His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (16 page)

I didn’t know what I would do with him if he suddenly reappeared in my life. I didn’t know much at all about the man I couldn’t stop thinking about, the man I couldn’t stop comparing others to.

I lost a few pounds.

So at least all that crap was good for something.

It was Tuesday, nearly three weeks since the disastrous night that Gibson asked me to move in with him. Isabel called me and two department heads into her office.

Isabel steepled her hands on her desk and said, “I’ve been asked to send some people to the headquarters of Roundtree Holdings for the next few days, and I’ve chosen you three to go.”

My heart slammed in my chest. Gibson.

Terry and Sloan, the heads of the accounting and sales departments, respectively, nodded gravely. I think my mouth fell open, or something equally moronic.

Isabel said, “They wanted people who have a wide knowledge of what we do here. They’ll want to question you some more, and they want you to spend some time with them, checking out how they do things, and giving suggestions about how our company might fit in their organization.”

Terry said, “Okay then. Wow.”

Sloan asked, “So they’re serious? They’re going to buy?”

Isabel shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. We can be sure it hasn’t been ruled out yet, at any rate. I hope it goes without saying, that we want to continue to make a good impression on them.”

Terry and Sloan murmured “of course” in unison. I nodded.

Isabel told us what we would need to take with us, told us we would meet in our office at our usual time and Roundtree would be sending a car to ferry us to their headquarters. We were to plan on doing this both Wednesday and Thursday, and perhaps Friday, too.

Isabel asked me to stay behind after the other two left.

She eyeballed me, hard. “Why do you look like that?”

I didn’t have to ask what she meant. I answered, “I just ... I’m not sure why you chose me. There are others here who are more knowledgeable than me. They should go.”

Isabel said, “True, some people know more than you do. But it doesn’t matter. Terry and Sloan can handle that part. I need you there because I trust you. You’re going to be my eyes and ears.”

“I don’t think I’d make a very good spy.” Especially not since all I could think about was seeing Gibson.

She smiled. “I don’t want you to spy, girl. I want you to meet people, take a look around, remember everything. Get a general impression of the employees, how they do things, how everyone is treated. Get some idea of what we might expect if they do purchase our company.”

“Okay,” I said, “I can try to do that.”

Isabel said, “I’m serious about this. Don’t let them pen you up in some office. Slip away if you have to. Get around. Get about. If you get caught, play dumb. Use your charm and good looks. That’s what they’re for.”

“You really do want me to spy for you.”

“Did I ask you to sneak around and get in their files? No. Just meet and greet, listen, ask the right questions. My only regret is that Gibson Reeves is out of the country right now, so you won’t have a chance to get to know the chief himself.”

Was I happy or sad that Gibson wouldn’t be there? Part of me was relieved. The other part, disappointed. At least it took away much of my nervousness about being put on this task.

I said, “Okay then. I’ll be your eyes and ears.”

“Good.” She looked at me for a moment then said, “I’ve asked a lot of people now about Roundtree, and I’m still convinced it would be positive for us to be bought out by them. Gibson Reeves, however, is an enigma that I’d like solved.”

Wouldn’t we all, I thought.

She continued, “In the business world, there are different kinds of wealth. There’s a wealth that brings fame and importance through public interest. These are the tycoons on the covers of magazines, in full-page spreads in newspapers, on Web sites and blogs. They may as well be entertainers or athletes.”

She said, “But there are other kinds of wealth, and the most powerful, wealthiest kinds are also the quietest. You won’t read their names on a list of the country’s richest people, even though they control more wealth than the people on the list. If their picture is taken at a charity event, that picture doesn’t get published. If they date a supermodel, that supermodel instantly loses her newsworthiness.”

“What I’m saying is,” she continued, “money and success can buy you fame. But really big money and really big power can buy you perfect privacy, anonymity. I think it’s possible that the latter kind of rich man is what we’re looking at in Gibson Reeves.”

My mouth suddenly went dry.

Isabel laughed at whatever she saw in my face. “It’s not a bad thing, Nonnie, if that’s what Reeves is. He could make things happen for this business that we can only dream about.”

I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. I nodded, willing my face into blankness.

Isabel smacked her hands on her desk and said, “Enough of this speculation. Just go and see what you can see, hear what you can hear. And then come back and tell me all about it.”

I smiled weakly. “Okay, I will.”

Shortly afterward, she sent me on my way. I returned to my office and stewed over my upcoming trip to the headquarters of Roundtree Holdings.

After hearing what Isabel thought about Gibson, that she believed he was some kind of super-wealthy, super-powerful tycoon, I was relieved I wouldn’t be seeing him on my visit. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. I was in something akin to a state of shock.

My shock only increased when, the next morning, our car pulled up in front of a massive oval-shaped, weathered stone and glass building at least twenty stories tall, and I learned that the entirety of the building was occupied by Roundtree Holdings.

The main offices for Linton Cosmetics were in a much larger building than this one, a 50-story skyscraper, but we only accounted for half of one floor of the building. I couldn’t begin to estimate how many employees were within the twenty-floor massive Roundtree headquarters.

A pleasant man named Parker met us in the reception area on the ground floor. He said he would be our guide for a short tour of the facilities and that he would deliver us to our temporary office space.

The reception area was lovely, clean but not sparse in design. The waiting furniture looked comfortable, but not overly-so. There was color scattered here and there, but not too much. The space was a study in balance.

