She felt numb all over, as if paralyzed. Even her face was still, and it was an effort to blink her eyes, to swallow. Lightning-fast takeovers. He moved in; he took control; he walked away. Yes, he had done exactly that. She hadn’t had a chance. He had played her like the expert he was, reeling her in so gently that she hadn’t even realized she’d been hooked. She thought of her gullibility in swallowing that line he’d fed her, about how tired he was of being pursued as a sexual object, how he just wanted a friend. She had actually believed it! How had he kept from laughing in her face?
She couldn’t have been much of a challenge to him, she thought, cringing inside at how stupid she’d been. She had fallen in love with him almost immediately and fell into bed with him the first time he’d made the effort. He hadn’t had to make love to her, she thought painfully. She had already told him about the land reappraisal. That must have been the icing on his cake, to see how easily he could topple her into bed.
Her eyes were dry, burning, and her throat hurt. She realized that she was breathing in quick, hard rasps, and a hard chill shook her. Betrayal burned like acid inside her.
The magazine had slipped from her cold, numb fingers, and she sat there in numb shock. That was how Sam found her when he came back from lunch.
Her face was white and still, and she didn’t seem to see him, even though she was looking straight at him as he came in the door. Sam frowned, walking toward her. “Claire?”
She didn’t answer, and he squatted down in front of her, lifting her hand in his and chafing her cold fingers. “Claire, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”
Her lips barely moved, and her dark eyes were black as she stared at him. “Sam, I’ve betrayed you.”
Slowly, like someone who was old and feeble, she leaned down and picked up the magazine. With great care she leafed through it until she came to the article on Spencer-Nyle and folded the pages back to Max’s photograph. “I’ve been seeing him,” she whispered, pointing to him. “But he told me his name was Max Benedict, not Max Conroy, and he…he knows about the property.”
Sam took the magazine from her, his face set, and Claire wondered if he hated her. He should; he’d probably fire her on the spot, and it was nothing less than what she deserved. She had cost him his company with her stupidity, her incredible, inexcusable stupidity.
“How did it happen?” he murmured.
She told him, sparing her pride nothing. Max had made a fool of her, and she had fallen for every word he’d said. Tears began to slide down her pale cheeks, but she didn’t notice them. Sam reached out and held her hand, and when it was over he did something incredible. Gently he took her in his arms and held her head to his shoulder. His tenderness, when he should have hated her, when he should have railed at her, broke what little control she had left, and sobs began tearing from her throat. She cried for a long time, rocked in Sam’s arms, and he stroked her hair and whispered soothing words to her until at last her body stopped shaking from the force of her crying, and she raised her wet, tear-swollen face from his shoulder.
“I’ll get my things and leave,” she whispered, wiping her face with the heel of her hand.
“Why?” Sam demanded calmly.
“Why?” she echoed, her voice cracking. “Sam, I’ve lost you your company! You can’t possibly want me around now—I’ve proved that I can’t be trusted.”
“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and offering it to her. “It’s true that the property was our ace in the hole, but it’s also true that if Spencer-Nyle really wants us, we don’t have a prayer. They’re just too big, too powerful. The best I hoped to do was make them pay more than they’d wanted to. As for trusting you—” he shrugged “—I’d say you’re the most trustworthy employee I have. You made a mistake, and I think you’d walk over live coals to keep from making another.”
“I don’t see how you can possibly forgive me, because I’ll never forgive myself.” She dried her eyes then knotted the handkerchief in her hands.
“You’re only human. We all make mistakes, some of them more serious than others. Examine your mistake from another point of view. Will any jobs be lost because of what you told Conroy? Probably not. Spencer-Nyle will need our expertise; they won’t run in a whole new set of employees. Did your mistake affect the outcome of the takeover attempt? I don’t think so. I think they have us, one way or the other, and to tell you the truth, I almost feel relieved. The only thing that’s changed is the timetable.” A ghost of a smile touched his hard mouth, and his eyes took on a certain faraway look. “I wish that the mistakes I’ve made were no more serious than that.”
“He used me,” she whispered.
“That’s his lo
ss,” Sam said. “He’ll be back, Claire—this is his baby. He’ll be here, negotiating, supervising the takeover. You’re going to have to see him, work with him. Can you handle that?”
Part of her said no, shrinking from the idea of seeing him again. How could she bear to look at him, knowing that he had used her, lied to her, betrayed her, and knowing deep inside that she still loved him, because love didn’t die easily for her? But if she ran, where would she run to? She had to have a job, and running wouldn’t change anything. She would still have to face herself in the mirror in the morning; she would still carry inside herself the knowledge that it had all been a lie.
She should have known better. How could she ever have been blind enough to really think a man like Max would be interested in her? He would want someone sleek and sophisticated and beautiful, someone who wore experience like a luxurious mink on smooth, suntanned shoulders. Her only attraction for him had been that she gave him an inside contact in Bronson Alloys.
But she had loved him and trusted him.
She had spent the past five years slowly and painfully rebuilding her life, her sense of worth and self-respect. If she ran now, it would all be for nothing; she would be a rabbit, hiding from herself. No, not again. Never again. She would not let Max Benedict—no, Max Conroy—destroy her.
“Yes, I can handle it,” she told Sam.
“Good girl,” he said, patting her shoulder.
She got through the day…and the night. The night was the worst. At least during the day she was distracted by the necessity of doing her job, but at night there was nothing, and she was alone with herself. She lay awake, as she had done every night since Max had left, trying to marshal her strength for the grueling days that lay ahead. She tried to plan the future, because she knew that, despite Sam’s effort to cheer her up, there would be changes made at Bronson Alloys. Sam would almost certainly leave management entirely and devote himself to his research. That would suit him—he was happier in his laboratory, anyway. Where would that leave her? Would he need a secretary then, even taking for granted that he would want her if he did? Would the new CEO want her for a secretary? Would Spencer-Nyle allow her to work in any position where she would have access to sensitive information? After all, she had already proved herself untrustworthy! All a man had to do was pay attention to her and she would tell everything she knew! She thought bitterly that they would be justified in taking that position.
Alma called over the weekend, inviting Claire and Max to dinner. Claire accepted, but calmly told Alma that she hadn’t seen Max lately. It was inevitable that then Martine would call, trying to find out what had happened.
“I tried to tell you and Mother that there wasn’t anything serious between us,” Claire pointed out. How true that was! But her voice was even, almost casual, and she was proud of herself.
“But he acted so…so wild about you. He hardly took his eyes off you. Did you have a fight or anything?”