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  And it wasn’t as if she had the option of turning Chandler down. She didn’t. Her parents were in their forties when they had her (her mother 45, her father nearly fifty). By the time she was ten her father’s health, due to a stroke, deteriorated to such an extent that he couldn’t work anymore, and although her mother did what she could, her unskilled labor netted little by way of income. By her teen years, Tori was virtually running the entire household, caring for her father while her mother worked two full-time jobs. Tori went to school, cooked, cleaned, looked after her father, totally neglected her social life, and cried herself to sleep at night. She knew that her life was no way for a teenage girl to have to live, and she also knew that her plans would be shelved for quite a while to come because no way was she abandoning her parents.

  By the time she graduated high school, her mother, then in her early sixties, had to retire due to her own health issues, forcing them to rely on her father’s disability, and her mother’s small social security check, as the family’s only means of support. But yet in still neither would hear of Tori delaying college and working to assist them, as Tori had thought was the only sensible thing to do.

  But her parents weren’t interested in her sensibility. She had to move on, her mother had told her. She’d done all anyone could expect from an eighteen year old girl. Besides, her mother added, she was their hope and glory now, the only chance they would ever have of knowing what living the American dream was all about.

  Her parents worked hard when they were able, doing all they could to make ends meet, and all they ever wanted was to have a home of their own, rather than the harsh apartment living they’d always known. When Tori got the job with Chandler, she saw it as her chance to make their dream come true. And she did, purchasing them their very first home, a three bedroom cape cod in Arlington Heights, while she herself moved, not into the ritzy condo community where she had hoped to reside, but into a smaller, one bedroom apartment so that she could afford her parents mortgage payments, and her own rent. That way her parents had security, while she was able to maintain some semblance of independence.

  But her independence came with a price. Between the mortgage on the house and the rent on her place, she was stretched, where even her well paying job as a logistics supervisor barely made ends meet. If Chandler fired her, which, if Arthur was to be believed (and he was), Chandler would easily do, she and her parents would be up a creek. For reasons she probably couldn’t begin to fathom, Chandler had decided to choose her, to disrupt her life whether she liked it or not, and she could ill afford to do a thing about it. Except pray, which she did, as soon as Arthur left her office, unceasingly.

  The first time she laid eyes on Chandler was a very brief, but tense-filled encounter. It was during her interview at CDI and her interviewer, Paul Lassiter, was going over her credentials. Graduate of Northwestern’s Business school, which he viewed as a good thing, but her two years at Dow-Tate and her then current post as an analyst for Fitzgerald-Waterhouse, a very small firm, didn’t impress him at all. “How old did you say you were?” he asked as he kept flipping over her one-page resume, as if there just had to be more there there; as if he could not believe she’d have the gall to apply for such a position of esteem this early in her career.

  When she told him, for the third time, that she was twenty-five, he rolled his eyes the same way he’d done twice before, and then he shook his head as if he knew she had to be crazy. Oh well, she thought, as she watched his displeasure increase with every question he asked of her. It was a shot in the dark anyway. She knew she could do the job, that was why she applied, but her interviewer’s snarly expressions were right on: she was no where near qualified for the post.

  But then Ethan Chandler showed up. He peered in through the door without knocking, his presence sudden and intrusive. Lassiter, on seeing Chandler, jumped to his feet so fast that Tori almost jumped too, wondering if some foe had suddenly appeared. She quickly looked behind her to see who was this person that would have her expressive, but otherwise mild-mannered interviewer, all at once so jumpy.

  What she saw was a tall, well-built stranger of obvious stature (Lassiter’s reaction proved that), whose impatience seemed to scream out through the fierce, almost deadly-serious look on his well-tanned face. He had blue eyes, fierce, cobalt blue eyes that seemed to belie his impertinence, because he also had the look of a man who couldn’t care less about standing on ceremony; who wouldn’t dream of excusing his lack of respect as if what he had to say was always infinitely more important, at least in his mind, than any worthless conversation he may have disrupted. A man full of himself, in other words, Tori thought.

  Everything about his manner, in fact, was fiery and abrupt, from the way he shoved his hands into the pant pockets of his expensive suit, to the way he immediately began asking about some cost projections he’d been expecting from Lassiter without ever bothering to apologize for his rude interruption. One of those workaholic, I own the universe white men who’d give his life for his company but wouldn’t cross the street to help his fellow man. He was all about the Benjamins, Tori figured, and she also remembered how she thought it was a shame.

  Not just because he was so unusually good looking, which he was she begrudgingly admitted, but because, through that fierceness that seemed to cloak him, there also seemed to be something oddly charming about him, too. Why she felt that way was a mystery to her, since there was nothing she could point to that would prove it. But he did, for better or ill, make something leap within her. A weird reaction, she knew, given that he was nothing but a stranger to her. The strangest reaction, in fact, she’d ever had to a man. And that was why, for her own good, she turned back around.

