. “You’re Rex’s golden boy. You’re bulletproof. And there’s no shame in failure.”

Jack turned in the doorway. “That means a lot, coming from you. You’ve dealt with failure more than any other attorney I know.”

* * *

Settled in a vanilla leather seat in the Coyle-Wexler jet miles above the Pacific Ocean, Jack rapped his knuckles on the mahogany-inlaid armrest. An overly attentive flight attendant set a meal before him, wild mushroom encrusted filet mignon with white truffle risotto, while her partner poured a sample of a rare white Beaujolais. The trip home would be long with nothing other than Reginald’s dissatisfaction to look forward to at the end of it, but that wasn’t the reason Jack had no appetite for the sumptuous, steaming meal before him.

All but physically, he was firmly rooted in a hammock suspended from nikau palms on one of the tiniest islands in the world. He closed his eyes and found that he could pretend that the quiet hum of the plane was actually Lina’s soft snore in his ear, but try as he might, he couldn’t imagine her reaction when she woke up and found him gone. Not just gone from the treehouse, but gone from the island, without even so much as a goodbye.

Jack bristled at the fresh memory of Burke chasing him down the road with his own cell phone, telling him that Reginald was on the line. One look at the text box of his cell told him that Burke had placed the call to Reginald, who had ranted at him for so long that Jack had lost the precious few minutes he’d needed to stop at Levora’s to leave a note for Lina. He’d had to hustle to the airport after hitching a ride in the jalopy of a minivan that served as the town taxi.

He cringed when he pictured Lina waking up and wondering where he was. News traveled at the speed of thought on the island, and Lina surely already knew that he had gone. He prayed that she heard it from Levora. It killed him to think of her going to the homestay to look for him only to be greeted by Edison Burke and his glow-in-the-dark teeth.

The thought of Burke leering at Lina stiffened the hairs at the back of Jack’s neck, and he had half a mind to storm the cockpit and demand that he be returned to Darwin immediately.

But Jack remained in his butter-soft seat, his eyes fixed dully on the billowy clouds beneath the plane. He was nauseous and achy, and he chalked it up to lack of sleep, concern for Lina’s health and the renewed stress of failing to secure the Darwin mint tea for Coyle-Wexler. Closing his eyes, he turned away from the window and snapped down the shade. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore the truth: he was leaving Darwin, and it was literally making him sick.

He’d known that he’d leave, but he hadn’t readied himself for it. In half a day, he would be back in Boston, where grim-faced strangers packed the wet, wintry streets, and then he would return to his house, where he had everything except a lover, friends or even a pet to share it.

Jack’s belly knotted tightly at the most bleak thought of all, that leaving Lina was the best thing, the only thing, he could do for her. He had nothing to offer, certainly nothing that could compete with the friends and freedom she enjoyed on Darwin.

He shoved aside the gold-edged table supporting his cold dinner and downed the watery dregs of the second gin and tonic he’d been served after takeoff, all the while thinking that perhaps, hopefully, it was best that he had disappeared from her life as suddenly as she had appeared in his.

CHAPTER 8

Jack sat at Reginald Wexler’s right hand in the boardroom, hiding a smile of wicked satisfaction behind his curled fingers as he stared at Burke, who perched at the opposite end of the long conference table. For the past three weeks, beginning with his return to Boston, Jack had been under virtual house arrest, with Reginald acting as warden. After briefing Reginald immediately upon his return, Jack had been assigned to a team working on the acquisition of a hemorrhoidal ointment formulated by a medical school in Canada. The assignment was meant to be a punishment, but Jack had handled it in stride, taking care of the contracts in half a day. That alone was enough to get back in Reginald’s good graces, but things had gotten even better when Burke returned from Darwin.

