Who's on Top? Page 9

  Dominic reached for the bottle of zinfandel and refilled both their glasses. He took a long draught from his. Then he laughed bitterly.

  “But Mummy missed her ‘good deal.’ She screamed and ranted and threw rehab and her new job to hell. When I ignored her, she found a way to get my attention. She literally managed to set the house on fire when she got drunk one night. What better way to bring me home to take care of her? I mean, I have to hand it to her—the plan was brilliant.”

  Dominic leaned forward across the table, his eyes returning from blank and detached to blazing. “Do you understand now? Have you figured out why I’m allergic to manipulative sociopaths? I’m all too familiar with them, Jane.”

  She opened her mouth to say something—she didn’t know what—but closed it again. There was no platitude in any human vocabulary that could make what he’d gone through okay.

  The waiter chose that moment to deliver their entrées, and after a murmured thanks, she simply sat staring at hers.

  “Shark got your tongue?” Dom asked.

  She found her vocal chords. “I—I guess you could say that.” She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t sorry that she’d goaded him into talking…but she was shocked, in spite of all her experience. “Where is she now, Dominic?”

  “Locked up,” he said flatly. “Where she should have been a long time ago.”

  “In an institution?”

  He nodded.

  She poked at her fish. Without its teeth and sans menacing Jaws music, it wasn’t much of a predator, was it?

  She cleared her throat of an unexpected lump and blinked back threatening tears. Even the most dangerously macho man had once been a helpless, unprotected boy, subject to the whims of the adults surrounding him. A boy who must have loved his mother in spite of it all.

  Jane opened her mouth and pushed harder without even meaning to do so. “You feel guilty and angry about putting her away, don’t you?”

  His breath caught, a harsh sound in his throat.

  “You’re furious at her for making it necessary—putting you in that position. Making you the bad guy, instead of her. It’s not fair. None of it was fair.”

  Dominic closed his eyes before he got up in slow motion from the table. “You never quit, do you, Jane?”

  She bit her lip.

  He leaned forward, placing his palms on either side of his cutlery. “Back. The. Hell. Off. Do you hear me, Jane O’Toole? This round is a draw. We’re calling it a night.”

  DOM DIDN’T SAY A DAMNED WORD to Jane as they walked to the Jag. He opened the passenger door for her without comment, either, and closed it without one. He was furious with himself. Why had he talked to this woman? Had he been bitten by the stupid bug? She was the last person he should entrust with his past, for God’s sake!

  Sweet Jane, with her big brown eyes and her soft lips, had a core of steel and a notebook. She’d be logging every detail; using each painful shard of his history to create a psychological profile of him that suggested he had a problem with women. That he didn’t like or trust or respect them.And that simply wasn’t true. He knew damned well that not every female out there was like his mother.

  For one thing, there had been his math and later calculus teacher, Mrs. Borofsky. Mrs. B. had been the making of him, noticing his talent for numbers and constantly challenging him. Since she knew instinctively that he was bored in class, every day he’d pick up a special sealed envelope from her desk on the way out. It contained a “brain-buster” problem she’d come up with just for him. And every day on the way back into class, he’d slip his answer to her. At some point she’d find a moment to look at it and flash him a smile.

  Dom had never received anything but that smile as a reward or incentive for doing the work. But the smile in itself, the interest and the attention, meant more to him than just about anything in his young life. And close to graduation time, she’d let him know that she’d help him get a scholarship to any college he wanted to attend.

  He’d also spent countless hours at his best friend Andy’s house, experiencing the warmth and love that a mom should provide. The thought of Andy’s mom was enough, almost, to make him smile at the moment. He pictured her lip-synching to Janis Joplin with a wooden spoon for a microphone as she made them the most incredible macaroni and cheese or meat loaf or brownies…. Renee was her name. She had wild, curly yellow hair; she was big boned and curvy and full of hugs and jokes. Her door was always open; her smile always inviting. And though he never mentioned anything about his own situation, she just seemed to understand.

