Under Pressure

by Abigail Reed

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

The fashion business means long hours and high pressure, but there are billions of dollars in fashion--if you do it right. For a long time, Lou's done it right. That's meant taking credit for other people's ideas, shifting blame to his subordinates, and especially, controlling the women around him. They dress the way he wants, cut their hair the way he wants, even have sex with him...if they want to keep their jobs.
Cilla is a prime example. Nearly fifty, she's been having sex with Lou for years. Now she's fallen in love with a man two decades her junior. She wants Lou out of her bed--but Lou's told Cilla that if she speaks up, he'll claim the sex was consensual and the other executives will take his word over hers. She'll be out of a job, with no prospects in their youth-oriented industry.
Troubled, Cilla can't protect her new assistant, Karyn, from Lou's advances. At first, Karyn thinks she must have led him on, even though a new relationship is the last thing on her mind--she's too busy getting over a divorce and getting her daughter settled in a new town. But when Lou keeps touching her and making lewd suggestions, even after she's told him "No," Karyn gets frightened. Then she gets mad.

At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

Release date: July 15, 2000

Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Print pages: 544

Sample

Under Pressure

ONE




BY THE TIME KARYN CRISTOPHE STEPPED OUT OF THE shower, the bathroom was clouded with steam, water droplets running down the vanity mirror. She could see herself grinning happily as she picked up a washcloth and wiped circles in the steam.
In less than forty minutes she'd be sitting at a computer terminal, starting her new job. A fresh beginning with everything lying ahead of her, and this time there was no way that Mack, her erratic ex-husband, could show up at her place of employment and spoil things.
Her stomach churning with pleasurable excitement, Karyn combed out her damp blond hair, reaching for the blow-dryer and brush. The job, at the international headquarters of the upscale Cybelle department store chain, was only temp-to-perm right now, but there was every chance it would work out.
Oh, it had to work out! She'd finally taken control of her life, pulling up stakes and moving nine hundred miles from Atlanta on the promise of this job, which her Aunt Connie, who owned two employment agencies in the Detroit area, had snagged for her.
"Mom ... Mom ..." She could hear her eight-year-old daughter, Amber, banging on the other side of the bathroom door.
"What is it, cupcake? I'm running late."
"Can I wear my Pocahontas T-shirt?"
"Of course you can. Don't you always pick out your own clothes?" Karyn poked her head around the corner of the bathroom door, gazing at her daughter, whose mop of blond hair just about dwarfed her thin, intense face.
"I can't find it," wailed Amber. "It's probably still in one of those boxes."
"It wasn't in your suitcase?"
"I think I threw it in a box. I don't know," said Amber, crestfallen. "It was in the dirty clothes, I think. Back in Atlanta."
"Oh, honey." Karyn sighed in frustration. "Well, maybe you'd better find another shirt to wear and we'll look for it tonight when I get home. You're staying at the Caribaldis', remember?"
She'd registered Amber for school the previous Wednesday, the day they arrived from Atlanta, and Amber had already attended for two days. Thank God for the Caribaldis, who lived upstairs. Jinny Caribaldi, who was divorced and worked nights as a cardiac care nurse, had agreed to "latchkey" Amber after school until five-thirty. Even better, Jinny had a daughter, Caitlin, who was exactly Amber's age, a stroke of fortune Karyn hadn't counted on.
"Are we really staying here?" queried Amber now. "I mean here. Forever?"
"Maybe not forever, but for a long time," replied Karyn with enthusiasm. "Honey lamb, it's been amazing luck, Aunt Connie getting me this job. You're going to have new friends at school ... maybe we can even get a cat."
"A kitty cat? Oh, Mom!"
"If it works out--and now I really have to fly." Karyn hurried into her bedroom and began cutting off the tags from the new suit she'd bought at Cybelle during the Labor Day weekend sale. It was a Gemi suit, leaf green and cut narrow at the waist, with a long, sexy back slit, and it had cost her $450 from the cash stash she'd borrowed from her dad for their freedom money. But Karyn figured she had to impress them on her first day.
She stepped into the skirt, shrugged into the little matching silk shell, and quickly buttoned the jacket.
In the mirror, she inspected herself. Nice.
Her last act was to slip a pair of small pearl stud earrings into her ears. She'd been wearing them two years ago when she'd won $1,544 in the lottery, and she hoped they would lend their glow of good luck today as well.
When she emerged into the apartment's small dining room, Karyn found her daughter hunched over a bowl of cereal, a full glass of orange juice at her elbow.
"Come on, Amber, drink up, we have to get ourselves in gear."
Languidly, Amber picked up the glass. "Will you type at a computer all day?"
"Probably. And I'm going to love it."
"You'll be too busy to call," Amber pouted.
"Oh, no, I won't. I'll program a reminder right in my computer--'Call Amber Sweetpea Cristophe right away.' Finish your juice, baby," she added.
"I hate plain orange. Can't we get the kind with banana in it?"
"If you'll drink it." Karyn paced impatiently, suddenly anxious to get started--to get those first few hours on the job over with. "Down the hatch," she told her daughter. "Jinny's taking you and Caitlin to school in exactly two minutes. We both have busy days ahead of us."


