Double Standards Read online

  "Is there anything else I could do in a corporation such as yours that would pay as well as being a secretary?" Lauren asked.

  "No," he said with quiet firmness. "Not until you get your business degree."

  Inwardly Lauren sighed, but she knew she had no choice. She had to make as much money as she possibly could.

  "Don't look so glum," he said, "the work won't be boring. Why, my own secretary knows more about our future plans than most of my executives do. Executive secretaries are privy to all sorts of highly confidential information. They're—"

  He broke off, staring at Lauren in stunned silence, and when he spoke again there was a triumphant, calculating quality in his voice. "Executive secretaries are privy to highly confidential information," he repeated, an unexplainable smile dawning across his aristocratic features. "A secretary!" he whispered. "They would never suspect a secretary! They wouldn't even run a security check on one. Lauren," he said softly, his brown eyes gleaming like topaz, "I am about to make you a very unusual offer. Please don't argue about it until you hear me out completely. Now, what do you know about corporate or industrial spying?"

  Lauren had the queasy feeling that she was hanging over the edge of a dangerous precipice. "Enough to know that people have been sent to prison for it, and that I want absolutely nothing to do with it, Mr. Whitworth."

  "Of course you don't," Philip said smoothly. "And please call me Philip; after all, we are related, and I've been calling you Lauren."

  Uneasily, Lauren nodded.

  "I'm not asking you to spy on another corporation, I'm asking you to spy on mine. Let me explain. In recent years, a company called Sinco has become our biggest competitor. Every time we bid on a contract, Sinco seems to know how much we're going to bid, and they bid just a fraction of a percent less. Somehow, they're finding out what we're putting into our sealed bids, then they cut the price of their bid so that it's slightly lower than ours and steal the contract from us.

  "It just happened again today. There are only six men here who could have told Sinco the amount of our bid, and one of them must be a spy. I don't want to dismiss five loyal business executives just to rid myself of one greedy, treacherous man. But if Sinco continues to steal business from us this way, I'm going to have to begin laying people off," he continued. "I employ twelve thousand people, Lauren. Twelve thousand people depend on Whitworth Enterprises for their livelihoods. Twelve thousand families depend on this corporation so that they can have roofs over their heads and food on their tables. There's a chance you could help them keep their jobs and their homes. All I'm asking you to do is to apply for a secretarial position at Sinco today. God knows they'll need to increase their staff to handle the work they just stole from us. With your skills and experience, they'd probably consider you for a secretarial position with some high-level executive."

  Against her better judgment, Lauren asked, "If I get the job, then what?"

  "Then I'll give you the names of the six men who might possibly be the spy, and all you have to do is listen for mention of their names by anyone at Sinco."

  He leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on his desk. "It's a long shot, Lauren, but frankly, I'm desperate enough to try anything. Now, here's my part of the bargain: I was planning to offer you a secretarial position with us at a very attractive salary…"

  The figure he named amazed Lauren, and it showed. It was considerably more than her father had been making as a teacher. Why, if she lived frugally she could support her family and herself.

  "I can see that you're pleased," Philip chuckled. "Wages in big cities like Detroit are very high compared to smaller places. Now, if you apply at Sinco this afternoon and they offer you a secretarial position, I want you to take it. If the salary there is lower than the one I just offered you, my company will write you a monthly check to make up the difference. If you are able to learn the name of our spy, or anything else of real value to me, I will pay you a bonus of $10,000. Six months from now, if you haven't been able to learn anything important, then you can resign from your job at Sinco and come to work as a secretary for us. As soon as you complete the courses for your business degree, I'll give you any other position here you want, providing of course that you can handle it." His brown eyes moved over her face, searching her troubled features. "Something is bothering you," he observed quietly. "What is it?"

  "It all bothers me," Lauren admitted. "I don't like intrigue, Mr. Whitworth."

  "Please call me Philip. At least do that much for me." With a tired sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "Lauren, I know I have absolutely no right to ask you to apply at Sinco. It may surprise you to learn that I'm aware of how unpleasant your visit with us fourteen years ago was. My son, Carter, was at a difficult age. My mother was obsessed with researching our family tree, and my wife and I… well, I'm sorry we weren't more cordial."

  Under normal circumstances, Lauren would have turned him down. But her life was in a state of complete upheaval, and her financial responsibilities were staggering. She felt dazed, uncertain and incredibly burdened. "All right," she said slowly. "I'll do it."

  "Good," Philip said promptly. Picking up his telephone he called Sinco's number, asked for the personnel manager, then handed Lauren the phone to make an appointment. Lauren's secret hope that Sinco might refuse to see her was instantly dashed. According to the man she spoke to, Sinco had just been awarded a large contract and was in immediate need of experienced secretaries. Since he was planning to work late that night, he instructed Lauren to come at once.

  Afterward Philip stood up and put out his hand, clasping hers. "Thank you," he said simply. After a moment's thought, he added, "When you fill out their application form, give your home address in Missouri, but give them this phone number so that they can reach you at our house." He wrote a number on a note pad and tore off the sheet. "The servants answer it with a simple hello," he explained.

