OZENS OF WATCHFUL, SPECULATIVE FACES TURNED TO WATCH Lauren's progress through the office Monday morning. Bewildered, she hung up her coat and continued to her desk, where she found Susan Brook and a half dozen other women gathered around it.

"What's up?" she asked. She felt radiantly happy; Nick had called her twice from Oklahoma, and sometime today she would see him again.

"You tell us," Susan said gaily. "Isn't that you?" She plunked the Sunday newspaper down on Lauren's desk and smoothed it out.

Lauren's eyes widened. An entire page had been devoted to the Children's Hospital Benefit Ball. In the center was a color picture of her—with Nick. They were dancing, and he was grinning down at her. Lauren's face was in profile, tilted up to his. The caption read, "Detroit industrialist J. Nicholas Sinclair and companion."

"It does look like me, doesn't it?" she hedged, glancing at the excited, avidly curious faces surrounding her desk. "Isn't that an amazing coincidence?" She didn't want her relationship with Nick to be public knowledge until the time was right, and she certainly didn't want her co-workers to treat her any differently.

"You mean it isn't you?" one of the women said disappointedly. None of them noticed the sudden lull, the silence sweeping over the office as people stopped talking and typewriters went perfectly still____

"Good morning, ladies," Nick's deep voice said behind Lauren. Six stunned women snapped to attention, staring in fascinated awe as Nick leaned over Lauren from behind and braced his hands on her desk. "Hi," he said, his lips so near her ear that Lauren was afraid to turn her head for fear he would kiss her in front of everyone. He glanced at the newspaper spread out on her desk. "You look beautiful, but who's that ugly guy you're dancing with?" Without waiting for an answer, he straightened, affectionately rumpled the hair on the top of her head and strolled into Jim's office, closing the door behind him.

Lauren felt like sinking through the floor in embarrassment. Susan Brook raised her brows. "What an amazing coincidence," she teased.

Nick came out of Jim's office a few minutes later and asked Lauren to come upstairs with him. Once they were in his office, he pulled her into his arms for a long, satisfying kiss. "I missed you," he whispered, then he sighed and reluctantly released her, linking his hands behind her back. "I'm going to miss you even more—I have to leave for Casano in an hour. Rossi couldn't reach me, so he called Horace Moran in New York. Apparently some Americans are snooping around the village, asking questions about him. I have a security team checking it out. In the meantime, Rossi's gone into hiding, and there's no phone where he is.

"I'm going to take Jim with me. Ericka's father panicked and sent Ericka to Casano to try to soothe Rossi. She speaks some Italian. I'll be back on Wednesday, or Thursday at the latest."

He frowned. "Lauren, I never explained to you about Ericka—"

"Mary did," she said, managing to look cheerful even though she felt miserable about his leaving. Besides missing him, she would also have another three or four days of anxiety, waiting to tell him about Philip. She definitely couldn't tell him now, when he was about to go away. His anger would ferment and simmer for days. She had to tell him when she could be with him to soothe it. "Why are you taking Jim?"

"When the president of Sinco retires next month, Jim is going to take over the position. By taking him with me, we can discuss immediate goals and long-range plans for Sinco." He grinned at her. "Also," he admitted, "I'm feeling very grateful to Jim for his interference in our lives, and I've decided to interfere with his. By taking him to Italy, where Ericka is… I see you understand my thinking," he said when she started to smile.

With a final hug he let her go, then he went over to his desk and began shoving papers into his briefcase. "If Rossi calls again, I've told Mary to transfer his call to you wherever you are. Assure him that I'm on my way and that there's nothing to worry about.

"We have four labs testing samples of Rossi's formula right now. Within two weeks we should know whether he's a genius or a fake, and until we know which he is, we'll assume he's not a fake and pamper him."

Lauren listened to his rapid-fire monologue with an inward smile of admiration. Being married to Nick was going to be like living on the fringe of a tornado, and she was going to be caught up in the whirl.

"By the way," he said, so casually that Lauren was instantly on guard, a magazine reporter called me this morning. They know who you are and they know we're getting married. When the story breaks, I'm afraid the press will start hounding you."