Karyn gulped at a container of 7-Eleven coffee, trying not to spill anything on her new suit jacket as she maneuvered her 1994 Ford Tempo into the long double line of cars waiting to turn right into the Cybelle International Headquarters parking lot. Aunt Connie had warned Karyn that if she didn't arrive at least ten minutes early all the parking spaces would be taken, and now Karyn could see that the warning had been no exaggeration. In fact, where were all the cars going to be slotted?
In the morning sun haze, the huge office complex glowed, its acres of tinted windows catching the yellow light. Made mostly of glass, it covered an entire city block. Connie hadtold her that five thousand people toiled there, bee workers tending to the corporate business of thirteen hundred department stores spread from Bar Harbor, Maine, to Honolulu, Hawaii. Cybelle was often compared to Lord & Taylor or Nordstrom's, and to most American women it meant accessible glamour.
The lot was a sea of cars, the biggest parking lot she had ever seen, bisected by yellow-painted pedestrian walkways. Hundreds of workers on foot streamed toward the building. As a group of women walked past her front bumper, Karyn began to study how they were dressed: skirts, slacks, dressy pants outfits she'd seen in Cybelle's Casual Career Shop. Many of the women wore tennis shoes and lugged canvas tote bags, which presumably contained their office shoes.
About thirty yards away a man was cutting across the lot, not bothering to stay on the pedestrian walk. He was built like Mack, all knees and stride and angles, and had the same black hair that fell loosely across his forehead. Karyn's eyes focused on him, angry heat pouring up from her stomach.
Her ex-husband's humiliating appearances and barrages of unwanted phone calls at her job at a computer leasing firm in Atlanta had resulted in several reprimands, and finally the company had installed a new security system--on account of her. Eventually her boss had let her know he'd really prefer it if she quit. A company couldn't be too careful about security risks ... .
Then Karyn saw that the man was two decades older than Mack and thirty pounds heavier. An involuntary sigh of relief puffed out of her. Although the divorce decree specified that Mack had to stay at least four hundred yards away from her and Amber or he'd be in contempt of court, Karyn still worried he might somehow show up and start causing trouble again.
She finally found a parking space in the next-to-last row, pulling in beside a van sporting a bumper sticker that saidMy CHILD Is ON THE HONOR ROLL AT BEACONSFIELD ELEMENTARY.
Even in the few seconds since she'd switched off the ignition, the Tempo was warming up in the early September heat. Karyn gave herself a quick inspection in the visor mirror, deciding that the blow-dry and curl she'd done on her chin-length, honey-blond hair was good enough to pass muster. Several people had told Karyn she should model, but of course she was already twenty-nine, much too old for that now. Not that she'd ever want that kind of lifestyle. Karyn knew she wasn't sophisticated, and she had little desire to be.
Karyn got out of the car, joining the throngs of workers streaming toward the building. Seen up close the sprawling building was even huger-looking, its windows molten under the onslaught of morning sun.
Exhilaration spurted through Karyn, and she began to walk faster, swinging her arms. Her high heels made clacking noises on the pavement. Her first day of work. And the beginning of their new life.


