Truth or Dare (9 page)

Dammit, he'd hoped to talk to her before the meeting.

Just then he heard a door close out in the hall, and without thinking, he went to his door and stepped out.

*  *  *  *

Rachel punched the elevator button, then pushed the hated green glasses up on her nose.  A door opened down the hall, and she turned toward the sound.  Her eyes widened at the sight of Jared standing outside
his room wearing nothing but a
frustrated frown and a damp towel.

All she could do was stare.  After last night, she half expected to feel panic clawing at her throat.  Instead, she felt heat, and it wasn't in her throat.  The sight of all that dark, curly hair across his chest, glistening with moisture and narrowing to a thin line that disappeared beneath the towel, did strange things to her pulse.

He took a step toward her, and she swallowed.

"Dammit, Rachel."

Just then another door opened down the hall, and two elderly ladies stepped from their room.  They were so engrossed in their conversation that they were only ten feet from Jared before they noticed him.

"Mildred," said the woman in the flaming orange polyester pantsuit.

"Yes," answered her friend in radioactive yellow.  "Did you ever see so much glorious black hair?  And so straight and silky looking."

As they walked past Jared, their eyes cut to him while they faced straight ahead.

"Mildred," the first said, keeping her voice low, but not low enough.  "I do believe you need new glasses.  His hair is as curly as can be."

"Oh, dear."  Mildred blushed.  "I must confess, dear, I was looking at his legs."

The two passed Rachel at the elevator and kept walking.

"Well, if we're confessing," the first said, "I'm afraid I was looking at his chest."

Jared was too stunned to do more than stand and stare.  Then, with a jerk, he stepped back into his room, choking on startled laughter and fighting a chest
–
to
–
scalp blush.  He gave a final peek down the hall just in time to see Rachel step into the elevator, trailing strangled laughter in her wake.

*  *  *  *

By the time Rachel reached the conference room, she was still smiling.  At least those two little old ladies had allowed her to make a clean getaway.  And bless them, they'd taken her mind off last night.

A few minutes later, all thoughts of the incident in the hall and of last night fled as she readied the room for the upcoming meeting.  She made certain each place at the long table had a legal pad, pen, and glass of ice water.  Coffee and donuts in the far corner.

She noticed there was
no
orange juice.  Jared would want his orange juice.  After ordering some, she proceeded to set up her tape recorder.

Her main function, as Jared had described it, was to take notes of the meeting and pass out the appropriate reports at the appropriate time.

The recorder would eliminate the need to write down every word that was spoken, but she'd still have to take notes, since she didn't know these people, and wouldn't be able to tell who was who by listening to their voices.

Remembering all the work she and Jared had done over the last few weeks, she mentally crossed her fingers that all would go well for him during the next couple of days.

The door to the hall opened and Rachel turned.  Instead of the waiter with the orange juice, it was Jared.  She straightened her spine and met his gaze, refusing to let what had happened last night control her any further.  She couldn't let it interfere with her job.  She wouldn't let her past rob her of a future.

A brief picture of the two ladies in the hall destroyed her calm look.  Her hand flew to her mouth, but not before a giggle escaped.

One corner of Jared's mouth twitched.  "Good morning to you, too."  He pushed his jacket back and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets as he strolled over to stand in front of her.

His smile faded.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."  She made herself hold his gaze.  "If it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon not talk about last night."

"Pretend it never happened?"

"Exactly."

"All of it?" he asked softly.

Rachel felt heat sting her cheeks.  "Considering the way it ended, I think that's best."

His shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath.  "As long as you realize I never meant to hurt you," he said.  "I would never intentionally cause you pain, Rachel.  I hope you believe that."

Rachel swallowed.  "I do."

A moment passed, then his eyes narrowed and looked her up and down, spending an undue amount of time on her wig and glasses.  Rachel lost all urge to laugh.  It was plain by the look on his face that he didn't approve of her being back in disguise today.  His next words confirmed it.

"You look like hell." 

Rachel stiffened.  "You never seemed to mind before how I looked."

Jared shrugged.  "Actually, I was referring to the dark circles under your eyes.  But now that you mention it
—
"  Before she could stop him, he reached up and removed her glasses.  "At least don't ruin your eyes by looking through these damn things."

Rachel made a grab for the glasses, but he moved away and tucked them into his coat pocket.  Any reply she might have made was cut off when a waiter came in carrying a large bowl filled with crushed ice and small plastic jugs of orange juice.

"Sorry about the oversight, ma'am," the waiter said.  "I'll be sure and have it here in the morning."

As he set the bowl down next to the donuts, three other men entered the room and called out greetings to Jared.  When everyone had arrived, Jared introduced Rachel to his fellow general managers.  She noticed some of them giving Jared strange looks, and two men even smirked when she was introduced.

Rachel bristled.  How dare these men judge her solely on her looks.  She began to develop a strong empathy for plain looking women everywhere.

The man named Holt, from Salt Lake City, punched Jared in the arm laughed.  "What happened to the lady in gold I saw you get off the elevator with last night, Morgan?"

Rachel, who had her back to the two men, stiffened.

"I wish I knew, Holt.  I wish I knew."

Rachel clenched her teeth and shot Jared a murderous look.

"You mean she got away?" Holt demanded.

Jared grinned.  "Only temporarily, my friend.  I'll find her again.  You can bet on it."

Before Rachel could do or say anything stupid, Harve Kennedy, the corporation's President of Broadcasting, called the meeting to order.

