Calculated Risk (5 page)

“I only have the classics,” Quintin
resumed coolly. “Is Pavarotti or Bernstein one of your
clients?”

“No, but Brandt Associates
just handled the laser recording of Handel’s
Messiah
by the London Symphony
Orchestra,” came her equally icy rebuttal. “I’m always amazed at
the superior technical quality of the disks; the dynamic range is
unsurpassed, and of course, they are impervious to
wear.”

“Well, it was a brilliant move.” Darren
grinned at her. “While the recording companies were handing out
their standard repertoire, you jumped to Europe and beat them. I’m
going to be calling you to set up an appointment; I know we can
talk some business.” When she nodded in approval, Darren slapped
Quintin on the back, muttered “great party” and disappeared into
the crowd.

Before Stevie could resume her
conversation with Quintin Ward, two more acquaintances discovered
her presence. She smiled shyly when they commented on how beautiful
she looked, answered their inquiries about the health of her
parents by mentioning the elder Brandt’s were enjoying the tropical
delights of Hawaii and accepted their good wishes for her continued
business success.

During this exchange, Bobby Ward had
gravitated to her side. Not wanting to further agitate his father,
Stevie sent his son to the bar on the pretext of freshening her
drink. “Let’s go to your study for that little talk before Bobby
comes back,” she directed. Before he could form a response, Stevie
wound her arm around his and steered a path through the
crowd.

She launched her verbal attack before
the door latch clicked in the lock. “Let me make one thing
perfectly clear, Mr. Ward. I do not now have, nor have I ever had,
sexual –“ millions of shivers bubbled over her skin “—designs on
your son. In fact, until late today, I wasn’t even aware that
Robert Ward existed. He is just another invisible mail clerk in my
building.”

Her bold affront continued. “I think
the kid is just starved for female affection.” She paced back and
forth in front of Quintin’s military-like stance. “Although why he
didn’t pick a high school cheerleader, I don’t know. Maybe he’s shy
with girls his own age.

“My office staff is like an extension
of my family.” The metallic skirt rustled around her ankles. “We
laugh, we joke, the atmosphere is very informal.” Stevie stopped
pacing to view his stoic features. “Bobby has misinterpreted my
every smile, my every statement. He thinks all those freebee
promotionals were personal gifts.”

Her raised palm stopped his forthcoming
interruption. “Mr. Ward, you have my word. Monday I will sit Bobby
down, explain the facts of life to him and if push comes to shove,
I’ll just have to terminate his employment.” Stevie favored him
with an encouraging smile. “Will that make you happy?”

“So you weren’t even aware of Rob?”
Quintin arched a disbelieving brow. “Then why turn up on our
doorstep all dressed for a party, or is this –“ his finger flicked
a ruffle “—your usual evening attire?”

Stevie emitted a low growl. “I was on
my way to a concert at the Opry. I made the time to come to
straighten out this misunderstanding.”

“Really?” His head nodded cockily. “And
did I misunderstand that little tryst upstairs?”

“Tryst!” Her hands curled into impotent
fists that punched the air. “Haven’t you heard a word I said? Damn,
but you are a stubborn, bullheaded, totally –“

“I saw you kissing my son.”

“Kissing!” Her head reeled back in
shock.

“I know what I saw, Miss
Brandt.”

“I was not kissing your son,” Stevie
hissed. She stood on her toes; her face was nose-to-nose with
Quintin’s. “You son gave me a peck on the cheek.” Noting his
disbelieving look, her hazel eyes turned dangerous. “This, Mr.
Ward, is what I call a kiss!”

Her fingers grasped the lapels on his
evening jacket, crushing the expensive fabric into her palms. She
leaned against him; the force of her body bent him backward over
his desk. Her mouth slanted over his half-parted lips, effectively
smothering his astonishment. Her tongue made a quick intimate
taunt, finding enjoyment in the subtle taste of scotch.

When she realized what she was doing,
Stevie pushed herself free. “Now you know the difference.” Her eyes
radiated an intoxicated glow. “I don’t need to seduce boys, Quintin
Ward.” With a swish of her skirt, she turned and disappeared out
the door.

