Who's on Top? (5 page)

Pig.
Jane stood up, too. Then she jammed her glasses onto her nose and marched out of the restaurant ahead of him.

J
ANE SAT WITH HER ARMS FOLDED
and stared straight ahead during the ride back to Zantyne Pharmaceuticals.

“You must be seeing things much more clearly now.” Dominic's sarcasm had not abated.

“Yes, I am. How funny that I'd forgotten my glasses were right in my purse the entire time.”

She wasn't fooling him and they both knew it. He smirked with the knowledge that she'd wanted to be attractive for him and not look schoolmarmish.

She wanted to mug him of that realization and smack the smirk into next year.
Pig.

Silently she recanted the insult, remembering that she was supposed to be a professional, and professionals remained objective in situations like this.
I neither like nor dislike Dominic wanking Sayers.
Ahem.

Try again, Jane.
I neither like nor dislike Dominic Sayers. I neither li—

“Front-door service with a smile,” he interrupted her affirmations. “It's wet, nasty weather, so I'll let you out here and go park the car on my own.”

Jane blinked. “Thank you,” she said, getting out of his car. She had to admit that pigs weren't generally gentlemen.
I neither like nor dislike Dominic Sayers….

 

D
OMINIC WATCHED
J
ANE
O'T
OOLE
as she walked crisply in her London Fog to the doors of Zantyne and pulled one open with a little more force than necessary. Every hair on her head seemed to quiver with indignation, and her glasses glinted with it, too.

Well, doesn't the truth hurt, sweetheart. You
had
made up your mind about me and you don't like being called on it.

Dom snorted. “Objectivity, my ass.” He pulled the Jaguar into a parking slot and sat there for a moment, reflecting about his situation. He wasn't sure why one moment he liked Jane O'Toole and the next he despised her. He also wasn't sure why he was charming to her one moment and then insulting the next. And if there was one thing he hated, it was not being sure. Dominic had built a career on his confidence. And it was genuine—because he knew he was good. He wasn't simply a cocky poseur; he was the real thing.

Right now it didn't matter if he was good or confident, however. He was being knocked off balance by a woman who didn't play according to any rule book or ethical standard familiar to him. Arianna made up her own version of morality, and Jane was her puppet.

Dom drummed his fingertips on the taupe leather seat. If he didn't figure out how to beat these women at their own game, that leather seat wouldn't belong to him for long. He'd be fired and lucky to be behind the wheel of a hot-dog cart.

He got out of the Jag and stood in the rain, pondering the situation from every angle. The image of Jane's mortified face as she'd settled her glasses onto her nose brought a smile to his face.

There was no doubt in his mind that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And if that was her Achilles' heel, well, then…he intended to nibble on it. Among other things.

See Jane squirm. See Jane moan. See Jane beg.

If those two women could play dirty, then so, by God, could he. Dom tossed his keys in the air, palmed them again and hit the Jaguar's lock button by feel. Then, with a tuneless whistle, he sauntered across the parking lot and inside.

 

A
RIANNA
D
U
B
OSE WAVED AT
J
ANE
as she walked by her open door. She held up a finger, as she was on the phone, but motioned Jane to come in and sit down opposite her desk.

As she waited for the female vice president to finish the call, Jane took stock of her one more time. She'd met Arianna a few times at business functions. She'd spoken at the local Kiwanis Club, and they'd sat next to each other at the last Executive Women in Business luncheon. She vaguely remembered that Arianna ate nothing, absolutely nothing, but meat.

Arianna was exceptionally well groomed and studded with diamonds at her ears, fingers and neck. Each rock was at least a carat of success and bril
liance. She sported a platinum wristwatch, blood-red nails and lips and black helmet hair.

Jane caught a glimpse of black lace under the woman's business blouse—interesting—and told herself not to be bitchy when she noticed that the VP's bustline seemed unnaturally firm and unforgiving. If Arianna had been surgically enhanced, it was none of her business.

Jane didn't deliberately listen to Arianna's conversation, but she couldn't help picking up a few tidbits.