Lou Hechter had noticed the blonde in the Ford Tempo right away; she had to be new because he would certainly have remembered those high cheekbones and that full, curvy mouth. And he knew damn well she'd noticed him. Even from yards away he had felt her eyes riveted on him. It was as if she couldn't look away.
Lou continued toward the headquarters building, straightening his shoulders and pulling in his stomach. He looked pretty damn good for fifty-one, all the women told him so. And not "distinguished," either, that kiss-of-death word that Lou had always loathed--along with the damning phrase "silver fox."
His black hair had only a few threads of gray in it, artfully left there by Dori, his stylist, so it wouldn't look like he dyed his hair. She even trimmed Lou's eyebrows, which,left to their own devices, would look like Einstein's. Lou paid Dori big bucks to keep him looking ten, fifteen years younger than his age.
And why shouldn't he? He was Lou Hechter, a vice president and company maverick who had been written up in the Detroit News and Detroit Free Press, plus all the trades, for the creative, innovative ideas he'd brought to Cybelle.
But this new lady, whoever she was, interested him. Even though the company had several thousand female employees, Lou knew a surprising number by sight, especially the good-looking ones. Was there a possibility this one was the new secretary in his own department, Fashion? Cilla had told him she hired someone from an employment agency, a woman who could type over one hundred words a minute.
He decided that if the new secretary was the blonde he'd send her a rose in a bud vase.
Reaching the entrance door marked "#2," Lou bounded lightly up the eight cement steps, pausing at the row of newspaper boxes positioned just inside the entrance to buy himself a copy of the Detroit Free Press. Women's Wear Daily and the Wall Street Journal were hand-delivered to his desk every day. Automatically he glanced at the chalkboard on the wall. Cybelle stock on the NYSE had closed three quarters of a point higher, which was great for Lou's portfolio. He and his wife, Marty, owned over twelve thousand shares of Cybelle blue-chip stocks, accumulated in the company's stock option program. As long as you owned Cybelle, you couldn't go wrong.
"Good morning, Mr. Hechter," said Cherise Souza, an African-American security guard, who stood in the doorway, glancing perfunctorily at the incoming workers' blue employee cards. During her first week of work she'd made the mistake of actually asking to look at Lou's card. He'd set her straight, though.
"Hi, Cherise, hon," said Lou, favoring her with one of his big smiles.
He walked on past, feeling his usual jolt of adrenaline as he entered the big office complex that seemed like a hive to him, jumping and humming with life. His kingdom--yeah, Lou would rather be here than anyplace else on earth.


