Cy hadn’t been to her house since the night he’d picked her up when she was working late. But Wednesday evening he came to the restaurant for dinner. He didn’t come alone. His companion was a beautiful redhead with long legs, wearing an outfit that had probably cost more than a week’s take at the restaurant. He was getting even with Meredith for his loss of control. She knew it instantly. Not that it did much for her ego or lessened the pain of seeing him with another woman. She’d heard plenty about Cy’s reputation with women since she’d started work. It was depressing, because he hadn’t been a rounder when he was with her.
She put on her best smile and let nothing she was feeling show as she greeted them and produced menus. “Would you like something to drink while you wait for your order?” she asked politely.
“I’ll have a German lager,” the redhead said carelessly, and named the brand she wanted. “And do make sure that they don’t substitute foam for beer, will you? I detest being shorted.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Meredith said pleasantly. “And what will you have, sir?”
“White wine,” he said curtly. He didn’t look at her. That sunny bright greeting had taken the starch out of his sails. He’d brought Lara here to make Meredith jealous. And he’d kept his distance, hoping that she might miss him. He wasn’t sure of his own motives, except that he ached for her. He wanted her more than ever, but she’d dug in her heels and wasn’t giving an inch. It was going to be an uphill battle all the way to get her back into his arms. Lara’s presence didn’t even seem to faze her. The old Meredith would have been in tears.
Meredith served them with the impeccable control that Henry had taught her. Cy looked darker and angrier by the minute as she did her best impression of a star-struck waitress serving her betters. Lara swallowed it, insisting that he leave a huge tip. Cy only glared at Meredith, his eyes promising retribution. She had to resist the urge to rage at him. She knew what he was doing, but it didn’t help her bruised feelings.
He was showing her that he attracted other women, beautiful women. Inadvertently, it helped her get a bridle on her own need for him. Nothing had changed. He was a playboy now, and he had no use for commitment. She’d do well to remember the way he’d thrown her to the wolves before, so that she wouldn’t have to repeat it.
FRIDAY NIGHT, she changed hours with one of the other waitresses—with Mrs. Dade’s permission—and called a cab to take her to the airport. She changed into a black wig and expensive coat, so nobody at the airport would mistake her for Meredith Ashe. It was just a precaution, in case anyone who knew her saw her getting into a Tennison International jet. Cy probably wouldn’t even know that she was away for the weekend, nor would he care. He was avoiding her lately with a vengeance. But just in case, she’d make sure she was seen leaving the Billings bus terminal Sunday afternoon.
She boarded the small corporate jet quickly, and in minutes she was bound for Chicago.
Blake was waiting at O’Hare with Mr. Smith. He ran to her, recognizing her through her disguise, outdistancing even his companion in his excitement.
“Mommy!” he shouted.
Meredith bent and picked him up, swinging him around with laughter brimming over inside her. It had been such a dismal week and a half, and she’d missed Blake so badly.
“Welcome home, ragamuffin,” Mr. Smith mused, his eyes pointedly assessing the dark wig and the worn jeans and sweatshirt under Meredith’s open coat.
“Well, I couldn’t very well go to work in a Liz Claiborne original, could I?” she asked with a mischievous grin.
“Point taken. Your brother-in-law is still out of town, but he promised to be back in time for the banquet tomorrow night.”
“Very good. And the Jordan merger?”
“Went through with flying colors.”
“Oh, Mommy, don’t talk business,” Blake wailed as they got into the car.
She pulled him close and kissed him. “Okay. I’ll try. Until tomorrow night, we’ll just do what you want to.”
“Honestly?! Great!”
It wasn’t until she was failing miserably at the Nintendo controls with Blake that she realized how much she missed being with him. Even a simple game like this—at which she was terrible—was so much fun. Blake laughed and flaunted his superiority at eye and hand coordination while Meredith rolled on the floor with glee at her own failure.
They watched a nature special together after supper, and then Meredith read bedtime stories for half an hour. When Blake fell asleep in her arms, she looked down at him with aching tenderness. She’d never be alone, not while she had Blake. It even eased the pain of losing Cy. There was so much similarity between Blake’s small features and those of his father, she thought wistfully. The resemblance really was striking, especially when he opened his dark eyes. Her child…hers and Cy’s. Not that Cy would ever believe it, she told herself.
Meredith tucked in her son and walked back downstairs into Henry’s old study, which was now hers. Passing the fax machine and computer, she walked over to her desk and sat down. She started to pore over contracts and memos and correspondence that seemed endless. Although work had piled up in her absence, Meredith still looked upon the past week and a half as a vacation. Even the physical work of waitressing wasn’t a patch on the mentally exhausting routine she was used to. The exercise was rather relaxing, in fact.
She worked far into the night on current projects without really getting caught up. The most she accomplished was to answer the more immediate correspondence on tape for her secretary to type and Don to verify. She’d have to pack up and take the rest back to Billings with her. She could fax and use the phone to catch up on the rest. She hoped. Most deals were best conducted in person. Well, if all else failed, she could sneak out on the corporate jet for meetings. But that was risky. Seeing the Tennison International conveyance too often at the Rimrocks, upon which Billings’ airport was located, could tip Cy Harden to a move on his company. And that she didn’t want.
Blake wanted to go to the park the next morning, so Meredith dressed him warmly and walked him the four blocks east to the playground. Mr. Smith brought up the rear. The rugged ex-mercenary never left them alone. She knew it was driving him crazy that he couldn’t be around in Billings to look after her. He was as loyal as he was trustworthy.
Meredith and Smith sat on a wooden bench watching the sun play off the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. “How’s it going?” he asked while Blake was swinging on the playground equipment.
Meredith leaned back on the park bench and pulled her cashmere coat closer around her body. “I’m surviving. It isn’t easy. I tried to get to some of the executives and almost got fired for fraternizing.”
He smiled, something he did rarely. That hard face was scarred and laced with mementos of the violent lifestyle Mr. Smith had led. One of the executives once told Meredith that his scars were the result of his being shot to within an inch of his life in a commando raid, after which they’d practically had to put his face back together with superglue. She could believe it. He was rugged and indomitable. She always felt safe with him, as she had with Cy.
“Giving up?” he taunted.
She glanced at him and grinned. “What do you think?”
His green eyes searched over her face quietly, lingering just a second too long before he averted them. “I think Don’s right. You’ve found yourself one formidable adversary. There’s no shame in cutting your losses.”
“I haven’t started yet,” she reminded him. “I’ve got McGee working on proxy acquisition