  "No," Lauren said quickly. "I wouldn't want to impose. I… I'd much rather stay in a motel."

  "I don't blame you for feeling that way," he replied, making Lauren feel rude and ungracious, "but I would like to make up for that other visit."

  Lauren succumbed to defeat. "Are you absolutely certain that Mrs. Whitworth won't object?"

  "Carol will be delighted."

  When the door closed behind Lauren, Philip Whitworth picked up his telephone and dialed a number that rang in his son's private office, just across the hall. "Carter," he said. "I think we're about to drive a spike into Nick Sinclair's armor. Do you remember Lauren Danner… ?"

  2

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  By the time Lauren arrived at Sinco's personnel office it was after five o'clock, and she had come to the conclusion that she couldn't possibly spy for Philip Whitworth. Just thinking of it on the way had made her heart pound and her palms perspire on the steering wheel. Even though she would like to help Philip, the intrigue and deception that would be involved petrified her. Still, she hated to admit her cowardice to him.

  While she filled out the endless forms and questionnaires required by Sinco, it occurred to her that the best way out of her predicament was to honor her promise to Philip by applying for a job—and then make absolutely certain that she wasn't offered one. Accordingly, she deliberately failed her spelling, typing and shorthand tests and omitted any mention of her college degree. But her crowning achievement was the way she answered the last question on her employment application. The instructions said to list in the order of preference three positions she felt she was qualified to fill at Sinco. Lauren had written "president" for her first choice, "personnel manager" for her second, and "secretary" for her third.

  The real personnel manager, Mr. Weatherby, graded her tests, and his face registered horror as he did so. He put them aside and picked up her application, and she watched his gaze glide to the bottom of the last page, where she had listed, among her three choices, Mr. Weatherby's own job. When he read that his face suffused with angry color and his nostrils f
lared, and Lauren had to bite her trembling lower Up to hide her laughter. Maybe she was cut out for intrigue and subterfuge, she thought with an inward smile as he surged to his feet and coldly informed her that she did not meet Sinco's hiring standards for any position.

  When Lauren emerged from the building, she discovered that the dreary overcast August evening had deepened into a prematurely dark and windy night. With a convulsive shiver, she pulled her navy blue blazer closer around her.

  Downtown traffic was backed up on Jefferson Avenue, a sea of white headlights and red taillights speeding past her in both directions. While Lauren waited for the light to change, fat raindrops began to spatter on the pavement around her. There was a break in traffic, and Lauren raced across the broad multi-lane boulevard, reaching the opposite curb a split second before the oncoming cars roared past her.

  Breathless and damp, she glanced up at the darkened high-rise building under construction in front of her. The parking garage where she had left her car was four blocks away, but if she cut across the area surrounding the high-rise, she could save herself at least a block. A fresh blast of wind blowing off the Detroit River whipped her skirt around her legs and helped her make up her mind. Disregarding the No Trespassing sign, she ducked under the ropes surrounding the construction area.

  Walking as quickly as the uneven ground would permit, Lauren glanced up at the lights scattered here and there in the otherwise dark building. It was at least eighty stories high, made entirely of mirrored glass that reflected the twinkling lights of the city. Where lights were on inside the building, the mirror surface became ordinary two-way glass, and Lauren could see boxes piled in the offices, as if the tenants were getting ready to occupy the space.

  Close to the building she found she was shielded from the wind blowing off the river, so she carefully stayed within its protection. As she hurried along it occurred to her that she was a solitary female, alone in the dark in what was purported to be a crime-ridden city. The thought sent fear racing up her spine.

  Heavy footsteps suddenly thudded in the dirt behind her, and Lauren's heart gave a leap of terror. She quickened her pace, and the unidentified footsteps moved more quickly too. Panicking, Lauren broke into a stumbling run. Just as she flew toward the main entrance, one of the huge glass doors swung open, and two men emerged from the shadowy building.

  "Help!" she cried. "There's someone—" Her foot struck a pile of conduit that coiled around her ankle, then tightened. Lauren soared through the air, her mouth open in a silent scream, her arms flailing for balance, and landed sprawling, face down in the dirt at the men's feet.

  "You damn fool!" one of the men grated in angry concern as they both squatted down on their haunches and peered anxiously at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Bracing herself on her forearms, Lauren lifted her chagrined gaze from the man's shoes to his face. "Auditioning for the circus," she told him dryly. "And for an encore, I usually fall off a bridge."

  A rich chuckle sounded from the other man as he took her firmly by the shoulders and helped her to her feet. "What's your name?" he asked, and when Lauren had told him, he added worriedly, "Can you walk?"

  "For miles," Lauren assured him unsteadily. Every muscle in her body was protesting, and her left ankle was throbbing painfully.

  "Then I guess you can make it as far as the building so we can have a look at the damage," he said with a smile in his voice. Sliding his arm around her waist, he moved against her so that she could lean on him for support.

  "Nick," the other man said sharply, "I think it would be better if I go in and call an ambulance while you stay here with Miss Danner."