The decor throughout the offices was similarly balanced. I made notes on a pad as Parker showed us around several floors of the building, trying to record anything I thought might be useful to Isabel.

I knew one thing that would certainly interest her: that this was not the Roundtree’s sole building. According to Parker, they had numerous offices around the country, and overseas. This building was generally thought of as the main administrative office.

When I asked Parker how many different businesses Roundtree oversaw, he answered a vague, “Oh, very many. I don’t remember the last count. We look at things by division, generally speaking.”

Gee, thanks for the non-answer, I thought.

He did tell us a little about how Roundtree was founded in 1995 by a group of like-minded investors. I thought that was interesting, since I had assumed Gibson started the business on his own. Apparently a mistaken impression.

Parker said that the business had been growing ever since and that they looked forward to an even more successful future under the guidance of brilliant businessmen like Gibson Reeves.

I asked him how he liked working for Mr. Reeves.

Parker grinned and said, “I’ve only met him once, but I see him around sometimes. He’s a great man. We all respect him, even if we don’t get a chance to socialize with him.”

I asked how long he had worked there.

He answered, “Almost six years now. I thought for sure when the big crash hit that I’d lose my job, since I hadn’t been working here long. So many people did, elsewhere. But not here. Mr. Reeves made sure everyone kept their jobs, and the biggest pay cuts were taken by the biggest earners. I’ll never work anywhere else, if I have anything to say about it.”

I knew that was something Isabel would want to know. Hell, it was something I liked knowing.

Soon, I filled many pages with hopefully-salient info for Isabel, and I was ready for a break when Parker led us into a large conference room on the sixteenth floor. He told us this would be our office space during our stay, so we should make ourselves at home.

We thanked him, and he no sooner departed than a brisk young man came in the room, introduced himself and asked if we wanted coffee or something else to drink. He took our orders then said someone would be with us soon.

We settled in around the polished cherry wood table, relaxed back into the cushioned chairs and smiled at each other. Not too shabby, was the unspoken thought we shared.

The next hour passed slowly, with a man and woman quizzing Terry and Sloan about details of our business and the cosmetics industry in general. I didn’t contribute much. When I thought they were thoroughly engrossed in their conversation, I mumbled an excuse about needing to use the restroom and slipped out of the room.

I knew where I was heading: the twentieth floor. Parker said the highest level executives had their offices up on the top floor, but that we didn’t have time to tour them. I had a hankering to see Gibson’s office.

What was the worst that could happen if I got caught? I’d just say I got lost. Maybe they’d actually believe that.

The elevator opened on the twentieth floor and I stepped into a space that was similar to the other floors, as nice as the others, not showy. I walked straight down a wide hallway, admiring the paintings on the walls. They looked like original oil paintings, mostly landscapes.

Open doorways on either side of the wide hall led to offices which led to other offices. I assumed the people sitting at desks inside were assistants to the executives housed farther inside.

At the end of the hall, two large desks flanked a massive pair of double doors. If I were a betting woman, I would have bet those doors led to Gibson’s office.

I would have won that bet.

The woman behind one of the desks, an older lady probably in her sixties, smiled at me politely and asked if she could help me.

I went all casual and said, “Oh, I was just looking around. I’m a visitor here today so I thought I’d wander around, check things out. You know.”

She didn’t appear impressed with my story, though she didn’t stop smiling. “A visitor?”

“Yes. I’m with Linton Cosmetics, we’re here ...”

She visibly relaxed. “Oh, sure, we were told you’d be around for the next few days. Where are the others? I thought there would be three of you.”

“They’re down on the sixteenth floor. They didn’t need me for what they’re doing. I thought I’d take a stroll.”

She stood up and said, “I’ve got a few minutes, if you’d like me to show you around the floor.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“I’m Mary, one of Mr. Reeves’ secretaries.”

I hardly had a chance to give her my name when the younger man sitting at the other desk, chimed in with, “For the millionth time, Mary, we are executive assistants. Not secretaries.”

Mary said, “I’m doing the same job right now that I’ve been doing for almost forty years. I’m a secretary, always have been one. Don’t see why we need to go changing the title of the job if what I do is the same.”

The man sighed and gave me a “what are you going to do” look. He introduced himself as Kurt, then tucked back into his work.

Mary held out an arm and led me back the way I had come. She pointed out several of the paintings as being fine examples of the White Mountain School of painting. She said they originally belonged in the offices of Gibson’s father, Henry Reeves. Gibson had them moved to Roundtree’s headquarters after Henry’s death.

Mary said as we strolled along, “No doubt, the younger Mr. Gibson enjoys seeing the reminder of his father here.”

As we turned a corner and headed down a smaller hallway, I asked, “How long have you worked for Mr. Reeves?”

“He brought me here after his father died, so about eight years now. I worked for the elder Mr. Reeves at HR Labs for nearly thirty years. I was his secretary all that time. Not his personal assistant.”

I grinned. “Then you’ve known the family a long time.”

“Oh yes, many years. Here we are.”

She led me into a huge conference room. “This is where all the executives have their meetings. It has a wonderful view over this part of the city. And you can see on the far wall there, the pictures of the Roundtree executives.”

I only glanced at the view out the plate glass windows spanning one wall of the room, and headed straight to the framed photos on the other wall. I scanned past the women, then past all of the men, too.

I said, “There’s no picture of Mr. Reeves here.”

“Have you met Mr. Reeves?”