“No, Harold, that's not acceptable. Absolutely not. I don't care what the excuses are—you're meeting that November deadline, whether IT comes through or not. If you have to go door-to-door and fill out the surveys by hand, then so be it.”

“Harold. Harold, don't even think about threatening me. You quit now, I'll make sure you never work in pharmaceuticals again. Got it? Good.” Arianna hung up the phone with a snarl but immediately downshifted it into a warm purr for Jane's benefit.

“Jane!” She surged from behind her desk and grasped both of Jane's hands in her cold, dry ones. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. How are you?”

Arianna waved in irritation at the phone. “Oh, just working out a few kinks with marketing on a new product. These guys are like a bunch of slow toddlers, for God's sake! I can't keep wiping their noses for them. They know what the market demands and they know what it takes to keep our competitive edge. I
don't want to hear their pathetic whining about how they can't make deadlines.”

Jane nodded in sympathy.

“Men fall into two categories,” Arianna expounded, “toddlers or teenagers. The toddlers whine and cry and are generally incompetent, and the teenagers just give you lip and attitude. Dominic Sayers, for example, is a teenager.”

“Oh?”

“My God, yes. And I simply won't put up with his insubordination.” She cast a glance into the hallway and shut her door. “So what have your impressions been so far?”

“Well,” said Jane carefully, “he definitely seems to be a strong personality.”

Arianna laughed. “Honey, you don't have to be tactful around me. He's an
asshole
. And he believes he's a lot smarter than he really is. And he thinks with his pecker. He just can't handle having a woman in charge.”

“Mmm,” said Jane, trying not to think about Dominic's pecker. “Well, in order to do a full evaluation, I need to observe quite a bit more and do some experimentation with role-playing. Have him take some tests. That sort of thing.”

Arianna blinked impatiently and pulled a nail file from her top desk drawer. Using precise slicing movements in one direction only, she smoothed the edge of each nail on her left hand. “How long—” slice, slice “—is all of this going to take?”

Jane knit her brows as she gazed at the woman. “Well, at least a few weeks. Why? Are you on a timeline of some kind?”

Arianna transferred the nail file to the other hand and went to work. “Not at all,” she said just a shade too casually. “I just like to know about these things up front.”

Jane nodded.

“By the way,” Arianna began, changing the subject. “Have I mentioned that I'd like to see you work with HR at Zantyne on a national level? To orchestrate some company-wide seminars like Breaking New Ground and Morale Boosting?”

“No, you didn't mention that,” said Jane, her pulse quickening. “But I'd love to!” What a coup for a new company like Finesse! They would definitely break even, maybe even make a profit in their first year, with just
one
such client. Jane tried not to salivate openly.

“Let's talk about a presentation, then,” Arianna nodded. “Of course you'll have my full backing…assuming that I'm pleased with the way you handle this current issue.” She laughed a too-melodious laugh. “And I'm sure I will be.”

Jane nodded and smiled. “Of course. Finesse may be a fledgling company, but we're aptly named and very professional.”

“I can see that, Jane. I'm sure this is the beginning of a long and profitable relationship for us both.” Arianna smiled broadly.

My goodness, her teeth are white. Almost blinding.
Jane followed Arianna to her office door and shook her hand as the vice president showed her out. Did the woman gargle with Clorox?

 

H
ER
D
AD AND
G
ILBEY WEREN'T
too talkative at this Sunday dinner, either, even though Jane brought Lilia. Lil brought a beautifully wrapped bouquet of mixed flowers and wore a sapphire-blue silk blouse for the occasion.

Jane shook her head and grinned. “Miss Manners, honey, this is my dad and the backyard grill, not dinner at the White House.”

Her friend raised a brow. “So? Even a picnic table can use some fresh blooms. And I'm not going to show up empty-handed.”

Jane gave her a fond glance and let her be but had to laugh when her dad just stared at the flowers and then back at Lilia.

“What, nobody's ever brought you flowers before?”

“Uh, thanks, hon.”

