Think About Love (4 page)

He studied her as if he could see beyond the calmness of her voice. "Personal business?"

"Yes." His gaze was too intense and she said irritably, "The reason doesn't matter, unless details of my private life are a requirement of my employment?"
 

She flushed at the sound of her own words. "I'm sorry, that was nasty."

"And unprovoked?"

"Yes." What on earth was wrong with her? She'd done battle with Cal before, had always held her own, but this time she’d overreacted, before he even asked the questions. She supposed it was because, for the first time, the subject was her own personal life.

"I'm sorry. You've never probed about my personal life."

"It hasn't been relevant to your job until now. What's so urgent, Sam?" His eyes told her he knew he had the upper hand.

"My grandmother is in the hospital."

"Seriously ill?"

"She says not. I wouldn't take off at a time like this if it weren't necessary."

The frown lines radiating from the corners of his eyes told her he wasn't satisfied. "When do you leave?"

"Early tomorrow." Had she told him she was leaving town? "I'll be back late tomorrow night."

"Flying or driving?"

She put her cup down on its saucer, the sound of china on china ringing between them like a warning bell. "Does it matter how I travel?"

"Yes."

She'd shared her ambitions with Cal, her ideas and plans for Tremaine's, but not herself. She knew he regarded her as an efficient mystery, knew he didn't understand how she smoothed the chaotic waters around him, but he respected her. She liked it that way, the balance of power even between them, her own feet firmly on the ground, immune to the winds of his forceful personality and volatile emotions.

Nine out of ten women in her position would be overwhelmed by him, probably in love. Samantha was the tenth; she'd seen enough of passion and volatility to know the dangers. She admired him, loved working for him, understood him well enough to make herself indispensable professionally. But she wasn't tempted by his gray eyes, his love of a challenge, his waving dark-blond hair. She certainly wasn't about to let herself slip into some kind of "personal friends" situation that gave him a handle on her own vulnerabilities.

"Why do you need to keep your travel plans secret?"

"Why do you need to know them?"

He looked as if he'd scented something intriguing and meant to explore it. "If I see news of an air crash on television tomorrow, shouldn't I know whether or not you were on the plane?"

She swallowed hard, remembering endless hours after last December's air crash, watching CNN nonstop with Dorothy, keeping the phone lines clear because someone might call to tell them Sarah and Jonathan were alive and well.

"Sam?"

For heaven's sake, Samantha M. Jones, snap out of it!

"I'm driving."

He said nothing, just waited, until she added, "To Nanaimo."

"Canada? You'll be driving north to Vancouver, taking the ferry to Vancouver Island?"

"You know Nanaimo?"

"I can even spell it. I did a cycling tour about fifteen years ago. The Canadian Gulf Islands: Galiano, Salt Spring, and Gabriola."

"My grandmother lives on Gabriola," she said before she could filter the words. "I grew up there."

"I didn't know." He leaned forward, curiosity in his eyes. "How did you go from being a Canadian kid to an American woman?"

"Dual citizenship. Look, I need to leave. I’ve got my cell. If there's anything you need tomorrow, just call."

"What time do you expect to arrive in Nanaimo?"

"Two-thirty in the afternoon." She put her napkin neatly on the table beside her plate, pushed her chair back.

"We'll go in the chopper. We'll leave at noon. The flight will be less than two hours, but we should allow some time for customs."

She couldn't spend two hours in Cal's helicopter, two hours worrying about Kippy and Dorothy, with Cal right there, watching. "I don't need—You have other things to do."

"You know damned well there's nothing for me to do but wait for Friday. It’s driving me nuts."

Flustered, she shook her head and felt strands of hair coming loose. "I need my car when I get there."

"I'm sure a competent M.B.A. like Samantha Jones can manage to rent a car at the Nanaimo airport."

He had her trapped. She was half standing, the urge to run pumping through her veins, and she realized suddenly just how out of proportion her response was. As if Cal were threatening her, instead of offering help.

"You' re right." She forced her voice to calm appreciation. "I'll arrange a car rental. I'll see you tomorrow at noon." She stepped back, pushed her chair into the table, and even managed a smile as she picked up her portable computer and handbag. "Thank you for dinner. I'll take a taxi back to my car."
 

When he stood, she held up a hand to still his automatic protest. "I'd rather."

She could tell from the itching along her spine that he watched her walk out of the restaurant, that his eyes didn't leave her until she turned out of sight and reached for the door.

Chapter Three

Samantha expected the helicopter ride to be an agony of persistent questions from Cal, blended with her apprehension about flying.

She'd messed up yesterday, telling him she needed to go away. Somehow, she'd stirred his curiosity. Usually his curiosity focused on computer matters—on questioning executives about their needs, exploring new ways of making computers serve people, taking apart his new electronic organizer to examine the circuitry.

His curiosity was the driving force behind Tremaine Software. She'd occasionally seen it trained on a person, had sat in airports with him, enjoying his speculations about passersby. She'd always been grateful that when he trained that curiosity on her, it was limited to questions like: Why did you decide on the open house? What makes you believe it's a better solution than the employment agency we used before?

