Sealing Fate Read online

  Over the next few days, Brian found himself thinking of Cathy often. He had heard about groupies and star-fuckers, women who wanted to sleep with movie stars, rock stars, or Congressmen, just to do it. Brian felt sure that she was not one of them, but he really knew nothing about her or her motives. It also occurred to him that he had made himself vulnerable to her.

  Now Cathy had something on him that could end his career before it got off the ground. Brian wasn't sure why, but he wasn't worried. He was sure that she wasn't a blackmailer. And he wanted to see her again, to talk to her and to tell her how good it had been.

  Maybe even to make love with her again, he thought.

  On Wednesday, Brian was working hard at getting resources aligned for the session. Two newly hired staff assistants and a secretary occupied the makeshift offices that had been his campaign headquarters. He spent most of his day on the telephone. Brian was finding his way around Washington, as best he could, by telephone. Seasoned Congressmen were anxious to meet him to enlist his support for pet projects.

  Brian concluded a conversation Speaker Gilmore had initiated to seek his support for a tax reduction bill by saying he would give it serious study. He knew he would not support the bill but wanted time to reflect on how to tell Gilmore without creating a significant rift in the newly united party.

  Brian put down the telephone and rubbed his eyes. The feel of Cathy's body came to him suddenly. He could feel her legs wrapped around him. He looked up, and she was standing in the doorway.

  “Knock, knock,” Cathy said. “May I come in?”

  “Please.” Brian stood quickly and walked over to meet her. “Please do.”

  She was wearing jeans and a blue top. Brian realized she looked great casual too.

  She sat down in a visitor's chair and smiled. “How's the new job so far?”

  Brian sat behind his desk and shook his head. “It'll take me a while to adjust, but so far, so good.”

  She fastened those blue eyes on him. “I've thought a lot about our time together over the weekend,” she said in a serious tone.

  “Yes, I have too,” Brian said.

  “Really?” She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her lap and then back at him. “I want you to know that, what happened last weekend, it's not something I do. I mean, I've never done anything like that before.”

  Brian nodded. He thought about George Orwell's 1984, how Winston had smiled at the fact that his lover had done it before and done it often and that she had frequently enjoyed the forbidden fruit of passion in defiance of a society that forbade it. Brian wanted just the opposite. He wanted it to be unique and special to her. He was glad their passion had meant something to Cathy too.

  “I think I knew that,” he said softly.

  “I hoped so. I'm not some kind of political groupie or something. I've just …” The thought trailed off while she searched for words. “Truthfully I've been attracted to you since the first day I saw you in the campaign office. I mean, I volunteered because I thought you were the right man for the job. But after I met you, the motivation was more personal.”

  She shrugged. “Anyway, I've been thinking about you this week, and it was just important to me that you know I've never done that before and that you're special. That's all.” She smiled at him and then stood up and turned to leave. “I hope to see you again soon, Brian.”

  He stopped her before she got to the door. “Cathy.”

  She turned and looked at him.

  “How about tonight?” he asked. “I'll be out of here at about six. How about dinner?”

  She didn't answer.

  “I've been thinking about you too. I wanted to see you again,” Brian said, almost pleading.

  She nodded finally. “All right. Where?”

  “O'Reilly's on Bridge Street.”

  “I'll be there.” She turned and left the room.

  Brian had trouble keeping his thoughts on his work for the rest of the afternoon. He knew the odds of something going wrong—-of getting caught—were increasing exponentially if he saw Cathy again. He knew of the risks to his career and his marriage. But he couldn't get her out of his mind. He had to see her again. There was really no choice.

  At seven o'clock, Brian and Cathy sat at a corner table in O'Reilly's surrounded by plants and wood paneling. The soft lighting applied shadowy highlights to her sensuous lips. Brian told himself he was going off the deep end. He wasn't a compulsive man, but she had a hold on him. He had called Barbara at five thirty and told her he would be working late, meeting and greeting his constituents.

  “It's good to see you,” Cathy said, pulling Brian out of his thoughts.

  He raised his bourbon; she hoisted her white wine. She wore a blue print dress with shoulder straps. It was not revealing, but it accentuated her shapely form. Her blonde hair flowed over a matching blue hair band, framing those consuming blue eyes.

  “You look lovely tonight.”

  She smiled. Then her expression turned serious. “I thought about calling you and canceling several times this afternoon.”

  He held his breath and waited as her expression was suddenly serious.

  “I'm not sure where all this will lead us,” she said after a moment.

  He nodded. “I'm not either, but I wanted to see you again. I've had you on my mind a lot.”

  They were silent while the waiter brought their meals. “Anything else, sir?”

  Brian looked over at Cathy, and she shook her head. “No, I think we're fine. Thanks.”

  “Very well, sir,” the man said and quickly disappeared.

  Brian looked at his shrimp scampi. The meal looked fine, but he suddenly had no appetite. He picked at the meal and then looked up at Cathy to find her observing him.

  “I'm not real hungry either,” she said, having watched him play with his food for a while.

  Brian put down his fork. “I thought I was ready to eat but …” He shrugged. “I think I'm just a little too excited by the occasion.”