In Human Resources, Karyn filled out a series of papers--an IRS form for her payroll deductions, another employment application form, a form stating her next of kin in case there was an accident.
She wrote down her father's name, Ed Cristophe, and her parents' address in Norwalk, Connecticut. She could have moved to Connecticut, she knew; in fact, her parents had begged her to do so, assuring her there were good jobs in the area. Or she could even commute into New York City on the train.
She hadn't wanted to do that. In the first place, Mack knew where her parents lived, and what if he decided to get in his car and drive to Connecticut, resume his harassment of her? Not that he'd ever been dangerous. It was more like obsessive, phoning her eighteen to forty-five times a day on the job, leaving dozens of voice-mail messages, driving past her office building over and over again, for hours.
Mack needed psychological help, and she'd finally convinced him to see a therapist, but she didn't dare trust him yet--not when it was her job at stake. Which was why she'd decided to move far out of Mack's orbit, plus getting a restraining order against him.
She concentrated on the last paper, which was a form stating that her job was "temp-to-perm," that she would be paid through People Resources, her aunt's agency, that Cybelle could but was not obligated to hire her after her ninety-day probation was up.
"But this temp-to-perm business is only a formality," Connie had assured Karyn. "Honey, your skills are top-drawer, you're great at Microsoft Word, and you've got heavy experience in Power Point. And if you type a hundredwords per minute, well, you can do the work of a secretary and a half. Temping is the only way you can get in most big companies nowadays. They want to try out the merchandise before they buy."
"Are you finished, dear?" asked an older woman, coming into the room now.
Karyn nodded and handed her the papers. The HR assistant shuffled through them. "Good ... good. Well, I'll call Cilla Westheim's office and tell them you're on your way over. Oh, is that a Gemi suit you're wearing?"
Karyn smiled. "Yes, I bought it on sale."
"Well, here's a map. You're going to get lost a lot at first, everyone does, but eventually you'll get the hang of things. Oh, yes, and here's an employee booklet. It gives all the information on the dress code, company regulations, sexual harassment and so forth."
Leaving the Human Resources office, Karyn glanced down at the photocopied map of the building. It was confusing, a honeycomb maze of squares intersected by crisscrossing corridors on three levels, except for the five-story Executive Tower.
Karyn had loved to window-shop at the Cybelle store near Peachtree Street and Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta, coveting the designer clothes and designer knockoffs that were always so tempting. She'd blown a few paychecks on special dresses that she still treasured.
Now she was at the company headquarters. The building seemed glamorous to her, its gray marble floors elegantly veined with pink. There were displays of framed fashion sketches that dated back to the 1950s, when a Frenchman named Roland LaRivière had opened the first store in Chicago, naming it after his wife, Cybelle. The Chanel suits and evening gowns by Patou, Yves St. Laurent and the house of Dior were still eye-catching.
Hallways forked, then forked again. Karyn wandered past offices, hundreds of them lining every outside wall of thebuilding. Some had views of inner courtyards with fountains and landscaping; others looked out onto the street. Huge center areas were filled with shoulder-high work cubicles. Secretaries, she noticed, usually seemed to have their desks set inside alcoves in the hallways.
At last she came upon a brass sign with the words FASHION DEPARTMENT etched in script lettering. Two hallway desks were positioned in paneled alcoves, one of them empty, the other one occupied by a woman with tawny skin and impish, dark eyes. A sign on her desk said RAQUEL ESTRADA.
"Is this the Fashion Department?"
"Yes--you must be Karyn, right?" When Raquel stood up, she was only about five feet tall, and this was in three-inch heels. "So how many times did you get lost finding this place? I keep telling HR that their map sucks, but nobody ever does anything about it. Well, you picked a great day to start here. Lou--he's my boss and your ultimate boss--has four meetings. Plus we have a big buyers' meeting coming up and we have about fifty phone calls to make on that. Oh, and Cilla is late again. She's the one you work for."
"Cilla Westheim?"
"Yeah, she's never in before eight forty-five so she always has to park in the back forty. So she rushes in here ... well, you'll see. But, hey, she's nice. She expects a lot, but if you can deliver ... well, Cilla will like you. Oh, by the way, welcome to Cybelle."


