Heather Macallister - Skirting The Issue

A.J., who’d turned out to be a lawyer—and how handy was that?—had put the amount right into the rental agreement.

“I’ve got to get back to the hotel,” Sam called, hating to abandon her new roommates before getting to know them. She’d been really lucky there. The three of them appeared to be on the same wavelength, which was reassuring considering how many different wavelengths there were in New York City.

Carefully folding the skirt—she wasn’t mailing it anywhere after today—Sam put it on the top shelf in the second largest bedroom and put her suit skirt back on. “Let’s have dinner together here,” she called.

“I’ll get takeout,” A.J. offered.

“Sounds fab. If I can, I’ll see if the pastry chef has an extra Sacher torte and contribute that.”

“What’s Sacher torte?” Claire asked.

“Think dense chocolate. Sin on a fork.” Sam grabbed her purse. “I hate to leave you guys like this, but I really need to get back to work.”

“Like I’m going to complain after you rescued me,” Claire said.

“Ditto.” A.J. shooed her away. “Go.”

And Sam went. She was on top of the world. She didn’t know if it was fate, or the skirt, but Tavish had practically given them the apartment.

The other potential renters hadn’t been pleased, to understate matters, but Sam didn’t care. She’d taken a chance and look how it had paid off.

Today, she was invincible. Invulnerable. Triumphant. The promotion was as good as hers.

Humming—it was the Beach Boys, but who cared after the day she’d had—Sam strode into the lobby of the Carrington and punched the button for the executive offices. The doors parted immediately. It was just that kind of day.

Going to the top floor without stopping—she was on such a roll—the doors whisked open. Sam stepped into the foyer of the executive offices half expecting a general hush followed by a trumpet fanfare.

Look out world, Sam Baldwin has arrived. She strode, yes, strode, toward the skimpy temporary office she was using. She should really ask for something better. With her luck today, she’d probably get a corner office.

“Tiffany, any messages?” She’d always wanted to say that.

Tiffany, the receptionist, gave her an annoyed look, completely failing to notice Sam’s aura of power. “I don’t know—check your voice mail. Oh, actually, you might go see Mr. Hennesey. He was looking for you right after lunch.” Tiffany pointedly looked at her watch. “Like, about an hour ago.”

“Too bad he wasn’t looking for me at seven-thirty this morning when I was at my desk.”

Tiffany was clearly going nowhere. She’d be singing a different tune once Sam was promoted.

Sam went in search of Mr. Hennesey. Odd. She would have thought he’d still be in the meeting. But no. She could hear him talking with someone in his office.

“Mr. Hennesey?” Sam knocked on the open door before stepping inside. “Tiffany said you were looking for me. If it’s about the profit comparison for Happy Hours with and without complimentary buffets, I came in early this morning and finished the report. I left it with Tiffany.”

“Great. I’ll check with her in a bit.” Mr. Hennesey leaned against the corner of his desk, clearly in no hurry.

So much for early-morning brownie points. Sam felt her aura dim just a bit.

“Actually, I was looking for you because I understand you’re acquainted with our new sales consultant.”

Sam’s neck tickled as the hairs on the back stood up. It was her only warning that her roll had ended, splatting right into the figure she hadn’t noticed sitting in Mr. Hennesey’s leather love seat.

Her aura tarnished.

Her luck came up snake eyes.

Her good mood fizzled.

She slid off the top of the world.

Slowly, she turned her head, something within her already knowing the identity of the man, the one aura-tarnishing person she knew…

Josh Crandall.

He grinned—no, leered…no, it was a smirk. Definitely a smirk. “Hiya, Sam. How’s tricks?”

How’s tricks. Nobody said that anymore—nobody outside of Mr. Hennesey’s generation. Doing a little intergenerational bonding, Mr. Crandall?

On the other hand, being tricky was Josh’s modus operandi.

He didn’t bother to stand because that would show respect and heaven forbid Josh Crandall should show respect for anyone he didn’t have to.

Sam would rise above the situation, which meant she could lower herself and still be above him.

“Mr. Crandall.” What was he doing here?

“Oh, take the ruler out of your—” He shifted and unrepentantly cleared his throat, his meaning crystal clear. “I told Bill, here, we were buds.”

“Professional buds,” Sam clarified, though Josh didn’t have a professional bone in his body and she was no more his “bud” than…better not go there.

“If you insist.” His grin widened and he winked.

Sam wished she had a really good set of fingernails so she could scratch that grin off his loathsome face. Even so, she could feel what fingernails she had digging into her palms. In a couple of short sentences, he’d completely changed Bill Hennesey’s picture of her—and not for the better. Too much was at stake for Sam to allow Josh to get away with it.

“I do insist, as you well know.” She sent a deliberately casual smile toward Mr. Hennesey. “Josh and I have crossed paths on the convention circuit the past couple of years. He’s very good at what he does.” But what he does isn’t very good.

She congratulated herself on her word choice. Outwardly, it was a compliment. Maybe Josh would reciprocate.

“Why thank you, Sam. Glad to hear you didn’t have any complaints.”

Or maybe not.

Naturally, Mr. Hennesey chuckled. “Yes, he is, which is why we’re delighted to hire his company to train our staff.”

What company? “You mean Meckler?”

“Josh has left Meckler Hotels and has started his own sales training company.”

Josh leaned forward and dangled a business card from his fingers. Sam had to walk over to him and reach over the tiny coffee table in order to take it.

If Mr. Hennesey weren’t there, she would have ripped it into confetti and thrown it in Josh’s face. But Mr. Hennesey was there, more’s the pity, so Sam politely took the card, and looked at it. Josh Crandall, Perfect Pitch Sales Seminars.

Now what? With her back to Mr. Hennesey, Sam eyed Josh suspiciously. Was this another of his slick tricks? Devious ways? Underhanded maneuvers?

Josh gave her a blandly innocent smile which Sam didn’t buy for an instant.

Mr. Hennesey apparently did. “Josh has been so successful in convention sales—” Sam winced, knowing at whose expense a few of those successes came, “—that I was eager to give him the opportunity to share some of his secrets.”

“You’re actually willing to go on record?” she said to Josh.

“For a price.”

“Well, we always knew you had a price.”

“Everybody’s got a price, chickie, even you.” He threw one of his casual smiles at Mr. Hennesey. “Finding a person’s price is one of the strategies I’ll cover in my seminar.”

Slick, slimy and smooth. Vintage Josh. Sam gritted her teeth.

Mr. Hennesey was clearly mesmerized by him, but then most people were. Young, old, male, female. Everybody liked Josh. He made them feel good when they were with him which made them want to please him so he’d stick around. So they’d please him by giving Meckler Hotels their convention business. But then he’d leave anyway. Didn’t they get it?

He had a gift, Sam acknowledged, and she knew it wasn’t anything he could teach others.

“…know him, Samantha…” She quickly tuned back into Mr. Hennesey. “…so I’m putting you in charge of organizing the training sessions with Josh.”