Chapter 11
"It's my birthday," Keith announced as Phoebe walked into his office. "Normally a secretary brings a cake for her boss, but I don't suppose you've been here long enough to know that." He sounded a little doleful.
Phoebe started to laugh. "Not only did did I get you a cake (thanks to Piper), I have a present for you too," she informed him gaily. "One I made myself."
Keith unwrapped the package she handed him, and he was boyishly delighted with the sweater. "You shouldn't have-," he grinned, holding it up "-but I'm glad you did."
"It was to say happy birthday and thank you for helping me with...things," she finished lamely.
"Speaking of 'things,' Vicky tells me that Cole is like a keg of dynamite ready to explode as the first spark. She says you're bearing up under the strain marvelously"
"I like her," Phoebe said, her eyes clouding at the mention of Cole.
Keith waited until she had left to go to Cole's, then he picked up his telephone and punched the numbers. "Vicky, what's the atmosphere like over there this morning?"
"Positively explosive," she chuckled.
"Is Cole going to be in the office this morning?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because I've decided to light a match under him and see what happen."
"Keith, don't!," she said in a low, sharp voice.
"See you a little before five, beautiful," he laughed, ignoring her warning.
***
When Phoebe returned from lunch there were two dozen breathtakingly gorgeous red roses in a vase on her desk. She removed the card from its envelope and stared at in blank amazement. On it was written "thank you, sweetheart," followed by the initial K.
When Phoebe looked up, Cole was standing in the doorway, his shoulder casually propped against the frame. But there was nothing casual about the rigid set of his jaw or the freezing look in his gray eyes. "From a secret admirer?," he asked sarcastically.
It was the first personal comment he had addressed to her in a week. "Not a secret admirer exactly," she hedged.
"Who is he?"
Phoebe tensed. He seemed so angry she didn't think it would be wise to mention Keith's name. "I'm not certain."
"You aren't absolutely certain?," he bit out. "How many men with the initial K are you seeing? How many of them think you're worth more than a hundred dollars in roses as a way of saying thank you?"
"A hundred dollars?," Phoebe repeated, so appalled at the expense that she completely overlooked the fact that Cole had obviously opened the envelope and read the card.
"You must be getting better at it," he mocked crudely.
Inwardly Phoebe flinched, but she lifted her chin. "I have much better teachers now!"
With an icy glance that raked her from head to toe, Cole turned on his heel and strode back into his office. For the rest of the day he left her completely alone.
At five minutes to five, Keith walked into Phoebe's office, wearing his black sweater and balancing four pieces of birthday cake on two plates. He put the plates down on Vicky's empty desk and glanced at the doorway to Cole's office, "Where's Vicky?," he asked.
"She left almost an hour ago," Phoebe said. "She said to tell you that the nearest fire extinguisher is beside the elevators-whatever that means. I'll be right back. I have to take these letters in to Cole."
As she got up and started around the desk, she was looking down at the letters in her hand, and what happened next stunned her into immobility. "I miss you, darling," Keith said, quickly pulling her into his arms.
A moment later he released her so suddenly that Phoebe staggered back a step. "Turner!," he said. "Look at the sweater Phoebe gave me for my birthday cake-she made that too." Seemingly oblivious to Cole's thunderous countenance, he grinned and added, "I have to get back downstairs." To Phoebe he said, "I'll see you later, love." And then he walked out.
In a state of shock, Phoebe stared at his retreating back. She was still staring after him when Cole spun her around to face him. "You vindictive little bitch, you gave him my sweater! What else has he gotten that belongs to me?"
"What else?," Phoebe repeated, her voice rising. "What are you talking about?"
His hands tightened. "Your detectible body, my sweet. That's what I'm talking about."
Phoebe's amazement gave way to comprehension and then to fury. "How dare you call me names, you hypocrite!," she exploded, too incensed to be afraid. "You've always been telling me that there's nothing promiscuous about a woman satisfying her sexual desires with any man she pleases. And now-" she literally choked on her wrath "-and now, when you think I've done it, you call me a dirty name. You of all people-you, the United States contender for the bedroom Olympics!"
Cole let go of her as if she had burned him. In a low, dangerously controlled voice he said, "Get out of here, Phoebe."
When she'd left, he walked over to the bar and poured himself a stiff bourbon, while fury and anguish twisted through him like a hundred snakes.
Phoebe had a lover. Phoebe probably had several lovers.
Regret shot through him like acid. She was no longer a starry-eyed little fool who thought people should be in love before they made love. That beautiful body of hers had been thoroughly explored by others. His mind instantly conjured up tormenting pictures of Phoebe lying naked in Keith's arms.
He tossed down his drink and poured himself another shot to blot out the pain, the images. Carrying it over to the sofa, he sat down and propped his feet up on the table.
What is wrong with me? I'm acting like a jealous fool! You're angry with her, don't you remember? You've nothing to do with the divorce. It's all her fault, there was a divorce! You should be angry with her, instead of being a jealous of anyone who has slept with her.
The liquor slowly began to work its numbing image, and his rage subsided. In its place was nothing, only an aching emptiness.
***
"What possessed you?," Phoebe demanded of Keith the next morning.
He grinned. "Call it an uncontrollable impulse."
"I call it insanity!," she burst out. "You can't imagine how furious he was. He called me names! I-I think he's insane."
"He is," Keith agreed with complacent satisfaction. "He's insane about you. Vicky thinks too."
Phoebe rolled her eyes. "You're all insane. I have to work up there with him. How am I going to do that?"
Keith chuckled. "Very, very cautiously," he advised.
Within an hour Phoebe knew exactly what Keith meant, and during the days that ensued she began to work at a demonic pace that kept everyone, from his top executives to the lowest mail boys, rushing frantically to keep up with him and trying to avoid the lash of his temper.
If he was satisfied with someone's efforts, he was coolly courteous. But if he wasn't satisfied-and he usually wasn't-he tore into the offender with an icy savagery that chilled Phoebe's blood. Patricia Callahan, who called him at least three times a day, he was always positively charming. No matter how busy he was, or what he was doing at the time, he always had time for Patricia. And whenever she called he would pick up the phone and lean back in his chair. From her desk Phoebe could hear the lazy, seductive huskiness that vibrated in his deep voice when he spoke to the other women, and her heart twisted every time.
That Thursday evening Cole was scheduled to leave for Singapore, and Phoebe was eager to see him go. After so many days of tension, of being treated as if the sight of her revolted him, she felt her composure crumbling, and she restrained her temper and tears by nothing but sheer force of will.
At four o'clock, two hours before his departure time, Cole called Phoebe into the conference room to take notes during a meeting of the financial staff. The meeting was under way, and Phoebe's attention was riveted on her shorthand notebook, her pen flying across the pages, when Cole's voice slashed into the proceedings. "McGuire!," he snapped murderously, "if you can tear your attention from Miss Haliwell bust, the rest of us will be able to finish this meeting." Phoebe flushed a vivid pink, but the elderly McGuire turned a purple hue that might be indicative of an impending stroke.
As soon as the last staff member had filed out of the conference room, Phoebe turned furiously. "I hope you're satisfied!," she hissed furiously. "You not only humiliated me, you nearly have that poor old man a heart attack. What do you plan to do for an encore?"
"Fire the first woman who opens her mouth," Cole retorted coldly. He walked around her and strode out of the conference room.