Jack stared at him, snickering under his breath. Jack had certainly failed to secure the rights to the tea, but unlike Burke, he hadn’t been deported after twenty-eight hours on the island. Accused of “lewd and lascivious acts performed in the vicinity of minor children, the elderly and domesticated animals,” Burke had been booted back to the other side of the world under the threat of “harshest prosecution” if he ever dared return to Darwin. According to the documents filed on the American side of the equation, J.T. Marchand had initiated Burke’s deportation proceedings personally. As bad as Jack’s own post-Darwin sit-down with Reginald had been, unlike Burke, he hadn’t left his meeting looking like he’d been fed his own pancreas.

J.T. Marchand had put Jack through the wringer, but after his treatment of Burke, Jack resolved to shake the man’s hand for that alone if ever they met.

And it looked like they would, given the reason for this emergency meeting of Coyle-Wexler’s legal and research teams and board of directors.

“I called you all here today because of J.T. Marchand,” Reginald said, getting right down to business. “Inspired by Burke’s…
performance…
on Darwin,” Reginald scowled, “Marchand’s people initiated contact with me. Marchand has decided to come to Boston, rather than allow another C-W representative to set foot on the island. We’ll be dealing with a shark, people, an attorney who has a one-hundred percent win record when it comes to protecting personal interests and those of Darwin Island. Marchand successfully fought the efforts of the New Zealand government to incorporate the island, and when the general himself leads the Darwinian army of attorneys and advisors through those doors, I want every one of them overwhelmed by the sight of Coyle-Wexler’s front line.”

Jack lowered his eyes, ashamed to admit that Burke wasn’t the only Coyle-Wexler rep who’d offended the island. At least once a day since his return, he’d wanted to kick himself for leaving the way he had, and with each day that passed without trying to contact Lina, he felt even worse. Guilt was a big part of his bad feeling, but there was something bigger beneath it, something that he knew he could work out if he just talked to her once more and explained the reason for his vanishing act.

The rest of the room fell away as Jack began to strategize.
I’ll call the island and get Levora’s phone number
, he thought.
If she doesn’t have a phone, which wouldn’t surprise me, I’ll try the receptionist at the Marchand Building. She seems to know
everyone on the island. Better yet, I’ll just take the weekend and go back there to explain in person. Lina deserves that much. And I absolutely have to see her again.

Reginald’s battle talk was a vague prattling in his ear as the lawyer part of Jack’s brain played devil’s advocate.
What if she’s already found another grateful partner to share her bed?
The thought made him sick with jealousy, and he squirmed in his chair.

No, that isn’t possible,
he reasoned. The very notion felt wrong and grossly unfair to Lina. She had never treated him as though he were interchangeable. Or even replaceable.

Guilt soured his stomach as he realized how wrong he’d been. He shouldn’t have left her the way he did, and the more he thought of it, the more he began to believe that perhaps he shouldn’t have left her at all. J.T. Marchand’s impending arrival was the most vivid reminder of why he’d gone to Darwin, and now it had become the most glaring symbol of all he’d left behind.

Jack was on the verge of standing up and running to the airport when an announcement came through the intercom built into the table. “Mr. Wexler? The lobby just gave us the heads-up. J.T. Marchand is on the way in the express elevator.”

“Thank you,” Reginald said. He stood and leaned on his hands on the table, his eagerness apparent to everyone in the room. Still and wary, Jack watched a wave of excited expectation travel from person to person around the table. The sudden tension in the grand room seemed to heighten Jack’s senses, making every breath, every heartbeat audible. One by one, every head except Jack’s turned to watch the doors, eager to see the mysterious and elusive magnate who had handed ace attorney Jackson DeVoy his sole defeat.

The express elevator wasn’t as fast as Jack thought it was, because it seemed to take hours for Marchand to reach the top floor. His heartbeat grew louder with each passing second, and Jack suddenly wanted to grab Reginald by his two-hundred dollar tie and demand to know why he had sprung Marchand on them like a jack-in-the-box. Just when Jack thought he couldn’t keep his calm façade up a moment longer, the double doors swung open to break the silence in the room.