  Looking back on things, Dom thought wryly that she was probably glad her son Andy had taken up with a gangly computer geek instead of a beer-swilling hellion with a Mohawk and a nose ring. Christ, four thousand pans of brownies and countless of her husband’s hand-me-downs were very much worth her peace of mind. Yet despite the cynical thought, he knew deep down that her affection for him had been real. He owed them a visit, Renee and her husband Al. He owed one to Andy, too.

  As Dom drove, he noticed that Jane kept trying to catch his eye, but he refused to meet her gaze. He stared straight ahead and focused on traffic. Several times she started to say something, but he gave her not the least bit of encouragement. She’d goaded him into talking to her; now she could damn well deal with his silence.

  THEY RODE WITHOUT A WORD BACK to the Zantyne parking lot so that Jane could retrieve her car. Dominic’s lamb entrée slid and crackled in its take-out bag in the backseat, while Jane held her shark on her lap. Shark in a doggie bag. It was incongruous somehow.

  She stole a glance at Dom’s harsh profile as he drove, and at his large, capable hands wrapped around the wheel. She tried not to think about how they had felt wrapped around her waist or stroking the back of her neck.Dom’s revelations about his childhood humbled her. She had expected a much less intense story of a demanding, unhappy matriarch who could never be pleased. But he’d been outright abused. He’d been through hell.

  And based upon his experiences, it would be an outright miracle if he didn’t have some kind of grudge against women. Your parents formed your earliest expectations about the human race. They shaped your worldview.

  She’d won. She’d achieved her objective of getting Dom to talk about his past. But Jane felt more deflated than elated to find all of this out about Dominic. Even though it would make writing her evaluation easier.

  Dom braked for a red light, and the plastic bag in her lap threatened to slide to the floor. Jane grabbed it and pulled it toward her. She couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable with this whole situation.

  Instead of feeling triumphant and validated that her hunch about his background was more or less correct, she felt…sick. She felt a little ashamed by how she’d gotten the information. And the manner in which she’d gotten it seemed to suggest that it stay off the record.

  Dom had been trying to take her to a nice dinner. Granted, she was also quite sure he’d meant to seduce her. But hadn’t she planned on seducing him right back? And what had happened to derail her from that plan?

  Somehow she was unable to give up power for long with a man. He’d won the game of pool. He’d had her reeling under his kiss. And he’d had her scared and unsure of how her body would react to him.

  She had had to get the better of him. That helpless feeling was just not acceptable to her. Why not?

  Jane wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It probably tied into one of her deepest secrets, the one she’d never share with anybody, the one she’d never cared to examine, in spite of all her training….

  They’d reached the tree-lined parkway that led into the Zantyne building and the lot where her car was parked.

  She gestured toward her not-so-new red Corolla, and he swung in beside it without a word. Then he got out, engine still running, and walked to her side of the car, though she’d already opened the door.

  “Give me your keys,” he said.

  “Really, Dominic, that’s not necessary….” but her voice
trailed off as he ignored her and held out his hand.

  “You’ll have to tolerate my alpha-male crap only a moment longer.”

  She relinquished the keys to him and stayed seated as he got into her car and started it for her.

  Then he helped her out of his vehicle and into her own. His eyes rested briefly on the pile of scrawled notes she’d left on the passenger seat—the ones all about him. But he didn’t say a word more than was necessary.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice awkward.

  He nodded and closed her door with a thud. He turned away.

  “Dominic,” she said, rolling down the window.

  His face was closed, his eyes distant. “Good night, Jane.”

  SUNDAY AT THE O’TOOLE household they ate fried chicken instead of shark. Courtesy of one Kentucky colonel, so nobody had to cook. This time Shannon came with Jane, wearing a hand-painted jean jacket and toting a six-pack of Miller Light.

  “Is that a Chinese dragon?” Gilbey asked her. “Let me look at that.” Shan turned for him so he could inspect the back of the jacket. Gil was one of the few guys in the world who would look at the painting and not Shannon’s rear end. They’d all played too many games of cowboys and Indians, hide-and-seek and Marco Polo for him to be impressed by her looks.Her dad, on the other hand, kept gazing at her. “Girl could be a top model,” he said to Jane in the kitchen.

