Drop Dead Gorgeous (14 page)

So, Laurence pushed. “I'm waiting, Zach.”

“I think she expected something more.”

Laurence slapped his hand to his forehead. “My God. Do you really think so?”

The corner of Zach's mouth lifted. “Yes, sir, I do.”

“You don't have relations once with a coworker, then run and hide, Zach.”

“No, sir, I didn't want it to be just once.”

Laurence opened his mouth to speak.

“Don't knock her.” Aggression entered Zach's tone before he added another
Sir.
“That's how all this trouble started.”

“I wouldn't dream of disparaging her.”

“She's a very generous and caring person,” Zach went on.

Laurence wondered if the boy had moved from healthy respect and desire into delusion, but quashed the uncharitable thought. “Then where did everything go wrong?”

“I didn't want to be part of the office gossip mill, but I don't think Harriet wanted to keep it a secret.”

They hadn't actually talked about it, Laurence surmised. Another part of the problem. “You were embarrassed?”

Zach shook his head vehemently. “No, no, that wasn't it.”

Laurence sighed. “Then what kept you silent?”

“All right. That was part of it. The guys would have made my life miserable. You know how they are.”

Laurence knew. Did “the guys” look at Madison's legs, eye her breasts and drool over her pretty little derriere when Laurence wasn't watching them? He'd damn well put a stop to it.

Perhaps a dress code change was needed. Harriet had specifically cited Madison's attire, which translated to short skirts and tight sweaters. A change of dress code would bring office harmony.

Yet a policy change would require Madison to purchase an entire wardrobe. That would constitute a hardship. He couldn't, in good conscience, tell Madison what she could or couldn't wear. Even if his career went down in flames.

Which it most certainly would now that he'd contracted Secretary Lust.

And that was the gist of his quandary. Secretary Lust. His own predilection was the basis for not instituting an office apparel policy. He wanted Madison in short skirts and tight sweaters, but his desire to see her in them was demeaning to her as well as Harriet. He admitted to himself that he was the worst of a bad lot.

Madison's attire in the workplace had to change. He'd have to add “garb” to the memo he planned to write tonight concerning office conduct.

That difficult decision made, Laurence turned back to Zach's problem with Harriet. “Do you want a relationship with her?”

“I've been thinking about that for eight months, and I'm still not sure.” Zach chewed on the inside of his lip. “She's a lot of work.”

“But do you care about her?”

“I guess I do. I can't seem to get her out of my mind.”

“If you feel that way about her, you'll just have to be a man, Zach, and take the heat from the guys.”

Zach nodded. “But I've screwed up things so badly now, I don't think there's any hope.”

Laurence smiled the smile of experience. “Let me tell you what you're going to do to fix this mess.”

 

“W
HEN WAS THE LAST TIME
you tried on my wedding dress?”

Madison rolled her eyes, glad her mother, being on the other end of the phone, couldn't see.

“When I get married, Ma—” which would be never, though she avoided saying anything like that flat out to her mother who frowned on Madison's self-diagnosis of her condition “—I want to pick out my own wedding dress.” Sentimentality was great, but Madison's mother got married in the late sixties, and the dress she'd worn looked as if it would go with one of Jackie Kennedy's pillbox hats.

T. Larry had closeted himself with Jeremiah and Alta. He had to get out of there before five. He just had to. Because she had to know how things went with Zach. She'd chewed the lipstick from her lips and bitten her nails to the quick, or would have, if her manicure hadn't cost so much.

“And don't think I didn't recognize that subtle reference to marriage, Ma.”

“It wasn't subtle at all. But that nice Laurence—”

“His name is T. Larry.”

“Then why did he introduce himself as Laurence?”

“It doesn't matter, because I'm not marrying him.”

“Do you know how much he makes a year?”

“I'm his secretary, not his accountant. And money isn't important.”

“Then it's true love.”

Madison thought about banging her head against her desk, just like T. Larry, but tried to think of her end of the conversation. Gauging what Bill, Anthony and Mike thought about it from their vantage point on the other side of her cubicle wall seemed quite important. Of course, then she couldn't remember exactly what she'd said. “I told you yesterday after church—”

“Does he attend church regularly?”

“I have no idea.”

The conference room door stayed tight as a vacuum-packed seal. What was going on in there?

“James thinks he's marvelous.”

“James offered him condoms.”

“Madison.”

“He did, Ma. You've got a big problem brewing in that household of his. I think it's called birth control.”

Another shocked exclamation, then, “In my day people didn't dream of talking about that kind of thing.”

Her mother's day had been smack-dab in the middle of the sexual revolution, though it somehow managed to roll over Ma and leave her untouched. “Are we referring to sex or birth control?”

“I know what you're doing.”

“What?”

“You're trying to deflect the subject. Now about marriage and that nice Laurence—”

“I'm not marrying T. Larry.” Taking T. Larry to her nephew's birthday party might not have been one of her brighter impulsive decisions. Had she said that too loudly? The guys were being awfully quiet on the other side of the wall.

“What does Laurence have to say about that?”

“He doesn't want to marry me, either.” It became difficult to lower the decibel of her voice when the level of her ire was rising. Then she sucked in a breath. Why was she angry? She never got angry. It must be her upset over Harriet and the suit. “Ma, can we talk about this later?”

“But we need to start planning…”

“Ma.”

“All right. I just called to tell you your brother would be by tomorrow to fix the disposal. So leave a key under the mat.”

