five

RICHARD

THE BUILDING HOUSING THE GAVIN Group was a polar opposite to that of Anderson Inc. Unlike the vast skyscraper of steel and glass I worked from daily, this building was brick, only four stories high, and surrounded by trees. I parked my car after checking in with the guard at the entrance, who smiled pleasantly and handed me a guest pass. Entering the building, another security guard greeted me and let me know Graham Gavin’s office was located on the top floor, then wished me a good day.

Minutes later, a secretary led me to a boardroom, handed me a fresh cup of coffee, and told me Graham would be with me momentarily. I took the time to absorb the details of the room around me, again struck by the difference between the two companies.

Anderson Inc. was all about flash. The offices and boardroom were all state of the art—white and black was the predominant palette. Even the artwork was monochrome with lots of metal everywhere. Hard, modern chairs, thick glass-topped tables and desks, blond hardwood on the floor— all cold and remote. If this room was any indication, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The walls were lined with warm oak paneling, there was an oval wood boardroom table surrounded by plush leather chairs, and deep, soft carpeting underfoot. An open area to the right housed an efficient kitchen. The walls showcased many of their successful campaigns, all framed and displayed tastefully. Various awards lined the shelves.

At one end of the room was an idea board. There were scribbles and ideas sketched out on it. I stepped closer, studying the images, quickly absorbing the structure of the campaign they were outlining for a brand of footwear. It was all wrong.

A deep voice brought me out of my musings.

“From the look on your face, I’d say you don’t like the concept.”

My gaze met the somewhat amused expression of Graham Gavin. We had encountered each other at industry functions a few times, always polite and distant—a professional shake of hands and brief acknowledgment being the only interaction. He was tall and confident, with a headful of silver hair that gleamed under the lights.

Up close, the warmth in his green eyes and the low timbre of his voice struck me. I wondered if the idea board had been left on purpose—a test of sorts.

I shrugged. “It’s a good concept, but not new. A family using the same product? It’s been done.”

He perched his hip on the edge of the table, crossing his arms. “Done, but successful. The client is Kenner Shoes. They want to appeal to more than one demographic.”

I nodded. “What if you did that, but only featured one person?” “I’d like to hear more.”

I pointed to the image of the family, tapping my finger on the youngest child. “Start here. Focus on him. The very first purchase of their product— shoes bought by his parents. Follow him as he grows, highlighting some pertinent points in his life wearing them—first steps, first day of school, hiking with friends, playing sports, on dates, graduation, marriage . . .” My voice trailed off.

Graham was quiet for a moment, then started to nod. “The product stays with you as you grow.”

“It’s a constant. You change—it doesn’t. Yours for life.”

“Brilliant,” he praised.

For some reason, his compliment made my chest warm, and I ducked my head at the strange sensation. He pushed off the table, holding out his hand. “Graham Gavin.”

I took his hand, noting the firmness of his grip. “Richard VanRyan.” “I’m impressed already.”

Before I could reply, my phone buzzed. Right on time. “I’m sorry.” I glanced at the screen, hoping I looked sheepish. “I need to take this. I apologize.”

“No problem, Richard.” He smiled. “I need coffee.”

I turned away as I answered. “Katharine,” I murmured, pitching my voice low.

For a moment, there was silence, then she spoke. “Mr. VanRyan?”

“Yes.” I chuckled, knowing I had confused the fuck out of her. I didn’t think I had ever called her anything besides Miss Elliott, and certainly never in a voice like the one I had just used.

“Um, you asked me to call and tell you your four o’clock was changed to three?”

“Three o’clock now?” I repeated. “Yes?”

“Okay, I’ll adjust. Is everything all right there?”

She sounded shocked when she replied. “Mr. VanRyan, are you all right?”

“Of course, I am.” I couldn’t resist teasing her more. “Why?” “You sound, ah, different.”

“Stop worrying,” I soothed, knowing Graham was listening. “Everything is fine.”

“David was looking for you.” “What did you tell him?”

“Exactly what you instructed me to say. He . . .”

“What? What happened?”

“He’s on a bit of a tear this morning.”

“David’s always on a tear. Take an early lunch and lock the office door. I’ll deal with him when I return,” I instructed as I smirked into the phone, injecting a concerned tone to my voice.

