anything you liked simply by asking for it.
For the rest of the afternoon, she kept a tight rein on her thoughts. She sat in his office, she asked questions, she made notes, she listened to his phone calls—which he unhesitatingly switched to the speaker so she could hear both sides of the call—and she was filled with reluctant respect for him by the time the afternoon ended. He was tough—the phone calls proved it—but he was also fair. And he listened. She'd been around some executives who just rolled right over people, never listening to what they had to say.
But Nick listened. He listened thoughtfully and quietly, interjecting a comment now and then. Once the other person finished with his point, Nick explained his position. It didn't surprise Claire that Nick's point usually swayed his caller to his way of thinking.
At five-thirty Nick said, "Let's call it a day."
Claire closed her notebook and picked up her briefcase. "What's on the agenda for the rest of the week?"
"Tomorrow I'll be tied up in meetings with customers all day, so you'll have a free day." Apparently noticing her puzzled look, he added, "I thought about having you sit in, but there's nothing to be gained by it. We're going to be discussing contractual differences— nothing I'd want in the article, anyway."
"Actually, that'll work out well. I need to sort through my notes and do an outline. I guess I'll see you on Monday then?"
"Sooner than that. Saturday night I'll be attending a reception at River Oaks Country Club in honor of the British consul general. I'd like you and Tim to accompany me."
Claire tried to hide her surprise. Although she should have, she hadn't realized he might want her company during the weekend.
If he had noticed her surprise, he didn't comment. "As far as I know, I won't need you on Sunday, though."
Claire's mind raced. What on earth could she wear Saturday night? "Is the reception formal?"
"Yes." He stood, and the afternoon sun slanting through the window lit his dark hair and bathed him with golden light. Claire thought he looked like a warrior prince, strong and invincible.
"Any other questions?" he said.
"No." Peachey would help her out. Although Peachey was taller than Claire, they both wore a size six, and Peachey had dozens of dresses that were cocktail length. Maybe one of them would work. If not, Claire would think of something. She
did
have a long black velvet skirt. Maybe all she'd need from Peachey would be a good-looking top. And Peachey's fox jacket, Claire amended, thinking of her own five-year-old cloth coat.
"Then," he continued, walking around to the front of the desk so that they were only a few feet apart, "on Monday afternoon, I'll want you to fly to New Orleans with me. The company plane will leave from Hobby Airport at two o'clock. We'll come back on Wednesday."
As casually as she could, Claire said, "Will Tim Sutherland be going along?"
"Not this time."
Excitement and fear warred together in her mind. The prospect of spending two days with Nick in New Orleans couldn't help but excite her, but it was also a scary proposition. Peachey's warning echoed in her mind and Claire wondered what her friend would think about this trip.
* * *
On Saturday night as Nick pushed the button to the right of Claire's door, he wondered how she would act during the reception. So far, in all the time he'd spent with her, she'd been on her guard against him—hiding her feelings. Unless she blushed. He smiled, thinking of her blushes. They were charming, he'd decided. Charming and refreshing. She was the only adult woman he knew who actually blushed.
Her apartment complex was pleasant, he thought. Looking down at the tree-filled courtyard below and the orderly grounds, he decided it wasn't a bad place to live at all. Although the complex was small and located on a short, one-block street in far west Houston, his driver had had no trouble finding it.
Her door opened, and light spilled out behind