Reasons for Revenge: Scorned by the Boss

But as soon as he noticed that he was liking the feel of her beneath his fingers, he let her go. Then he grabbed the door behind him, yanked it open and walked through it. Stopping on the threshold, he looked back at her, pleased he was getting the last word tonight after all. “Fine. I’ll see you then.”

Three

Caitlyn arrived at a quarter to six in the morning to find Jefferson already on the phone in his office. No surprise there. It wasn’t unusual for him to be at work hours before everyone else. After all, with contacts and business dealings all over the world, most of his phone calls had to be made early to accommodate time changes.

He’d also left a stack of files on her desk, and after making a fresh pot of coffee, she jumped right in. It was better to keep her mind busy. Too busy to think about what she and her friends had decided to do. Because, if she started thinking about it, she just might back out.

“Which I am not going to do,” she muttered with determination.

Behind her desk, the rising sun was just streaking across the sky in shades of lavender and gold. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air and eased the jump in the pit of her stomach. In the corner, the fax machine rang, then hummed busily as it spat several sheets of paper out into a tray.

Caitlyn walked over to pick them up, gave them a quick glance. Bids from other, smaller shipping companies hoping to be a subcontractor for Lyon Shipping. Business as usual, she thought, then carried them to her desk to staple together and tuck into a file. There was always plenty to do. She’d always loved that about the job. There was never a moment in the day where she was bored enough to watch the clock, eager to escape.

The phone rang and she reached for it. Her gaze noted that the light for line two was still on, so Jefferson wasn’t available.

“Lyon Shipping.”

“Well,” a deep, familiar voice said. “Caitlyn, love, you’re at work early this morning.”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. Max Striver, President and CEO of Striver Shipping, always did the subtle-flirting thing. But he was never annoying about it. His British accent flavored his speech, and Caitlyn could hear the smile in his voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Striver. How’re things in London?”

“Max, Caitlyn,” the man urged. “I’ve asked you to call me Max. And London is a ridiculously lonely place. You should come and visit me. Make the old girl shine.”

“I’ll put it on my list,” Caitlyn said, still smiling as she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and continued shuffling the files on her desk. “Mr. Lyon’s on the other line, Max. Can you hold? Or do you want him to call you back?”

“If you’re willing to spend a moment or two talking to me, I’ll wait.”

She could work and talk, Caitlyn thought. “What will we talk about, then?”

“How about when you’re going to quit working for that surly American and come to work for me?”

Caitlyn sighed. “Max, you don’t really want me to work for you. You only want to deprive Mr. Lyon of my expertise.”

“A little of both, actually, love,” he said, and his voice dropped a notch or two.

Seriously, accents should be illegal. They did something quivery to the pit of Caitlyn’s stomach even when she knew Max Striver was no more interested in having her work for him than he was in moving to Tucson.

“He works you much too hard. While I, on the other hand,” Max insisted, “am a very understanding employer. Good hours, better pay and, of course … me.”

The light on Jefferson’s phone line went out and Caitlyn said, “I’ll keep it in mind, Max. Meanwhile, the boss is available. Hold on for a moment?”

She put him on hold, buzzed Jefferson’s phone and when he answered, said, “Max Striver on line one.”

“Damnit,” Jefferson muttered. “What’s he want?”

“Me, working for him,” she said.

“Still? You’d think he’d have gotten it through his thick head by now that there’s no way you’d leave Lyon Shipping.” The grumble in his voice was clear just before he disconnected and picked up the other line.

“What is it, Max?” Jefferson leaned back in his chair and swiveled it around until he was staring out at the dock below and the ocean beyond.

“Jefferson, old friend, do I need a reason for calling?”

“Usually.”

He inched forward, admiring the view. A solitary tugboat, encrusted with the Lyon Shipping logo, sailed across the harbor, a frothy whip of ripples in its wake. Longshoremen moved across the docks, driving loaders and swinging nets filled with cargo off the decks of ships.

This was Jefferson’s world.

He’d learned the family business from the ground up. His father didn’t believe in taking the easy way and hadn’t been willing to allow his son to simply step into the executive level without knowing about the men who made this company run.

Now he ran one of the most successful shipping companies in the world and he knew how to get the best out of his employees. Hadn’t he remained calm and in control during Caitlyn’s emotional meltdown yesterday?

He smiled to himself as he listened to the fax machine in the outer room. Even now, Caitlyn was efficiently bringing order to chaos. Everything was as it should be. As he’d known it would be once she had had a chance to calm down.

Just as he knew that Max would never be able to steal her away to work for Striver. Caitlyn’s own sense of loyalty would prevent her from leaving him for a competitor.

“Jefferson? You still there?”

He frowned slightly as he realized he’d allowed his mind to drift away from the business at hand. And when dealing with Max Striver, it paid to keep your mind on business. “I’m here, Max. And I’m busy.”

“Oh, I’m sure. I’ll only keep you a minute. Just wanted to let you know I heard about your trip to Portugal.”

“And …”

“And I understand that the shipyard there has come to a grinding halt due to a strike.”

“It was settled last week,” Jefferson said, gritting his teeth as he forced a smile into his voice. “Everything’s back on schedule.”

“Oh, happy to hear it.”

“Yeah,” Jefferson said. “I’m sure.”

He and Max had been competing for years—at everything from racquetball to gross tonnage shipped. Now, with the first of the Lyon cruise ships ready to set sail in just under six weeks, Max was no doubt hoping to beat Jefferson to the prime Atlantic routes.

“As it happens, I am,” Max assured him. “We can’t really have a competition if your boat never gets off the dock, can we? We’re going to have a month’s head start on you as it is.”

Jefferson picked up his sterling-silver pen, tapped it against the desktop, then tossed it down. Leaning back in his leather chair, he stared up at the ceiling and smiled. “From what I hear, you should be more interested in what’s happening to your own ship.”

There was a pause in which Jefferson imagined Max sitting straight up in his chair and glaring at his reflection in the mirror across from his desk. A good image.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jefferson said, enjoying himself more now, “my man in France tells me that the new Striver ocean liner is having some trouble keeping its chefs.”

“Lies.”