CHAPTER 4

Connor sat in the exam room, twisting his hands. The lab had drawn blood that morning and Dr. Tiang had checked his vitals, and was ready to chat about his conclusions. And despite the fact that it might mean more time off, Connor appreciated how thorough he was being. He’d been livid when the doctor had first pulled him off work, but his perspective had slowly begun to change while he’d been sitting on the dock with Maya yesterday. Seeing her so alive, healthy and vibrant, just lapping up life as though it was a big ol’ bowl of milk, he’d realized how far he’d crumbled over the past six months.

And maybe Dr. Tiang could help him find a way to get a life. Get Maya.

Connor didn’t want to be sent back to Muskoka, because it would mean he’d failed at being a real man and handling all that the city was throwing at him. But he wanted to go back if it meant he might begin to feel human again.

He tried not to remind himself of Stella’s ultimatum—comply with the doctor’s orders or she was quitting. He almost laughed at how over-the-top she’d sounded, claiming she didn’t want to be the one to find him keeled over at his desk.

But his office couldn’t run without him. Who would finesse the latest merger if he wasn’t there? Surely not Bill and James.

Clenching his hands, Connor forced himself to breathe. Either the merger would happen or it wouldn’t. Two weeks wouldn’t settle his fate if he really was the king. And if the merger didn’t go through, well, then it wasn’t as though his stock was going to suffer due to one deal. Heck, he might even decide to pull out if they didn’t get their ducks in a row and meet his requirements.

Dr. Tiang rolled over on a stool, stopping in front of him. Connor was in a suit, ready to go back to work, but he felt like a kid begging the coach to put him into the game again, yet afraid that if he did, he’d let the man down.

The doctor let out a large sigh, his focus not leaving whatever was scrawled on his clipboard.

“Mr. MacKenzie, do you have staff who can take over your business’s essential duties for the next…say…two weeks?”

“I’m not running into doors. I’m fine to go back in.”

“According to today’s blood work, your elevated heart rate and memory test, you are not. You need rest. Two weeks is a bare minimum—just to see what you can accomplish.”

“I can accomplish plenty.”

“I’m guessing due to your present state that you need something more like months.”

“Months?” Connor shoved his hands through his hair and swore under his breath. He needed a haircut. He’d ask Stella to book one when he got back into the office. Damn. Stella. She was going to quit if he went against the doctor’s orders. Was this an order? Although she wasn’t here, which meant she didn’t have to know what the doctor did or did not say.

“I’d like to do a stress test.”

“Why?”

“To give you a better time frame for when everything is going to hit the fan if you go back to your previous lifestyle.”

“Everything as in…?”

“Heart attack. Stroke.”

Connor crossed his arms. He could convince this guy otherwise. That was his job. Sales pitch time. “I have good cholesterol and find my job rewarding. Positive stress is present in my position.”

“Not enough of it, according to what your body is telling me. I’d like to say it is whispering, but it’s more of an outright scream. I don’t think it can yell any louder without having a major collapse. Shall we test your hearing as well?”

Connor glared at the man. “There’s more to health than blood work, and my hearing is fine.”

“Personal problems?”

“I have no personal problems.” That was a nice side effect of not having a personal life. “I’m fine. This is how I work.”

“Tell me something, Connor.” The doctor paused. “Do you have trouble concentrating? Remembering things?”

“I’m a busy guy. I have an assistant and a secretary for a reason. Both good women.”

“Have you been experiencing irregular heart rhythms? Increased heart rate? Loss of motor control?” He raised an eyebrow. The doctor knew the answer; that was part of why Stella had brought him in here last week.

“I’m fine now. You were right. A few days of rest did wonders.” Connor stood, straightening his lapels.

“Have you lost interest in things that used to matter to you? Possibly your job or your social life? Hobbies?”

Who had time for that kind of stuff? Didn’t Dr. Tiang read the financial news? You didn’t get in there by hosting poker night for the guys.

“Grown away from family or friends? Mood swings?”

“Go to hell,” he said lightly.

“This isn’t a joke, Mr. MacKenzie.”

“My apologies. Really. I do appreciate your concern and know you’re trying to do your job. Warning heard. Now, I need to get back to work, but I promise I’ll cut down on my hours.”

“Impatience?”

“Ha. Ha.” Connor reached for the doorknob.