  Cathy smiled and leaned toward him. “You are?”

  Brian raised his eyebrows in a gesture that said, “And how.”

  “Oh yeah. All my organs are upside down, and I'm manufacturing enough stomach acid to eat through my shirt anytime now.”

  She wrinkled her face. “Nice image. The stomach that ate Bridge Street.”

  Brian laughed. “Just symptoms.”

  She regarded him curiously. “Symptoms of what?”

  He grinned widely. “Chemistry. Damn good chemistry.”

  The waiter came by and stared down at the dishes in astonishment. His expression suggested some tragedy had suddenly befallen him. “Is there something wrong with your meals, sir?” He turned to look at Cathy. “Ma'am?”

  “No, there's nothing wrong,” Brian reassured the man. “The food is fine. Turns out we're just not as hungry as we thought we were.

  The waiter's serious expression remained. “I understand, sir. Can I take your dishes?”

  He looked at Cathy, who nodded. “Yes, I think we're finished.”

  “Will there be anything else tonight, sir?” the waiter asked, getting on with business.

  “No, that's all. Thanks.” Brian handed the man a credit card.

  When the waiter returned, Brian signed the receipt and thanked the man again to ease any distress caused by the uneaten food. He helped Cathy into her coat, and they left the restaurant and walked toward the parking lot.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Can I see you home?”

  She smiled at him. “I should say no.” She paused and seemed to be pondering something. “But then again, I shouldn't be here.”

  Brian kissed her softly on the forehead. “I'm glad you are.”

  She looked up at him and smiled warmly. He saw concession in those blue eyes. “Come on. I'll show you my apartment,” she said, taking his hand.

  They walked to her car. He kissed her softly on the lips and walked to his car. Ten minutes later, they par
ked beneath the apartment building, and she showed him to the elevator to her apartment.

  He looked around her apartment, discovering more about her as he did. The decor was elegant but homey. There was a Thomas Kinkade picture of a lover's cottage by a stream. There was a conversation grouping of chairs, separated from the fireplace by an ornate throw rug. Brian followed Cathy into the kitchen, a broad expanse of blue tiled countertops and oak cupboards. Brian saw a breakfast nook with a window that looked out onto an atrium.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  Brian took her hand. “Just the pleasure of your company.” He thought about how corny that sounded.

  She smiled at him though. They walked into the living room, and Cathy lit a fire. Then she sat next to Brian to watch its flames dance, tossing sparks upward and casting moving shadows.

  “So tell me more about you. What do you do for International Resources?” Brian asked.

  “I didn't know you remembered I worked there,” she said with a surprised look.

  “I'm remembering everything I can about you. And I want to know more.”

  “I run the marketing department of the health care division. I package medical plans to sell to companies. We find ways to make HMOs appealing. Then we sell them to other corporations. We also market our hospitals and medical centers to businesses directly. We try to get companies to send their people to our doctors.” She paused and wrinkled her brow. “I sound like a commercial.”

  Brian grinned. “How many hospitals and medical centers does the company have?”

  “A lot; at last count, two hundred and six. There may be more by the end of the week.”

  “I had no idea the medical division of International was that big.”

  “Every division is that big. It's amazing. That's why I get a staff of twelve in marketing.”

  “What do you like to do when you're not working?” he asked.

  “Oh, the hobbies question. Well, I like movies, playing tennis, and reading.” She paused and then smiled. “And lately, thinking about you.”

  Brian stood and extended his hand. She took his hand, and he gently pulled her to her feet.

  “I want you to know that I've never done this either,” he said. “But I really want to be with you.” He kissed Cathy passionately and felt the fire next to him and within him.

  She closed her eyes and held him tightly. Slowly he undid the buttons on her blouse. She stepped out of her skirt and then began to undress him. On the ornate rug in front of the fire, they made love for the second time. The fire, the room, and the world disappeared. There was only the two of them becoming one and holding the moment as long as they could.

  It was midnight when Brian returned home. Barbara didn't ask him any questions, but there was something there, something uncomfortable that hung in the air. When they had coffee the next morning, it was still there. She was quietly watching and examining. Brian could sense something unspoken. It was still there when he left for work.

  Chapter 3

  The executive offices of International Resource Corporation were elegant. They swallowed up the thirtieth through thirty-fifth floors of the Eastern Bank building. The thirty-fifth floor was known to the rest of the corporation as “Upstairs.” It housed five senior vice presidents and, at its innermost sanctum, two executive vice presidents and the president.

  In one of the three office suites of the inner sanctum, Michael Hayward stood staring out the window at the afternoon skyline. Evening traffic that didn't move jammed the streets. Pedestrians ran in seemingly random directions, making their way to their cars to further the congestion. He moved his eyes upward, and his reflection smiled back at him.

  His salt-and-pepper hair and mature good looks would soon be featured in the business section of the Times. Next week would be the announcement. Jackson F. Parker was retiring after thirty-two years, and the presidency would belong to Michael or Jason Ross. The two executive vice presidents had been going head to head in the campaign for the position for more than six months. They had attempted to outdo one another with revenues and profits within their divisions. They had worked on Parker, who would name his own successor privately and in board meetings, and now the time was at hand.

