âTHEYâRE CALLING YOU a ruthless bastard,â Diane said as she scanned the article in the business magazine. âYou must be happy.â
Matthew Fenner looked at his secretary, but didnât speak. Eventually she glanced up and smiled.
âYou like being called a ruthless bastard,â she reminded him.
âI like respect,â he corrected.
âOr fear.â
He nodded. âFear works.â
Diana dropped the open magazine on his desk. âDonât you ever want someone to think youâre nice?â she asked.
âNo.â
Being the nice guy meant getting screwed. Heâd learned that a long time ago. He picked up one of the messages by his phone. Ironically, the woman who had taught him every aspect of that lesson had just called.
His secretary sighed. âI worry about you.â
âYouâre wasting your time.â
âDonât panic. I only do it on my off hours.â
He scowled at his fifty-something assistant, but she ignored him. While he would never admit it, the fact that he didnât intimidate her was one of the reasons sheâd lasted so long. Although he had a reputation for being the kind of businessman who left his competition bleeding on the side of the road, he didnât enjoy watching his staff cower. At least not all the time.
âDid you have anything else?â he asked, then looked pointedly at the door.
She rose. âJesse called again. That makes three calls in three days. Are you calling her back?â
âDoes it matter?â
âYes. If youâre going to continue to ignore her, Iâd like to just tell her and put her out of her misery.â Diane frowned. âYouâre usually more clear with your BGFs. They rarely phone after you dump them.â
âIâve asked you not to call them that.â
Diane blinked innocently. âHave you? Iâm sorry. I keep forgetting.â
She was lying, but he didnât call her on it. Referring to the women he dated as BGFsâshort for bimbo girlfriendsâwas her way of showing disapproval. She complained his women were interchangeableâlike fashion dolls. All physically similar, unnaturally beautiful and lacking in heart and brains. She wasnât wrong.
What Diane couldnât bring herself to believe was that he dated them on purpose. He wasnât looking for more.
âSheâs someone I used to know,â he said, then wished he hadnât. Diane didnât need the information. That part of his life had ended a long time ago.
âReally? Does she actually have a personality, orââ she waved her hands in front of her face as if to keep from fainting ââa brain? Now that you mention it, she sounded almost normal.â
âI didnât mention it.â
âHmm. Iâm sure you did. So tell me about your mysterious past with this woman.â
âYou can leave now.â
âWhy is she back in Seattle? Is she nice? Would I like her? Do you like her?â
He pointed at the door.
Diane walked across his office. âSo youâre saying the next time she calls to put her through, right?â
He ignored her and she left.
Matt rose, then crossed to the window. His office was at the top of an Eastside high-rise with an impressive view. His business life defined every aspect of success. Heâd made it. He had everything he wanted and moreâmoney, power, respect and no one to answer to.
Slowly, deliberately, he crumpled the note with the message from Jesse and tossed it into the trash.
DESPITE THE PROMISES of several famous poets and a couple of tear-jerker country songs, Jesse Keyes discovered it was possible to go home again, which was just her bad luck. Not that she could blame anyone for her current circumstancesâsheâd decided to return to Seattle all on her own. Well, okay, maybe sheâd had a little help from the cute guy in her life.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at her four-year-old son.
âGuess what?â she asked.
His dark eyes brightened as he grinned at her. âAre we there yet?â
âWeâre here!â
Gabe clapped his hands. âI like here.â
They were in town for the summer or however long it took to get her past in order and her future set. Give or take a week.
Jesse put the car in Park, then got out and opened the rear passenger seat. She unbuckled Gabe from his car seat and helped him out of the car. He stood next to her and stared at the four-story building.