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  When she was done, Stuart was silent for such a long time that she was afraid he was guessing the truth, but when he spoke, all he said was “Farrell’s got more control than I have. I’d be gunning for your father.”

  Meredith, who still had to deal with her father over his treachery when he returned from his cruise, let that remark pass. “In any case,” she said, “that’s obviously why Matt has decided to be cooperative.”

  “He’s being more than cooperative,” Stuart said dryly. “According to Levinson, Farrell is deeply concerned about your well-being. He wants to make a financial settlement for you. He also volunteered to sell you the Houston land for very agreeable terms—though at the time I didn’t know what land Levinson was talking about.”

  “I don’t want, nor am I entitled to, a financial settlement from him,” Meredith said emphatically. “If Matt’s willing to sell us the Houston land, that’s wonderful, but there’s no need for a meeting with Matt’s attorneys. I’ve decided to fly to Reno or somewhere and get a divorce right away. That’s why I was calling you—I wanted to ask where I could go to that would be fast and legal.”

  “No dice,” Stuart said flatly. “If you attempt to do that, Farrell’s offer is withdrawn.”

  “What makes you say that?” Meredith cried, feeling as if an invisible trap were closing around her.

  “Because Levinson made that very clear. It seems his client wants to do this thing properly and completely or not at all. If you refuse to meet with him tomorrow, or try to get a quickie divorce, Farrell’s offer to sell you the Houston land will be permanently withdrawn. Levinson implied that either of those actions would be construed by his client as a personal rejection of his goodwill. It boggles the mind,” Stuart concluded with heavy irony, “to discover that Farrell’s reputation for cold ruthlessness is only a cover to hide his sensitive heart, doesn’t it?”

  Meredith sank back into her chair, her attention momentarily diverted by several members of the executive committee who were walking past her office and into the adjoining conference room. “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “I’ve been judging Matt so harshly for so long, I don’t know who he really is.”

  “Well,” Stuart cheerfully informed her, “we’re going to find out tomorrow at four o’clock. Farrell wants the meeting at his office, with his attorneys, myself, and you in attendance. I can cancel an appointment. Shall I meet you there, or would you rather I pick you up?”

  “No! I don’t want to go. You can represent me.”

  “Nope. You have to be there. Levinson said his client is not flexible on the date, place, or attendees. Inflexibility,” Stuart remarked with a return of irony, “is an odd trait for a man of such extraordinary benevolence and generosity as we’re being led to believe that Farrell is by his attorneys.”

  Harassed, Meredith glanced at her watch. The meeting was scheduled to begin now. She was loath to relinquish the Houston land if Matt was willing to sell it back to her, and almost as reluctant to endure the emotional strain of having to deal with him face-to-face.

  “Even if you got your Reno divorce,” Stuart reminded her when she didn’t say anything, “You’d still have to deal with the property issue when you came back. There’s an eleven-year snarl of property rights here that can be easily unraveled if Farrell is willing—or that he can drag out in court for years if he isn’t.”

  “God, what a mess,” she said weakly. “All right, I’ll meet you in the lobby at Intercorp at four o’clock. I’d rather not go up there alone.”

  “I understand,” Stuart said kindly. “See you tomorrow. don’t think about all this until then.”

  Meredith tried, very hard, to follow his advice as she sat down at the head of the conference table. “Good morning,” she said with a bright, artificial smile. “Mark, do you want to begin? Any problems to report from the security division?”

  “One nice big fat one,” he said. “Five minutes ago the New Orleans store had a bomb threat. They’re clearing the store, and the bomb squad is on its way.”

  Everyone at the table jerked to attention.

  “Why wasn’t I notified?” Meredith demanded.

  “Both your phone lines were busy, so the store manager followed procedure and called me.”

  “I have a private direct line too.”

  “I know and so does Michaelson. Unfortunately, he panicked and couldn’t find the phone number.”

  At 5:30 that night, after a day of raw tension and helpless waiting, Meredith finally received the phone call she’d been praying for: The New Orleans Bomb and Arson Squad had found no trace of explosives and were going to remove the barriers around the store. That was the good news. The bad news was that the store had lost an entire day’s sales in the most important season of the year.

  Limp with relief and exhaustion, Meredith notified Mark Braden of the news, then she packed a briefcase full of work and went home. Parker hadn’t returned her call yet, but she knew he’d call her as soon as he received her message.

  In her apartment she dumped her coat, gloves, and briefcase onto the chair, and walked over to the answering machine to check her messages, thinking Parker might have called, but the red light was not on. Mrs. Ellis had been there, though, and left a note beside the phone saying she’d done the marketing today instead of Wednesday because she had a doctor’s appointment Wednesday morning.

  The continued silence from Parker was making Meredith increasingly uneasy, and as she walked into the bedroom, she began to imagine him in a Swiss hospital, or, worse, soothing his wounded feelings with some other woman, dancing in some Geneva nightclub. . . . Stop it, just stop it! she warned herself. The mere proximity of Matthew Farrell was causing her to start expecting disaster to befall her at every turn. It was foolish, she knew, but given her past experiences with Matt, not entirely incomprehensible.

  She’d taken her shower and was tucking a silk shirt into her slacks when the hard knocking on her door made her turn in surprise. Whoever it was had a pass key to get through the downstairs security door, which meant it had to be Mrs. Ellis, since Parker was in Switzerland. “Did you forget something, Mrs.—” she began as she opened her door, then she froze in surprise at the sight of Parker’s grim face.

  “I was wondering if you forgot something,” he said curtly, “like the fact that you have a fiancé?”

  Overwhelmed with remorse that he’d actually flown home, Meredith flung herself into his arms, noting the way he hesitated before putting them around her. “I didn’t forget,” she said, kissing his rigid cheek. “I’m so sorry!” she said, pulling him into the apartment. She expected him to take off his coat, but all he did was study her with a cool, hesitant look. “What is it you’re sorry about, Meredith?” he finally asked.

  “For worrying you so much that you thought you needed to leave the conference and fly home! Didn’t you get my message at your hotel this morning? I left word for you at ten-thirty our time.”

  At her answer, the rigidity left his face, but there was a haggard, drawn look about him that she’d never seen before. “No, I didn’t. I’d like a drink,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. “Anything you have is fine, just make it a stiff one.”

  Meredith nodded, but she hesitated, worriedly studying the deep lines etched into his handsome face by strain and fatigue. “I can’t believe you flew home because you couldn’t reach me.”

  “That is one of two reasons I flew home.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “What was the other reason?”

  “Morton Simonson is going to file Chapter 11 tomorrow. I got the word in Geneva last night.”

  Meredith wasn’t certain why he should feel the need to come home because an industrial paint manufacturer was going to file bankruptcy, and she said so as she turned to fix his drink.

  “Our bank has loaned them in excess of one hundred million,” Parker said. “If they go belly-up, we’ll lose most of that. Since I also seemed to be on the verge of losing my fiancée,