At first, Rachel took notes fast and furious, until she became more familiar with the different voices her recorder was capturing.  One voice in particular she knew she'd have no trouble recognizing.  Jared's.  Every time he spoke, she had trouble concentrating.

She did manage to pay attention, however, when Jared mentioned his proposed program change.  That was one of the things they'd researched for days.  He'd said he wanted enough statistics to back up his rather unorthodox request.

Harve Kennedy looked at Jared skeptically, then glanced at his watch.  "I assume you're prepared to argue your case," he said with a smile.  When Jared smiled back and nodded, Harve continued.  "Then let's break for lunch and take it up as soon as we get back."

The men rose from the table on cue, and some of them headed for the door immediately, as if they couldn't wait to get out.

When Cynthia Morgan came in to go to lunch with Jared, Rachel wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. 
Please don't let her see me.

Rachel circled the table, keeping her back to the door as much as pos
sible, and
gathered empty coffee cups to avoid going anywhere near the door until Jared and his mother left.

The murmur of voices died down and she let herself relax.  Too soon.

"Rachel?"

At the sound of his voice right behind her, she cringed.

"Rachel," he repeated, a definite note of laughter in his voice.

Slowly, she turned around to face him.  It was as she'd feared.  Cynthia was standing there, her mouth hanging open in shock.  Her head pivoted back and forth as she looked from Jared to Rachel and back again.  When her gaze returned to Rachel the third time, recognition dawned.  Her eyes widened.

Jared smiled at his mother, then shrugged.  To Rachel, he said, "We're going for lunch.  Would you like to join us?"

Rachel tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.  "Uh, no.  No thank you.  I've . . . got some things I need to do."

He pursed his lips to keep from laughing.  "All right.  I'll see you later, coward.  Come on, Mother.  Let's eat.  I'm starved."

As the couple went through the doorway, Rachel heard Cynthia whisper, "Jared Morgan, you tell me what's going on, and you tell me right this minute."

Jared's answering laughter rang down the hall.

Afraid to stick her head out the door, Rachel had room service bring her a sandwich.

When the meeting resumed an hour later, Jared had the floor.

"What I want to do, Harve, is drop the late
–
night network programming and run a local movie."

"You know the network is going to scream at a move like that," Harve said.

"Let them scream," Jared said.  "Until they provide me with a program that will attract at least a
few
viewers, I'm wasting air time and money."

Jared went on to explain his plan, then leaned back in his chair and caught Rachel's eyes with his.  He gave her a big wink.

Hal Holt saw and nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for Rachel as she took notes and tried to keep up with what was going on.  A lot of what the men discussed was still foreign to her, but Jared would be able to answer any questions she had.

Jared.

She hoped Harve would let him try out his idea of a late
–
night movie.  She hoped it would work, that the Oklahoma City viewers would like the idea.

And she hoped that somehow, by some miracle, she and Jared could regain their easy, friendly working relation
ship.

When the meeting was over, Harve announced that the company was picking up the tab for dinner and
the Bellagio’s regular show
later that night
, Cirque d
u Sol
e
i
l
’s underwater spectacular, “O”
.  Rachel, too, was included in the invitation, and for a moment, panic sat in.  There was no way she could spend a sociable evening in Jared's company.  Not after last night.  Not even dressed as she was.

Then she remembered the computer time
she'd planned to
put in that night
and realized with relief that she had a legitimate excuse to decline.

As the men left the room a short time later, Jared hung around until he and Rachel were the only two left.  She moved around the room, straightening this, fiddling with that, trying to look busy,
hoping he'd leave.

He didn't.  Instead, he stalked her, and finally cornered her next to the coffee pot.
 
"Pretending last night didn't happen was your idea.  Why do I get the distinct feeling you're trying to avoid me?" he asked, his voice low and deceptively pleasant.

Unless she turned toward the wall, there was no place for Rachel to look but at Jared.  She focused on the knot of his tie.  "Don't be silly.  Of course I'm not trying to avoid you."

The knot bobbed up, then down, as Jared swallowed.  "We have to talk, you know."

"About what?" 
Dumb!  Dumb, dumb, dumb!
  How could she be so stupid as to give him an opening like that?  One he was sure to take advantage of.

Which he did.  "About last night.  About you.  About me.  About where we go from here."

While he stood there, so relaxed it was disgusting, Rachel sidestepped around him and began gathering her recorder,
laptop,
note pad, and purse.  "Is that all?" she asked, her voice all business.  "I'm the secretary.  You're the boss.  From here, you go to dinner and a show, and I go to the computer."

Just as she was about to make it out the door, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.  A warm, firm hand that made her spine tingle.

"And last night?"

Rachel forced herself to pull out of his grasp and turn to face him.  "Last night was a mistake.  A rather disastrous one, I'm sure you'll agree, that won't be repeated."

She turned away and headed for the elevator as fast as she could without actually running.  Her knees felt watery and her heart pounded.  She didn't take a breath until she found herself inside the closed elevator
—
without Jared.

*  *  *  *

The only thing Rachel was pleased about during the second day of meetings was that Jared received permission to run his late
–
night movies during the July rating
s
period.  It gave her a sense of satisfaction to know she'd helped him gather the information needed to convince Harve it was a good idea.  She'd even helped Jared and the program director, Ben Davidson, select movie titles from the station's film library
—
that was the part she'd liked the best during all those late nights of work.