  Ethan Chandler had every intention of turning back around too, of getting a time certain on that projections report from Lassiter and then high-tailing it on a plane for Seattle, but that was before those big, brown eyes of the woman in Lassiter’s office looked his way. She gazed so deeply into him, with such a knowing stare, that it disturbed him. But just as he was beginning to return that gaze, and to study her, she looked away from him. It was such an odd encounter, one that should have been memorable only for its brevity, but one that led him to move further into Lassiter’s office to get a better look at her, a move totally inconsistent with his very nature. He had every intention of making a quick getaway, not check out some female.

  But that was exactly what he found himself doing. Checking her out. She was stunning, he thought, with her perfect, dark brown skin, long, silky black hair, and the biggest, brownest eyes he’d ever seen. Not to mention that killer bod of hers with those long, shapely legs going up into a skirt so skintight he wondered if it was stitched on. She was alluring, no doubt about that, but not so alluring to a man like Ethan Chandler that he’d go out of his way to show interest in her. She wasn’t even his type, as she looked every bit as young as she undoubtedly was, but he still couldn’t deny his reaction to her.

  Maybe it was purely an ego thing. Maybe the fact that she was one of the few women who could take a look at him and not show any outward signs of interest, perplexed him. Not that he thought of himself as some great looking Casanova. He didn’t. But women did, most every woman he’d ever encountered, and young females like this one were usually the worst of the bunch. They threw themselves at him, doing all they could to please him, giving him permission to do whatever he wanted with their pliable bodies. All they seemed to require in return was a promise that he’d keep them around; that he’d keep them in his so-called stable, only to be shocked to learn that he had no stable. But this one was different. He could feel it even if he couldn’t see it. He just couldn’t understand why.

  Tori was wondering why, too. She wanted to know why was he standing there like some idiot staring at her. Even as Lassiter tried to explain why he was late with his report, blaming all of these interviews he was forced to conduct as the main culprit, the man would not relinquish his stare. He made her so uncomfortable, in
fact, that she felt compelled to say something. She wasn’t going to get this job, that was obvious, but she also wasn’t going to sit idly by and let some man treat her as if she were a side of beef.

  “Excuse me,” she finally turned to Ethan and said, “but will you please stop staring at me?”

  Lassiter’s mouth gaped open at Tori’s strident tone towards Mr. Chandler, but Ethan didn’t flinch. He simply continued staring at Tori, seemingly fascinated by her, but that fierce, unnerving look of his only made her more strident. “I know I look good,” she said with false bravado, adding sort of in a lower tone, “but dang. Didn’t your mama teach you any home training? Didn’t she tell you it’s rude to stare?” When the man still wouldn’t let up, not even out of the common courtesy that being busted often inspired, Tori got angry. “Look,” she said with venom, “I’m here for a job, not for your inspection!”

  Ethan’s heart dropped. It was pain. That was what he was seeing. Pain shrouded in big talk and swagger. Her eyes gave her away. She put on the brave front, she said all the tough words, but the deep sadness in her eyes said differently. He exhaled, as if his revelation only made it worst, because with knowledge came responsibility and he already had more than he could manage as it were.

  He looked down, at those legs of hers again, and then back into her big eyes, and something, Tori believed, finally registered with him. She couldn’t say what it was, but she could feel it, as his stare and that invisible, powerful grip he seemed to have on her began to soften. And before she knew it he was calmly telling Lassiter, without looking away from her, to have that report on his desk by close of business today or he was fired, and then he was gone.

  Tori exhaled as if she was royally relieved by his departure. What was that about, she almost wanted to blurt out. How could a man she’d never even seen before in her entire life have her so unnerved? She turned to Lassiter, to see if he would have some answers, but she had only to look at him to know what he was thinking, and reassuring her that Ethan Chandler affected every female that way wasn’t it. Lassiter, in fact, didn’t even bother to tell her who it was she had just insulted. Or that it would be a cold day in hell before she got any job with CDI. All he told her was goodbye.

  Yet two days later, to Tori’s total shock, she was hired. She didn’t realize that the man she so freely insulted during her interview was the chairman, CEO, and namesake of Chandler Development, Inc., until her first day at work when she was handed a hiring packet that sported on its’ cover that beautiful, fierce, inscrutable face she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind.

  As for the second time she had the misfortune of meeting him, the time she nearly killed him, she didn’t even want to think about. She, instead, walked up to the double doors of Patsy’s restaurant in Lincoln Park, and hurried inside to meet her friends. Late, as usual.

  THREE

  An hour before Arthur Coughlin informed Tori that she’d been selected to accompany their boss to Florida, Ethan Chandler looked out of the window on the top floor of CDI and tried his best to keep his cool. He’d never claim to know everything, or even most things, but he knew a problem when he saw one. And this report, this thick, well-written, well-investigated report that his security chief had only moments before handed him, was a problem.