Cilla Westheim wasn't in a mood to like anyone right now. Damn, she couldn't believe she'd overslept again. It was getting to be a very inconvenient habit.
Now her oversleeping had cut off all her chances for getting a decent parking space. She didn't even bother to cruise the main lot; she knew from experience that it had been full since before 8:00 A.M. Instead she drove around in back tothe new annex lot that had been laid down the previous spring on some land that had previously belonged to a neighboring church. The only spaces left were on the grass.
Oh, lovely, Cilla thought grumpily, pulling her three-year-old Mercury Cougar onto the rutted, weedy surface. Her new, strappy Maud Frizon shoes were going to look like crap after she'd trudged over grass and dust. Why the hell didn't she remember to bring tennis shoes, like most of the other women employees?
Cilla's dream last night had put her in a strangely edgy mood. It was the same dream she'd had off and on since high school, herself frantically running across a huge shopping mall while security people chased her. She ran and ran, her heart pounding out of her chest as she clutched her shopping bag, into which she'd stuffed a Chanel silk scarf.
Even today, thirty-one years later, the nightmare had the power to cause Cilla to wake up sweating. Not that she'd ever shoplifted since then; it had only happened that one, humiliating time. She'd paid back every penny by modeling clothes in the junior department at Jacobson's, a job that had started her on her retailing career.
Whoa, Cilla thought, relegating the dream back to where it belonged. She gathered up her purse and started the ten-minute trek toward the building, her mind clicking to an idea she'd had on the drive in. Cilla had heard a song on the radio by Jazzy Kulture, that new, sixteen-year-old rock star who was getting to be even bigger than the Spice Girls used to be before Ginger Spice quit.
Even the name was so perfect. They'd call the line "Jazzy." All they needed was the star's endorsement, and Cilla felt sure they could get that.
Walking fast, Cilla encountered a few stragglers who'd also been forced to park in the limbo of the "back forty." They smiled and waved to each other, caught in the camaraderie of tardiness.
As she approached the #2 door, Cilla began mentally organizingthe first half hour of her day. Oh, today was the day that new secretary, Karyn, reported in.
She'd been told that Karyn was "very sharp" and was a superior typist, with a lot of software expertise, including Word 7, Excel and Power Point, plus Harvard Graphics. She had experience making travel arrangements, could schedule meetings, and had done mail merges of up to eight thousand data records. She sounded ideal for the job.
Let this Karyn like us, Cilla found herself thinking. Please, don't let her quit like those others. Please, let Lou treat her decently.
Yes, especially that.


Raquel Estrada got the new secretary, Karyn, settled at her desk and showed her the company's E-mail and voice mail system. "I'll fill you in on more of the details later, but right now there's a ton of phone calls for you to make, and I've gotta finish this spreadsheet for Lou. Hope you don't mind plunging right in."
"I can't wait," said Karyn, smiling.
"That Gemi suit looks great on you," remarked Raquel, eyeing Karyn's tall, model-thin figure enviously. "Really sexy. I was here when they first showed the sample to the buyers. Everyone loved it. I wish they made it in petite, though," she added.
"It must be so much fun to see the clothes before anyone else does."
Raquel grinned. "It has its moments. Look, I'll take you down to the cafeteria today for lunch. It's a bit intimidating to go down there by yourself on your first day."
"Thanks!"
"I go about eleven forty-five to beat the rush."
Karyn again smiled, looking grateful, and Raquel decided that she was going to like her despite Karyn's high cheekbones and knockout figure. The secretary before Karyn had been another blonde, a snooty type who had her own cliqueof friends--everyone Anglo, naturally--and ignored Raquel except when she needed something.
Raquel went back to her own alcove, which she'd decorated with Dilbert cartoons and snapshots of Brett DiMaio, her fiancé. There were Brett and Raquel on the dunes at Lake Michigan, all dressed up at someone's wedding, sitting together on a snowmobile, and so forth. On top of her computer she'd arranged five or six Beanie Babies, which had been very popular in Michigan for a while. Brett had given Raquel all of hers.
For a moment she studied the glittering diamond ring she wore on her left hand, then she started entering sales figures into the spreadsheet. However, almost immediately her phone interrupted.
"You and Brett are coming to the party at Aunt Adelina's, aren't you?" said her mother. "They haven't seen Brett in months, and they're starting to ask me why you're staying away from family, Raquel. They call you a stranger."
"I'm not staying away from family." Raquel sighed.
"You never stop by the house anymore, and you never bring your fiancé around the way you should. You're twenty-eight, Raquel. Back in Mexico you would have been married by now with three or four children, but here ... here you don't care, you just do as you please, family is nothing for you."
Just then several men in shirts and ties walked past, probably on their way to a meeting.
"Mama! Please!" Raquel uttered a whisper of anguish. "I'm sitting at my desk--people can walk by and hear."
"Well, all right, but just bring him to Adelina's then," insisted Modesta Estrada.
As her mother talked on about her aunt's party, Raquel started typing more numbers into the Excel chart. She hadn't dared tell her family that Brett had broken the engagement--her mother would freak. Modesta would blame her for "givingeverything to a man before marriage," claiming that was what had caused the breakup.
"I can't bring him to Adelina's, Mama, because he's got family obligations himself. His uncle is very sick with prostate cancer, and all the family is in town and they--well, Brett is spending a lot of time with family."
What a lie. Raquel felt her skin turn hot from shame, but what else was she supposed to say? If she could get Brett back, maybe by the end of this week, her mother would never have to know.
Finally she said good-bye and replaced the phone, feeling sweaty and irritable.
Her fingers hovered over the phone's speed-dial list, where she'd programmed in Brett's office number. When their romance was going strong, that had been one of their pleasant morning rituals--their phone calls and the many E-mails they sent back and forth to each other. Now he'd asked her not to call or E-mail him anymore.
But he couldn't have meant it, not deep down.
She pushed Brett's extension, waiting impatiently for him to pick up.
She just had to hear his voice--even if only for a few seconds.


