But Not For Me

Brad slid behind the steering wheel, closed the car door and started the engine, which began to purr like a well-fed cat. He smiled. Before owning this particular vehicle, Brad had bought only trucks for his own use. They were by far the most practical transportation for business purposes.

For years after he knew he could afford to drive anything he wished, he continued to drive a pickup truck…until he’d seen this baby sitting in a show window three months ago. Practicality took a back seat to the sleek lines and high performance of the Porsche. He’d never had buyer’s remorse; he doubted very much that he ever would.

The car was a visible sign that he’d met his goals and become successful. His success meant he had overcome his early life. His past no longer had the power to cause him pain, because he had proven to himself that he wasn’t a loser. His new Porsche reminded him that he was a winner every time he saw it.

Rachel forced herself to lean back in the aircraft seat. She closed her eyes, already dreading the petrifying moment when the jet actually left Mother Earth and threw itself recklessly into the air, defying the law of gravity.

She did not like to fly. To be more precise, she absolutely detested flying and generally managed to avoid it, but there was no arguing with Brad.

Not that Brad had any idea of her strong aversion to flying. She’d been careful never to mention the matter to him. After all, there had never been a reason to call his attention to her weakness. Sometime during the years she had worked for him, Brad must have decided that she was a direct descendant of Wonder Woman—he thought that no matter what he asked of her, she could do it with ease.

Boy, was he wrong. For whatever reason—and she had no doubt an analyst would have a field day with this one—she had worked diligently to keep Brad’s illusions about her intact.

Until now. All she wanted to do at the moment was curl up somewhere and sleep for the next year or so. After what had happened last night, though, she no longer felt safe in her apartment.

Rachel gripped the arms of her seat as the plane barreled down the runway and leaped skyward. She prayed fervently that she wouldn’t embarrass herself by becoming hysterical and sobbing all the way to North Carolina.

Even with her eyes closed, she knew when Brad unfastened his safety belt and left the seat beside her. The company jet contained a fully equipped office. Wherever Brad went, he kept up with everything that happened in his company.

She kept her eyes closed in order to better concentrate on the sounds of the plane. Perhaps if she remained alert, she could warn Steve if a wing fell off or something.

She hoped Brad would be able to deal satisfactorily with Mrs. Crossland. He’d been so excited when Thomas Crossland asked him to build his vacation home in the mountains.

There was no reason for Carl to worry. Brad had an excellent track record for convincing a person that Brad’s way was the best way. Her being there on the plane with him certainly proved his powers of persuasion. He’d used them successfully on other occasions.

He’d convinced her years ago that helping him build his dream company would not only bring her wealth but also tremendous satisfaction.

What normal, red-blooded woman wouldn’t have fallen in love with him?

Of course she’d never, by look or deed, revealed her feelings to him. Not only would that have sabotaged her career, but it would also have sent Brad Phillips running for the nearest exit.

She almost smiled at that thought but, if Brad happened to notice that she wasn’t asleep, he’d want to continue to discuss her plan to take some time off. She wasn’t ready to go another round with him on that subject.

Rachel seldom discussed her private life with Brad. One of the ways she avoided personal topics was to turn his casual questions around to find out about his social life. Over the years he’d been surprisingly forthcoming about who he was seeing and who he had stopped seeing. Rachel wasn’t sure which was worse, imagining Brad with various women or actually hearing about them.

She’d formed a clear picture of his modus operandi in the romance department. There wasn’t an ounce of romance in the man, which was really a shame because he was the type of male that women fantasized about while gnawing on a knuckle and whimpering.

Working construction had honed his tall, rangy body into solid muscle and sinew. Along the way he’d acquired what appeared to be a permanent tan as a result of years spent working in the sun. She wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his trim good looks now that he spent a large part of his time indoors, but there was no doubt a hard body lurked beneath his custom-made suits.

As one of her friends so succinctly put it, if she hadn’t fallen in love with the man after working closely with him for years, someone would have needed to check her pulse to be certain she was alive.

He had no trouble attracting the attention of women, married or single, but the man appeared uninterested in their admiration. She couldn’t say he was classically handsome…his face showed too much strength for that. How he remained unaware of his ability to charm any woman he wanted into his bed was beyond her. Having known other men who used that particular skill to seduce women who could put them in touch with business contacts, she knew that Brad was an exceptional man. He never used his sensual appeal as a manipulative tool.

Rachel knew that he sometimes dated daughters of leading businessmen in Dallas, not because he ever mentioned them, but because he was frequently seen in photographs prominently displayed on the society pages of the daily newspaper. She knew when he’d stopped seeing one of them by the stack of phone messages he received, pleading with him to call.