  “She doesn’t want to model,” she told him. “It makes her feel weird. She doesn’t like to take advantage of her looks. She feels that they’re an accident of birth and just wants to be a normal person.”

  “I guess.” He sighed. “You girls are all grown-up now. I remember you all playing around the house with your Barbies.”

  She smiled at him. “That was a while ago.”

  “Don’t know where the years went. And now you have your own business. How’s it all going? You turning a profit yet?”

  Jane wanted so badly to tell him yes. But cash flow was always a problem. She’d be struggling once again to make their loan payment for the month.

  “Well,” she said, thinking about the lucrative potential deal with Zantyne and Arianna. “Business is really good, but it takes a while to get the numbers where they should be. Looks like we’ve got a deal in the works, though.”

  She felt…funny…as she said it. Dominic had told her everything she needed to know. All she had to do was log it in her report and give Arianna the results she was obviously looking for. So why did the idea make her queasy?

  Her dad looked at her with pride. “You’ll pull it off, Janey. I’ve never had any doubt that you’d be a huge success at anything you tried. It’s just not in your nature to fail.”

  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Thanks.” She hugged him and they went back outside.

  “So, Gil,” said Shannon, scooping up an extracrispy drumstick. “Tell me about these sculptures of yours. I hear they’re amazing.”

  Gil shrugged uncomfortably and took refuge behind a mouthful of coleslaw.

  “They are,” Jane agreed. “You have to show her after dinner, okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you contact Jim and—”

  Gil shot her a look. “Yes. He took the slides. He had some recommendations about where to send them, too.”

  “Great. That’s just great, Gil.” Jane made herself shut up and crossed her fingers that her brother would actually mail out the pictures.

  10

  JANE SAT ACROSS HER DESK FROM Lilia and Shannon. “Okay,” she said. “We’ve got to talk cash flow, scheduling and marketing this morning. So first I need you two to go over your receivables with me….”

  The three of them discussed their billing and clients, upcoming presentations and seminars and efforts to bring in more business.“When do you think you can hire a receptionist?” asked Lil.

  Jane thought about Zantyne and Arianna again. “Soon, I hope.”

  “And a cleaning service,” Shannon added.

  “As soon as we can get our receivables outnumbering our payables—by a significant amount.”

  Shannon nodded. “So what’s going on with the Zantyne woman?”

  I was afraid you were going to ask that. Jane stalled a moment. Then she told them what had happened with Dominic at dinner, leaving out his more personal revelations.

  “He sounds obnoxious,” said Lilia.

  Jane shook her head before replying. “Sayers is a man fighting for his career. He told me some things that give him motive for bad behavior with a female boss. And then he shut down. I can’t really blame him. I’m the enemy. And I can’t deny that someone’s history has a great deal to do with shaping who he is today.”

  Lilia made a noise of dissatisfaction. “I wish you could spill the beans!”

  “Yeah,” said Shannon. “We want the real dirt on this guy.”

  “I can’t tell you anything—you know that. It’s a breach of confidence. All I’m going to say is trust me—he had a horrendous time of it as a kid. We’re talking Mommy Dearest times ten.”

  “So you’re right on target,” said Lilia. “That should wipe out any doubts you’ve had about the boss lady.”

  “Yeeeaaaah,” Jane agreed.

  Shannon gave her a sharp glance and Jane avoided it. Her friend knew her too well. “Oh, would you just go ahead and sleep with the guy?”

  Lilia’s brows rose.

  Jane blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s very clear that you’re dying to do just that.”

  “I am not! How can you say such a thing?”

  “Honestly, Jane! You’ve been looking lustfully at doorknobs since Sayers walked into our office. How long has it been since you last got some, honey?”

  Lilia gave up her struggle with gentility for once and laughed.

  Jane glared at both of them. “This is not funny!”

  Shannon winked at Lilia and Jane’s irritation level rose.

