Strange Bedfellow (11 page)

He must have made a move to leave because Blake said, “It's all right. Come on in, Chet.” Unhurriedly he withdrew his arms from around Dina. “You'll have to excuse Dina. She still gets emotional once in a while about my return,” he said to explain away her tears and the handkerchief she was using to busily wipe away their traces.
 

“That's understandable,” said Chet, “I came in to let you know everyone's here. They're waiting in the meeting room.”
 

His statement lifted Dina's head with a start. “Meeting?” She picked up on the word and frowned. “There isn't any meeting scheduled on my agenda this morning.”
 

“I called it,” Blake announced smoothly, his bland gaze meeting her sharp look. Then he shifted his attention to Chet in a dismissing fashion. “Tell them I'll be there in a few minutes.”
 

“I will.” And Chet left.
 

At the click of the closing door, Dina turned roundly on Blake, her anger returning. “You weren't going to tell me about the meeting, were you?” she accused him.
 

Blake walked to the desk and began shuffling through the papers on top of it. “Initially, no. I didn't see the need to tell you.”
 

“You didn't see the need?” Dina sputtered at his arrogantly dismissive statement.
 

“To be truthful, Dina—” he turned to look at her, his bluntly chiseled features seeming to be carved out of teakwood “—it didn't occur to me that you would come into the office today.”
 

“Why ever not?” She stared at him in confusion and disbelief.
 

“I assumed you would be glad, if not grateful, to relinquish charge of’ the company to me. I thought you saw yourself as a stopgap president and would relish being free of the burdens of responsibility. I thought you would be happy to resume the role of a homemaker.”
 

“You obviously don't know me very well,” Dina retorted.
 

“So I'm beginning to discover,” Blake responded grimly.
 

“What now?” she challenged him.
 

“No man likes to compete with his wife for a job, and I have no intention of doing so with you,” he stated.
 

“Why not?” Dina argued. “If I'm equally competent—”
 

“But you are not,” Blake interrupted, his eyes turning into dark chips of ironstone.
 

“I am.” Surely she had proven that.
 

He ignored the assertion. “In the first place, our age difference alone gives me fourteen more years of experience in the business than you. Secondly, my father put me to work as a busboy when I was fifteen. Later I was a porter, a desk clerk, a cook, a manager. Compared to mine, your qualifications are negligible.”
 

His logic deflated her balloon of pride. He made her seem like a fool, a child protesting because a toy was taken away. Dina had learned how to disguise her feelings and she used the skill to her advantage.
 

“You're probably quite right,” she said stiffly. “I'd forgotten how much of a figurehead I was. Chet did the actual running of the company.”
 

“Don't be ridiculous!” Blake dismissed the statement with a contemptuous jeer. “Chet is incapable of making an important decision.”
 

Her eyes widened at the accusation. “How can you say that? He's been so loyal to you all these years, your best friend.”
 

The lashing flick of his gaze laughed at her reference to Chet's loyalty, reminding her of Chet's engagement to her, but he made no mention of it when he spoke. “Just because he's been my friend doesn't mean I'm blind to his faults.”
 

Although puzzled, Dina didn't pursue the topic. It was dangerous ground, likely to turn the conversation to a more personal level. At the moment, she wanted to keep it on business.
 

“None of that really matters. It still all comes down to the same basic thing—I'm out and you're in.”
 

Blake raked a hand through his hair, rumpling it into attractive disorder. “What am I supposed to do, Dina?” he demanded impatiently.
 

“That's up to you,” she shrugged, feigning cold indifference while every part of her rebelled at the emptiness entering her life. “If you don't object to my borrowing
your
secretary, a letter formally tendering my resignation will be on
your
desk when you return from your meeting.”
 

“No, I don't object.” But Blake bristled at her cutting sarcasm. As she turned on her heel to leave, he covered the distance between them with long strides, grabbing at her elbow to spin her around. “What do you expect me to do?” His eyes were a blaze of anger.
 

“I don't know—”
 

He cut across her words. “Do you want me to offer you a position in the administration? Is that it?”
 

Excited hope leaped into her expression. After Blake had put it into words, she realized that that was exactly what she wanted—to still have a part in running the company, to be involved in its operation.
 

“Dammit, I can't do it, Dina!” Blake snapped.
 

Crushed, she demanded in a thin voice, “Why?”
 

“I can't go around sweeping people out of office so you can take their place. Disregarding the fact that it smacks of nepotism, it implies that I don't approve of the people you hired to fill key positions. The logical deduction from that would be that I believed you'd done an inadequate job of running the company in my absence.” His expression was hard and grim. “It's going to be several years before I can make any changes without them reflecting badly on you.”
 

“That settles it, then, doesn't it?” Her chin quivered, belying the challenge in her voice.
 

His teeth were gritted, a muscle leaping along his jaw. “If you weren't my wife...” he began, about to offer another explanation of why his hands were tied in this matter.
 

“That's easily remedied, Blake,” Dina flashed, and pulled her arm free before his grip could tighten. She didn't expect it to last long, but he made no attempt to recapture her.
 

“That's where you're wrong.” He clipped out the words with biting precision.
 

Inwardly quaking under his piercing look, Dina turned away rather than admit his power to intimidate her. “It's immaterial anyway,” she said with a small degree of composure. “My resignation will be on your desk within an hour.” She walked to the door.
 