In a few minutes Cilla Westheim arrived, striding down the hall, a attractive, slim woman who could have been anywhere between forty and fifty, clad in an aubergine-colored suit with a loose jacket that seemed to fly out behind her. She had an oval face with beautiful coloring, a few delicate, fine lines fanning at her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Her chestnut hair glinted with red. She exuded charisma.
"Hi, Karyn--I'll be with you in a sec--just let me get into my office and get my computer switched on."
A minute later, Cilla buzzed Karyn on the intercom, and Karyn ventured into her new boss's office. The room had two big windows overlooking an inner courtyard and reflectingpond. A clothes rack loaded with beaded evening dresses was pushed against one wall, and file folders were stacked on the floor. Another wall was hung with photos of Cilla Westheim taken with various celebrities. The one that caught Karyn's eye was that of Cilia and Gemi Adams. Gemi had been nominated for an Academy Award this year. It was "her" suit that Karyn was wearing.
Cilla was still on the speakerphone, having a discussion about a deadline for a shipment of sequin-sprinkled halter tops. Karyn listened eagerly, wondering who the designer was and if she'd recognize the name.
"Well," said Cilla, finally hanging up. Her smile transformed her face, making it seem warm, almost beautiful. "I want to tell you how glad I am to have you here. I've been begging for a new secretary for two weeks. Your predecessor left us a bit in the lurch. I'm afraid the work has begun to back up badly."
"I can handle it," said Karyn confidently.
"Good. And you type a hundred words a minute? That's really incredible."
"Actually, it's more like a hundred and four or five when I'm relaxed and not being tested."
"And your Power Point experience is impressive, too. I'll give you plenty of chances to use it. I promise we'll keep you busy and, I hope, happy."
Cilia went on to explain some of the workings of the department, and Karyn took notes on a steno pad she'd brought in with her.
"The Fashion Department is really the heart of Cybelle," Cilla explained. "All of our celebrity lines originated here, and you may even encounter a celebrity or two yourself ... . They occasionally stop by here for meetings. In fact, Gemi Adams has been here twice for stockholder meetings."
"Really?"
"But mostly it's their business managers who pay us a visit," Cilla admitted. "Still, it's exciting here, Karyn. Oneday you might be sorting through color samples, the next you could be picking up a model at the main door and escorting him or her to the department. Or even helping to select that model. How would you like to do that?"
Karyn couldn't help laughing with pleasure. "It sounds great here--I'm sure I'm going to love it."
"By the way, have you met Lou Hechter yet?"
"No, I haven't."
"Well, he's my boss, and he'll be giving you work, too, from time to time, especially when Raquel gets overwhelmed. We'll keep you busy, no question about that."
"That would be great," Karyn said.
"Now, I assume Raquel has given you a long list of things to do," said Cilla, making it plain the meeting was at an end.