“Inability to get an erection?”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Dr. Tiang stood, placing a light hand on his arm. “Connor, if you don’t take a break and find balance, you will have a heart attack. That will mean more time off of work, either because it is fatal or because you will lose essential heart function—meaning for the rest of your life you will feel tired all the time. Or worse, you’ll have a stroke. We’re looking at the possibility of losing the use of one side of your body. Rehab. Do you have time for that?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re only human, Mr. MacKenzie. You need to create a personal life that is separate from your business life. You, believe it or not, can afford to save your own life, Connor.”

* * *

Maya shifted from foot to foot in front of the grimy glass doors to one of Toronto’s small tax firms. It didn’t seem as though Connor was coming back to Muskoka―not just because last night’s flying dream had been a panicky one where she’d lost control and begun to spin backward, but because of the way he’d left with barely a goodbye, his mind obviously already back in his skyscraper, making fistfuls of money. So she figured she may as well go to the job interview, even though the work wasn’t exactly what she wanted. Plus Hailey had needed a ride to the airport.

Maya drew herself up, vowing to show Connor MacKenzie that she didn’t need to wait around for him to notice her skills or kick-start her career. She could do it herself. She needed to do it herself. Adjusting her dress, she took one last breath and pushed through the doors, announcing herself at the large reception desk.

As the woman directed her to the elevators that would take her to the third floor, she added, “You might want to hold your breath.”

Maya gripped the tall desk. “Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Maya slowly made her way to the elevators. Hold her breath?

Did that mean tons of other grads had already had an interview with this piddly little company, and she needed luck on her side?

The elevator doors opened and Maya was struck by a scent that was suspiciously similar to feral tomcat. She held her breath and dived into the tight space, repeatedly punching the button for the third floor, hoping the smell wouldn’t stick to her clothes. Although chances were the interviewer would be immune to the smell. She shuddered at the thought of getting used to the rank odor, and inhaled without thinking. The doors opened and she fell out, coughing. She leaned against the wall, her interview nerves catching up to her.

She blinked back tears of desperation and drummed up the enthusiasm she’d been practicing in the car. She could do this. She  needed this job only to help her get established in the city, then she could move on to something better.

Save the cottage. Save herself. Move on.

A woman in a disheveled suit hurried past her, asking, “Are you the three o’clock?”

“Interview? Yes.” Maya stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Maya Summer.”

The woman gave it a brief clench, directing her into a nearby, vacant room. “Okay, let’s get to this. Why do you want to work for HL Financial and Tax Services?”

“I like numbers.” Maya smoothed her dress, mentally chiding herself. She liked numbers? Could her reply be any more lame? “I am well organized and pay great attention to detail. I also have a good memory, and filling out forms, doing math and organizing taxes appeals to me.”

“What’s your experience with taxes?”

“I’ve filed my own for several years.”

“Any courses? Job experience?” The woman flicked Maya’s one-page résumé as she scanned it.

“I am a fast learner and—”

“I don’t need a fast learner. I need someone with the necessary skills so they can jump in at a dead run. No coop placements? Internships? Summer jobs that have to do with financial management?”

A scruffy looking cat meandered through the room.

“I was in charge of cashing out each night at the—”

“Snowy Cone? I’m sorry, Maya, but that’s just not what we’re looking for. From your cover letter it sounded as though you had experience. Why didn’t you do a coop while at the U of T?”

The cat began scratching a leather chair at the end of the table. Maya made a psst sound and tried to wave the cat away from the rapidly disintegrating chair. It turned to her, fangs and hissing noises.

“Don’t pester Freud or he’ll spray.”

Maya took a moment. Was she seriously considering a job she wasn’t that interested in? A job that came with a mean, spraying tomcat who destroyed office furniture and who knew what else? Yes. Yes, she was.

“Why didn’t you do a coop?” the interviewer repeated.

“My mother isn’t well.” Maya pinched her hands between her knees and resisted the urge to plead with the woman. This was her seventeenth interview this summer, after almost a hundred applications. The only job she’d got was back home as a fill-in receptionist at the dealership, plus her old job at the Bar ’n’ Grill—and even that was only one night a week, with the next two weeks off. “I’ve been going home each summer to help my sisters care for her. That’s why I haven’t been able to do practicums and gain experience during the summers.”

“You haven’t done any during the school year?”

“I didn’t, no.” No need to admit that she didn’t know the right people to get those placements. It would only make her sound bitter and full of excuses, albeit legitimate ones.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear of your troubles, but sadly, there is nothing we can do for each other at this point.” The woman stood. “Please call us when you have more experience.”

