"No, of course not," he agreed. After a moment's thought he said, "You know, a few years ago I bought a condominium in Bloomfield Hills for an aunt of mine. She's been in Europe for months now and intends to stay there for another year. It would be my pleasure to have you live at her place."
"No, really, I couldn't," Lauren said quickly. "You've already done more than enough for me; I can't let you provide a place for me to live, too."
"I insist," he said with kindly firmness. "And anyway, you'll be doing me a favor, because I've had to pay the gatekeeper at the condominium complex a sizable sum every month to watch the place. This way we'll both save money."
Lauren plucked absently at the sleeve of her apricot blouse. Her father needed every penny she could send him, and as quickly as possible. If she didn't have to spend money for rent, she could send him that, too. Troubled and uncertain, she looked at Philip, but he had already extracted a pen and paper from his suit-coat pocket and was writing something down. "Here's the address and phone number of the condominium," he said, handing her the piece of paper. "When you fill out your employment papers at Sinco tomorrow, give them this information. That way, no one there will ever connect you with me."
A shiver of foreboding danced up Lauren's spine at the ominous reminder of the dual role she would be playing if she went to work for Sinco. Spying. Her mind skated away in alarm from the word. No, she wouldn't really be doing that. All she would really be doing was trying to ferret out the name of the treacherous person who was spying on Philip's company. Seen from that viewpoint, her mission became not only justified, it became positively honorable. For a moment she felt quite virtuous—until she sternly reminded herself of the real reason she was now so willing and eager to work for Sinco: Nick Sinclair worked right across the street, and she wanted the opportunity to be near him.
Philip's voice interrupted her thoughts. "If you're offered a secretarial position at Sinco tomorrow, accept it and leave from there for Missouri. If I don't hear from you by noon tomorrow, I'll know you got the position, and I'll arrange to have the condominium ready for you within a week."
4
« ^ »
The following morning at eleven-fifty, Lauren was lucky enough to find a parking space right across from Sinco's offices, directly in front of the Global Industries Building. With a mixture of dread and anticipation, she got out of the car, smoothed her slim beige skirt, straightened the short matching military jacket and crossed the street to see Mr. Weatherby.
Despite his formal, almost ingratiating smile, Mr. Weatherby was obviously annoyed. "Really, Miss Danner," he said, ushering her into his office, "you could have saved yourself, me and several others a great deal of time and trouble if you had simply told me when you came in yesterday that you're a friend of Mr. Sinclair's."
"Did Mr. Sinclair call you and tell you I was a friend of his?" Lauren asked curiously.
"No," Mr. Weatherby said, trying hard to hide his irritation. "Mr. Sinclair called the president of our company, Mr. Sampson. Mr. Sampson called the executive vice-president, who called the vice-president of operations, who called my boss. And last night my boss called me at home and informed me that I had offended and misjudged Miss Danner, who happens to be extremely bright and a personal friend of Mr. Sinclair's. Then he hung up on me."
Lauren could not believe she had stirred up such a furor. "I'm terribly sorry to have caused you so much trouble," she said contritely. "It wasn't entirely your fault—after all, I did fail my tests."
He nodded in emphatic agreement. "I told my boss you didn't know which end of a pencil to write with, but he said he didn't give a damn if you typed with your toes." Heaving himself out of his chair, he said, "Now, if you'll come with me, I'll take you up to Mr. Williams's office. Mr. Williams is our executive vice-president and his secretary is moving to California. He wants to interview you for the position."
"Is Mr. Williams the executive vice-president who called the vice-president of operations, who called—" Lauren began uneasily.
"Exactly," Mr. Weatherby interrupted.
Lauren followed him, beset with the unsettling thought that even if he detested her, Mr. Williams might offer her a job because he had been intimidated by his superior. But minutes later she abandoned any such idea. James Williams, in his mid-thirties, had the brisk, authoritative air of a man who would never be anyone's puppet. He glanced up from the documents he was reading when Mr. Weatherby brought Lauren into his office and nodded coolly toward the leather chair in front of his large desk. "Sit down," he said to Lauren. To Mr. Weatherby he said curtly, "Close the door behind you as you leave."
Lauren sat as she'd been told to do and waited as Jim Williams stood up and came around in front of his desk. Leaning back against it, he crossed his arms over his chest, and his penetrating gaze swept over her. "So you're Lauren Danner?" he said dispassionately.
"Yes," Lauren admitted. "I'm afraid so."
Amusement flickered across his face, momentarily softening the cool, businesslike features. "I take it from that remark that you're aware of the uproar you caused last night?"
"Yes," Lauren sighed. "In every excruciating, embarrassing detail."
"Can you spell 'excruciating'?"
"Yes," she said, completely taken aback.
"How fast can you type—when you aren't under testing conditions?"
Lauren flushed. "About a hundred words a minute."
"Shorthand?"
"Yes."
Without taking his eyes from her face, he reached behind him and picked up a pencil and tablet lying on his desk. Handing them to her, he said, "Take this down, please."
Lauren stared at him in amazement then recovered and began to write as he dictated swiftly: "Dear Miss Danner, as my administrative assistant, you will be expected to perform a variety of secretarial duties and to function efficiently and smoothly as my personal liaison with my staff. You will, at all times, adhere precisely to company policies, regardless of your acquaintance with Nick Sinclair. In a few weeks we will be moving into the Global Building, and if you ever attempt to take advantage of your friendship with Mr. Sinclair, either by shirking your duties or ignoring the rules that apply to the rest of the staff, I will fire you on the spot and personally escort you out the front door. If, on the other hand, you show interest and initiative, I will delegate as much responsibility to you as you wish to accept and are capable of handling. If this meets with your approval, report for work here in my office at 9:00 a.m. two weeks from Monday. Any questions, Lauren?"
Lauren raised dazed eyes to him. "You mean I have the job?"
"That depends on whether you can type that memo without errors in a reasonably short time."
Lauren was too stunned by this cool, unemotional offer of a job to be nervous about transcribing her dictation. In a few minutes, she returned from the typewri
ter and walked hesitantly into his office. "Here's the memo, Mr. Williams."
He glanced at it and then at her. "Very efficient. How did Weatherby ever get the idea that you're a feather-brain?"
"It's the impression I gave him," Lauren said obliquely.
"Care to tell me how that happened?"
"No, not really. It was all a… a misunderstanding."
"Very well, we'll leave it at that. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss? Yes, of course there is—your salary."
The salary he named was $2,000 a year less than Philip had offered, but Philip had promised to make up the difference.
"Well, do you want the job?"
"Yes," Lauren said with a faint smile. "And no. I would like to work for you, because I have the feeling that I could learn a great deal. But I don't want the job if the only reason you're offering it to me is because of… of…"
"Nick Sinclair?"
Lauren nodded.
"Nick has nothing whatsoever to do with it. I've known him for many years, and we're good friends. Friendship, however, has no place in business matters. Nick has his job and I have mine. I do not presume to tell him how to do his, and I would not appreciate his trying to influence my choice of a secretary."
"Then why did you decide to interview me today, even though I failed my tests?"
His brown eyes twinkled. "Oh, that. Well, as a matter of fact, my former secretary, for whom I have the greatest respect, struck sparks off Weatherby from the very first. When I heard that a bright young secretarial applicant hadn't hit it off with him yesterday, I thought perhaps you might be another Theresa. You aren't, but I think you and I will work together even better, Lauren."