“I always leave a key under the mat.” Because one of her brothers was always coming over to fix something for her, the big sweeties.

“And for goodness sake, clean up the kitchen a little. You know he hates to work in a mess.”

She didn't have time to clean up. She had her picnic with Richard. “Sean already told me.”

“I don't know where you get your messiness from.”

She got it from having too many better things to do. “Bye, Ma. I love you.”

“One more thing, Madison dear. I'm Episcopalian, and I've always believed in birth control. Except for that brief stint where your father corrupted me into being a Catholic.” A pause, her lips would be pursed. “So take your brother's condoms just to be sure.”

Oh. My. God. Her mother had succeeded in shocking her.

Madison put the phone down, then shrieked, suddenly seeing ZZ Top standing right in front of her desk.

“How did you get there?” And how long had he been listening? What embarrassing things had she said? Not that it mattered. Except to T. Larry, of course. T. Larry hated to be embarrassed.

ZZ didn't answer her question. “Mr. Hobbs told me to tell you not to leave until he's done with his meeting.”

“Mr. Hobbs?”

“T. Larry.”

“I know who he is. I just can't figure out why you're calling him Mister.” She cocked her head. “Are you all right, ZZ?”

Something flickered in his somber eyes. “Do you believe in ghosts, Madison?”

She let her eyes wander left to right, then back to him. “Uh…yes.”

“Can you see them?”

She quirked her mouth to the side. “Uh…no.”

“Well, I think you're gonna start seeing them real soon.” He blinked. “Do you have any Reese's cups?”

“Uh…yes.” Whatever was going on in that man's head? She pulled a bag from her drawer and held it out to him.

Taking one, he undid the wrapper, sucked the chocolate thoughtfully, rolled the foil into a ball and handed it to Madison. Then he walked away.

 

F
IVE MINUTES TO FIVE
. If he didn't cut off Jeremiah's fourth refrain on the theme of we-won't-pay-a-dimeand-don't-involve-our-lawyers-until-absolutely-necessary, Madison would be gone despite the message he'd sent through Zach.

He wouldn't be able to tell her about his decision on the new dress code. On second thought, if he didn't tell her until tomorrow, that would be one more day of short skirts.

Unfortunately, some things just couldn't be put off. The firm's reputation—not to mention his own—was at stake. “The problem's taken care of, gentlemen. By this time tomorrow, Harriet will have withdrawn her suit.”

Zach would be punching Bill, Anthony and Mike's collective lights out for numerous ribald remarks made at Harriet's expense. It would be an object lesson in becoming men for them all, Zach included.

The boy had failed with Harriet the first time because he hadn't developed a plan. Laurence had now supplied him with a foolproof one.

Enough patting himself on the back. He had to see Madison before she left. Despite the pleasant thought of one more day regarding her tight sweaters, he had a company responsibility to carry out. He rose and turned, stopped by Ryman Alta's hand on his shoulder.

Ryman's face resembled a wizened old apple. Many a client, auditor, employee or partner had confused his slow, quiet, thoughtful manner for Alzheimer's. That's when Ryman went for the bare throat. The man was a pit bull, and Laurence felt the bite of his bony fingers.

“Get rid of the two of them as expeditiously and quickly as possible. I don't like troublemakers.”

“It will be difficult and extremely unwise to terminate Harriet. It will only give grounds to her suit.”

“Then make sure she doesn't have a leg to stand on. Make sure neither of them do.”

He didn't like what lay sunk in Ryman's dark eyes. “How do you propose I do that?”

“If you'd covered your watch a little more closely the first time…” Ryman let Laurence draw his own conclusion. “Perhaps you'll be more vigilant a second time.”

“A second time? Are you saying I should encourage them to have sex in the office so I can catch them at it, then fire them?”

“I'm suggesting you get rid of them with the least backlash against the partnership. If you value your voting status in this partnership, that is.”

“I don't like to be threatened, Ryman.”

“And I don't like a mess.”

Neither did Laurence, and Ryman was only adding to it.

“And while you're at it, get rid of that sexpot secretary of yours, too. We don't want any more suits due to her attire.”

Now that made his blood boil. “Madison isn't a sexpot.” And that fantasy about the conference table was really only a fantasy. He'd
never
act on it. “I'm not firing her.”

“Then at least get her to stop wearing those clothes.”

As much as he would miss those skirts, Laurence had already made that decision. “I'm handling all the issues, Ryman.”

“See that you do.”

The “or else” was in there. But Carp and Alta wouldn't vote him out of the partnership. They needed him. He managed the office, the audits, the staff, and took care of a plethora of small details they couldn't be bothered with. Laurence washed his hands of the threat as Ryman shuffled down the hall to his office.

Then Ryman turned back. “Laurence.”

Damn, he didn't have time for this. Almost five o'clock, he didn't want to miss Madison. “Ryman?”

“Have you looked at Stephen's file?”

Tortelli. Laurence kept his voice low for the sake of the hallway conversation. “I looked at it, and I put it aside.”

“What did you think?”

“It's all very neat and squeaky clean.” Too clean, every line item complete with explanation. Clients just weren't that well documented. It wasn't in their nature. Unless, at one point, they'd come under close governmental agency scrutiny. With the recent rash of accounting scandals, which were due not only to negligence and fraud, but, in his opinion, an overcomplicated rules base, the firm couldn't afford even the slightest hint of impropriety. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Tortelli screamed misconduct.