Maya stood and tried to remain upbeat. “Thank you for your time.”

The woman paused at the door. “If you can afford it, Maya, get some relevant experience, even if it’s volunteer work. Offer to help out accountants in your hometown, anything related. It’s better than nothing.”

Accountant work? She wanted to buy and sell companies and get her hands dirty, not spend all day balancing numbers in a spreadsheet.

“Thank you.”

Maya let herself out of the building, then sat in her car, sniffing her outfit for hints of lingering elevator smell. She seemed to be in the clear, luckily. Both in terms of smell and avoiding working in an environment rife with hissing cats. Well, at least one.

Maybe she could drive over to Connor’s massive building and offer to work for him in Toronto. Anything. Even the mailroom was sounding good.

She rubbed her forehead and checked the clock on the dash. It would be after four by the time she found his office and got through traffic. Maybe even five. But he’d still be there. Men such as Connor didn’t leave early. And after a weekend away, he’d be working extra hard, she knew.

She could beg, plead, whine. She’d do even the most menial jobs, and do them for free. Evenings and weekends she could work in a bar to pay her rent—or stay at Backpackers, the hostel on Dundas, and ride her bicycle. She’d have to do it for only a few months before the lack of sleep caught up with her, but by then she’d have proved herself, and Connor would start paying her what she was worth. Then she’d be right where she’d always dreamed of being.

She pulled out onto the main road, her car stalling in the backed up traffic. She restarted her engine, leaving a cloud of exhaust that made her cough. Damn old thing. Leaning across the seat, she rolled down the passenger window. Warm, muggy city air. Nothing ever felt better.

A man carrying a briefcase leaned in and said, “How much per mile?”

“Oh, um, about twelve kilometers per liter when I’m in traffic like this.” She waited for the light to change, wishing she’d locked the doors. In the city you never knew what people were going to do—even if they were wearing a suit. She keyed up a business podcast, ignoring the man.

“I meant what’s your rate? Your fare?” Maya frowned. “You’re a taxi, aren’t you?”

“Oh!” Maya put down her phone, contemplating the man. Picking him up would help cover her interview expenses. Sure, Hailey had given her a twenty for taking her to the airport earlier, but still, Muskoka to Toronto wasn’t a cheap drive in this beater. “Yeah, of course. Where do you want to go?”

“Eaton Center.”

“That’s a long drive.” And just about exactly where she was heading.

“How much would it cost?”

“You know what? I’m already heading that way. How about forty bucks? Flat rate.”

The man opened the back door, chucking in his briefcase. “Let’s go!”

Maya laughed. She liked this guy. He could live by her nickname—Snap—that her sisters had given her, too. Snap decisions and all that—they might tease her about it but the fact was she got stuff done.

“I’ve never heard of your company—Alvin’s Taxi—before,” he said.

“We usually work in Muskoka.” Maybe she shouldn’t get a new car when she moved to the city. She could run her so-called taxi instead of biking and pick up a few fares as needed to help cover the cost of running a car. Well, until the police asked to see her taxi license or whatever it was she needed to operate in the city.

“Must be a lot cooler than in the city right now.”

“It’s a bit cooler,” she admitted. She offered him her bag of trail mix. “Hungry?”

“No, thanks. Mind if I smoke?”

Maya shrugged.

He rolled down the back windows and lit up as her car crawled forward.

“The expressway might be faster this time of day.”

“Construction.”

The man sighed. “Always construction.”

“Do you need to be there by a certain time?”

“Forty minutes.”

“Hmm.” Maya eased her car forward and onto the curb as she squeezed past a truck and into an alley. “Hang on. This might be rough.” She cruised the alleys, zigzagging her way across side streets until they opened up on a bigger thoroughfare where she could get her overheating car moving at a good speed, cooling it down.

“Did I ever mention how much I like your cab company?” he said, a smile in his voice.

Maya laughed. “We aim to please.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Where do you work?”

“Roundhouse Exports.”

“Yeah? What’s that like?”

“Pretty good. Two weeks off, paid. Health spending account.”

“What’s the work like? What do you do there?”

“I travel a lot. I used to be quality control. Now I’m distributor assessment. We could use a creative problem solver such as yourself. We’re always on the lookout for people who can figure out how to maneuver around roadblocks.”

“I’m for hire.”

He laughed.

“Business degree from U of T. Graduated top of my class.”