  He exhaled. “Who are the suspects?” he asked Marc Grier, a stocky, medium-height dark-skinned man who stood uncomfortably flatfooted in front of Ethan’s massive executive desk, his arms to his side, his broad shoulders straight and stiff. He was just the bearer of the bad news, the chief of security whose job was to investigate breaches, but he also knew Chandler. And by virtue of proximity alone he knew he’d be the one to feel the brunt of Chandler’s rage.

  When Marc Grier spoke, he spoke deliberately, hoping to avoid escalating an already charged situation. “The suspects are Jason Lear, Bobby Keller, Fred Morton, and Manny Davenport,” he said. “All senior executives with CDI, all well respected and above reproach.”

  “If they’re so irreproachable,” Ethan spat out, “why are they suspects?”

  “Access,” Grier said quickly, as if he’d been anticipating the question. “These are your right hand men, Mr. Chandler. They’re the only ones who would have enough gravitas, enough power and access, for the companies in question to trust them. Think about it. Those companies aren’t going to give up big bucks to find out what our secret bidding will be on certain projects unless they have full confidence in the person providing them with that information. Especially since they have to turn around and put in a lower bid so that they can win the multi-million dollar contract.”

  Ethan sighed. “We’ve been outbid a lot this year.”

  “That’s what made me look into this, sir. Something wasn’t right, I could feel it. What gave it all away was when my people investigated and found that more than five times this year the companies that outbid us were a mere thousand or so dollars below our bid offer. That’s too close too many times to be coincidental, especially since we were never outbid last year or even the year before that. We were always the rock bottom company. You built your reputation on being able to make it work beautifully with less money than any of your competitors ever could. No other company can bid as low as you and build that shopping mall or mega-church or parking garage completely within specifications and under budget the way CDI can. Because the genius of this company is that we’re all about acquiring building materials cheaply first and then we concentrate on development. There’s a breach here, sir, it has to be. And I don’t have to tell you that this could potentially cost you millions in lost contracts, Mr. Chandler. It has already cost you millions.”

  “Damn!” Ethan said bitterly as he moved away from the window with a swift, abrupt movement. The one thing he hated was disloyalty, especially in someone he never would have thought could betray him. All four men Grier named, every one of them, met that criteria. He didn’t see this coming. Didn’t have a clue, even as he allowed those same men to encase his inner circle. And it hurt him to his core.

  But it only proved what he knew all along, he thought, as he stood behind his desk and thumbed through that report again. Even as a child, when his mother deserted him and his father, a wanted criminal, bounced him from town to town, leaving him with some anybody for weeks on end, only to return without even asking if those people treated him right, that people could not be depended on. He knew even then that as soon as he relaxed and let his guard down, as soon as he thought that he could possibly have some faith in this human being or that one, they always showed their true colors. Always. As if no one had the capacity to surprise him by proving him wrong.

  To balance what was an extremely unhealthy prospective on life, he worked hard to do what he could, even if it didn’t keep with the spirit of what he felt. He gave financially to all kinds of charities and organizations. He volunteered his time at soup kitchens and convalescent homes. He vocally supported child abuse and neglect foundations. But it was all surface. It was all about doing what he could to help his fellow man without becoming involved with his fellow man. And looking at this report before him, a report on a scheme to destroy the only thing he loved - his company, only reminded him of why, to this day, he kept it that way.

  He looked up at his all-business security chief, who also happened to be a Ving Rhames lookalike, and then he frowned. “For goodness sakes, Grier, stop behaving like some constipated army general and sit down!”

  Grier, suddenly realizing the soldier’s pose he had fallen into, immediately placed himself at ease and sat down. “I apologize for that, sir,” he said, trying to smile it off although his nerves, not to mention his entire being, were on edge. At forty-three he was four years older than Chandler, and he’d known his boss for nearly twenty years. But in all of that time, and no matter what the circumstances surrounding their meetings, he always felt like some intimidated weakling under him.

  “What’s really going on here, Marc?” Ethan asked, unable to shield his disappointmen
t. “Is it just about the money?”

  “We can’t say at this point, sir. We’re looking at this thing from all angles: maybe somebody’s righting some perceived wrong by seeking revenge; maybe somebody’s envious of your success; and yes, maybe some greedy executive is just out to get what he can get and bury you in the process.”

  Ethan exhaled and looked at the report again. Grier was right. It could be anybody. “Who’s the prime suspect?” he asked as he looked over the report again.

  “That would be Freddy Morton,” Grier said and Ethan, surprised by that answer, looked at him.

  “Why Morton?” he asked. He always thought of Morton as one of his best men, somebody hard working, dependable, loyal. “He doesn’t even handle our bid projects.”

  “That’s what makes him prime. Of all the four suspects, he’s the farthest removed. Who would suspect him? As vice president of procurement for your non-bid projects, he has nothing really to do with your bid works. Beyond scouting for land. But he has that access. And an excellent reputation. And, of all the four we’ve investigated so far, he’s also the one with the x factor.”

  “Which is?”

  “Gambler.”