Karyn zipped down the list of phone calls, priding herself on sounding both friendly and efficient. Several of the staff members seemed very cordial when she gave them the meeting reminder. She wanted to belong there so badly.
A couple of women were pushing a big metal rack crammed with luscious-looking silk suits down the hallway, struggling to get its swaying bulk into a conference room. Karyn couldn't help staring at the odd sight, not exactly what she'd expected to see in an office setting.
"That's a rolling rack," explained Raquel. "And those are samples on it. This place is just bulging with samples. Up in Buying that's all you see, stuff hanging on hangers. And they're always trying to steal our steam iron. We have to hide our ironing board or it'll disappear."
"You iron here?" Karyn asked, beginning to laugh.
"Yeah, we all do, even Cilla sometimes. We have this grotty room at the back, it's full of clothes and junk. We keep our iron and ironing board in there. You're gonna get your turn at it, too. It's just part of the job."
Raquel took Karyn around the department, introducingher to about thirty people. There were merchandisers, graphic artists, designers, clerks, and two student interns from the University of Michigan.
"Lou Hechter is the big cheese, though," Raquel went on. "He's my boss. He's a vice president and he heads this department and Buying. Come on, you have to meet him."
Raquel ushered Karyn into a corner office, twice as large as Cilla's but with a similar view of the same courtyard and pond. This office was much neater than Cilla's, crammed with expensive furniture. A credenza held several Degas dancer statuettes and a beautiful, foreign-looking clock. There was a collection of stunning fashion sketches by Givenchy, Scaasi, Valentino and others.
A middle-aged man with dark hair looked up from his computer monitor.
"Lou, this is Karyn, Cilla's new secretary."
"Ah, yes, our new secretary who types a hundred words a minute," drawled Lou, looking up from his computer screen.
Karyn blurted out a reply, realizing that he was the man she'd seen in the parking lot.
But now she could see that Lou resembled Mack only very superficially. For starters, he was twenty-five years older. His hair was shoe polish black except for a few threads of silver, and his jet-black eyebrows seemed somehow too small for the rest of his face. His features were strong-looking, his complexion so ruddy brown that he either lay in a tanning bed for several hours a week or regularly sunbathed.
She'd bet it was a tanning bed. He wore an expensive-looking shirt and an Italian silk tie, and his watch glimmered in a shaft of sunlight; to her, it looked like a Rolex. Of course, she'd seldom seen any real Rolexes other than in advertisements in magazines like Town and Country.
Lou began asking Karyn perfunctory questions about her previous job experience, his eyes studying her closely, hisscrutiny giving her a brief feeling of discomfort.
"Pardon me for looking, but it's your suit," explained Lou, smiling. "Gemi fall line, size eight. Am I right on the size?"
Karyn flushed. "Yes."
"You see, I always notice what a woman is wearing." Lou's teeth were big and square, slightly yellowed. "It's my job. I've been in fashion for, well, more years than I'd like to confess, and the day I can't tell you whose clothes you're wearing and what size they are is the day I'd better just hang up my hat."
Karyn nodded. This explanation made sense to her.
"Did you get your rose?" inquired Lou.
"Rose?"
He grinned. "If it isn't at your desk yet, it will be soon. I believe in flowers for the ladies in my department. You'll soon discover that."
Lou's phone rang and he terminated their interview to take the call. Walking back to her alcove, Karyn discovered a crystal bud vase on her desk with a long-stemmed pink rose in it, arranged with some baby's breath.
"Welcome to Cybelle, Karen," read a neatly lettered card. Her name had been misspelled.


Cil