She didn’t hide her anger—that’s what surprised Rye the most. He followed her from the elevator to Patrick’s office as she marched her way past the few employees working late. She was fuming. She was livid. She was beautiful.
That old sexist cliché rings true, after all, Rye thought. She really is beautiful when she’s angry. Beyond beautiful—stunning, even. And while he enjoyed the softness in her expression after they made love, he was even more drawn to her ferocity. Every feature stood in sharp relief; there were planes and angles he hadn’t known existed. She’d settle for nothing less than full bloody battle.
She didn’t knock on Patrick’s door but grasped the knob and slammed it open so hard it bounced off the wall. She flattened her palm against it as it flew back at her and shoved it hard again as she passed through the doorway, letting it boomerang into Rye, who slowed the trajectory and closed it quietly behind them.
Patrick jerked out of his chair. As usual, his shirt cuffs were rolled up, his tie loosened. His six-foot frame rivaled any stevedore on the docks in sinew and strength. His deep auburn hair begged to be trimmed.
A decidedly hot and heavy feel hovered in the air as father and daughter squared off. Rye settled himself on the leather sofa, leaned back and awaited the floor show, his fingers linked behind his neck, one ankle resting across the opposite knee.
Paige slapped the newspaper on Patrick’s desk as he sat down again. Her curls bounced like springs with the force of her movement. “You lied.”
Patrick glanced at the paper then up at Paige. “You’ve made some interesting changes in yourself.”
“We are not discussing me. We’re discussing you. This—” She stopped abruptly, catching her breath, gathering control. She jabbed the newspaper article. “This is beyond forgiveness. How could you do this to me?”
Patrick leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth; his forefingers bounced against his lips. “It was for the good of the company. I didn’t do anything to you.”
“It’s a slap in the face. You’ve played games with me before, but this surpasses anything I would have thought you capable of. The risk to the company with this merger is—”
“Worth it,” Patrick interrupted.
Rye stood and wandered closer. “I need a piece of paper, Patrick.”
Father and daughter turned toward him, twin expressions of bafflement forging matching burrows between their brows.
Patrick shook his head bluntly. “What?”
“A piece of stationery, please.”
Acting automatically, Patrick slid open a desk drawer, withdrew a single piece of letterhead and passed it to Rye, who uttered a cheerful thanks and retreated to the sofa again. Both O’Hallorans watched him settle down, pull out a slim gold pen from his pocket and begin writing.
Paige shook her head and returned her gaze to her father. “The move is not good for the company,” she said more calmly. “It’s too big a risk. And I don’t know if I can be a part of its downfall.”
“You won’t be.”
“You’re so sure it won’t be a disaster?”
Patrick rubbed his face with his hands then locked them over his stomach. “You won’t be part of it, win or lose, Paige. Your job’s been assigned to the comptroller of Collins-Abrahamson.”
“You’re firing me?” Rage and shock warred on her face. She took a stumbling step backward. Rye watched Patrick walk around his desk and try to put his hands on Paige’s arms. She brought hers up and out violently, knocking his away.
“You’re ruining my business, kid,” Patrick said, his voice tight and soft.
Paige held herself in rigid control, fighting thunderous emotions. She started the next sentence three times before she could get the words out. “We’ve had a steady eleven percent profit in the years I’ve had a hand in the decisions.”
“And we had twenty or thirty, even forty percent profits in previous years.”
“And some with no profit. Two with losses,” Paige reminded him, her voice losing strength with each word.
“A long time ago.” Again Patrick reached for her. Again she knocked him away. “It’s no fun anymore. I need to have the fun back.”
“How much were the lunches we bought at the convenience store on Christmas?” Rye asked from the sofa.
Paige turned her head by jerky degrees to squint at Rye. “What?”
“Our Christmas picnic. Do you remember how much we paid?”
She frowned. “No. Rye, this is important.”
He pointed to the paper on the low table before him. “So’s this. Sorry for the interruption,” he said lightly, assuring himself she was under control again before letting her face Patrick.
She exhaled a steadying breath. “You want fun, Dad? You’ve got how many employees now that you’ve merged with another company? People who have families, who need security and stability. Ask them if they’re happy with an eleven percent almost-guaranteed profit, or a surprise every year. Ask them if they care whether the job is fun for you or not.”
“Now wait a minute, Paige. You know damn well I’m not going to risk my employees’ jobs. Those years we had losses, I took only enough salary to survive. I never laid off anyone. And, dammit, it is important whether or not I have fun.” He swept an arm to indicate the room. “I’m fed up being stuck behind a desk pushing papers. I enjoy getting out on the docks and loading or unloading with the men. You know I do. I’ve been so tied to paperwork I haven’t been able to do that. I’ve got employees I haven’t met, who don’t know me from Adam. That’s not the way I built this business.”
Patrick paced the room as he continued. “The merger frees me—it frees me from paperwork, from this damned room! I can go out in the field again, make deals, negotiate. I love that. I’ve missed it these last few years. You did a good job, Paige. But you’re just too damned conservative.”
“My mother would have been proud,” Paige said, her voice husky.
“It’s true. She would have. I have no doubt you can be a big help to a company. It’s just not going to be this one.”
Paige’s chin came up. “I never would have suspected you were a coward, Dad. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble just to finagle a deal. I am rational. You could have fired me without the elaborate ploy.” She glanced at Rye, who smiled encouragingly. “You took valuable time from Rye’s life. He could have been helping someone who really needed it. Well, I guess it’s a fitting end to our rather rocky relationship, isn’t it?”