After last night's personal questions, she'd prepared herself for more, rehearsed her lines.
I prefer not to discuss my personal life. I appreciate the ride, Cal, hut it doesn't give you the right to question me.

She was ready for him, but the only question he asked was, "Did you arrange the car rental?"
 

"Yes."
 

"Good."
 

She fastened her seat belt and watched him walk around the helicopter before settling in the pilot's seat. She took five careful, deep breaths, concentrating on relaxing her body to escape the tension that had accompanied any sort of flying since last December.

"All set?"
 

"Yes."

She wondered if she'd be in Nanaimo early enough to slip up to the hospital before she met the lawyer, early enough to see Dorothy for herself before she listened to whatever the social worker had to say. She needed to know if her grandmother was telling the truth about her minor medical problem. If it was
only
indigestion, why would Dorothy be hospitalized?

This morning she'd called June at the employment agency, and tonight after she and Dexter had— hopefully— regained custody of Kippy at this afternoon's family court session, she would drive Kippy back to Seattle in the rental car and get her settled with the temporary nanny. Then, tomorrow, she'd be able to focus on the open house, knowing Kippy was in expert hands.

Samantha jumped at the sound of Cal's voice.
 

"What?"

He handed her a set of headphones. "Once I start the engine, the headphones will blank out some of the noise and let us talk without shouting."

"Thanks."
 

She didn't want to talk, not today.

She watched as he flicked switches, wondering how these machines really worked, whether she'd feel panic when he swept them up into the air. She felt the urge to ask questions, nervous talk, and suppressed it. The engine began humming, and she saw the helicopter's blade slowly rotate.

A moment later the helicopter lifted, tilting forward and sweeping upward into the sky, sweeping panic into Samantha's throat. Then, as they lifted over Seattle's harbor, the world straightened and they flew level, out over the water.

It was perfectly all right, she told herself, watching Cal's hands on the controls.

"How long have you had this helicopter?"

"Three years." He studied something out the side window, his voice oddly intimate through the headphones. "Brent and I used it for fishing trips in the mountains. Then Brent moved to California, and I bought his share."

He'd bought Brent's share of the business, too. The documents were filed under AGREEMENTS in the company minute book.

"You should have gone away this week. You could have had a few days fishing before the open house, instead of going nuts waiting for the event."

He flashed her a grin. "How could I have harassed you, watching over your shoulder, with no cell phone reception? Have you ever been up in a helicopter before?"

"No."

"Nervous?"

"Not now."
 

Below, a sailboat leaned into the wind, crossing Puget Sound toward Port Townsend. She twisted her head, watching. "What do we do about customs?"

"I called ahead. A customs officer will meet us at the airport."

Had he checked entry procedures since he offered her the ride yesterday, or had he always known? "Have you ever been fishing on Vancouver Island?"

"No. I haven't done much fishing at all lately."

And he probably wouldn't for some time, she thought, once he began the new project. She'd expected his curiosity to make this journey difficult, but he seemed relaxed, and she felt her tension ease in response.

He gave her a sideways grin. "I'm pretty hyped about this new project. I doubt if I could sit waiting for fish to bite. You've been going flat out for quite a while yourself, getting us into the new premises. Great location, by the way. Several of the project leaders have mentioned that they appreciate looking out over the harbor instead of the rock-face view we had in the old place."

"Thanks." It was a bonus that Cal was so often appreciative of her efforts.

"Is this where you came in December?"

"Yes."

"You didn't look all that rested when you came back after Christmas."

She turned away to stare at a small island passing by on their right. She didn't want to talk about December. She'd come back in shock from the plane crash that took her sister and brother-in-law's lives, knowing Dorothy too was still grieving deeply. It was only after she'd made her first couple of monthly visits to Dorothy that she realized having Kippy was the best thing that could have happened to help them recover from Sarah's death.

Now the authorities were threatening to take Kippy from Dorothy. She mustn't let it happen, couldn't allow Sarah's child to stay in foster care.

She realized Cal was still waiting for an answer and said, "I brought along copies of some of the likely resumes that have come in this week for the development jobs. Do you want the details?"

"Give me a rundown," said Cal.

The closer Cal flew to Nanaimo, the more distracted Sam seemed. Was she thinking about problems ahead that she needed to resolve, and if so, exactly
what
problems?

She'd been damned secretive about this urgent personal journey. Until last night, he hadn't realized how little he knew about Samantha Jones. They'd flown together on commercial jets several times, to San Francisco, New York, and once to London. They'd met frequently for planning sessions, working lunches and dinners. Twice, she'd attended major trade fairs with him, and several times she'd acted as his hostess for business dinners. Since Sam came to work for him, Cal had spent more time with her than with any of the women he'd dated. He knew she took her coffee black, preferred fish and chicken to beef, and would rather read a mystery than watch a movie on long flights.

Twenty-four hours ago, if someone had asked him, he would have said he knew Samantha Jones very well indeed. Certainly, he knew that he could tell her he needed fifty more developers and support staff, with premises for them to work in, and she'd listen carefully, then say simply, "I'll look after it."