Beverly Barton: Grace Under Fire

Lifting his brows, he stared at her, contradiction in his eyes. "Grace doesn't have lunch dates unless you count her outings with that silly cousin of hers." When Elsa didn't respond, he asked, "There isn't someone that I don't know about, is there?" He shook his head. "No, of course not. She would have told me."

"I'm sure she would have, sir."

Hudson Prentice wanted Grace. Everyone who worked for Sheffield Media, Inc. knew it. Elsa smiled. Probably two-thirds of La Durantaye Parish knew it. The poor man had done everything but get down on one knee and beg Grace to marry him, but she gave the impression of being oblivious to his unrequited love. Elsa figured it was easier for Grace that way. She was less likely to hurt Mr. Prentice's feelings if she feigned ignorance.

Of course, she wasn't sure which the man loved more-Grace or her money. The curse of every wealthy woman.

Mr. Prentice backed out of the doorway. "Yes… well… buzz me when she-"

"Good morning." Grace Beaumont arrived at precisely one minute till nine, and looking like a breath of springtime in her white linen suit and pale yellow blouse. Grace was a classically beautiful woman, with natural blond hair and vivid blue eyes. Tall and slender, with an aura of elegance and fine breeding, she exuded cool sophistication.

Hudson turned and smiled. "Don't you look lovely this morning."

"Good morning, Grace." Elsa brought the cappuccino over to Grace's desk and placed the mug on a monogrammed earthenware coaster.

Grace entered her office, put her dark-green leather briefcase on the right side of her desk, then pulled out her large, hunter-green, tufted-leather swivel chair and picked up her coffee cup.

Hudson Prentice hovered in the doorway. Grace glanced at him.

"Is there something you need?" Grace asked pleasantly.

He cleared his throat. "I've made reservations for us at Dumon's for lunch."

"Is there a special occasion I don't know about?"

"Have you actually forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?"

"This is your anniversary," he said.

She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

He sighed dramatically. "Three years ago today you took over the reins of Sheffield Media, Inc."

"Oh." Grace offered him a wavering smile. "How sweet of you to remember. Then, yes, of course, a celebratory lunch would be nice. We'll include Elsa, of course."

Hudson Prentice looked as if he'd been slapped. Elsa couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He'd wanted an intimate lunch for two, and any third party would alter his well-made plans.

"No, really, I don't want to intrude," Elsa said.

"Nonsense," Grace insisted. "She won't be intruding, will she, Hudson? After all, I couldn't manage without the two of you. You're both indispensable to me and to Sheffield Media."

"Yes. Certainly, Elsa, you must join us." Hudson backed out of the office again, like a commoner respectfully easing away from a queen. "I'll call Dumon's and make that lunch for three."

"Make it for four," Grace told him.

He stopped abruptly and looked directly at her. "For four?"

"Yes, Joy mentioned stopping by to pick me up for lunch today. She phoned last night. She's been to New Orleans on a shopping spree and is dying to tell me all about it."

He swallowed, then nodded, a rather pitiful disappointment evident in his fading smile and sagging shoulders. "Lunch for four then."

Grace didn't even seem to notice when he left. She put the crystal glass mug to her lips and sipped the frothy cinnamon coffee.

"There seems to be quite a bit of mail this morning," Elsa said. "I've set aside an extra thirty minutes for you to take care of it before your appointment with Mr. Carruth."

The phone rang. On the second ring, Elsa lifted the receiver. "Ms. Beaumont's office. Elsa Leone speaking."

"This is Orson Sidney down in Bayou Cuvier. We've got us a big problem here at WBCL. Our biggest advertiser is threatening to walk. They got all upset over a political ad that we started running a couple of days ago. All the sweet-talking and ass kissing I've done hasn't calmed them down. I think it's something Ms. Beaumont is going to have to handle."

Grace flipped through the assortment of envelopes stacked on the blotter in the center of her desk.

"Oh, dear," Elsa said. "Hold one moment, Mr. Sidney."

Grace glanced at Elsa. "Orson Sidney?"

"Yes, ma'am. It seems he has a problem with an advertiser. I'm afraid the mail will have to wait until later." Elsa handed her the telephone. "This will probably take awhile."

Grace shoved the morning mail aside, took the phone from Elsa and said, "Good morning, Orson, I hear we have a problem."

Elsa excused herself quietly, closing the door behind her as she left Grace's office and went into her own. Grace would probably be tied up on the phone for the next couple of hours-maybe longer. But in the end, she would find a compromise that would suit everyone. The woman had a knack for diplomacy. One might say a true gift. Of course it didn't hurt that she was beautiful, charming, intelligent and had become quite business-savvy in the past three years.

Elsa had watched the transformation and was sometimes awestruck by Grace's abilities. Her being an astute businesswoman had been a trait she'd come by honestly. After all, her father had created an empire for himself that spread out all over Louisiana, and parts of Mississippi, Arkansas and Texas. Elsa hadn't really known Grace before Mr. Sheffield's death, but she'd seen her a few times in person and numerous times in the society pages of the St. Camille Herald . Everybody in La Durantaye Parish knew who Grace Sheffield Beaumont was. The daughter of one of the richest men in the South and the wife of the state's attorney general, Dean Beaumont. Both from prestigious old-money families, they'd been called the golden couple. Dean and Grace Beaumont had had it all. And in the tragic events of one summer night almost four years ago, they had lost it all.

Not once in the three years Elsa had worked at Grace's side, day in and day out, had Grace ever mentioned the accident or the fact rumors abounded afterward that Grace had suffered a nervous breakdown. Whether the rumors were true or not, Grace showed no signs of whatever torment she'd suffered. She was, at least outwardly, highly competent, unemotional and always in control. But Elsa suspected that beneath that dispassionately calm, serene exterior, she was still in mourning.

Jed Tyree had never seen Dundee 's office manager Daisy Holbrook as anything less than calm, skillful and confident. But today, as the old saying goes, she was running around like a chicken with her head chopped off. Of course, even Dundee 's CEO, Sawyer McNamara, seemed a little nervous. No, on second thought, nervous was the wrong word to ever describe the super-cool former federal agent. Sawyer was anxious. Anxious that he, the office staff and the agents he'd been able to round up on short notice would make a favorable impression on the owner of the agency, Sam Dundee. Having been hired by former Dundee 's CEO, Ellen Denby, Jed had never met Sam, but he'd heard all about him. Hell, the guy was legendary around here.

"Mr. Tyree, didn't you get the memo about dressing appropriately today?" Daisy gave him a disapproving glance as he walked by. "Mr. McNamara requested suits and ties."

"I don't own a suit," Jed told her.

"Then at least go put on a tie."

Always Ms. Efficiency, Jed thought. And never shy about stating her opinion, but usually in a more diplomatic manner. Her sharp tone expressed her nervousness.

Jed reached out, put his hands on Daisy's plump shoulders to bring her to a standstill. "Slow down, take several deep breaths and-"

"Is my craziness showing?" Daisy laughed. "It's just that I know how important it is to Mr. McNamara that Mr. Dundee's visit comes off without a hitch. After all, it is the first time Mr. Dundee has come to Atlanta since Mr. McNamara became CEO."