“Mr. Wexler,” announced Reginald’s gray-haired private secretary, “may I present J.T. Marchand.”

The vice presidents of marketing, communications and customer service gasped in unison, and Jack turned to see what held everyone else spellbound.

A woman swept into the room, her determined stride elegant, regal and sure. Her black suit appeared to be made of a light, tightly-woven wool that moved with the whispery ease of silk. The loose-fitting pants had a blade-sharp crease and the double-breasted jacket was fully buttoned, yet the plunging opening revealed that the woman wore nothing but lovely dark skin underneath it. She wore no makeup but for a bit of sheer gloss that made her lips glisten. With her hair loose and finger-combed from her face, she looked more suited to a high fashion runway than a boardroom, but the serious set of her unusual features made it perfectly clear that the lady meant business.

It took a while for Reginald’s eyes to return to their normal size, and he still hadn’t spoken by the time she reached him at the head of the table. His tongue making a tangle of his words, Reginald babbled indecipherable syllables as he offered his hand to her. “This is quite a big, uh, shock—er,
surprise
. Yes, quite a surprise, M-Mist—er, Miss—uh, Mrs. Marchand, is it?”

“Ms.,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. She gave it a squeeze that made the old man wince. “Mr. Wexler, I’m Jaslyn Thérèse Marchand. I see you’ve been expecting me, although you seem somewhat…perplexed.”

Jack’s ears rang and hot blood rushed into them. His mouth fell open with an audible pop that would have been embarrassing had anyone been paying any attention at all to him. But all eyes, Jack’s especially, were on J.T. Marchand as she surveyed the people assembled around the table. She narrowed her eyes slightly when she spied Burke, who tried to hide behind a red leather binder embossed with a shiny gold “C-W.”

Jack kept staring at her until her gaze finally lit on him.

Surprise creased her brow and confusion flickered in her light eyes, but she quickly regained her coolly indifferent expression.

Jack stood, buttoning his jacket as he did so just to give his hands something to do other than smooth back the gleaming black tress dangling near her temple.

“Mr. Marchand is a
Ms
.,” Reginald said, stepping between them to announce the obvious. “It seems our research wasn’t as thorough as we’d believed. You’re not exactly what we imagined, Ms. Marchand.”

“You were expecting a man?” she said briskly, sparing a quick glance at the female vice presidents.

“W-Well, yes,” Reginald stammered uncomfortably. “Given your career track record and your position on Darwin, I just assumed that you’d be…” He stared at the ceiling, avoiding her eyes.

“Yes?” she prompted impatiently.

“Male,” Reginald finished with a lame laugh. “And older. And…”

Jack watched the female vice presidents lean forward, and he wondered if they, like him, expected Reginald to disclose his full list of assumptions about J.T. Marchand.

“Not quite so alone,” Reginald finally remarked. “Shall we wait a moment for the rest of your team to arrive?”

“There’s no team, sir,” she said. “I feel more than capable of handling this business on my own.”

Eyebrows raised, eyes widened and spines stiffened all around the conference table. Never had Reginald assembled them to face a lone warrior. The three female vice presidents were the only ones who seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Reginald rapped his big knuckles on the table. “I admire your confidence, young lady. It’s well earned, from what little we were able to rustle up about you. You certainly manage to keep quite a low profile, Ms. Marchand.”

“I like to keep my private life private,” she said. “I’ve found that a non-gender specific name allows for more open dialogue between myself and the men with whom I wish to conduct business.” With a quick sweep of her hand, she stroked her hair completely away from her face. Her sharp-eyed gaze swept over Jack. “Mr. DeVoy,” she said woodenly. “Or would you prefer Mr. Coyle-Wexler representative? I’m afraid we failed to make a genuine connection on Darwin.”