Quintin stared at the white-knuckled
hands that still gripped the edges of the desk. He was at a loss to
understand what had happened. He had been in control. He had been
so positive. And then … His forefinger smoothed his lips. He had
never encountered a woman like Stephanie Brandt before, but he’d
certainly like to again.

“Hey, Dad?” Robert Ward’s head poked
into the study. “What happened? Stevie grabbed her coat from the
closet and ran out the front door.”

“Rob, come in here for a moment.”
Quintin put an arm around his son. “Listen to me. I want
–“

“Wait a minute, Dad.” He pulled away.
“Did you say something to Stevie?” Rob demanded. His dark eyes
sparked in a silent warning. “You know how I feel about
her.”

Quintin chose his words with care.
“Look, son, these feelings you have for Miss Brandt are …well –“ he
took a deep breath “—she just doesn’t think of you in that
way.”

“You…you did say something to her!”
Bobby slammed his right fist into his left palm. “You have no right
to interfere in our relationship.”

“There is no relationship.” His tone
was soft but with an underlying edge of authority.

“Yes, there is, Dad.” Bobby took a deep
breath. “And it’s going to continue. You’re not being fair
…”

Quintin stood up and towered to his
full height. “I don’t have to be fair, I’m your father. You’re my
son and you’re underage. I know my rights.”

“Rights?” Rob’s voice splintered. “You
may pay for my education, my clothes, my food but damn it, you
don’t own me. You can’t control my mind or my heart!”

“Don’t talk to me in that tone, Robert,
I’m your father.”

“I have rights too,” he retorted
defensively. “If...if you don’t leave me and Stevie alone…I’ll…I’ll
leave.” Yanking the study door open, Rob threw a backward glance of
pure hatred at his father. “That’s a promise. If you don’t back
off, you’ll find yourself alone.”

Chapter 3

The pounding started at three a.m. It
took Stevie a full minute to realize that her townhouse was not
being shaken by an earthquake. Someone or something was bludgeoning
her front door!

“All right! All right!” Scrambling out
of bed, she tripped over an errant shoe and continued to stumble
her way across the darkened living room. “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
Her fingers froze against the cold metal dead bolt as common sense
invaded her sleep-drugged brain.

She took note of the quiet. There were
no fire, police or ambulance lights or sirens or any other sounds
that could be equated with a life-threatening disturbance. One of
her neighbors could be in trouble, Stevie reasoned, but then again
it could be a ruse – home invasions were on the rise.

One hazel eye focused on the security
peephole, while her hand flipped on the outside porch light. The
amber glow illuminated her nemesis of hours before. “Quintin Ward!”
Her own fist hit the carved wood panel. Stevie opened the front
door, yelled an uncivil “Go home!” and then slammed it
shut.

Again the door reverberated under a
barrage of fists. “Please, Miss Brandt, it’s life and
death.”

Stevie counted to ten before twisting
the knob. “Yours, I hope.” Her mood switched from sarcastic to
self-righteous. “Look, Mr. Ward, I’ve really had it. Enough is
enough. Stop harassing me or I will call my lawyer and –“ Her
threat bubbled into wispy white puffs that feebly attempted to warm
the frigid night air.

Quintin Ward looked like a beaten man.
His tall, broad-shouldered physique appeared crippled under an
invisible weight. The expertly tailored evening suit had lost its
glamour. The black bow tie hung loosely around the open neck of the
white shirt, while the jacket and slacks were creased and
rumpled.

Most profound was the change in his
facial appearance. Stevie noted the cast of his complexion –
gray-green despite the amber outdoor bulb – the dark smudges under
his eyes and the once proud Roman features that now appeared
defeated by pain and fear.

A sympathetic sigh escaped her as she
ushered him into the foyer. “What’s the problem?” Realizing that
she lacked a bathrobe, Stevie folded her arms across the front of
her thin ivory silk sleep shirt.

“It’s Rob. He’s …” The words were
dragged from deep within Quintin “…he’s threatened to run
away.”

“Oh, God. Come on in.” She half-pushed,
half-pulled him into the living room, stopping only to turn up the
thermostat and snap on the table lamp. “Tell me what
happened.”