Patrick flinched. “It’s a change in our relationship, honey. In the long run, it’ll probably be better for us both. We’ve worked together forever. I don’t even know if this is what you really wanted to do, deep in your heart.”
She laughed and tossed her head in a defensive gesture. “What if I said I wanted to be an elephant trainer? Funny how twenty-eight years have gone by and you never asked. Now that you’re feeling guilty, you take a sudden interest in my dreams.”
Rye grinned. He didn’t know how serious she was, but he admired her guts. Patrick looked as if she’d slugged him in the stomach.
“You’ve always been first in my life, Paige.”
“I’ve always been second.” The words were shouted; the pain came through a second later as a whisper. “Second. Maybe even third, because the company came ahead of me, too. But I always, always came after my mother’s deified memory.”
“I never—”
“You always,” she countered. “My mother, the paragon of virtue. The calm, the elegant, the perfect woman. The love of your life, even in death. I know I don’t hold a candle to her, but I’m here. I’m alive. Humans make mistakes. Angels can’t.”
Her pain layered a new heaviness in the air. Rye stopped referring to his notes, stopped writing on the stationery. He saw Patrick take a step back and turn from his daughter. Silently, Rye urged him to be honest with Paige for once.
“I loved your mother,” Patrick said finally.
“You worshiped her,” Paige corrected him. “You wanted me to be just like her, and I can’t be. I’m like you, don’t you see that? I’m like you.”
“No.” Patrick shook his head vigorously. “You’re like her. You look like her. You move like her. When you laugh— God, when you laugh, I hear her.”
“I look like her?” Paige latched onto the words. “But...you’ve always said...she was beautiful.”
“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
“And I look like her?”
“Almost exactly. Damn. If your mother had lived, everything would have been different. She wasn’t an angel, you know. God, she was so young. So young to have the responsibility of marriage and a baby. We didn’t have any idea what we were getting into. But love is so powerful. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but each other, then you, Paige.” He shook his head slowly. “We had some doozy fights. It was so much fun making up.”
Paige blinked, startled. “Wait a minute. You’ve always talked about how quiet and soothing she was. How she kept you in line.”
“I didn’t want you to think your mother was a shrew, honey. She wasn’t. She sparred with me, but I needed that.”
Paige just stared at him. Rye could see her sorting information, aligning it with lifelong beliefs. She seemed to scan her memory banks, stopped occasionally to read the history there, then scanned some more. Trancelike, she picked up her purse from the chair she’d tossed it into; she turned and walked to the door. Once there, she swiveled to face Patrick again. Her gaze never once included Rye.
It was too much emotion for her, he could see that. She was torn between pain, disbelief and anger. She couldn’t think logically, so she had to retreat for a while and pull herself together. The expression she left Patrick with said volumes.
Both men watched her leave, her dignity intact.
“You should go with her,” Patrick said. “She’s too upset.”
“She can’t drive because her car’s not here.” He passed through the door in time to see her disappear into an office two doors down. “Buzz your secretary and tell her to let you know if she leaves the office.” He ambled in Patrick’s direction as the call was made. Rye watched him hang up the phone, drop into his chair, lean his elbows on the desk and sink his head into his hands. He slid the piece of stationery into Patrick’s line of vision.
Patrick’s arms plopped onto the desk as he focused on the paper. “What’s this?”
Rye hooked a leg over the desk corner and crossed his arms over his chest. “My bill. Itemized, as your departing comptroller requires.”
“How much...?”
“The charter we took back here was pretty expensive. I think that’s everything. If not, I’ll send along an additional statement when I send the receipts,” Rye said matter-of-factly. “Pretty expensive merger.”
Patrick flipped the invoice into his in-basket, then ignored him.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened with this game of yours?” Rye’s fury, held leashed since he’d first entered Patrick’s office, finally broke free. He leaned his hands on the desk; his voice reverberated with anger and authority. “I was prepared to maim—even kill—anyone who looked at us funny. Paige and I both were spooked by anything that happened out of the ordinary and by people who were no threat to us. She could have been killed if she’d gotten too scared and started making thoughtless mistakes. Killed. Are you getting the picture?”
“She’s always had a good head on her shoulders,” Patrick said defensively.
“The most sane of people lose the ability to make rational decisions when faced with fear. Did you think this through at all?” He closed his eyes against the red haze of rage until Patrick’s shaky voice drew him back.
“Obviously, not enough. I didn’t mean to put her in danger. Or you.”
“Right. You just wanted her out of the way so you could negotiate your deal.” Rye straightened. “I can’t believe you fooled me. I knew something wasn’t right about this whole business, but I had decided that you were working on your own here and didn’t want to distract me from watching out for Paige. I’m amazed you devised enough suspense to keep me sure of her need for protection.”
“I didn’t do that. You did.”
“What do you mean?”
Patrick sighed. “I mean I hadn’t thought of anything beyond telling Paige her house was broken into. You just kept giving me ideas when you asked questions.”
“Paige told me you freaked out when you couldn’t track us down on Christmas.”
“I panicked. I thought for sure you’d headed back here, and we weren’t signing papers until the next day.”
Rye snorted. So, because he’d kept Patrick informed and asked all the right questions, the game had been perpetuated. Some kind of investigator he was. He’d been far too personally involved in this assignment. He should have known what Patrick was up to. He should have known.
Rye watched Patrick move items on his desk, one at a time, an inch at a time, then move them back, obviously uncomfortable. And maybe something else. Guilty? “Patrick,” Rye said quietly, then waited until the older man looked at him. “Exactly how long have you been plotting to get Paige and me together?”