rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_c72d8928-c973-50f9-836b-e8e5041c9493">Chapter 1
Vancouver, British Columbia
Tielle Turner looked away from the multicolored planning calendar that was projected on the farthermost wall of her office. The small plasma screen in the corner of the room’s living area had droned on softly, offering no real cause for interest until Tielle’s keen hearing picked up on the word snow.
She groaned.
“Is she kidding?” Tielle’s round, coffee-colored face twisted into a glower, which she directed toward the woman who was delivering the midday forecast.
“It’s only a prediction, Ti.” Laura Cooper didn’t bother tugging her dark eyes away from the wall projection she was studying. Laura had worked for her in some form or fashion for almost five years and was seemingly used to her mood swings whenever a discussion of the weather’s quick change conditions was on the table.
“Sounds like it’s for later in the week, too. No worries.” Laura’s eyes moved away from the projected calendar. “Besides,” she called to the tiny woman standing in front of the TV with her fists perched defiantly against her hips, “it is autumn.”
The reminder encouraged Tielle to turn her back on the television. “Autumn,” she parroted with a smirk. “You know, when I think of autumn, I imagine leaves changing color and dropping from trees, the air turning a bit brisk, and the time changing. I imagine all kinds of descriptions. Ones she could give—” Tielle cast another tiresome look at the meteorologist “—but rarely does.”
“It’s Vancouver...” Laura turned back toward the wall.
“And that’s why I live here. Because it’s Vancouver.” Tielle’s vibrant eyes, the color of chilled cognac, glistened, and she seemed more appreciative of Laura’s reminder that time.
“Vancouver autumns are supposed to be awesome.” Tielle used a green dry-erase marker to point past the office’s bay windows along the back wall of the office. The spotless glass offered a stunning, colorful array depicting the glory of the season.
“Well.” Laura had pulled her attention from the wall again and was tapping her own dry-erase marker to the curve of her jaw as she treated herself to the view. “Since we do have such awesome autumns, aren’t we entitled to have a few not-so-awesome ones?”
“Being cooped up with a group of execs isn’t going to be fun for long if it snows, you know?” Tielle gave a conceding smile.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that. The Korman Group will be gone in two days,” Laura said with a half shrug.
Tielle slipped the marker into a back pocket of her skirt and looked back to the wall projection she’d abandoned for the weather report. “After Korman, we’ve got offers from four more corporations for weeklong retreats. And if this snow hits...” She let the word carry while glancing across her shoulder in the direction of the television. When she turned back to Laura, the woman was finally gazing fixedly at the screen.
Laura looked to Tielle. “Yuck.”
Tielle’s smile was grim. “You catch my meaning?”
“Loud and clear.” Laura tapped her index finger against her cheek as she considered the mounting issue. “We need something to mix things up, you think?”
“Not necessarily.” Tielle leaned on the credenza and worried the end of the French braid she’d used to tame her coarse, lengthy hair that day. “All we really need is a break between sessions. Give the weather a chance to stabilize and if it gets the better of us—” she shrugged her shoulders “—at least we tried.”
Laura scrunched her nose. “I don’t know, Ti...that’s a lot of time to be off the clock. We usually close down for the holidays well into New Year’s. Do we really want to do more than that?”
“We’ve had a good year.” Tielle cleared her throat when her heart suddenly seized over what, for her at least, was a lie.
“Ah, Ti, I’m sorry.” Laura had easily sensed the change in her boss’s mood. “It’s the anniversary, isn’t it?” She closed her eyes while her palm went to slap her forehead over the gaffe.
Tielle’s round, pretty face had recaptured a measure of control. “Not quite an anniversary.”
“Have you talked to him?” Laura’s voice sounded hushed.
Tielle looked to the fall foliage beyond the window. “Not since the day we signed the papers.” She thought about crossing the room to take a closer look at the view but reconsidered when a light sheen of tears blurred her gaze.
“Still too soon to think about it all?” Laura guessed.
“Still too soon.” Tielle’s reply was monotone.
Laura turned back to the projected calendar. “That’s what I told him.” Her words were faint, absently delivered.
Still, they were amplified enough to catch Tielle’s ears. “Told who?”
“You had a call last week from Faro Clegg.”
Silent, Tielle returned to sit behind her wide walnut desk where she repeated the name of her ex-brother-in-law in her mind. It was a name she’d not allowed herself to think of since she’d signed her divorce papers one year ago that day.
“What’d he want?” she finally asked her assistant, her voice still harboring the same monotone.
“We didn’t cover many details.” Laura watched her booted foot swing idly back and forth. “The gist of the call was about him wanting to talk to you about arranging a weeklong stay.”
“For Clegg Marketing?”
Laura looked uncomfortable, her booted foot swinging a bit more vivaciously. “For the Clegg family.”
Portland, Oregon
“Is this fact or gossip?”
The voice coasting from behind the massive walled bar space instilled a spine-tapping tingle beneath Leonard Cartright’s skin. Nevertheless, as he’d already come to the table with his suspicions, he knew it’d be pointless to play the cautious role then.
“What I just told you was hearsay.” Despite his resolve, Leonard exercised care in handling what he knew to be a highly sensitive issue.
“I.e., gossip.”
Leonard cringed. “Gossip has got such an ugly ring to it.”
“Mmm...and yet I keep on hearing it.” Graedon Clegg’s movements could easily be described by any variation or synonym of the word sleek. Artful, really, given his striking build, easily mesmerizing when partnered with other attributes.
Graedon moved from behind the bar and passed a drink to his late father’s oldest friend. “Calm down, Leo,” he urged.
Leo Cartright didn’t care if the man he reported to was a kid beneath him. Only a fool would come to deliver unsavory news to Graedon Clegg and be on anything other than heightened alert. This stood whether Graedon was offering a drink or a challenge to a brawl.
“Come on, Leo, I need you to talk to me here.” Grae allowed his concern to show, hoping it’d urge Leo to speak freely. Grae let his uncle in name only glimpse his concern and hoped it’d urge the man to speak freely. Anticipating the moods of his associates was one of the things that made him such a formidable opponent at work and play.
Leo downed a bit of the gin and tonic he’d requested. “Working for your brother’s become too volatile,” he admitted once a few sips of the crisp drink had bubbled on his tongue.
“In what way?” Grae appeared the image of maddening cool as he eased behind the no-nonsense blackwood desk in the stark corner office.
Leo’s jaw dropped, his eyes growing wide.
Graedon