Quintin collapsed onto the modular
sofa. “Rob saw you rush out of the house tonight.” His tongue swept
his dry lips. “He came into the study and accused me of trying to
break up your relationship.”

Her low whine interrupted. “We don’t
have a relationship to break up!” Flopping next to him, Stevie
closed her eyes and massaged her forehead, hoping to halt the
tension that was regrouping to stage another headache.

“Rob wouldn’t listen to anything,”
Quintin continued, not even acknowledging her interruption. “He
said I didn’t own him. I couldn’t run his life, tell him what to
do, what to think, or whom to see. And if I tried, he’d run away.”
Trembling hands made a weary pass over his face. “Damn, but I’ve
made such a mess of everything.”

“Calm down. Calm down.” Her fingers
gripped his upper arm. She struggled to find the words that would
comfort him. “Now look, Mr. Ward, people say and do all sorts of
stupid things they don’t mean when they’re angry.” Stevie swallowed
hard, remembering her own slip into insanity in his study. “Bobby
was probably just blowing off a little steam, trying to show you
he’s not a kid, being –“

“I know he’s not a kid!” Quintin
rounded. “That’s ninety percent of the problem. He’s too damn big
to spank, and what’s the use of sending him to his room?” He
demanded with a sneer. “Do you know how impossible it is to
discipline and control a teenager?”

“I’m sure it is,” her husky contralto
strove to soothe, “but maybe you’re approaching this the wrong way.
I don’t think control is quite what a parent should do.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Spock,” came his
sarcastic rejoinder.

Stevie’s mauve-tinted fingernails
curved into the material of his sleeve. She could feel the tempered
strength of his biceps. “Wait just one damn minute, Mr. Ward.” Her
tone was dangerous, her eyes slicked by ice. “You came knocking on
my door. I didn’t ask to be put in the middle.”

Quintin disengaged her hand, his dark
gaze flamed under another inner eruption of anger. “Lady, you’re
the one who created this entire fiasco!”

“Me? You are crazy! I –“ Her sputtered
objection was vehemently conquered by further rude
accusations.

Stevie became aware that Quintin Ward
had gone from beaten to belligerent. She realized that anything
said in her defense would have little, if any, effect on the man.
So she gave up. Curling herself comfortably into the plush
cushions, she decided to play psychiatrist. Let the man bellow and
rant, came her silent decision; she’d just sit and listen without
interrupting his raging soliloquy.

“Rob and I had a wonderful relationship
until he started working for you.” Quintin’s long legs
circumnavigated the massive glass coffee table in three paces. “He
was content and happy in the normal world until you showed him what
he was missing. You’re everything I’m not. You’re everything I told
Rob he couldn’t have.”

A derisive index finger jabbed toward
Stevie. “Let’s face it, you’re glamorous and exciting and so is
your world. I’m a construction engineer who works with his hands,
and there’s nothing glitzy about two-by-fours, shingles and copper
plumbing.

“You jet around the world and live
among the …” His fingers made quote marks in the air “…beautiful
people and know all the stars. I’m a homebody who meets an
occasional celebrity or politician when I build an addition on
their house.

“You…you’re…” he tugged at the hem of
her nightshirt “…silk and designer clothes. I’m denim and flannel
and damn uncomfortable in a tuxedo. For all its antebellum charm,
our house is nothing compared to this sleek, contemporary villa.”
He gestured at the indoor columns, the elegant décor, modern
furnishings and accessories.

“And my party tonight –“ a rueful laugh
escaped him; the toe of his shoe scuffed along the top of the black
and ivory Ming patterned Chinese rug “—how can that compare to the
notorious, infamous orgies the music world is noted for? I’ve read
about your raunchy get-togethers. Everyone blowing their brains out
with cocaine, nude hot-tub encounters, naked women in cages, and
naked men swinging from chandeliers.”

Completely drained, Quintin stumbled
back to the sofa. He was so engrossed in his own self-pity that he
failed to notice the change in Stevie. Her previous unperturbed
expression was now forbidding. “Bobby’s a normal, healthy,
adventurous kid. You represent the ultimate candy shop and he wants
to gorge.