  “You cannot think that I would sleep with a client.”

  “Sure would help to get to know him better.” Shannon grinned.

  “No, it would not. It will only confuse the issues.”

  “Oh, it will, will it?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  JANE SAT GLUMLY IN A LOCAL Laundromat, watching two different machines shimmy and shake. They held her clothes—the ones she could no longer wash at home for fear that the ruby-red lace tap shorts would melt into the very gears of her own Whirlpool appliance.

  She had to call a repairman. She really did. But she dreaded facing him when he detached the lingerie. No doubt he would pull it out shred by shred, dangling them dubiously from a pair of pliers. Then he’d have a big laugh at her expense with all the other appliance repairmen at their local bar.Worse, he’d see what size panty she wore! Because of course the darn tag wasn’t stuck—no, it flapped handily for anyone to see. Anyone who happened to stick his head into her washing machine. Jane O’Toole’s butt is a size large! the tag proclaimed.

  Why, oh, why had she bought the damned things? What had possessed her to throw them into the wash without one of those mesh bags? And how much was she going to have to pay for the ultimate in humiliation? Eighty bucks? Ninety?

  Hey, Mike! she could hear the repair guy saying. Guess what I pulled out of some woman’s washer this morning?

  The thought crossed her mind that her brother Gilbey could probably do the job, but a, he’d hang out for the day and eat anything not nailed down and b, she didn’t really want Gilbey looking at her racy panties, either. Her father? Out of the question. There were just some things you didn’t show your family.

  The man across the Laundromat kept trying to catch her eye. The one who looked as if he hadn’t showered in three days and ate live rats for breakfast. Jane carefully avoided his gaze and inspected her shoes. They were serviceable black pumps, the exact model of her serviceable brown ones. Boring, Shannon would call them. Jane called them comfortable.

  She flipped through another few pages of the glossy w
omen’s magazine on her lap and wondered why she couldn’t seem to look away from a human praying mantis—the model was that skinny—sporting hot-pink hoochie-mama sandals with silver stiletto heels. They were fabulous, and Jane did her best not to drool while reminding herself sternly that hot-pink hoochie shoes belonged in her life about as much as the Hope diamond.

  A brief fantasy flashed into her head: she wore the pink heels, a zebra-striped micro mini dress and absolutely nothing else—for Dominic Sayers, of all people. Ha! His tongue unrolled like a cartoon dog’s, lapping hungrily at her toes.

  Yeah, right, Jane.

  Speaking of toes, the praying mantis’s little piggies were painted pink to match the sandals, and she dangled a tiny, elegant, hot-pink handbag only big enough to hold a lipstick and a bit of sin.

  Jane glanced down at her scarred brown briefcase and grimaced. If she lived in Miami, perhaps she could mince around in sexy stilettos with a designer bag hanging off a manicured finger. However, she lived smack in the middle of Connecticut, where thick, woolly Fair Isle sweaters and rubber duck boots were always the height of fashion. Connecticut was hardly known as the State of Seduction.

  Too bad. Because she really liked those shoes…. Jane tore off the praying mantis’s foot, shoe and all, and stuffed it into her briefcase. If she weren’t so sensible, she’d feel a retail crime coming on. But she was sensible, and therefore she’d resist. No visit to Beckindale’s exclusive department store lay in her future. She’d just savor the photograph.

  Her laptop winked balefully at her, reminding her that instead of reading mindless magazines and dreaming of being a sex kitten, she should be balancing Finesse’s books for the month with her Quicken program. Ugh.

  As one washing machine went into its spin cycle and the other made dubious thumping noises, she opened up the computer and pulled an envelope of receipts out of the side pocket of her bag. Lilia had offered to take over this task, but Jane preferred to do it herself. Even after years of studying effective management techniques, she had a hard time delegating. The irony didn’t escape her, but she couldn’t bypass her own personality, either. Darn it. Well, no one was perfect, not even her. Even though her ma had always told her she was. Jane smiled at the memory of being Mommy’s perfect angel and shook her head.