Reginald made no effort to conceal his surprise and delight. “You’ve met?” His head pivoted as he looked from Jaslyn—
Lina
—to Jack. “I was under the impression that you two hadn’t met at all. You undersold your visit, Jack.” Reginald laughed heartily even as he set a hand at the small of Lina’s back and ushered her toward the chair at his left. “I take back everything I said when you got back from Darwin, boy,” Reginald whispered merrily as he pulled out a chair for himself. “Your master plan made no sense to me, but it worked. This is the first time a big tuna has ever flopped right into our board room!”

“Don’t underestimate this woman, Reginald,” Jack murmured as he took his seat. “I have a feeling that she has an agenda of her own.”

Lina stood behind the chair Reginald had offered her. “We have much to discuss, Mr. Wexler,” she said briskly. “Please, sit down.”

Reginald did so, and Jack wondered if he realized that he’d just relinquished control of the meeting to Lina. She slipped her hands into her pants pockets as she made her way to the glass wall. Her stride was bold yet relaxed, and completely unlike her unhurried island gait. The laid-back, passionate island girl Jack had abandoned was now the picture of elite urban sophistication and style as she faced Coyle-Wexler’s commander and fifty of his top corporate officers by herself. Even as his guilt turned to anger, Jack found himself responding to this version of Lina as ardently as he had the first.

Which only made him angrier.

“You want Darwin mint and I don’t want to give it to you, so naturally we’re at an impasse before we even begin.” Lina folded her arms over her chest and sauntered to the conference table. She stopped directly behind the vice president of international sales. The heavyset man promptly burst into a sweat and seemed to be holding his breath as Lina gripped the back of his leather chair and leaned on it. “That mint is one of Darwin’s few natural resources, and it’s a dear commodity to the residents of the island. It’s also a principle draw for tourists, as I’m sure Mrs. Wexler would attest.”

When Lina moved on, a loud breath exploded from the vice president of international sales. She next leaned between two researchers and spent a long moment reading the paperwork displayed before them. One of the researchers, a tall, angular man with thick glasses, appeared to be sniffing Lina’s hair as it dangled before him.

Jack gritted his teeth in envy, remembering the way that fresh-scented curtain of jet felt trailing over the bare skin of his torso.

“Uh uh.” Lina tapped the document. “You can’t synthesize the tea. The chemical structure is too varied, and you could never acquire the one ingredient that makes the tea so distinct.”

“What ingredient would that be?” Jack asked, his voice filling the distance between them.

“Water,” Lina said.

“We have water in Boston.”

“Is your water filtered through an isolated geothermal artesian aquifer entombed in rock and clay two thousand meters beneath the mountains of Darwin?”

The stout researcher in gold-rimmed glasses partly raised his hand to beg the floor, as though he were a shy kindergartner on his first day of school. “Er, Mr. DeVoy, the volcanic rock would impart dozens, perhaps hundreds, of different mineral compounds to the water. It would take a long time to identify which ones and determine proper concentrations.”

“How long?” Reginald asked through a chilly smile.

“If I were to guess…” The researcher stared at the subdued overhead lighting for a moment. “Years.”

Lina resumed her travels around the table. Jack’s shoulders stiffened when she absently brushed a speck of lint from one lawyer’s shoulder and handed another one a fresh ballpoint pen from her own inner breast pocket when he started shaking the one he’d been using.

She was commanding without being arrogant, and she remained fully aware of everything going on around her. She was amazing, so much so that Jack unconsciously held his breath when she paused behind his chair.

“I won’t have my island or its resources bastardized for the financial gain of Coyle-Wexler Pharmaceuticals.” The purity of Lina’s voice and her peculiar accent softened the firmness of her words. “As owner of the land upon which the mint grows, I’m well within my rights to refuse you access to the property, and subsequently, the mint. It’s been lovely visiting your offices and meeting you lovely people, but if you’ll excuse me, my flight home leaves in a few hours. Good day, gentlemen.” She tipped her head toward Reginald, encompassing Jack with a frozen glare. “And ladies.” She bowed to the trio of female vice presidents, the only people of color in the room aside from herself. With a sharp turn and whirl of her hair, she exited the room.