That frown, however, was becoming a semipermanent fixture on Justine’s face. It was particularly noticeable at home, where she had usually been so relaxed. Susan was concerned.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked one Sunday morning in good nursely fashion when she tired of watching Justine roam idly around the apartment in uncharacteristic avoidance of the mouth-watering Sunday edition ofThe New York Times.Usually there was good-humored rivalry about who read which section first. On this particular morning Susan had the paper all to herself. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“No, Sue. I’m fine. Really.” Her eyes were glued to the street below, seeing nothing, yet mesmerized by the occasional movement of life there.
“Things been tough at the office?”
“Mmmmm.”
And, after a pause—“No word from Sloane?”
Justine shuddered lightly before recovering herself. “No.”
“Look, Justine. Maybe you should get away for a while. It’s nearly the end of June. You were planning on taking a few weeks in August anyway. Why not move them up?”
Vacation? What good would vacation do, if the demon was within? Was there any escape? “No, Susan. It’s probably better if I work. I’m just tired now. The Fourth is coming up—I’ll have a short vacation then.”
How easy it was, she mused, to give pat answers to questions whose crux was much deeper! How simple it was to put off the expressions of concern—to keep friends and colleagues on the outside, at a safe distance from her turmoil. Only Sloane had penetrated her thick-skinned veneer; only he had stolen into her heart. In hindsight, she marveled at his cunning, yes, hiscunningin captivating her. Their explosive physical attraction had been mutual; that had helped his cause. But he had stalked her with such brilliance, such laid-back persistence, that she couldn’t have recognized her growing love if it had been waved before her clear, emerald eyes.
Her love for Sloane was a fact, but a sadly deficient one. As Sloane himself had said that last day in Westport, she must not love him enough if she still refused to marry him. Perhaps he was right. But, she asked herself poignantly, what abouthislove for her? What wasitsnature, that he could sever all contact with her of his own free will? Was this, as John had consolingly suggested, a tactic? Was he merely exercising the sharp-honed intelligence for which the fox was known? His parting words to her that fateful Sunday afternoon when he pulled to a brusque stop outside her apartment building had been a curt “I’ll contact you,” but they had been hisonlywords of that seemingly endless drive from Westport to Manhattan and had been delivered with an undertone of pure business. Had he something in mind?
Indeed, he did. The Silver Fox was not to be underestimated. “Justine”—Daniel Logan’s summons vibrated firmly over the intra-office line—“I’ve got Sloane Harper in here. Could you join us for a moment?”
Any other member of the firm she might have been able to put off; Dan Logan she could not. Surely Sloane Harper would have known that! And surely, she simmered in frustration, he would have to know how potentially uncomfortable a public confrontation would be for her—recalling in vivid detail how intimate their last confrontation had been.
Standing weakly, she tugged at her skirt and smoothed down the soft folds of her blouse. The early summer’s heat seemed to have suddenly penetrated even the air-conditioned confines of the office, choking her at the throat, the wrist, the waist—at every spot where her clothes touched her body. But the inevitable had to be faced. Mustering the shreds of a nearly nonexistent self-possession, she walked the route to the senior partner’s office—wondering all the while what nature of weapon the firing squad would use.
“Excuse me?” she heard herself say moments later as she sat straight-backed in Dan’s office. Sloane was far to her right, nearly behind her, standing, watching, alert. Other than a perfunctory word of greeting upon her arrival, he had not spoken.
“That’s right, Justine,” Dan repeated patiently. “We would like you to accompany Sloane to Alaska for the preliminary work on his project.”
Eyes paler green in disbelief, Justine looked from Dan to Sloane, then over to Charlie Stockburne. “I don’t—I don’t understand. What use would I be to Sloane in Alaska? I don’t know anything about the corporate end of the law. Certainly it would be more appropriate if one of the others went.” Pulse racing, she focused her attention on Dan, excluding Sloane’s stern expression as much as possible. Having known his warmth, his tenderness, his love, this near formality was a torture.
“Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me, Justine.” Dan eyed her sharply, his gaze, in its reproof, saying far more than his words. “Sloane proposes to use you as a consultant on the project he is planning. You won’t be actually acting as his lawyer onbehalfof the corporation, but rather—”
“—as an employee of the corporation—” she interrupted on a soft note of dismay at the gist of the suggestion.
“‘Consultant’ is a more dignified word, Justine.” Sloane finally entered the ring, throwing down the gauntlet with his unique air of majesty. Slowly and with characteristic dignity, he approached her. “I feel that, with your background in family law, you might be of help. Are you at all familiar with the situation of economics in Alaska?”
Helpless as the walls began to close in around her, Justine shook her head. So this would be her punishment for refusing to marry him—a sentence of subservience as his underling? To be near, yet just beyond reach—was this what he had in mind? Fighting to quell the churning within, she willed her attention to what Sloane was saying.
“Since the advent of the oil pipeline, Alaska has, to state it simply, come into a lot of money. The question is how to most suitably spend it—or invest it—such that the people of the state receive the greatest long-range benefit.”
“And your job?” she probed, interested despite herself.
“CORE International has been retained by the state of Alaska to determine the areas of greatest need. It will be our job to canvas the state, identify what we believe to be the most serious deficiencies in social, educational, custodial services, then make proposals for a course of action to remedy them.”
“Very impressive,” she murmured, “and exciting”—then quickly remembered herself—“but I still feel that any one of the men would be more suited to accompany you than I would be. And, frankly, I don’t see how I could fit this into my schedule.”
Dan eyed her reproachfully. “On the contrary. Many of the courts are closed during the summer months. And you’ll have enough time to rearrange your speaking engagements, alert clients, redirect appointments. There are plenty of people here who can cover for you. And, I believe”—he challenged her to deny his claim—“you were planning to take several weeks off in August anyway. Am I wrong?”
“August?” Was that when this fiasco was scheduled to take place? “Ah, no, you aren’t wrong. Iwasplanning to take off time then.” She punctuated her emphasis on the past tense with a pointed glance Sloane’s way. “When is this Alaska trip scheduled?”
It was the tall, silver-haired keeper of her heart who answered in a clear, deep tone. “We are planning to spend the entire month up there. Any problem?” A manly brow arched into lines on his forehead, lines she had never noticed before. In fact, as she stared closely now, there were other lines she hadn’t noticed. He looked wan, tired—as she felt.
“A month?” Her heart fell another notch. “Four weeks? I don’t know”—her strawberry-blond curls jiggled with her tentative headshake—“that’s a stretch. To be gone from the office for that length of time—”
“Justine”—her attention flew to Dan—“this matter is not exactly up for your debate.” He seemed to be more ruffled, less patient. Was he, too, uncomfortable with the proposal? If so, he was equally as uncomfortable with her hesitancy. “As a member of this firm, it is in your best interest to make whatever arrangements are necessary to prepare for the trip. Sloane will fill you in on the details. There will be several briefings beforehand. I believe he can tell you what clothing would be appropriate for summer in Alaska—I certainly can’t!” He chuckled wryly.
