Nora Roberts - Best Laid Plans

It didn't help to have an architect who demanded materials that made cost overruns and shipping delays inevitable. Despite him and his marble sinks and his oversize ceramic tiles, she was going to pull it off. If she wasn't constantly being dragged into the office for endless meetings.

Impatient, she paced to the window and back again. Time was wasting, and there were few things that annoyed her more than waste of any kind. If she hadn't had a specific point to bring up to Tim, she would have found a way to avoid the meeting altogether. The one thing about Tim, she thought with a humorless smile, was that he wasn't really bright enough to recognize double-talk. In this case, she wanted to make the pitch herself, so she'd come. But-she glanced at her watch-she wasn't going to twiddle her thumbs much longer.

This had been Thornway's office. She'd always liked the cool, authoritative colors and the lack of frills. Since Tim had taken over, he'd made some changes. Plants, she thought, scowling at a ficus. It wasn't that she disliked plants and thick, splashy pillows, but it annoyed her to find them here.

Then there were the paintings. Thornway had preferred Indian paintings and landscapes. Tim had replaced them with abstracts that tended to jar Abra's nerves. The new carpet seemed three inches thick and was salmon-colored. The elder Thornway had used a short-napped buff so that the dust and dirt wouldn't show. But then, Tim didn't often visit the sites or ask his foremen to join him for an after-hours drink.

Stop it, Abra ordered herself. Tim ran things differently, and that was his privilege. It was his business in every way. The fact that she had loved and admired the father so much didn't mean she had to find fault with the son.

But she did find fault with him, she thought as she studied the tidy, polished surface of his desk. He iacked both the drive and the compassion that had been so much a part of his father. Thornway had wanted to build first for the love of building. With Tim, the profit margin was the bottom line.

If Thomas Thornway had still been alive, she wouldn't have been preparing to make a break. There was a certain freedom in that, in knowing that this current project would be her last for the company. There would be no regrets in leaving, as there might once have been. Instead, there was excitement, anticipation. Whatever happened next, she would be doing it for herself.

Terrifying, she thought, closing her eyes. The idea was as terrifying as it was compelling. All unknowns were. Like Cody Johnson.

Catching herself, she walked back to the window. That was ridiculous. He was neither terrifying nor compelling. Nor was he an unknown. He was just a man-a bit of a pest, with the way he kept popping up on the site. He was the kind of man who knew he was a pleasure to look at and exploited it. The kind who always had a line, an angle and an escape route.

She'd seen men like Cody operate before. Looking back, Abra considered herself lucky that she'd only fallen for a pretty face and a smooth line once. Some women never learned and kept walking blindly into the trap again and again. Her mother was one, Abra thought with a shake of her head. Jessie Wilson would have taken one look at a man like Cody and taken the plunge. Thank God, in this way it was not "like mother like daughter."

As for herself, Abra wasn't interested in Cody Johnson personally and could barely tolerate him professionally.

When he walked in seconds later, she wondered why her thoughts and her feelings didn't seem to jibe.

"Abra, sorry to keep you waiting." Tim, trim in a three-piece suit, offered her a hearty smile. "Lunch ran a bit over."

She only lifted a brow. This meeting in the middle of the day had caused her to miss her lunch altogether. "I'm more interested in why you called me in from the field."

"Thought we needed a little one on one." He settled comfortably behind his desk and gestured for both her and Cody to sit.

"You've seen the reports."

"Absolutely." He tapped a finger on a file. He had a nice, engaging grin that suited his round face. More than once Abra had thought he'd have done well in politics. If anyone knew how to answer a question without committing himself, it was Tim Thornway. "Efficient, as always. I'm having a dinner meeting with Barlow senior this evening. I'd like to give him something more than facts and figures."

"You can give him my objections to the interior layout of the main building." She crossed her ankles and spared Cody the briefest glance. Tim began to fiddle with one of his monogrammed pens.

"I thought we'd settled all that."

Abra merely shrugged. "You asked. You can tell him that the wiring should be completed on the main structure by the end of the week. It's a tricky process, given the size and shape of the building. And it's going to cost his company a fortune to cool."

"He has a fortune," Cody commented. "I believe they're more interested in style than saving on the electric bill."

"Indeed." Tim cleared his throat. The way things stood, the Barlow project was going to bring him a tidy profit. He wanted to keep it that way. "Of course, I've looked over the specs and can assure our client that he's receiving only the best in materials and in brainpower."

"I'd suggest you tell him to come see for himself," Abra said.

"Well, I don't think-"

Cody cut in. "I agree with Ms. Wilson. Better he should buck now about something that doesn't suit him than buck later, after it's in concrete."

Tim frowned and backpedaled. "The plans have been approved."

"Things look different on paper," Cody said, looking at Abra. "Sometimes people are surprised by the finished product."

"Naturally, I'll suggest it." Tim tapped his pen on his spotless blotter. "Abra, you have a suggestion in your report about extending the lunch break to an hour."

"Yes, I wanted to talk with you about that. After a few weeks on the site I've seen that until and unless we get some relief in the weather the men are going to need a longer break at midday."

Tim set down the pen and folded his hands. "You have to understand what a thirty-minute extension means in terms of overall time and money."

"You have to understand that men can't work in that sun without a reasonable reprieve. Chugging salt tablets isn't enough. It may be March, and it may be cool inside when you're having your second martini, but out there it's a killer."

"These men get paid to sweat," Tim reminded her. "And I think you can only agree that they'll be better off to have the buildings under roof by summer."

"They can't build if they drop from heat exhaustion or sunstroke."

"I don't believe I've had any reports of that happening."

"Not yet." It would be a miracle if she held on to her temper. He'd always been pompous, she thought. When he'd been a junior executive she'd been able to skirt him and go straight to the top. Now he was the top. Abra gritted her teeth and tried again. "Tim, they need the extra time off. Working out in that sun drains you. You get weak, you get sloppy, then you make mistakes-dangerous mistakes."

"I pay a foreman to see that no one makes mistakes."

Abra was on her feet and ready to explode when Cody's calm voice cut in. "You know, Tim, men tend to stretch out breaks in the heat in any case. You give them an extra thirty minutes, makes them feel good- obliged, even. Most of them won't be as liable to take more. You end up getting the same amount of work and good PR."

Tim ran his pen through his fingers. "Makes sense. I'll keep it in mind."

"You do that." With an easy smile, he rose. "I'm going to hitch a ride back to the site with Ms. Wilson. Then we can discuss that idea about our working more closely together. Thanks for lunch, Tim."

"Any time, any time."