  "Please don't call an ambulance!" Lauren implored. "I'm more embarrassed than hurt," she added desperately, almost sagging with relief when the man called Nick began guiding her toward the dark lobby.

  She briefly considered the inadvisability of going into a deserted building with two unknown men, but when they entered the lobby, the other man switched on some small spotlights high in the ceiling, and most of Lauren's doubts were dispelled: he was middle-aged, dignified and wearing a suit and tie. Even in the dim light, he seemed more like a successful business executive than a thug. Lauren glanced at Nick, whose arm was still around her. He was wearing jeans and a denim jacket. Judging from his shadowy profile, Lauren guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, and there was nothing about him, either, that struck her as being ominous.

  Over his shoulder, Nick spoke to the other man. "Mike, there should be a first-aid kit in one of the maintenance rooms. Find it and bring it up."

  "Right," Mike said, striding toward a glowing red Stairs sign.

  Lauren glanced curiously around at the immense lobby. Everything was white travertine marble: the walls, the floors, and even the graceful pillars that soared two stories to the ceiling high above. Dozens of huge potted trees and lush green plants were lined up against one wall, apparently waiting for someone to move them to their proper positions on the vast lobby floor.

  When they came to a bank of elevators set into the far wall, Nick reached around her and pressed the elevator button. The gleaming brass doors slid open and Lauren stepped into the brightly lit elevator. "I'm taking you up to a furnished office where you can sit down and rest until you feel steady enough to walk unaided," Nick explained.

  Lauren flicked a smiling, grateful glance at him— and froze with shock. Standing beside her, his features clearly illuminated now by the improved light, was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Simultaneously, the elevator doors closed and Lauren jerked her gaze from his face. "Thanks," she said in an odd, croaking whisper, self-consciously pulling free of his supporting arm, "but I can stand alone."

  He pressed the button for the eightieth floor, and Lauren quelled the feminine impulse to reach up and pat her hair into place—it would be too obvious, too vain. She wondered if she had a trace of lipstick left, or if her face was dirty, then she caught herself up short. For a sensible young woman, she was reacting very foolishly to what was, after all, nothing more than an attractive male face.

  Had he really been that handsome, she wondered. She decided to look at him again, but discreetly this time. Very casually, she raised her eyes to the light above the doors, which flashed the number of the passing floors. Cautiously, she let her gaze slide sideways… Nick was watching the flashing numbers, his head tipped slightly back, his face in profile.

  Besides being even more handsome than she had thought, he was at least six feet three inches tall, broad shouldered and athletically muscular. His thick dark hair was coffee brown, beautifully cut and styled. Masculine strength was carved into every feature of his proud profile, from the straight dark brows to the arrogant jut of his chin and jaw. His mouth was firm, but sensually molded.

  Lauren was still studying the mobile line of his lips when they quirked suddenly, as if amusement was lurking there. Her gaze shot up, and to her utter horror she discovered that his gray eyes had shifted to her.

  Caught in the act of staring at him and practically drooling over him, Lauren said the first thing that came to mind. "I—I'm afraid of elevators," she improvised madly. "I try to concentrate on something else to, er, keep my mind off the height."

  "That's very clever," he remarked, but his teasing tone made it obvious he was applauding not her sensible solution to her alleged fear of elevators, but rather her ingenuity in inventing such a plausible lie.

  Lauren was torn between laughing at his dry observation and blushing because she hadn't fooled him in the least. She did neither, and instead carefully kept her eyes on the elevator doors until they opened on the eightieth floor.

  "Wait here while I turn on the lights," Nick said. A few seconds later panels of ceiling lights flickered on, illuminating the entire floor, the left half of which appeared to be an immense reception area and four very large walnut-paneled offices. Nick put his hand beneath her elbow, and Lauren's feet sank into the emerald green carpeting as he guide
d her around the elevator wall to the opposite side.

  This half of the floor contained another even larger reception area, with a circular receptionist's desk in the center. Lauren glimpsed a beautiful office opening off the right of the reception area. It was already equipped with built-in filing cabinets and a gleaming wood-and-chrome secretarial desk. Mentally she compared it to her own steel desk at her old part-time job. That one had been in the middle of a cluttered three-person office. It was hard to believe that so much spacious luxury was here for the benefit of a mere secretary.

  When she voiced that thought aloud, Nick gave her a derisive look. "Skilled professional secretaries take great pride in being just that, and the salaries they're getting are soaring every year."

  "I happen to be a secretary," Lauren told him as they walked across the reception area toward a pair of eight-foot-high rosewood doors. "I was across the street applying for a job at Sinco just before I, ah, met you." Nick threw open both doors, then stood back for Lauren to precede him while he studied her limping walk.

  Lauren was so acutely aware of his penetrating silver gaze on her legs that her knees wobbled, and she was halfway across the room before she actually looked at her surroundings. What she saw stopped her short. "Good Lord!" she breathed. "What is this, anyway?"

  "This," Nick said with a smile at her awestruck expression, "is the president's office. It's one of the few offices that's completely finished."