Almost Forever Read online

  The most important thing was to keep her time filled, to stay busy. She began typing a stack of letters. Correspondence had doubled this week in direct relation to the notification Spencer-Nyle had given that it was interested in Bronson Alloys. It really couldn’t have happened at a better time, she told herself—it left her less time to brood.

  It was amazing how happy Sam seemed to be. He was preparing for this like a football coach preparing his team for the annual game against an arch rival, with almost unconcerned enthusiasm. He was actually enjoying it! The stockholders were coming out pretty well, too. The price of the stock had shot up as soon as the news got out.

  Sam had been doing some research into Spencer-Nyle in general, and Anson Edwards in particular, and had come up with an impressive array of articles on the man. His desk was littered with them when Claire carried the letters in to leave them for his signature. A business magazine lay open on his desk, folded to an article on Spencer-Nyle, and Claire curiously picked it up. A color picture of Anson Edwards was on the first page. He didn’t look like a corporate shark, she thought. He was trim and nondescript, with no outstanding features, the sort of man who blended into a crowd, except for the sharp intelligence obvious in his eyes.

  The article was surprisingly interesting and went into some depth. She carried the magazine back to her desk to finish reading it. Then she turned the page, and Max’s face stared up at her.

  She blinked, stunned, and tears blurred her eyes. She closed her eyes, willing the tears away. Just a picture of him stirred up a whirlwind of pain and memories and aching love. If only she knew what had happened!

  Opening her eyes, she looked at the picture again. There was another picture beside it of a dark man with penetrating dark eyes, and beneath both photos was the caption: “Roman Matthews, left, and Maxwell Conroy, are Anson Edward’s handpicked lieutenants, and corporate America generally considers Spencer-Nyle to have the nation’s best team of executives.”

  They had his name wrong. He was Maxwell Benedict, not Maxwell Conroy. Her hands shook as she held the magazine, her eyes skimming to find the text concerning him. There it was. She read it then reread it, and finally the truth sank in. He was Maxwell Conroy, not Benedict at all, and he had romanced her so intensely in hopes of getting information about Bronson Alloys from her. Perhaps he’d even planned to snoop in her papers, but that hadn’t been necessary. She had given him the information he needed. She had a vivid memory of herself talking to him, trusting him, never dreaming that he was a spy for another corporation! After he had what he wanted, he had left. It was that simple, and that terrible.

  Slowly, painstakingly, Claire reread the entire article, some tiny part of herself hoping against hope that she had misunderstood, but the second reading was even worse, because the details she had skipped the first time only supported the facts. Maxwell Conroy was an Englishman who had emigrated first to Canada, where he had been employed at a branch of Spencer-Nyle and had swiftly climbed the corporate ladder. He had been transferred to the Dallas headquarters four years ago, gained American citizenship, and was acquiring a reputation for engineering lightning-fast takeovers, moving in and taking control before the target company could be warned and devise any sort of defense.

  She felt numb all over, as if paralyzed. Even her face was still, and it was an effort to blink her eyes, to swallow. Lightning-fast takeovers. He moved in; he took control; he walked away. Yes, he had done exactly that. She hadn’t had a chance. He had played her like the expert he was, reeling her in so gently that she hadn’t even realized she’d been hooked. She thought of her gullibility in swallowing that line he’d fed her, about how tired he was of being pursued as a sexual object, how he just wanted a friend. She had actually believed it! How had he kept from laughing in her face?

  She couldn’t have been much of a challenge to him, she thought, cringing inside at how stupid she’d been. She had fallen in love with him almost immediately and fell into bed with him the first time he’d made the effort. He hadn’t had to make love to her, she thought painfully. She had already told him about the land reappraisal. That must have been the icing on his cake, to see how easily he could topple her into bed.

  Her eyes were dry, burning, and her throat hurt. She realized that she was breathing in quick, hard rasps, and a hard chill shook her. Betrayal burned like acid inside her.

  The magazine had slipped from her cold, numb fingers, and she sat there in numb shock. That was how Sam found her when he came back from lunch.

  Her face was white and still, and she didn’t seem to see him, even though she was looking straight at him as he came in the door. Sam frowned, walking toward her. “Claire?”

  She didn’t answer, and he squatted down in front of her, lifting her hand in his and chafing her cold fingers. “Claire, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  Her lips barely moved, and her dark eyes were black as she stared at him. “Sam, I’ve betrayed you.”

  Slowly, like someone who was old and feeble, she leaned down and picked up the magazine. With great care she leafed through it until she came to the article on Spencer-Nyle and folded the pages back to Max’s photograph. “I’ve been seeing him,” she whispered, pointing to him. “But he told me his name was Max Benedict, not Max Conroy, and he…he knows about the property.”

  Sam took the magazine from her, his face set, and Claire wondered if he hated her. He should; he’d probably fire her on the spot, and it was nothing less than what she deserved. She had cost him his company with her stupidity, her incredible, inexcusable stupidity.

  “How did it happen?” he murmured.

  She told him, sparing her pride nothing. Max had made a fool of her, and she had fallen for every word he’d said. Tears began to slide down her pale cheeks, but she didn’t notice them. Sam reached out and held her hand, and when it was over he did something incredible. Gently he took her in his arms and held her head to his shoulder. His tenderness, when he should have hated her, when he should have railed at her, broke what little control she had left, and sobs began tearing from her throat. She cried for a long time, rocked in Sam’s arms, and he stroked her hair and whispered soothing words to her until at last her body stopped shaking from the force of her crying, and she raised her wet, tear-swollen face from his shoulder.

  “I’ll get my things and leave,” she whispered, wiping her face with the heel of her hand.

  “Why?” Sam demanded calmly.

  “Why?” she echoed, her voice cracking. “Sam, I’ve lost you your company! You can’t possibly want me around now—I’ve proved that I can’t be trusted.”

  “Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and offering it to her. “It’s true that the property was our ace in the hole, but it’s also true that if Spencer-Nyle really wants us, we don’t have a prayer. They’re just too big, too powerful. The best I hoped to do was make them pay more than they’d wanted to. As for trusting you—” he shrugged “—I’d say you’re the most trustworthy employee I have. You made a mistake, and I think you’d walk over live coals to keep from making another.”

  “I don’t see how you can possibly forgive me, because I’ll never forgive myself.” She dried her eyes then knotted the handkerchief in her hands.

  “You’re only human. We all make mistakes, some of them more serious than others. Examine your mistake from another point of view. Will any jobs be lost because of what you told Conroy? Probably not. Spencer-Nyle will need our expertise; they won’t run in a whole new set of employees. Did your mistake affect the outcome of the takeover attempt? I don’t think so. I think they have us, one way or the other, and to tell you the truth, I almost feel relieved. The only thing that’s changed is the timetable.” A ghost of a smile touched his hard mouth, and his eyes took on a certain faraway look. “I wish that the mistakes I’ve made were no more serious than that.”

  “He used me,” she whispered.

  “That’s his lo