“And you’re driving cab? The economy really is in the crapper.”

“Nobody will hire me, because I have very limited experience,” she said with a sigh.

“That’s always a problem, isn’t it?”

The way the silence stretched out between them like a rubber band, Maya knew he was regretting his “come work for us” comment. He was probably wondering if she was unstable or something, seeing as she hadn’t been snapped up by some big corporation upon graduation.

The man in the back remained quiet, watching the city pass by outside the window. Maya finally pointed to a billboard. “Seen the Blue Jays this season? I heard they’re doing well.”

“I don’t really follow sports. I probably should, though, as I’d be more popular around the water cooler.”

“Yeah.” More silence. “So, uh, is your company hiring right now?”

“Just menial jobs. Nothing for someone with your skill set.”

How did he know what her skill set was? Oh, right, she’d bragged about her marks. Maybe she should shut up about that and just take whatever job came her way. It seemed as though she was either underexperienced or overqualified.

“I’m not too good to start in a small job and work my way up.”

“Anyone is lucky to get a job these days. Tell you what…” He shifted, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket. He flipped it open and passed his business card over her shoulder. “Watch our website—all jobs are posted on it—and if something comes up, apply, and use me as a personal reference. What’s your name?”

“Maya Summer.” Maya blinked, glad her sunglasses were covering her damp eyes. Finally, a lead. Finally a reference. She held up the card, willing her voice to be light. “Thank you.”

He patted the seat and smiled. “Anytime, cab-driving Maya from Muskoka who graduated top of her class at the U of T. See? Remembering you and our connection. Rock solid.” He tapped his sandy hair with a knuckled fist.

Maya laughed and read the name off his card. “Okay, Jonah who works at Roundhouse Exports and doesn’t follow sports and has a health spending account. Thank you.”

Maybe her mom was right. Connections might be the answer she was looking for, after all.

* * *

The doctor didn’t know what he was talking about. Connor was not going to have a heart attack or stroke. He wasn’t a senior citizen. He was young and alive. He just needed to figure out how to stop being such a pansy and get his work done.

“I’ll be working late,” he told his driver as they pulled up in front of his office building. “Don’t wait around.”

He stepped onto the sidewalk, the thick summer air pressing down on him. No cool breezes or chirping birds. Just traffic, exhaust, and heat. He tugged at his collar and hurried to the doors, eager for the relief of air-conditioning. A man stepped out, the door’s glass reflecting the hot summer sun into Connor’s eyes. It was so bright he was momentarily blinded, his balance failing as he stepped back. A bus honked and a truck ground its gears. Someone bumped his shoulder as he fought to see.  A douche in a suit glared at him, barely lifting his head from his phone as he jostled past.

Connor entered the building and glanced toward the Starbucks nestled in its heart. He could really use a massive Americano right now, but the line was out the door. He patted his pockets, searching for his phone. Where had he left it? Was Stella in today? Or had she decided to take the two weeks off as she’d threatened to?

Maybe his secretary, Em, would want to get out of the office for a bit and fetch him a coffee.

He took the elevator to the top floor of the tallest skyscraper in Toronto, First Canadian Place. Landing that primo office space on the corner of Bay and King had shown him exactly who he’d become in Toronto. The king. A man who got what he wanted even if it wasn’t on the table.

Eager to soothe his worries and doubts with a good opera, as well as a mindless task such as cleaning out his in-box, he stepped off the elevator. A woman behind his secretary’s desk popped up as he approached, her hands doing a strange jittery dance at her sides.

“Mr. MacKenzie?” Her face was a mask of confusion. “I thought you were on vacation.”

He paused for a split second, not fully recognizing her. She seemed familiar, but at the same time foreign. “Just an extended weekend, didn’t Stella tell you?”

“She said you’d be gone for two weeks.” The woman placed a hand on her chest, her posture sagging. “It’s unlike you to take time off, and so suddenly. I was worried.”

“Did you change your hair?” He still couldn’t quite place what was so different about his secretary.

Em patted her dark bob with the pink streak. “Three months ago,” she said tentatively.

“It’s nice. It makes you look younger.”

She beamed. Yep, same woman. Man, he needed to start opening his eyes and seeing things. He stepped into his office, calling over his shoulder, “Can you get Stella on the phone, please?”

Em promptly sat, punching in numbers he should know by heart. He closed his office door and waited for her to buzz him.