"How did they find out?" Lauren gasped.

He shot her a glinting smile. "I told them."

Everything was happening so quickly that Lauren felt dazed. "Did you happen to tell them when and where we're getting married?" she chided.

"I told them soon." He closed his briefcase and drew her out of the chair in which she had just sat down. "Do you want a big church wedding with a cast of hundreds—or could you settle for me in a little chapel somewhere, with just your family and a few friends? When we come back from our honeymoon we could throw a huge party, and that would satisfy our social obligations to everyone else we know."

Lauren quickly considered the burden a big church wedding would place on her father's health and nonexistent finances, and the highly desirable alternative of becoming Nick's wife right away. "You and a chapel," she said.

"Good." He grinned. "Because I would go quietly insane waiting to make you mine. I'm not a patient man."

"Really?" She straightened the knot in his tie so that she'd have an excuse to touch him. "I never noticed that."

"Brat," he said affectionately, then he added, "I've written a check and given it to Mary. Put it in your bank, take a few days off and use it to buy your trousseau while I'm gone. It's rather a large check. You won't be able to spend it all on clothes. Use the rest of it to buy something special as a memento of our engagement. Jewelry," he said, "or a fur."

When he left, Lauren leaned back against his desk, her smile tinged with wistful sadness as she remembered Mary's words at lunch. "From that day forward Nick has never bought a gift for a woman… He gives them money instead and tells them to pick out something they'll like… he doesn't care if it's jewelry or furs…"

She shoved the gloomy thought aside. Someday, perhaps, Nick would change. In the meantime she had more to be thankful for than any woman alive. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was ten-fifteen, and she still hadn't done any work.

Jack Collins stared dazedly at the big round clock on the wall across from his hospital bed, fighting the grogginess he always got from the hypodermics they gave him before they took him down for tests. He tried to focus, to concentrate. The clock said ten-thirty. It was Monday. Rudy was supposed to call with the results of the investigation on the bilingual secretary who'd been assigned to Nick Sinclair.

As if he had conjured up the call, the phone beside his bed began to ring. He groped for it and missed, then brought the receiver to his ear.

"Jack," the voice said, "this is Rudy."

Jack slowly composed a mental image of Rudy's round face, his beady eyes. "Did you check out the Danner woman?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rudy said. "I checked her out, just like you said. She's livin' in a fancy condo in Bloomfield Hills, and some old guy is payin' her rent. I talked to the gatekeeper, and he said this old guy keeps the place for his mistresses. The last dame who lived there was a redhead. Old man Whitworth came calling on her one night and found her entertaining another man, and he threw her out.

"The gatekeeper says Danner lives nice and quiet—he can see her condo from his gate." Rudy's chuckle was lewd. "The gatekeeper said Whitworth isn't getting his money's worth out of her, because he's only been there once since she moved in. The way I figure it, Whitworth's gettin' old and…"

Jack struggled against the fog that seemed to cloud his senses. "Who?"

"Whitworth," Rudy said. "Philip A. Whitworth. I figure he's lost the urge and—"

"Listen to me, and shut up!" Jack rasped. "They're taking me downstairs for tests, and they gave me a shot that's putting me to sleep. Go to Nick Sinclair and tell him what you've told me. Have you got that? Tell Nick—" dizziness washed over Jack in waves "—tell him I think she's the leak in the Rossi deal."

"She's what? She is? You gotta be kidding! That broad is…" Rudy's tone changed from scorn to military self-importance. "I'll take care of it Jack, you leave everything to—"

"Shut up, damn you, and listen to me!" Jack rasped. "If Nick Sinclair is away, go to Mike Walsh, the corporation's chief attorney, and tell him what I said. Don't talk to anyone else about it. Then I want you to watch her. I want her office calls monitored. I want you to keep track of every move she makes. Get another man to help you…"

Lauren was staring dreamily into space when the phone rang on Tuesday morning. She was so happy and so excited that she could hardly concentrate on the mundane tasks of her job. Even if she had wanted to get Nick off her mind, which she didn't, it would have been impossible to stop thinking of him, because the office staff was teasing her constantly. She answered the telephone and absently noted the tiny click that had occurred every time she'd picked it up since yesterday. "Lauren, my dear," Philip Whitworth said smoothly, "I think we ought to have lunch together today."

