Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,56

draft a letter to Vivian. To Vivian Garland. I want you to explain to her why this happened. You may tell her, just as you told me, that the decision was yours and that I was not consulted. The letter will be on my desk, with your signature, by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Baron, of course."

"Taylor, how long have you been back from lunch?"

"Oh, some time now," he said. "Although, it was a long lunch. I had a meeting at lunch with…" – he tried to think of a name, any name – "with Mrs. Belcher, Mrs. Grace Belcher of Roslyn. Planned Parenthood. Fine woman. They're planning big things over there."

"A fine woman," the Baron said. "I suggested she call you. But anything you do for them, Taylor, you're on your own time." He rolled his wheelchair a foot backward, then a foot forward, warming up for the takeoff. "And at the conference tomorrow morning, Taylor, be prepared to tell me about the Honest ad. I will find time tonight to examine it. Be prepared to defend whatever action you decided to take. Good evening, Taylor."

A spin on the left wheel turned the chair around, a thrust. with the right hand sent it forward. And now, both hands pumping, the Baron was headed through Taylor Hawkes's glass door and out into the arena of business machines, picking up speed. Taylor watched the back of the Baron's little silver round head.

"Godamighty," Taylor said, "won't that old bastard ever die?"

Actually, he liked the Baron, got along with him well many days, respected the sharpness of the old man's mind, even when he was wrong, Baron Edward Osborne Morgan… one hundred and four years old… in a wheelchair since he was thrown playing polo at age seventy-one… fifty times, and more, a millionaire from investments and full owner of Morgan Advertising… but… but, and this was the part that always got Taylor Hawkes: Taylor's wife, Sarah, was the Baron's great-grandniece, his only living relative, and would Taylor be executive vice president of the agency today, if this was not the case?

Taylor didn't know. He thought so. He always told himself he would have made it anyway. He had beaten his way up through a string of southern agencies, had entered a Madison Avenue firm and made his way up through copy editing to account executive and, hell, all this was before he married Sarah, great-grandniece and the favorite person in all the world of Baron Edward Osborne Morgan. Hell, he had made it that far, he would have made it to the top, to a partnership, because he understood advertising. He understood the business and he understood the bullshit. You're damn right he would have. But executive vice president? If he hadn't married Sarah, would he…?

Taylor Hawkes watched the little round silver head nearing the far end of the room, then saw the hard pump of the right hand and the wheelchair turning out into the corridor that would take the Baron to his own office at the end of the building.

The buzzer. He reached for the phone.

"Taylor, I'm coming in right now," Gillian said, "ready or not."

"Sure, Gillian," he said. "I've been waiting for you." Taylor lifted the sunglasses from the bridge of his nose, squinted, rubbed his eyes, put the glasses on again. He wouldn't put on his coat. Standing, he sucked in his stomach and waited, watching as Emily guided Gillian Blake into the room.

She looks damn good, he thought. Not the greatest body in the world, but something there. Like she was proud of it. Would make you know it, too… crack your back with those good legs.

What does she want? Last week at the station's cocktail party, Taylor hadn't been sure. She had touched his hand when he lighted her cigarette, steadying his hand with her own, but a lot of women do that. And later she had backed that nice round behind against his forearm, hadn't hurried to move it either, he thought, but maybe that was because he had put his arm in a good place to get it backed into.

Still….

Well, Taylor hadn't been sure. If he'd been sure, he would have thought of a way before now to see her. He'd been considering a casual way, safe, where if he had been wrong it would only look like the courtesy an ad man might show one of the people he was responsible for sponsoring. And the fact that they were neighbors in King's Neck was almost enough