What to tackle first? The in-box? Real or virtual? Check in with his merger project manager? His advisors and whatever they were working on?

He ran his palms over his large desk, surprised that they were trembling. He clenched them, willing them to still. He was excited to be back, that was all. That was why his heart was racing, too. It wasn’t fatigue, or anxiety, or anything that would lead to him in a hospital bed.

“Mr. MacKenzie? Stella is on the line.”

“Thank you, Em.” He pushed the worn button. “Stella! We’re back in business.”

“The doctor let you go back to work?”

He tried not to be miffed at the way her voice rose in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because only a few days ago you couldn’t remember my name, and ran into the doorjamb hard enough to blacken your eye, and stopped being able to form full sentences. Not to add you’ve been looking like death warmed over for about a week. And I mean that in the literal sense.”

“Good to hear your voice, too,” he said drily. “When can you be in here and bring me up to speed?”

He waited through a long pause, staring at the art on his office walls. He spun and studied the panel to his right. “When did I get new office art?” he asked.

“You’ve had that since you moved in.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.”

Connor focused on the prints once again. The colors were so subtle, so bland. So…boring. “Did I pick them out?”

“The interior decorator did. You said you didn’t have time. You requested something powerful, intriguing and preferably not offensive.”

Placing Stella on speaker, he walked to the wall and lifted the first print off. “Well, it’s none of the above.”

“I agree.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He could picture her shrugging on the other end of the phone.

“You know, paycheck, agree with the boss, et cetera. But I did bring you that new painting I found a few weekends ago.”

“Where’s that?” He scanned his room, and there it was, a gorgeous, bright sunflower that lacked the gloss of talent. Oddly enough, it made him feel good. It made him feel…love. And not in a hokey way, either. “It’s nice.”

“I know. You should hang it on your wall.”

He crouched to read at the name, and fireworks of recognition flared inside him.

“Connor? You still there?”

He pulled himself out of his spell. “Where did you say you got this?”

“Farmers’ market a few hours north.”

“Yes. Right. I remember now.” He stood and returned to his desk. “Stella?”

“Yes?”

“Have you found that getting projects under way and making a decent profit seems more difficult lately?”

There was a thoughtful pause. “Yeah, maybe?” The way her voice lifted—a voice more familiar to him than his own—he knew she was considering the idea, hefting it in her mind while assessing its worth. “For the past few months things haven’t flowed as quickly or smoothly as they once did.”

Connor nodded. Thank goodness it wasn’t just him imagining it, or creating a story in his head so he’d feel like less of a failure for the ways things had been moving lately. “It is harder.”

“Well, the economy isn’t what it was when we started.”

He leaned back in his chair, assessing the print still hanging to his right. It had to go, too. Maybe after he caught his breath again.

“It is harder to make an easy buck with these stupid economic bounces,” he admitted. Was that all it was?

“If it were steady. Even if in decline…”

“Those were the good ol’ days, weren’t they?” He wanted to hash this out in person. She was his best sounding board and had been with him since he’d started this business. He checked his watch. It was already after five, and it wouldn’t be fair to call her back in if she was already gone for the day.

“Why don’t you retire?” Her voice was gentle, curious.

“Retire?” He let out a laugh. “Don’t you know how young I am? I have a world before me.” He spun around in his chair, his power position. There wasn’t an office higher in the city and everyone knew it. He was on top in every way possible. “And give all of this up?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. She was holding back. What was it?

“I’m missing something.”

“A life, for starters.”

He laughed. “I’m the king. Who needs a life? This is it! What everyone strives for.”

“Everything is business with you and it’s killing you.”

“Not this again.” He fought the temptation to hang up, his anger soaring higher than the CN Tower.

“Don’t get snippy with me.” There was an edge to her voice he hadn’t heard before. “You need time off.”

“I don’t.”

“Take time to reassess, Connor. I’m not saying quit, but you need time away to figure out your next life goal.”

He paused, unsure. He had made it to the top, and didn’t have any more goals other than to try and knock down any dirty rascals storming his castle.

“You have a stellar grad to help you out over the next two weeks,” Stella said. “She and Em can take care of the little things and your advisors can take care of the big things. I hired Maya for two weeks. Everything is under control. Take a vacation, Connor.”

“I don’t think Maya can be you, Stella.”

