LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Two

      Shane had his cell phone clamped to one ear as the cab halted in front of his Madison Avenue office building. O’Connell Industries occupied an entire floor of the sleek high-rise.

      “We’ll see you Thursday morning,” he confirmed to the Chinese trade representative. They had already agreed to eat at a French restaurant near Central Park, convenient to CeCe’s apartment. “The princess looks forward to meeting you.”

      The cab driver turned and gave him a hurry-up look. On the sidewalk, a man tugged at the door and called, “You getting out or what?”

      Mindful of the Chinese sensitivity to protocol, Shane said a polite goodbye into the phone while paying the driver. After hanging up, he pocketed the phone, collected his laptop and hurried across the sidewalk into the lobby.

      Other people jostled him as Shane bolted for the elevator and wedged himself inside. The first thing he would do when he owned his own building was to designate a private elevator, he vowed.

      On the thirty-first floor, Shane stepped into the East Coast headquarters of O’Connell Industries. He always relished passing through the vast outer office filled with desks and ringing phones. What a contrast to the shabby hole-in-the-wall where he’d begun his career!

      “Mr. O’Connell? Ferguson is here,” said Tawny Magruder, Shane’s secretary, when he reached his office suite. A tall, dark-skinned woman who took no guff from anyone, she nodded toward the man sitting outside Shane’s office.

      His personal assistant and valet, Ed Ferguson, rarely came to the headquarters. His domain included Shane’s apartments on both coasts, his vacation cottage, his yacht and his corporate jet.

      Today, Ferguson’s purpose was evident from the tuxedo, encased in a plastic cleaner’s bag, draped over his arm. “I thought you might not get home in time to change for tonight,” he said.

      “What would I do without you?” Shane asked. Ed, a former foster child with whom he’d shared a group home, had been first a friend, then his devoted employee. Slight of build and modest of manner, the man might appear colorless to others, but Shane valued his steadfastness and honesty.

      “You sure do need him. Don’t anybody ask me to fetch their dry cleaning,” said Tawny.

      “I wouldn’t dare,” Shane said.

      His secretary smiled. Like him and Ed, Tawny had had a difficult past, including a stint as a welfare mother. She’d turned out to be a real tiger, quick to defend her boss and untiring in her work.

      Her loyalty, like Ferguson’s, was intense. Shane’s willingness to hire people with troubled backgrounds—as long as they adhered to his high standards—was, he believed, one of his company’s strengths.

      “You’re expected at the Foster Children’s College Fund dinner at six-thirty,” Ferguson reminded him.

      “He knows that,” Tawny said. “I entered it into his organizer.”

      “A busy man has other things to do than look up lists,” the personal assistant retorted stiffly.

      “I never leave the office without making sure Mr. O’Connell knows his plans for the evening,” snapped the secretary.

      Shane grinned at them both. “I appreciate your concern, you two.”

      “If you need help dressing, I can return,” Ferguson said.

      “Look, if the man needs…” Tawny stopped in mid-sentence. “Okay, if he wants somebody to zip his pants, I’ll let you do it.”

      “I can zip my own pants, thank you very much,” Shane said. “Ed, I appreciate your bringing the tux.”

      “Also, there were a couple of messages.” The aide handed him an answering-machine tape. “Of a personal nature.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You could have left that with me,” Tawny said. “Mr. O’Connell, I told him earlier there was no need to wait.”

      “It was my pleasure to wait,” Ferguson said. “Good day, Mr. O’Connell, Miss Magruder.” His back straight, the aide withdrew.

      “I’m going to start calling him Jeeves,” muttered Tawny, and returned her attention to her computer.

      Inside his private office, Shane dealt with his e-mail and returned business calls. As he talked, he propped his feet on the broad desk.

      He loved this office, and the one at his West Coast headquarters in Long Beach, California. CeCe Carradigne might take her surroundings for granted, but Shane never did.

      CeCe Carradigne. He pictured her tall, slim figure striding across her office to greet him this afternoon. Her blond bangs and slightly angular bone structure emphasized the size of those green eyes, and he relished the fullness of her lips.

      Today, he’d watched for any sign of the warmth they’d shared that night they spent together. Surely at some point, he’d believed, she would relax and joke with him. Touch his cheek. Move suggestively closer…

      It hadn’t happened. She must be made of ice, as people said. Or else that night simply hadn’t meant anything to her.

      Shane wished he didn’t find the woman so fascinating. He had relished discovering the feminine side underneath her tough exterior. And he loved the quick way her mind worked.

      They were too much alike, though. If he ever did settle down with a woman, she wouldn’t be someone who worked as hard as he did and fought every battle to the bitter end.

      Besides, Shane had gradually come to accept, as one relationship after another failed, that he wasn’t suited to long-term intimacy. Maybe it was because his private life always came second to business. Or because, as an orphan, he’d learned that emotional safety lay in depending exclusively on himself.

      That didn’t mean he’d lost interest in women, only that he was realistic about the terms of endearment. Reminded of the tape Ferguson had left, he inserted it into the answering machine.

      “Shane! Darling!” It was Amy, a recently divorced stockbroker who’d flirted with him at a cocktail party. “I’ve just been handed tickets to the most fabulous musical for Saturday night, and of course I immediately thought of you.”

      The next message came from Janet, an attorney he’d met at a charity event. She had sharp, lively features, he recalled, and had recently separated from her husband.

      “I’m throwing a little dinner party for a few friends on Saturday,” she said. “I’d be so pleased if you could attend.”

      Their interest flattered Shane. Both were attractive, successful women.

      He didn’t want to start anything, however. Especially when, pointless as it seemed, he couldn’t get CeCe out of his mind.

      Why had she gotten so miffed today because he’d refused to hawk the joys of fatherhood? It must have been pique because he’d spoiled her brilliant public relations idea. Well, she’d picked the wrong guy for the assignment.

      Shane had no interest in children. And he certainly wouldn’t consider having one himself. It was too painful. When he happened to look into one of those little faces, he saw himself as he’d once been, vulnerable and helpless.

      At eight, his father had died in an industrial accident. His mother, Annie, had had to work two jobs, in day care and as a waitress, so most days Shane had come home alone from school, fixed

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