It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. With every fiber of her being, Lauren longed to tell Philip Whitworth off and hang up on him, but she didn't dare. If she angered him, there was always the chance that Philip might tell Nick who and what she was before she had a chance to tell him herself. Then, too, she was living in Philip's apartment, and she couldn't move away while Nick was gone because he wouldn't be able to call her. If he called her at the office, she could tell him she was moving into a motel, but she'd have to invent a reason, and she didn't want to add an outright lie to her deceit. "All right," she agreed unenthusiastically. "But I can't be away from the office for very long."

"We can hardly dine in your building, Lauren," Philip reminded her sarcastically.

A frisson of alarm tingled over her at his tone. She felt uneasy about being alone with him, uneasy about what he wanted to say to her. Then she remembered Tony's and felt better. "I'll meet you at Tony's restaurant at noon. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, but forget it. You can't get a table there unless—"

"I'll make the reservation," Lauren said briskly.

The restaurant was jammed with people waiting to be seated when she got there. Tony saw her and managed a harassed smile from across the room, but it was Dominic who took her to her table. The young man blushed furiously at Lauren's wan smile of greeting. "Your table is not so good, Lauren. I am sorry. If you will call sooner next time, you will have a better one."

Lauren understood what he meant when he led her toward the tables at the back of the dining room that adjoined the cocktail lounge. The dimly lit lounge was separated from the room by nothing more substantial than stained-wood trellises covered with climbing plants. A steady din of conversation punctuated with laughter was coming from the crowded cocktail lounge, and waiters rushed back and forth to the coffeepots that were kept in an alcove beside the table.

Philip Whitworth was already seated, idly swirling the ice cubes in his glass, when Lauren walked up to the table. He stood politely, waited until Dominic had seated her, and then offered her a glass of wine. He looked very calm, very composed, very… pleased, she thought, as she noted his expression. "Now then," he said, "suppose you tell me how things really stand between you and our mutual friend…"

"You mean your stepson!" Lauren corrected bitterly, angered that he still intended to deceive her.

"Yes, my dear," he responded quickly, "but let's not use his name in this very public place."

Recollections of the way he and his wife had treated Nick ripped through Lauren until she was seething inside. She tried to remember that Philip had not actually mistreated her, however, and her voice was carefully tempered. "Within the next day or two you're going to read it in the papers, so I'll tell you now that we're going to be married."

"Congratulations," he said pleasantly. "Have you told him yet about your… relationship with me? He obviously knew nothing about it when we encountered you two at the charity ball."

"I'm going to tell him very soon."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Lauren. He feels a certain animosity toward my wife and me—"

"With very good reason!" Lauren said before she could stop herself.

"Ah, I see you already know the story. Since you do, consider how he will then react when he discovers you've been living as my mistress, wearing clothes I purchased for you."

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not your mistress—"

"We know that, but will he believe it?"

"I will make him believe it," Lauren said in a low, taut voice.

Philip's smile was coolly shrewd, calculating. "I'm afraid you'll find it impossible to convince him if he also thinks you told me about his little project in Casano."

Panic was streaking through Lauren in paralyzing waves, and alarm bells were clanging in her stricken mind. "I told you nothing about Casano, absolutely nothing! I've never told you anything confidential."

"He will believe you told me about Casano."

She clasped her hands on the table to still their trembling. Slowly, relentlessly, fear was uncoiling its silky tendrils in her stomach. "Philip, are you… threatening to tell him I was your mistress, to tell him those other lies?"

"Not threatening you, exactly," he replied smoothly. "We're about to strike a bargain, you and I, and I merely want you to understand that you are not in a position to argue with my terms."

"What bargain?" Lauren said, but God help her, she already knew.

"In return for my silence, I will occasionally ask you for information."