She laughed. “Of course not. But I gave her an info pack I spent half the night compiling. She’s up to speed. She’s eager but as quick as a whip. Trust her. She’ll get it done and she has Em to lean on. I have good instincts in people. So trust the people you and I have hired and go. Rest. Restore. That merger is an old clunker, and two weeks away from it will enhance your point of view, not kill it. And everyone else has their own projects to keep them busy.”

“Two weeks minus the days I’ve taken off already.”

“Don’t nitpick, Connor.”

“You knew the doctor was going to tell me to take this time, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, but I know how to be prepared for anything. You taught me that.”

“You’re not in Canada, are you?”

“No, Connor, I’m not,” she snapped. “Ever think that maybe I need a vacation every once in a while, too? In fact, doctor’s orders.” Her voice was low, sad almost.

“Why?” His heart was racing again, but he knew that this time it was out of concern for his assistant, Stellar Stella, and not for whatever other reasons usually set it breaking the recommended speed limit.

“I’m pregnant. And I’ve been working too hard.”

“Shit.” Talk about left field. Hadn’t she married only a few months ago? It was right after the Westing merger, and she’d taken her honeymoon just before they’d jumped on the Everglades deal which closed last fall. Holy cow, it had already been well over a year. How did that happen? “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Why do you sound glum?” he asked.

“Because I haven’t even told my parents yet and I’m having to tell you. I’m still in the first trimester, so don’t even think about telling anyone.”

“Mum’s the word.” He chuckled at his pun.

“Connor, you’re a nit.”

“So? We’re back at work in two weeks?”

“You taking the time off?”

“It’s not the same without you here keeping me together, Stellar Stella.”

“You’re really taking it?”

“No, of course not. I’m going to die at my desk and you know it.” Laughing, he ended the call, his humor dying as he broke the connection. He tugged forward a newspaper Em had left open on his desk, and glanced at the photo under a headline that had his name. Who was this old dude who looked as though he was a member of the walking dead?

Connor dropped the paper in realization. It was him. The knowledge hit him in the chest and he turned back to his view of the city, his breathing ragged with alarm. It wasn’t a joke. He really was going to die here. He might already be…no, don’t think that way.

He moved to the wall, supporting himself for a moment before lifting the second print. A print? Why hadn’t he bought real art? He could support someone doing something fresh and new, instead of buying a cookie-cutter image. He dropped the print and a corner of the frame splintered.

The print was him, his life. He was similar to the artist in that he’d made something cool the first time. Something original, new, and alive, not knowing how it would end up. He’d followed his gut and created. Then, boom, before he knew it, he was selling framed reproductions and hoping to ride the gravy train to something big, when in fact he’d sold out and stopped creating long ago. This artist was rubber-stamping his own creativity, Connor his whole existence.

It was time for more risk, and to put something worthy in his obituary. He needed meaning.

He returned to the phone on his desk.

“Is James still here?” he said into the speaker.

“Yes,” Em replied.

“Tell him to pop by, would you?”

“Sure thing.”

A moment later James came breezing into Connor’s office. “How’s my favorite boss, Connor MacKenzie, the king of Toronto, doing?”

“You crazy son of a bitch, what’s up?”

“Not a lot.”

“How’s the merger?”

“Bill says it’s tough going.”

“Why?” Connor took a drink of water from the mini fridge to his right. His throat felt dry and his eyes were burning. Must be the air in this place. Recycled. Maybe he should get some sort of renovation done to improve that. Stella, in her condition, would want fresh air, not this dry, already-breathed crap.

“The usual. Slow backers. Lawyers dragging their feet.”

“Speed things up.”

“Trying.”

“And?”

“Things aren’t like they used to be.” James leaned back in his chair and propped his fingertips together.

“People are still eager to merge with me.” Connor’s anger was back. He wanted to snap, lash out at something. It had become like this in his office lately. He flashed from chilled out, relaxed and patient to pissed off and ready to punch something.

“I know, I know.”

“Don’t placate me.”

“It’s clause 15, subsection 7.”

“Which is?” He should have this memorized, not James, who was only an advisor. James was a details man, yes, but he wasn’t the boss.

Where were his files? Connor rustled through some papers on his desk and rubbed an eye.

“I’ll work on it with him,” James assured him. “We’ll finesse things. Massage it along. Don’t worry about it.”

“Any new potential offers on the table I should know about?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing?” Damn the bounce in the economy. One little rise and everyone was sunshine and roses, thinking they were through the storm. They weren’t. “I thought Bill was our ideas man.”

“You weren’t gone that long, my man,” James said, tapping the corner of Connor’s desk with a knuckle.