She recalled one night about a year after she had gone to work for him. They had worked late at the office. As usual Brad had offered to feed her. Once they had eaten and he was in a relaxed mood, he surprised her by mentioning a couple of the women he’d been seeing, giving her new insight into his complicated thought processes.

They had been enjoying their after-dinner coffee when in a rare burst of curiosity, she asked, “I noticed that Caroline Windsor has been calling frequently during the past few days. Is there a problem with your relationship?”

He winced, making her wish she could cut off her tongue before it got her into any more trouble. “The problem is that she thinks we have a relationship,” he replied gruffly.

He must have registered her surprise at his comment because he continued in explanation. “You see, Caroline always gets whatever she wants that daddy can buy, which covers a lot of territory, given Carter Windsor the Third’s bank balance. She kept turning up whenever her dad and I met while planning his latest commercial venture, joining us for lunch and suggesting not too subtly that she was available for dinner.”

He sipped on his coffee and Rachel hoped he would continue with this story, because it sounded like a good one. There weren’t too many—all right, if she were being honest—she didn’t know of any man who wouldn’t be flattered by drawing Ms. Windsor’s attention, giving him an opportunity to get in closer touch with the Carter Windsor dynasty.

She kept her gaze on her coffee, not wanting to let him see how his remarks had only whetted her no-doubt morbid curiosity concerning his love life.

“I’m not making excuses in regard to my behavior,” he said after a long pause. “CeCe is attractive, intelligent and never boring. What she can be at times is demanding. She doesn’t like the hours I work because she’s used to having an escort at her beck and call. When I explained that she was free to find someone else since I couldn’t always meet her requirements, she resorted to tears and said things I know she regrets. I realized that if she pictured us as a couple headed toward commitment, I had to step out of her life immediately. So I did.” The firm tone he used indicated that he’d made up his mind. “I’m not sure she believed me.”

“Hence her telephone calls?” Rachel asked with a slight smile.

He shrugged. “I guess. She discovered that I don’t play games when she hoped to punish me by not being available when I found time to call. I suppose she wanted to make me jealous.” His smile was rueful. “That doesn’t work with me.”

“So you aren’t looking for a long-term commitment, I take it?” she asked very casually.

“I already have one,” he replied, settling comfortably back into the plush banquette.

Rachel hoped she’d covered her startled reaction. She couldn’t think of anyone who had been in his life for more than a few months since he’d hired her. “I see,” she said. “Have I met her?”

He grinned. “It’s not a her. It’s this business, Rachel. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

“Ah,” she replied, feeling a strong sense of relief that he hadn’t been referring to another woman, which was stupid of her. What difference could it make to her?

“I learned a long time ago,” he continued, “that relationships never work out in the long run. Besides, they take too much time and energy. Most women I know are looking for a husband and a father for their future children. Since I’m not going to be either of those things, I rarely stay with one woman for more than a few months.”

As the plane winged eastward, Rachel remembered everything he’d said that night. She’d been relieved in a way that she wouldn’t have to witness her boss someday marrying some blushing bride. However, his remarks had also made her wonder why he was so certain he would never marry. She may have been given a glimpse of his fiercely guarded past a few years ago. Janelle had forwarded one of Brad’s calls to her when he was out of town.

“This is Rachel Wood, Mr. Phillips’ assistant. May I help you?”

“Not unless you happen to be sitting on Brad’s lap. I want to speak to my son and I intend to speak to my son. So put him on the line. Now.”

Brad never mentioned his family. She had somehow received the impression that his parents were dead. Obviously she’d been wrong.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Phillips,” she said, her voice warming, “Brad is out of town. He won’t be back until the end of the week. Would you like me to give him a message?”

She heard a distinct growl of displeasure before the man said, “Why don’t you do that? Why don’t you ask him why he never returns my phone calls? Why don’t you ask him why he looked through me as though I didn’t exist when he left some mucky-muck’s posh party at the Marriott Hotel last week? And ask him why he refuses to meet me, completely ignoring all the years I spent raising him?”

More hesitant now, she answered, “Yes, Mr. Phillips, I’ll give him the message.”

“And tell him I expect to hear from him as soon as he returns to town.”

“I will,” she said quietly.

“Oh, and for the record—my name isn’t Phillips. It’s Harold Freeland.” He slammed the phone down, causing her to wince.

She’d carefully recorded everything the man had said in a memo and placed it in the center of Brad’s desk so that he would see it as soon as he returned. The first time she entered Brad’s office after his return she saw the typed message crumpled in his waste-basket.

Neither of them mentioned the phone call or the message she’d relayed to him. She’d never felt it was any of her business to ask questions about his parents and Brad certainly hadn’t volunteered any explanations.