Can’t Say No

“I started Contec on a shoestring about five years ago. There was just myself, Bree and Allen Spencer-but we got rid of Allen within two months, didn’t we, Bree?” Marie’s eyes flickered briefly on Bree before zooming instantly back to Hart. “Dead weight, that man. Bree could pick up a new system ten times faster than he could. But it wasn’t just that. When a company calls with trouble, you have to send someone who can understand not only their computer system but their specific problems as well, whether it’s a manufacturing difficulty or an unreliable accounting organization-”

“I’m afraid you’re going too fast,” Hart interrupted, leaning back against the red leather booth with a smile. “Computers are half Greek to me. From what you’re saying, can I assume that a systems analyst is a kind of troubleshooter?”

“Exactly-at least in our approach. Contec sells expertise in technology, not the equipment itself. You’d be surprised how many companies invest thousands of dollars in computers and then can’t make the system work for them.”

“So Bree goes in…”

“And educates. Or trains. Or revamps their system. Or custom-programs…”

A black-suited waiter brought a second bottle of wine. Bree tuned the conversation out and tipped the newly filled glass to her lips, delighted with the way the wine slid smoothly down her throat. Amazing, how suddenly fascinated Hart was by the subject of computers. And Marie had been delighted to educate him all through dinner.

Marie gave another scintillating, high-pitched laugh, and Bree downed the rest of her wine. To be honest- though she really had no interest in honesty at the moment-she hadn’t been ignored. Hart had turned to glare at her about every minute and a half, and Marie had waxed poetic on the subject of Bree’s ability on the job. Bree knew Marie was trying to seduce her back to work. Why Hart was so irritated she had no idea, except that he was probably astounded she would leave such a charming and attractive employer and such a “plush” job. Marie was good at making long hours and tedium sound delightful.

Bree had been too busy during dinner to join in the conversation anyway. After the second glass of wine, she’d been simply fascinated watching Marie bounce back and forth from manipulative boss to a lady who helplessly batted her eyelashes. It was really an interesting phenomenon; all Hart had to do was breathe and Marie’s laughter trilled out like a chorus of “Take Me.”

Come on, Bree, you knew he was the kind to attract women, in the plural. She reached for the bottle of wine and found Hart had unobtrusively shifted it to the opposite side of the table. The cup of coffee that had just miraculously appeared in front of her was a poor substitute, but it gave her something to do with her hands, stirring black swirls into black swirls.

“So your company is based on field work, with a willingness to show up day or night no matter what the problem is…” Hart continued.

“Exactly.” Marie nodded her head prettily, her dancing eyes never leaving Hart’s face. “Bree can tell you how often she’s been called in the middle of the night by a manager who supervises a night shift…” She shrugged. “When they need their payroll ready by seven in the morning, someone has to be there to make sure it gets done. That’s been our reputation from the beginning-to be there when called, day or night. Actually, Bree sometimes worked forty-eight hours at a stretch-”

“Forty-eight hours at a stretch,” Hart echoed flatly.

Bree caught the little darts Hart’s eyes sent her again. She sent him back a brilliant smile, just for kicks, and reached for her coffee.

“You have to be willing to stay on the job until the problem’s solved. That’s partly why Bree’s so fantastic. My dependable Bree,” Marie said affectionately. “Of course, we’ve expanded since those early beginnings-I have five more people on my staff now. Bree trained them all, and I can remember last January when we had two out with flu. I told Bree I didn’t see how we could possibly manage, but of course-”

“She managed very well,” Hart finished smoothly.

“I can always count on Bree. I swear, I’d have to have two more people without her.” Marie smiled, flashing her eyes up at Hart as he leaned over to refill her wineglass again.

Hart smiled back, very lazily. “But I’m sure you share some of the workload in the field yourself, Marie.”

Marie chuckled. “I hate to admit this,” she whispered conspiratorially, “but I’d be totally lost in the field. Bree does that kind of work better than anyone. My job is to sell the services we have to offer, but if I had to deliver the real nuts and bolts, I’m afraid I’d be a total failure.”

Marie clearly expected Hart to empathize with her, but Hart, at just that instant, dropped his smile. “I would say you were a natural success,” Hart said icily, “at selling Bree.”

Bree stiffened, even more so as Marie stood up with a little laugh. “Come on, Hart. There’s an empty dance floor out there, and you must be sick of listening to me talk about business. Between Bree and me, we’ll keep your feet moving for a while.”

Bree noticed the quick flash of annoyance in his eyes, replaced almost instantly with a cool mask. Seconds later, he escorted Marie to the pocket-sized dance floor. The pianist was playing an old torch song, and Bree watched Marie’s fingers seductively climb up Hart’s shoulders, her head tilting back, her lips looking miraculously moistened.

Hart danced like a robot, amazing Bree. She hadn’t figured for him for a disco kid, but the music was sensual and she knew well that he had a most incomparable sense of…rhythm. And his mouth, she noted, was going a mile a minute. The lady in his arms wasn’t getting kissed; she was getting grilled. Poor Marie.

Bree almost smiled, but couldn’t. A clear-cut attack of jealousy would have been easy enough to handle, but she could hardly blame Hart because women fell all over him. She’d done the same, hadn’t she?

And the entire evening had opened up a can of worms. Hart’s comment about Marie “selling Bree” hurt-and badly. If he’d meant it as a compliment to Marie, Bree took it as an insult to herself-one that she, unfortunately, deserved. She had let Marie sell her, for five long years. Marie had never demanded; rather, she’d functioned as a football coach. You can do more, Bree; I know you can handle this one, Bree; imagine what this project will do for our reputation, darling; win this one for me…

And she had. Because she was by nature responsible and motivated by security, and because she had always found it so very hard to say no to people.

A cold fog surrounded Bree from nowhere. For days, she hadn’t thought of Gram. Once the nightmares were over and her speech had returned, she’d assumed that the trauma was over. The sudden fierce panic in her heart informed her that it wasn’t. All she could think of was that Gram would never have sat here like this. She’d never have stayed in a job where she was being used. She’d never have fallen in love with a man who drew every feminine eye. She’d never have just stood by passively and let things happen to her…

The music ended, and the two were wending their way around tables, coming toward her. Bree barely noticed. As if her hand were attached to another woman’s body, Bree found herself suddenly picking up her purse to depart.

“Bree?” Marie cocked her head in question.

“What’s wrong?” Hart’s voice was quiet, an echo of a dozen intimate love words between them.

But then, Hart was very good with love words. He was brilliant with women, period. “I’m going home,” Bree said brightly, and swung her hips out of the booth. Hart’s fingers curled on her wrist, but she shook herself free. She couldn’t breathe. There was just no air in the place, and Hart’s touch hurt just a little too much.

A waiter was pushing a cart of desserts between the tables. She dodged him, dragging a hand through her hair. Hart was demanding the bill; she heard that, and Marie’s chatter. She knew that the pianist had started another song, and that the carpet was a patterned black and red. Such silly details struck her when for a moment she was utterly disoriented as to the location of the exit. There had to be an exit; they’d come in somewhere-

The door was ridiculously heavy. Once she was outside, she hauled great gulps of night air into her lungs. Her hands were shaking-silly. Nothing was wrong. She was awake-there was no nightmare. She was standing in a parking lot filled with cars; a crescent moon cradled a bevy of stars; a warm breeze wisped around her on an absolutely lovely night…and her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“We’ll have you home in twenty minutes.” Hart’s baritone was quiet and sure, coming from behind her even as he placed a supportive arm on her shoulder.