“How’s your primary industry project going?”

“Okay. Moving along on schedule.” James allowed a small smile and Connor relaxed. Maybe if this project went well for James things would finally get easier again.

“Look, I gotta go, Connor.” James placed his hands on the chair’s armrests and leaned forward. “Meeting with the lumberyard’s people for dinner. Golf next weekend?”

Connor managed a tight, polite smile as he massaged the tightness in his left shoulder. He had come to hate golf, as it represented getting cornered by golf partners on the twelfth hole and propositioned for a new project, then having to play nice for another six holes before he could let them down nicely and walk away. Or in James’s case, rejecting his play for Connor’s company. His advisor wanted a large share of the company’s bottom line even though Connor had made it clear that it wasn’t up for grabs. Connor owned CME, nobody else.

“We’ll play it by ear, okay?”

“Sounds good.” James tapped the door frame. “Oh, and hey, are you back again?”

“Can’t stay away. You know me.”

“I’ll let the guys know.” James licked his lips twice—a tell Connor had come to recognize as the man being nervous. Why didn’t his right-hand man sound more enthused about the prospect of him being back in charge? Odd.

His office door opened and Em came in carrying a notepad, ready for an end-of-the-day debriefing. She smiled as James ducked out, and took a seat across from Connor, falling into Stella’s usual routine.

Connor rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the shooting pain that was arching up his arm and into his neck. Probably a pinched nerve.

“You all right?” Em asked, her face pale with worry.

He rubbed his chest. “I think I need to leave. How about we debrief in the morning?” Every breath felt as though he was trying to wrestle a noodle through a vise.

Em stood alongside him as though she was expecting him to fall.

Connor didn’t dare speak. He needed a hospital. Now.

* * *

Maya wished she could stand in the entry of the skyscraper housing Connor’s business forever. The air conditioner was blasting straight at the doors and the chill was a welcome relief from the heat of her car. She surreptitiously flapped the skirt of her dress to encourage more cool air to move against her skin before reluctantly moving through the stream of employees happily leaving the chilly building in order to breathe real air. Feeling like a salmon swimming upstream, she weaved her way to the elevators, barely making it into the next empty one before the doors closed.

Hitting the button for the top floor, she savored the elevator’s fresh scent. She ran her fingers through her hair, gazing in the mirrored wall and thinking of various opening lines. “Hey, how are you? Need someone in the mailroom?” Or “Can I work for you here, since you aren’t coming back to Muskoka?” It didn’t matter. Every line she came up with sounded desperate and stalkerish.

The doors opened and she stepped out of the elevator, needing to buy more time. They closed behind her and she whirled, almost slapping the down button before catching sight of a serious woman sitting at a desk, watching her.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Of course he’d have staff that wouldn’t let you just crawl back under a rock, but would call you out.

Maya waved and shook her head. “I was going to say hi to someone, but just realized the time.” She took a step backward and lifted her wrist as though checking her watch. No watch.

Wow. Moron move after moron move. Way to impress everyone in the big city. No wonder nobody would hire her.

“Well, since you’re already up here, let me validate you.”

“Is my downtrodden self-esteem showing?” 

The woman laughed. “Your parking?”

“Oh, thanks.” Maya stepped forward, digging into her straw purse.

“Who were you coming to see?” asked the woman.

“Connor MacKenzie.”

“Something important?” she asked carefully.

“Well, um. Yes.” To her, anyway. Not so much to Connor.

“You’d better go through and talk to Em. I think she’s still here.”

“Em, his secretary.” She remembered her from the info pack Connor’s personal assistant, Stella, had sent her. “Thanks.”

Maya moved farther into the office, not liking the concern on the receptionist’s face.  She kept moving past doors and cubicles until she was toward the back, where there was an open area, tall plants and a vacant desk. A large corner office sat empty, its framed prints leaning against the walls.

Two men were chatting off to the side, their heads bent as though they were up to something. Their brows were furrowed, but the longer they talked, the more relaxed they became, until they were chuckling. The one high-fived the other and let out a triumphant laugh.

A female voice broke her out of her people watching. “Can I help you?”

Maya admired the woman’s short bob, complete with a pink streak. “Yes, I’m Maya Summer. I’m looking for Connor’s secretary, Emily Duncan.”