“Dad, you might want to put them in a vase. Or a pitcher. I know we have a pitcher around here somewhere.”

“Right.” Her father ambled into the kitchen and poked around in a few of the blue-painted cabinets, coming up empty-handed. Finally he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a plastic container with a swallow of orange juice left in it, which he poured down the sink. He rinsed the thing, refilled it with
water and plunked the blossoms into it with a small grunt of satisfaction.

Lilia kissed him on the cheek. “They look lovely. Shall I put them on the picnic table outside?”

He nodded, and Lil followed Jane out the back door. Gilbey was headed in their direction from the barn on the back of the property. They waved and he waved back.

“Your dad's as talkative as ever,” Lil murmured.

Jane laughed. “He'll never change. But we love him just the way he is.” It was Gilbey she worried about. Her dad was close to retiring from the tool-and-die shop he managed. Gil had the rest of his life ahead of him. She wanted to see him productive and happy.

“Hi, Lil. Hey, Jane,” he greeted them. “What's up?”

The conversation didn't get much more sparkling than that, as they all sat at the weathered old picnic table under the elms and consumed their burgers in the cool October air.

Lil, ever good-mannered and good-natured, tried valiantly to keep the conversation flowing, but Emily Post herself would have been stymied.

Jane's dad answered in monosyllables, and Gilbey began to draw Lilia on his napkin. He really was talented artistically.

“Hey, Gil,” Jane said to him. “That's wonderful!” He'd perfectly captured Lil's high cheekbones, dark winged brows and the curve of her mouth.

Lilia nodded. “You're very good.”

“Gilbey, have you thought about working for an
advertising agency? Do you want me to help you put together a portfolio?” Jane tried to nudge him as gently as possible.

Her brother sighed and laid down his pencil. “Jane, I've had it with meaningless jobs and other people's orders and their silly products. I can't be a cog in the wheel. I know you do this out of love, but I wish you'd leave me alone.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, stung. “I'm just trying to help.”

“Well, quit.” He dropped his burger and ran a hand through his longish hair. “You wanna know what I love? What I want to spend my life doing?” He pushed back abruptly from the table. “Follow me.”

All three of them trailed after Gil to the old barn. He threw open the door and gestured for them to look.

A dozen strange but lovely structures met their eyes. Created out of brightly painted scrap metal and “found” objects, Gilbey's creations were both abstract and animated, half mechanical, half animal. They were full of personality.

He'd used automobile and bicycle and lawnmower parts, welding them together in odd juxtapositions and incongruous patterns.

Jane had never seen anything like them before. She wasn't sure what they were. But she loved them. So, from the look on her face, did Lilia.

Only her dad rubbed the back of his neck and asked, “What the hell you been smokin' out here, boy?”

“Dad!” Jane shot him a warning glance. “They're fantastic. Gil, these should be in a modern gallery.”

Her brother shrugged.

“I'm serious!”

“Gil, she's right,” said Lil.

Jane turned to her, snapping her fingers. “What's the name of that guy? The friend of yours who's a professional photographer?”

“Jim.”

“Yeah, him. Let's get him out here to take some slides—”

“Jane,” said Gilbey.

“—and we'll make a list of galleries to send—” she stopped, looking at Gilbey's expression.

“You're doing it again.” He folded his arms.

“What?”

“Trying to manage my life.”

“But—”

Lilia laid a hand on her arm.

Jane sighed. “Sorry. But can we at least put you in touch with Jim? Will you let him take the slides? Gil, this work is too good to be hidden away in a Connecticut barn.”

“I'll think about it,” her brother said.

And she had to be satisfied with that.

 

O
N
M
ONDAY
, J
ANE WALKED THROUGH
the front door of Finesse and hung up her raincoat. She stared blankly at the hairy dried rose halves and tried to focus on whatever it was that was bothering her.

That brief meeting with Arianna DuBose last week? Dom's sarcasm?

Unconsciously she reached for a pen on her desk and began spinning it between her fingers.

Dominic Sayers's face wouldn't get out of her head—his expression sardonic, blasé and…disappointed.