“Dina.” The stern command of his voice stopped her from leaving.
 

She didn't remove her hand from the doorknob or turn to face him. “What?”
 

“Maybe I can keep you on in an advisory capacity.” The stiffness of his words took away from the conciliatory gesture.
 

“I don't want any favors! And certainly not from the great Blake Chandler!” Dina flared, and yanked open the door.
 

It closed on a savage rush of expletives. When Dina turned away from the door, she looked into the curious and widened gaze of the secretary, Amy Wentworth. Dina silently acknowledged that the walls of the private office were thick, but she doubted if they were thick enough to deafen the sound of voices raised in argument. She wondered how much of the aftereffect of her quarrel with Blake was apparent in her face. She strained to appear composed and in command of herself as she walked to Amy's desk.
 

“Put aside whatever you're doing, Amy,” she ordered, trying to ignore the widening look she received.
 

“But...” The young secretary glanced hesitantly toward the inner office Dina had just left, as if uncertain whether she was to obey Dina or Blake.
 

Dina didn't give her a chance to put her thoughts into words. “I want you to type a letter of resignation—for me. You know the standard form of these things. Just keep it simple and direct. Effective immediately.”
 

“Yes, Mrs. Chandler,” Amy murmured, and immediately removed the dustcover from her electric typewriter.
 

The connecting office door was pulled open and Dina glanced over her shoulder to see Blake stride through. She could tell he had himself under rigid control, but it was like seeing a predatory animal restrained in chains. The minute the shackles were removed, he would pounce on his prey and tear it apart. And she was his prey.
 

Yet, even knowing she was being stalked, she was mesmerized by the dangerous look in his gaze. She waited motionless as he walked toward her, the force of his dark vitality vibrating over her nerve ends, making them tingle in sharp awareness.
 

“Dina, I...” Blake never got the rest of his sentence out.
 

Chet entered the room through the door to the outer corridor. “Oh, I see you're on your way,” he concluded at the sight of Blake. “I was just coming to see how much longer you'd be.” His gaze switched its attention to Dina and became a troubled blue as he noticed the white lines of stress on her face.
 

“Yes, I'm on my way,” Blake agreed crisply, and looked back at Dina. “I want you to attend the meeting, Dina.” The veiled harshness in his gaze dared her to defy him.
 

But Dina felt safe in the company of others. “No. It's better for everyone to realize that you're in charge now and not confuse them by having a former head of the company present.” She saw his mouth thin at her response and turned away in a gesture of dismissal.
 

“Dina has a good point,” Chet offered in agreement, but a darting look from Blake made him vacillate. “Of course, unless you think it's wiser to—”
 

“Let's go,” Blake snapped.
 

In a silent storm, he swept from the room, drawing Chet into his wake and leaving Dina feeling drained and colorless. Her nerves seemed to be delicate filaments, capable of snapping at the slightest pressure. When the letter of resignation was typed, her hand trembled as she affixed her signature to it.
 

“Put it on Mr. Chandler's desk,” she ordered, and returned it to Amy.
 

“It was nice working for you, Mrs. Chandler,” the young secretary offered as Dina turned to go, the words spoken in all sincerity.
 

“Thank you, Amy.” Dina smiled mistily, then hurried from the room.
 

Leaving the building, she walked to her car. She knew there was no way she could return to the house and listen to Mother Chandler's happy conversation about Blake's return. With the top down on the white sports car, she removed the scarf from her hair and tucked it in the glove compartment.
 

With no destination in mind, she climbed into the car and drove, the wind whipping at her hair, which glittered like liquid sunlight in the morning air. Around and through the back streets, the main streets, the side streets of the city of Newport she went.
 

Half the time she was too blinded by tears to know where she was. She didn't notice the row of palatial mansions on Bellevue Avenue, or the crowds gathered on the wharf for the trial of the America Cup races.
 

She didn't know who she was, what she was, or why she was. Since Blake's return, she was no longer Dina Chandler. She was once again Mrs. Blake Chandler, lost in her husband's identity. She was no longer a businesswoman, nor did she feel like a housewife, since she had no home and a stranger for a husband. As to the reason why, she was in total confusion.
 

It was sheer luck that she glanced at the dashboard and noticed the gasoline gauge was hovering at the empty mark. Practicality forced her out of the bewildering whirlpool of questions. They stayed away until she was parked in a gas station and waiting in the building where her tank was being filled.
 

Then they returned with pounding force and Dina reeled under the power of them. Her restlessly searching gaze accidentally spied the telephone inside the building. She walked blindly to the phone and, from long habit, dialed the number of the one person who had already seen her through so much emotional turmoil.
 

The impersonal voice of an operator answered and Dina requested in an unsteady voice, “Chet Stanton, please.”
 

“Who is calling, please?”
 

Dina hesitated a fraction of a second before answering, “A friend.”
 

There was a moment when Dina thought the operator was going to demand a more specific answer than that, then she heard the call being put through. “Chet Stanton speaking,” his familiar voice came on the line.
 

“Chet, this is Dina,” she rushed.
 

“Oh.” He sounded surprised and guarded. “Hello.”
 

She guessed at the cause for the way he responded. “Are you alone?”
 

“No.”