“You must be Mr. MacKenzie’s assistant in Muskoka. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am, thank you.” Maya straightened her back and smiled. This woman knew who she was! Someone in this big impressive building knew who she was and, not only that, was happy to see her. Her life was beginning. Right here. Right now. “Are you Emily?”

“Em.”

“Em.” Maya turned slightly to point to the men, who had stopped chatting and were walking away in opposite directions. “Who are those guys?”

Em glanced over Maya’s shoulder. “Mr. MacKenzie’s advisors. Bill Hatfield and James Culver. Did Mr. MacKenzie call you already?”

“Today?”

“Of course he didn’t.” The woman frowned, dimpling her chin, as she began walking, assuming Maya would follow.

Maya liked her already. No need to stop talking just because you were on the move—there were things to be done.

“Stella is on vacation, so don’t pester her unless absolutely necessary, and I will determine when that is. You go through me for everything. Understand?”

Maya nodded, trying to assess the situation. Something had happened, but Em was talking so fast she didn’t have time to mull over what it might be.

“I’m glad you came in. I was going to courier files to you, but this is better. Nice to see who they are going to.” She gave Maya a small smile. “You’re going to be a busy gal. We need to get you situated.”

“Why, exactly?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, and Maya felt as though her intelligence was being tested. “Mr. MacKenzie is taking two weeks off.”

“Yes...” But…did this mean he was heading back to Muskoka?

Oh, no. What if he was in Muskoka waiting for her to take him to the island, and she was in his office trying to pass herself off as someone important?

The woman shot her a wicked grin. “If you are asking why exactly you will be a busy lady as Connor’s assistant, enjoy the quiet, because when we kick into high gear you’d better have your running shoes on, girlie.”

“Check. Got them.”

Em laughed. “I like you, Maya. I think Stella did good in hiring you. Not many could take on Mr. MacKenzie in the mood he’s been in lately, but I think you might. You just might.”

“Oh, he’s fine.” Maya let out a half laugh.

The woman waved her over to her desk.

“Is that his office?” Maya asked, pointing.

“It is. Stay out unless authorized. And you are not authorized.”

Yikes. This secretary was scary under her pink streak and smile. But if this was what Connor wanted in his staff, Maya could so fit that bill. “It doesn’t seem like him,” she said.

“Then you don’t know him.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She couldn’t stop staring into the room. It was so barren. Not stark and modern, but barren. As if it was missing some key element—such as Connor. “He needs a plant. Or some life in there.”

“Tried that. I had to water it, so gave up. I don’t have time to make his office pretty.” Em poured a stack of files into Maya’s arms. “This’ll do you for now. They’re all copies, so I don’t need them back right away. But when your position is terminated, all of these files and any notes, further files or anything you have created must be returned to me. To me. You understand?” She waited for Maya to nod before letting go of the stack. “You keep nothing.”

That was heavy.

“This is all he’s currently working on.”

No wonder the man seemed so tired. It was an insane amount of work.

“He’s familiar with everything in these files?” Maya couldn’t help asking.

“Normally.”

“He doesn’t now, though?” She tried to get a better gauge of what Em was hinting at as the woman turned to grab a thinner stack.

“This is upcoming stuff. He might refer to it, but you probably won’t need it. He will expect you to know it though.”

Finally. She was going to be working for Connor in a real way.

“Do you have a box?”

Connor’s secretary looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“What?” Maya asked.

“You’re not taking public transportation with these confidential files, are you?”

“No, but it would make it easier to get to my car without the wind carrying away half the pile.”

The woman grabbed a recycle bin from Connor’s office and dumped the files into it. “I’ll email you an encrypted file with Mr. MacKenzie’s email addresses and other vital info, if Stella hasn’t already.”

“She did, but he hasn’t requested I take care of anything yet.”

“Oh, he will. Just give him time. In the meantime, you’d better get fully up to speed while you have a chance. Things will be crazy by Wednesday and you can’t afford to get behind. If you’re behind, we’re all behind. Got it?”

Maya swallowed and nodded. Again, the mailroom was looking good. If only to avoid having the sensation that the entire corporation was resting on her shoulders.

“And if Mr. MacKenzie tries to do any work, you call me. He is absolutely and entirely on vacation. Got it?”

“I thought he was on a working retreat.” She was sure that was what Stella had called it. He was taking a bit of a break while she took care of things at his side.

“It’s a full-on vacation now, so you do your work and keep an eye on him for us.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Because I’d like to still have a boss and a job next week.”

Oh, that did not sound good. That really did not sound good.