Personal Relations. Heather Macallister

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      “MAN, DID YOU see her face?”

      “Oh, yeah. I think just a little more and we’ll have them.”

      BY THE TIME she got to work, Brooke was a seething cauldron of rage. What Courtney had actually said was a “seething cauldron of repressed rage” but Brooke didn’t think her rage was going to be repressed much longer.

      The only reason she didn’t go directly to Chase Davenport’s office after Jeff had helpfully supplied his business card, was that she had three scheduled interviews this morning.

      Brooke was a personnel assistant for Haldutton oil. She’d gradually, but doggedly, worked her way up the corporate ladder and now administered screening interviews for clerical job candidates. When she got her degree in a year, she’d be in a strong position for promotion.

      Brooke had spent seven years in night school working toward a business degree. She’d desperately wanted to finish before Courtney went off to school, but getting this far was the best she could do. She wanted to set an example for Courtney, to show her how much she valued education. To let Courtney see how hard it was to work and go to school at the same time.

      Courtney wasn’t going to have to do that. After all, it was Brooke’s own fault that she’d had to get her degree the slow way. Courtney shouldn’t have to suffer for Brooke’s poor judgment.

      And now…and now after all the long nights and the hours and hours of study, the sacrifices…Did Courtney think she actually enjoyed being a drudge? If Brooke were feeling really sorry for herself she’d dwell on all the valentineless Valentine’s Days she’d had in the past few years.

      No, she hadn’t had time for a relationship. She’d tried dating a couple of guys, but frankly, they hadn’t been worth missing sleep over.

      There’d be time next fall, she thought. Next fall when Courtney went off to one of the colleges where Brooke had sent applications. The same ones she’d applied to, but had had to turn down the acceptances.

      Damn it, Courtney was not going to get married and throw away her future.

      SO YOU THINK you can do a better job of raising him than I did you? Chase’s father’s words whispered through his mind.

      Yes, he had thought he could do a better job with Jeff. The boy needed a stable environment. All children needed security, not a father who traveled most of the time and when he did come home, would announce that it was time to move again.

      Once, Chase and his mother had lived in a hotel room for a month while they waited for their new house to be ready. Two days before they were to move in, his father had laughingly told them they were moving on and wasn’t it lucky that they hadn’t unpacked yet?

      Jeff’s mother had been just as bad. So, when Jeff had asked to stay with Chase during high school, Chase had readily agreed.

      And now this.

      Man, wouldn’t his father get a laugh out of it when he heard.

      No, Jeff wasn’t getting married, at least not any time soon.

      Chase reached for his cell phone and looked at the number Jeff had programed in. He supposed nobody was home now, but tonight, he was going to find out how much it would take to buy off Courtney Weathers—and her sister.

      BROOKE MANAGED to suppress her anger for the duration of her interviews, although none of the applicants passed her screening. She hoped it wasn’t a coincidence.

      At ten forty-five, her hand shaking so much she couldn’t punch the number on the telephone, Brooke had to shut the door to her tiny office. She started to jog in place, hoping to work off some steam.

      Jogging didn’t cut it, even after she kicked off her pumps, so Brooke resorted to old-fashioned jumping jacks. The jumping part was fine, but her panty hose gave her trouble during the jack part. She was ready to take them off as well, when a sudden easing in pressure heralded a run in her stockings. At least something could run in this small place.

      Bare legs were better than a giant run, so Brooke ripped off her panty hose, tossed them in the wastebasket, did four more jumping jacks and breathlessly punched out Chase Davenport’s office number. While the number rang, she looked at the business card. He was a commercial property agent for the MacGinnis Group. In other words, a glorified salesman. A slick, glorified salesman, she added when she remembered the silver Porsche.

      Brooke got his voice mail, but didn’t want to leave a message and punched zero for assistance.

      “Mr. Davenport is at lunch,” the receptionist confirmed. “And is scheduled to go directly off-site from there.”

      “Off-site?” Brooke asked.

      “To visit one of our properties.”

      “Oh. And when do you anticipate his return?”

      “May I tell him who is calling?” the receptionist countered, frankly a little late for true professionalism in Brooke’s opinion.

      “I’m in the Haldutton personnel department. We’d like to check a reference.” Brooke’s face had heated even before she told the lie. Which wasn’t exactly a lie—not much of one, anyway. She was extremely interested in Jeff Ryan’s references.

      “It’s difficult to predict, but you could try back around three-thirty.”

      Brooke thanked her and hung up before the receptionist could ask for her name again.

      Three-thirty. СКАЧАТЬ