  Michael turned from the window and sat at his large mahogany desk. He couldn't help smiling when he thought about it. The empire was almost his. His acquisition of Telstar Corporation last year and its subsequent breakup and resale at a three hundred million-dollar profit this year had locked it in. He was still being congratulated. Next week it would be official.

  Within thirty days, he would be occupying the president's office, not that he needed the extra office space. His office was thirty feet long and twenty-five feet wide. One wall was dedicated to a cherry wood bookcase. Another was all glass, floor to ceiling. The remaining two walls housed a full bar and stereo system and a variety of awards, clippings, and souvenirs reflecting the many acquisitions Michael had been involved in over the years. There was a circular conference table and five leather chairs in one corner of the office. Toward the center of the room was a conversation grouping, made up of a black leather couch and oversized black leather chair that faced each other, separated by a cherry wood coffee table.

  Michael's office was adjoined by a large private conference room. Out front, his secretary occupied a room of almost equal size. The office of the president would give him a fireplace, a second conference room, and a full bathroom, nothing that Michael cared about. What he wanted was the power, total control of the company and total control of Jason Ross. And once that bitter rivalry had ended, Michael would keep Ross in charge of one of the smaller divisions. He would be a good man once he did what he was told.

  There was a buzz. Michael picked up the telephone. “Yes, Sheila.”

  “Your wife is on line two,” the friendly voice of his secretary said.

  “Thanks. And get me the files on the Insignia Insurance acquisition, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Michael pushed a button on the phone. “Hi, Carol.”

  Carol spoke in soft, tentative tones that sounded apologetic for the interruption. “Just wanted to let you know I'm going to Janet's for our regular Wednesday night dinner together. What time are you coming home tonight?”

  “Probably late. I've got an eight thirty meeting. It'll be eleven or so when I get home.”

  “All right. I'll be home by then.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Michael put down the telephone and thought about Carol. He wondered if she ever had affairs with all the free time she had. They hadn't been close in a number of years, but he had never learned of her having any involvement with another man. Either she still didn't fool around or she was very discreet. Michael smiled wryly. It was more a curiosity than a concern. It really didn't much matter, as long as Carol kept a low profile.

  Sheila walked in with three thick files and put them on the conference table at the far side of the office. She was an attractive woman of about thirty-five with blonde hair pulled straight back and clipped at the base of her neck.

  “Here's Insignia,” she said.

  Michael nodded.

  “You must be pretty excited.” A grin appeared on her face.

  “There's nothing official yet,” Michael said, trying not to return the smile.

  “Yeah, but there's no doubt. There's no way they'll give it to Jason Ross after the deals you've done in the last few years. Everybody knows it's going to be you. The whole executive office is buzzing about it, talking about what kind of restructuring you're going to do, who's in and who's not. That kind of stuff.”

  Michael's smile broke free now. “You ready to be executive assistant to the president?”

  “I've been ready ever since I heard Parker was retiring. See you later.” Sheila turned and walked out the door.

  Michael checked his watch. It was six thirty. He walked over to the wet bar and fixed himself a bourbon. Before opening
the Insignia files, he stood at the window and toasted the city, the company, and his imminent appointment as its leader.

  * * *

  At seven, Brian completed his conference call with Congressman Howell and his assistant. His staff of two had just gone home for the day. Brian looked across the office at Barbara. She sat in a visitor's chair waiting for him. She had been lingering there for about twenty minutes. The phone light flashed again.

  Brian gestured with a hand across his brow. “Almost done. Just this one last call.”

  Barbara nodded. “It's all right. I understand.” She held her coat on her lap and watched him pick up the phone.

  He punched the flashing button. “Hello, Brian Madsen here.”

  Brian flinched and then looked in Barbara's direction. He listened for a few moments and then said, “Okay, Thursday at ten o'clock. See you then.” He put down the telephone and looked at Barbara. “Let's go have dinner. I want to get out of here before anything else happens.” Brian walked over to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  She smiled, threw her arms around him, and kissed him full on the lips. “I've missed you, Mr. Congressman. Let's spend some time together.”

  Brian smiled tightly back at her. She put her arm around his waist, and they walked out of the office together, Brian hitting the light switch and locking the door as they left.

  * * *

  On Thursday morning, Michael Hayward saw the blonde woman walking through the building lobby. He stopped and watched her. It was definitely her; the woman he had seen sneak away with the new Congressman. Michael thought back to following them up the stairs and down the hall and to what he had seen when he slowly opened the bathroom door. He was sure they had never seen him watching.

  On impulse, Michael walked away from the executive elevator bank and across the lobby to a bank of elevators for floors twenty to thirty-five. The doors to one of the elevators opened, and people poured inside. It was almost full when Michael climbed aboard. He wasn't far from her, but she appeared to be deep in thought and didn't look in his direction. The elevator stopped at the twentieth floor, and a few people got off. Three more unloaded at twenty-three and then two at twenty-five. The crowds were thinning.