Almost Forever Read online

  She heard a sound at the door and hastily opened her eyes. Max stood there with his hand on the knob. “Get your bag and come with us,” he said curtly. “You haven’t had lunch, either.”

  “I brought my lunch, Mr. Conroy, but thank you for the invitation.” She kept her voice even as she uttered the careful courtesy, her face a blank wall that hid her thoughts. His mouth tightened, and she knew that her answer had angered him. Without another word he turned and left the office.

  It was a lie that she had brought her lunch. She put on a pot of fresh coffee and ate a pack of crackers that she found in her desk, telling herself that she had to start eating better. She wasn’t going to let herself lapse into a decline like some Victorian maiden. She was going to get through this somehow.

  Her first instinct was to quit her job and get as far away from Max as she could. She wanted to be safe; she wanted to get her emotions back on an even keel and forget about him, if that were possible. She even typed up a letter of resignation, but when she reread it, she knew that she couldn’t do that and deleted it. She wasn’t going to let this take command of her life. She was going to continue just as she always had. She would get on with the everyday business of living. She wasn’t going to run. Running and hiding was a childish reaction. It wouldn’t be easy, facing Max and doing her job without letting him see how he affected her, but she really had no choice if she wanted to face herself in the mirror every morning.

  She had changed a lot in the past few years, changes that hadn’t been easily attained. She was more self-confident now. She would never be as bold and eager for new experiences as Martine, but she had found a quiet inner strength that she’d learned to trust. No matter what it took, or how painful it was, she was going to do her job and ignore Max Conroy as best she could.

  They came back from lunch, and the negotiations resumed. Max somehow maneuvered things so that he was sitting next to her while she took notes, forcing her to concentrate on getting the notes right and not letting him know how his nearness affected her. Whenever she glanced at him, she would find his eyes on her, narrowed and intent, and she knew that he wasn’t going to let the subject of their relationship drop gracefully. She stopped looking at him even when he spoke. That was the only way she could keep her composure—to pretend that he didn’t exist.

  Max watched her, trying to read her expression, but her quiet face was a total blank. If she had been aloof before, she was totally unreachable now, and her distance from him made him furious. She was ignoring him, and that was the one thing he didn’t intend to allow. He was hampered now by the job at hand, but it wouldn’t last forever. When it was finished, he was going to smash down those damned defenses of hers and never let her build them again.

  CHAPTER 8

  It took two long weeks for the negotiations to be hammered out. It was a hard fact for Spencer-Nyle to accept, but Sam Bronson still had a card they couldn’t trump: himself. He was, in effect, the most valuable asset of Bronson Alloys. It was his genius, his instinct, his research, that produced the alloys. They were trying to buy the man as much as the company, and Sam knew it, they knew it, and they knew he knew it. To keep the man, they had to keep him happy, and keeping him happy meant making concessions. The job security of his employees was guaranteed; no one would be brushed aside in the usual house cleaning that came with a takeover. Benefits were sharply increased and raises were given, and even though the overall structure of the company would be changed, the employees would be happy because they would be very well taken care of.

  Yet in the end Max still managed to work out an agreement that cost Spencer-Nyle less than what Anson had feared. He did it with cool, relentless negotiating, not giving in on anything he thought was excessive, and inch by inch working Bronson into a position they both found acceptable. He had to give Bronson credit—the man was as tough as nails, fighting as hard as he could for his company, even though the end had been inevitable from the first.

  And Claire was there every day, calmly taking notes, her very presence controlling the tempers that threatened to flare. There was something about her cameo-smooth features and velvety dark eyes that made people control their anger and their language. Max watched her closely without appearing to, so hungry for just the sight of her that he couldn’t stop himself. He hadn’t tried to call her again. Not only would she probably accuse him of trying to get information from her, but he preferred to wait until he could devote himself completely to making her see reason. Time would work in his favor to blunt the edge of her anger. He watched her closely, incessantly, trying to read the thoughts behind that smooth blank face. She had to be furious with him, but there was no hint of it in her speech or actions. She was as remotely polite with him as she would be with a stranger, as if he meant nothing to her, as if they had never made love with frantic, explosive need. After a week Max decided that he would rather have her scream curses at him—anything—than treat him with that immense indifference. He could handle anger and tears; it was her mental distance that frustrated him to the point of madness.

  Claire knew that Max watched her, though she never reacted to it in any way. The only way she could function was to push all her pain and sense of betrayal into a small part of her mind and lock them away. She didn’t think about them; she didn’t agonize over what might have been. She had survived the destruction of the life she’d built once before, and she was determined to do it again. The end of every day marked a small victory for her: a day that she had gotten through without breaking down. She couldn’t wallow in self-pity. She had to complete the task she’d set for herself, getting through the days one at a time. She couldn’t guess how long the negotiations would continue, so she didn’t try to make plans or look forward to the day when Max was gone. It could be days, or weeks, or even months, if he remained to oversee the changeover to Spencer-Nyle ownership.

  Sam hadn’t discussed Max with her, and he acted as if he had forgotten that she had been involved with him. In actuality, there was little chance for them to talk—it seemed there was never a spare minute, and someone was always in the office. Max and his associates were going over the books, which meant they were constantly underfoot, and Sam, like Claire, guarded his words.

  The final meeting was long and exhausting, the boardroom filled with stale air and the stench of old coffee. Tempers were frayed and voices hoarse from hours of talking. Claire took notes until her fingers cramped, and her back felt as if it were breaking in two from sitting for so long. The odors in the closed room made her stomach roll threateningly, so she hadn’t been able to eat lunch when sandwiches and fresh coffee were brought in. All she wanted was to escape into the fresh air and listen to the silence. Late in the afternoon a thunderstorm hammered the city, washing the streets with a deluge of rain. Sam, with an understanding glance at Claire’s pale face, got up and opened the window to let in a gust of cool, fresh, rain-sweetened air. The heavy purple clouds had completely covered the sky, and the streetlights came on as premature dusk settled over the city. With the breaking of the storm there seemed to come a break in the negotiations; everyone was tired and sleepy, and the pounding of the rain against the windows had a soporific effect. Points that had been crucial just that morning no longer seemed so important—what was important was reaching agreement, getting it over with and going home.

  At last it was done, and they wearily shrugged into their coats, shaking hands and smiling. Claire gathered her notes together, thinking of the chores she had to do before her day was ended. Quietly she slipped from the boardroom and walked to her office—she planned to type the final agreement that night. She was exhausted, her body aching, but she wanted to finish the documents while her notes were still fresh. The contracts would be needed first thing in the morning, so it was either do them immediately or come in to work early. She elected not to put the chore off. It was much more peaceful now than it would be tomorrow morning. The building was empty, except for the weary men who had negotiated the details of the ta