Bewilderment led to bravery for her. “Lock the office and take an early

lunch? Are you drunk?”

That did it. I burst out laughing at her words. “Just do it, Katharine. Stay safe, and I’ll see you when I get back.” I hung up, still smiling, and turned around to face Graham. “My assistant,” I explained.

He regarded me with a knowing look. “I think I know why you’re looking to leave Anderson Inc.”

I returned his look with a small shrug. I had him.

“Tell me about yourself.”

I grimaced at his question. “I think you know a lot about me already, Graham. At least you know of me.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Your reputation does precede you.”

I bent forward, hoping to appear earnest. “People change.” “And you have?”

“What I want in life and how I get it has, yes. Therefore, the person I was, no longer exists.”

“Falling in love does that to a person.” “So I’m discovering.”

“Anderson Inc. has a strict policy about interpersonal relationships.”

I snorted. “David doesn’t like his staff to have relationships inside or outside the office. It detracts from business, he thinks.”

“And you disagree?”

“I think you can do both—with the right person.” “And you found that person?”

“Yes.”

“Your assistant.”

I swallowed hard, only able to nod. “Tell me about her.”

Shit. When it came to business, I could talk forever. Strategies, angles, concepts, visualizations—I could go on for hours. I rarely spoke on a personal level about myself, so what could I possibly say about a woman I barely knew, and didn’t like. I had no idea. I swallowed again and glanced at the table, running my fingers over the smooth surface.

“She’s the biggest klutz I’ve ever met,” I blurted out—that much was at least true.

He frowned at my tone, and I was quick to cover my mistake. “I hate it when she hurts herself,” I explained in a softer voice. “Of course.” He nodded.

“She’s, ah, she’s perfect.”

He laughed. “We all think that of the women we love.”

I searched my brain, making a mental list of the things I knew about her. “Her name is Katharine. Most people call her Katy, but I like to use her whole name.”

It wasn’t really a lie. I called her Miss Elliott all the time.

He nodded. “Such a lovely name. I’m sure she likes to hear you say it.” I smirked, remembering her reaction earlier. “I think it confounds her.”

He waited as I mulled over my next words. “She’s tiny and unobtrusive. Her eyes are like the ocean—so blue they’re fathomless. Everyone adores her at the office. She bakes cookies for people—they love them.” I wavered,

trying to think of more. “She hates to be woken any earlier than necessary. Her voice gets all growly, which makes me laugh.”

He smiled encouragingly.

“She keeps me in line—she’s an amazing assistant and I’d be lost without her.” I sighed, unsure what else I could add. “She’s undoubtedly too good for me,” I admitted, knowing deep down it was true. I was certain I was the bad person in this scenario, especially given what I was doing currently.

“Do you want to bring her onboard with you?”

“No!” I exclaimed. This was my chance to get rid of her. “I don’t understand.”

“She, ah, we want to start a family. I’d rather have her at home, and have someone else at work. I want her to have the chance to relax and enjoy life for a while—without working.”

“She isn’t enjoying it now?”

“It’s difficult, given the situation, and she works too hard,” I added, hoping that sounded right. “She’s looked tired the past while. I want her to sleep as much as she wants.”

“You want to look after her.”

We were getting into dangerous territory. I had no idea how to respond; I had never wanted to take care of anyone, except myself. Nevertheless, I nodded in agreement.

“You live together, I assume? I imagine it’s the only time you can relax and be a couple.”

Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Ah, we, yeah . . . we value our private time.” “You don’t like to discuss your personal life.”

I smiled ruefully. “No. I’m used to keeping it all in.”

That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

“We’re a unique operation here at The Gavin Group—on many levels.” “Something I’m looking forward to.”

He indicated to the board. “We believe in teamwork, here and in our personal lives. We work on the campaigns as a group, feeding off each other, much like you and I did a few moments ago. We share in the triumphs and the disasters.” He winked. “Not that we’ve had many of those. I value every employee I have.”

“It’s an interesting way of doing things.” “It works for us.”

“Obviously. Your name is well respected.”

Our eyes met. I kept my expression open, level, and I hoped, sincere. He rested back in his chair. “Tell me more about your idea.”

I relaxed back, as well. That was easy—far easier than talking about Katharine Elliott.