"And you think I'll give it to you?" she said with tearful scorn. "You honestly believe that?" Tears burned behind her eyes and choked her voice. "I would die before I'd do anything to hurt him, do you understand me?"

"You're overreacting," he said sharply, leaning forward. "I don't want to put the man out of business—I'm only trying to save my own company. It's faltering badly because of Sinco's competition."

"That's just too bad!" Lauren hissed.

"It may mean nothing to you, but Whitworth Enterprises is Carter's birthright, his inheritance, and that's very important to my wife. Now, let's stop arguing about whether or not you're going to help, because you have no choice. Friday is the deadline for getting bids in on four major contracts. I want to know the amount Sinco is bidding." He produced a small piece of paper with the names of four projects written on it, uncurled Lauren's fingers, placed it in her hand and squeezed her fingers around it. Then he gave her hand a friendly, paternal pat. "I'm afraid I have to get back to the office," he said, shoving his chair back.

Lauren looked at him, so immersed in rage that she felt nothing else, not even fear. "These bids are very important to you?" she asked.

"Very."

"Because your wife wants to preserve the company for her son? That's very important to her?"

"More important than you can imagine. Among other things, if I tried to sell the company now, which is my only alternative, our finances would become a matter of public record. It would be most embarrassing."

"I see," Lauren said with deadly calm. To convince him for the time being that she intended to cooperate, she added carefully, "And you promise not to tell any of those lies to Nick if I help you?"

"My word of honor," he said.

Lauren walked into the office still in a state of cold, murderous rage. Carol Whitworth wanted to purchase her beloved second son's "inheritance" by destroying what her first son had built. They actually expected Lauren to help. She was being blackmailed, and the blackmail would never end, she knew. The Whitworths were greedy, ruthless and unscrupulous. Before they were finished, Global Industries would become another part of Carter's inheritance.

A few minutes later, the phone on her desk rang. Automatically she picked it up. "I hate to rush you, my dear," Philip's voice said smoothly, "but I want that information today. You'll find the bids that you need somewhere in the engineering department. If I could have the cover sheet it would help us immensely."

"I'll do my best," Lauren said tonelessly.

"Excellent. Very sensible. I'll meet you down in front of the building at four o'clock. Just run down to the lobby, and I'll be waiting in the car. The entire matter will take you only ten minutes."

Lauren hung up and walked through the offices to the engineering department. For the present, she had no concern about acting suspiciously. As soon as Jim returned, she herself would tell him what had happened. Perhaps he would even help her tell Nick.

"Mr. Williams would like the files on these four jobs," she told the secretary in engineering.

In a matter of moments Lauren had all four files. She took them back to her desk. In the front of each file was a cover sheet showing the name of the job, a summary of the technical equipment that would be provided if Sinco was awarded the contract and the amount Sinco was bidding.

Lauren removed the sheets and went over to the copy machine, then she took the copies and the originals back to her desk. She put the originals back in the files, removed some correction fluid from her desk drawer, and very carefully, very calmly changed the amounts Sinco was bidding, increasing each figure by several million dollars. The correction fluid was visible on the copy she was working with, but when she ran duplicates of it, the fluid was invisible and the changes impossible to detect. She was just turning away from the copy machine when a young man with a round face stepped forward. "Excuse me, miss," he said, "I'm from the company who services this photocopy machine, and it's been having problems all day. Would you mind running those originals through the machine again so I can see if it's working properly?"

A vague uneasiness stirred in Lauren, but the machine had been breaking down regularly, so she complied. He removed the copies produced from the tray, glanced at them, and nodded. "Looks like its really fixed this time," he said.

Lauren saw him drop the copies in the wastebasket as she turned away.

She did not see him stoop to retrieve them a moment later.

As she walked across the lobby, a Cadillac pulled up at the curb. The window on her side moved down electronically, and Lauren leaned into the car and handed Philip the envelope.

"I hope you understand how important this is to us," he began "and—"

Fury roared through Lauren, screaming in her ears. She turned on her heel and ran back into the building. She almost knocked over the young man with the round face, who hastily concealed a camera behind his back.