a gentle, very deep voice with a Southern accent. He was kind, at least he was to her.
âI report only to you, Mrs. Carleton,â he said after shaking her hand and seating himself. âYou can trust me. I realize that might be difficult for you after all the garbage youâve gone through. I do know every operation very well. And I know the men and women. If, however, you feel uncomfortable with any of my advice, you are to say so. I know I donât look like an Adrian. Most of my friends call me Adman. I will answer to almost anything. Now, if you donât mind, I would like a glass of water.â
He lumbered off to the kitchen in his slow, measured walk, leaving Elizabeth seated on the sofa, surrounded by papers and a sea of reports, to smile after him.
At the end of a two-hour meeting, she was surprised to find herself not at all alarmed. She felt excited, more confident. She realized sometime later that it was Adrianâs doing. At no time was he at all condescending or patronizing. He had oversimplified explanations, and she appreciated it, for he had said with his slow smile that showed a crooked front tooth, âA lot of this stuff is garbage, Mrs. Carleton, prepared by paper pushers to prove that they produce something. Whatâs important, of course, is the paper pushers themselves. Tomorrow I understand youâll be coming in to the office. Mine is next to yours. Weâll be spending our time on their profiles. If you know how a person thinks, Mrs. Carleton, and you study some samples of his work, you can make excellent judgments and decisions.â
She got him to admit that he preferred Gatorade to water, the only two things he ever drank. âA long-standing habit from college football,â heâd told her. She watched his massive throat contract as he downed the entire glass in one long drink.
âThereâs just one other thing, Mrs. Carleton,â he said at the door. âYour office.â
She looked at him rather blankly. âI donât wish to change a thing,â she said, thinking he wanted to know if she planned to redecorate.
âActually, you will,â he said. âYou see, Brad Carleton has moved in.â
She felt a twist of nausea in her stomach. âWhy?â
The manâs got balls, and he knows you havenât. âI suppose it doesnât matter why. Itâs just that you, maâam, you in person, will have to tell him to move his carcass out.â
Elizabeth felt her heartbeat quicken. Fearâthe fear of unpleasantness, the fear of confrontation, the fear of failing and looking like a fool.
âIâll be right with you, Mrs. Carleton. You will simply be firm and heâll be out by ten oâclock in the morning.â
Adrian shook her hand and she felt his strength. There was someone for her, she thought. She slept soundly that night, even though she hadnât seen Rowe. He was in Boston and wouldnât be in New York until the weekend.
Â
âWhat do you want?â
âGood morning, Bradley,â Elizabeth said, her voice calm, controlled, a slight smile on her face. She knew he hated Bradley. Timothy had always called his son that when he was displeased. Adrian stood beside her, a solid rock in a dark blue three-piece suit.
âI repeat, what do you want, maâam, or should I say âwidowed ex-stepmotherâ?â
Elizabeth felt a ripple of anger, but there wasnât an ounce of tension coming from Adrian. In fact, he looked a bit amused, not at all intimidated by Brad Carleton. She realized that Adrian wouldnât let her fold. She swallowed and said, âThis is now my office, Bradley. Please remove yourself to your former office immediately.â
âNo.â
She shrank back, Adrian felt it. He said slowly, his Virginian drawl very pronounced, âI suggest you do asMrs. Carleton says, Mr. Carleton. Otherwise I will be obliged to call Carletonâs security