An hour later, Graham stood up. “I’m away until Friday. I’d like to extend an invitation to attend a barbeque my wife and I are having on Saturday. I’d like you to meet her and a few other people.”

I knew what that meant. “I’d enjoy that, sir. Thank you.” “With Katharine, of course.”

I kept my face impassive as I grasped his extended hand. “She’ll love it.”

Back at the office, Miss Elliott was at her desk when I arrived. Although she was on the phone, I felt her eyes watching me as I crossed her path. No doubt, she was waiting for my wrath to descend on her for whatever infraction I chose to pick out today. Instead, I nodded and kept walking to my desk, flipping through the messages, and the small pile of documents waiting

for my approval. Feeling oddly disinterested, I stood up, looking out at the skyline and the city below; its bustle and noise muted by the glass and height from the street. The view and sound would be much different at The Gavin Group.

Everything would be different.

Often, by the time I finished any sort of meeting with David, I was a mass of nerve endings, pulsating and anxious. He knew how to push the buttons of every person who worked for him; how to say and do exactly what he needed to get what he wanted—be it positive or negative. Until this very moment, I hadn’t realized that. Meeting with Graham, even though I was on edge, given the premise I was meeting him under, I was still calm.

In my research of his company, and of the man himself, I had read over and again of his kindness and generosity of spirit. In fact, other than David’s low opinion of Graham, I hadn’t read or heard another unkind remark. Sitting with him, discussing the concepts in my mind for the footwear campaign, I had felt an enthusiasm that had been lacking for a long time. I felt creative again, energized. Graham listened, truly listened, encouraging my thought process with positive reinforcement, and adding ideas of his own. To my surprise, I liked his concept of teamwork. I wondered what it would be like not to be involved in the daily cutthroat world of Anderson Inc. How it would feel to work with people instead of against them. Would it make for a better life? An easier one—of that fact I was certain. Yet, I felt it would be no less challenging.

All I knew was, by the time our meeting ended, my reasons for wanting to work for him were no longer all about revenge. I wanted to feel that enthusiasm—to be proud of the campaigns I created. It was an unexpected situation, yet not unpleasant.

My door slammed and I turned, frowning, my thoughts interrupted. “David.” I regarded him pointedly. “Good thing I wasn’t with a client.” “Katy told me you were free. She buzzed you, but you didn’t answer.”

I had been so deep in thought I hadn’t heard the intercom. That was a first.

“What can I do for you?”

He drew back his shoulders, preparing for an argument. “Where were you this morning? I was looking for you, and you weren’t answering your phone, or returning my messages.”

“I was on a personal appointment.”

“Your assistant said it was a doctor’s appointment.”

I knew he was lying. One thing Miss Elliott was good at was keeping my secrets. I called his bluff. “Why she would say such a thing, I have no idea. I didn’t tell Miss Elliott where I would be. As I said, it was personal.”

He scowled at me, but dropped it. He walked around a bit, patting his comb-over; a gesture of his I knew well. He was going in for the kill. He pivoted to face me. “Why was Brian Maxwell here the other day?”

I shrugged, moving to sit at my desk so he wouldn’t see my smirk. Now, I understood what this was all about.

“Brian and I are friends. We were setting up a round of golf.” “He couldn’t do that over the phone?”

“He was in the neighborhood. He likes to flirt with Miss Elliott, and he dropped by in person. Is there a problem?”

“What are you up to?”

I lifted my hands in supplication. “I’m up to nothing, David, except a round of golf and a couple hours outside the office. Dock me if you want.” I picked up the stack of documents. “I think if you checked though, you’d see I have a lot of unused vacation time—take the two hours out of there.”

“I’m watching you,” he warned, turning on his heel, and storming out. The door slammed so hard the windows rattled.

I grinned at the door. “Watch away, David. Watch me walk away.” I stretched over the desk, and punched the intercom button.

Miss Elliott answered, sounding more cautious than usual. “Mr.

VanRyan?”

“I need a coffee, Miss Elliott.” “Anything else, sir?”

“A few moments of your time.”

She drew in a stuttering breath. “Right away.”

I turned my chair back toward the window, and heaved a sigh. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do.

I hoped I wouldn’t fail. God help me—either way.