XHAUSTED AND DISPIRITED, LAUREN PULLED UP IN FRONT of the Whitworths' three-story Tudor mansion. She unlocked the trunk of her car and removed her suitcase. She had driven twelve hours straight in order to keep her appointment with Philip Whitworth that afternoon. She had been through two job interviews, fallen down in the dirt, spoiled her clothes and met the most handsome compelling man she'd ever seen. And by deliberately flunking her tests at Sinco, she had ruined her chances of working near him…

Tomorrow was Friday, and she would spend it looking for an apartment. As soon as she found one, she could leave immediately for Fenster to pack her belongings. Philip had not mentioned when he wanted her to start working for his company, but she could be back here ready to report for work two weeks from Monday.

The front door was opened by a paunchy uniformed butler whom Lauren instantly recognized as one of the witnesses to her dining-room performance fourteen years before. "Good evening," he began, but Philip Whitworth interrupted him.

Striding into the vast marble foyer the executive exclaimed, "Lauren, I've been worried to death about you! What's kept you so long?"

He looked so anxious that Lauren felt terrible for worrying him, and even worse for letting him down by not trying harder to get a job at Sinco. In a few words she explained that things had "not gone very well" with her interview. Hastily she sketched in details of her fall in front of the Global Industries Building, and asked if she had time to freshen up before dinner.

Upstairs in the room the butler showed her to, she showered, brushed her hair and changed into a tailored apricot skirt and matching blouse.

Philip stood up as she approached the arched doorway of the drawing room. "You're wonderfully quick, Lauren," he said, leading her over to his wife, whose glacial personality she recalled so well. "Carol, I know you remember Lauren."

Despite her personal prejudice, Lauren had to admit that with her slim elegant figure and carefully coiffed blond hair Carol Whitworth was still a beautiful woman.

"Of course I do," Carol said with a pleasantly correct smile that didn't quite reach her gray eyes. "How are you, Lauren?"

"Obviously Lauren is very, very well, mother," Carter Whitworth remarked, grinning as he politely got to his feet. His lazy, sweeping glance covered everything from her vivid blue eyes and delicately molded features to her gracefully feminine figure.

Lauren kept her expression neutral as she was reintroduced to her childhood tormentor. Accepting the glass of sherry Carter had poured for her, she sat down on the sofa, eyeing him warily when he sat beside her instead of returning to his chair. "You've certainly changed," he said with an admiring grin.

"So have you," Lauren answered cautiously.

He draped his arm casually across the back of the sofa behind her shoulders. "We didn't get along very well, as I remember," he mused.

"No, we didn't." Lauren flicked a self-conscious glance toward Carol, who was observing her son's little flirtation, her eyes cool and inscrutable, her expression regally aloof.

"Why didn't we get along?" Carter persisted.

"I, er, don't recall."

"I do." He smiled. "I was insufferably rude and thoroughly rotten to you."

Lauren stared in amazement at his frank, rueful expression, her prejudice against him beginning to dissolve. "Yes, you were."

"And you—" he grinned "—behaved like an outrageous brat at dinner."

Lauren's eyes brightened with an answering smile as she slowly nodded her head. "Yes, I did." A tentative truce was thereby declared. Carter glanced up at the butler hovering in the doorway, then stood up and offered his hand to Lauren. "Dinner is ready. Shall we?"

They had just finished the last course when the butler appeared in the dining room. "Excuse me, but there is a telephone call for Miss Danner from a man who says he is Mr. Weatherby, with the Sinco Electronics Company."

Philip Whitworth broke into a beaming smile. "Bring the phone here to the table, Higgins."

The phone conversation was brief, with Lauren mostly listening. When she hung up, she raised amazed, laughing eyes to Philip.

"Go ahead," he said, "tell us. Carol and Carter are both aware of what you're trying to do to help me."

Lauren was a little dismayed to learn that two other people were aware of her clandestine future, but she complied. "Apparently the man who rescued me when I fell tonight had a very influential friend at Sinco. This friend called Mr. Weatherby a few minutes ago, and as a result, Mr. Weatherby has just remembered a secretarial position that he thinks is perfect for me. I'm to be interviewed for it tomorrow."

"Did he mention who'll be interviewing you?"

"I think he said the man's name was Mr. Williams."

"Jim Williams," Philip murmured softly, his smile broadening. "I'll be damned."

Shortly afterward Carter left for his own apartment, and Carol retired for the night. But Philip asked Lauren to remain in the drawing room with him. "Williams may want you to start immediately," he said when the others had gone. "We don't want any obstacles in the way of you getting that job. How soon can you go home, pack and return to work?"

"I can't go home to pack until I've found an apartment here," Lauren reminded him.

"No, of course not," he agreed. After a moment's thought he said, "You know, a few years ago I bought a condominium in Bloomfield Hills for an aunt of mine. She's been in Europe for months now and intends to stay there for another year. It would be my pleasure to have you live at her place."

"No, really, I couldn't," Lauren said quickly. "You've already done more than enough for me; I can't let you provide a place for me to live, too."

"I insist," he said with kindly firmness. "And anyway, you'll be doing me a favor, because I've had to pay the gatekeeper at the condominium complex a sizable sum every month to watch the place. This way we'll both save money."

Lauren plucked absently at the sleeve of her apricot blouse. Her father needed every penny she could send him, and as quickly as possible. If she didn't have to spend money for rent, she could send him that, too. Troubled and uncertain, she looked at Philip, but he had already extracted a pen and paper from his suit-coat pocket and was writing something down. "Here's the address and phone number of the condominium," he said, handing her the piece of paper. "When you fill out your employment papers at Sinco tomorrow, give them this information. That way, no one there will ever connect you with me."

A shiver of foreboding danced up Lauren's spine at the ominous reminder of the dual role she would be playing if she went to work for Sinco. Spying. Her mind skated away in alarm from the word. No, she wouldn't really be doing that. All she would really be doing was trying to ferret out the name of the treacherous person who was spying on Philip's company. Seen from that viewpoint, her mission became not only justified, it became positively honorable. For a moment she felt quite virtuous—until she sternly reminded herself of the real reason she was now so willing and eager to work for Sinco: Nick Sinclair worked right across the street, and she wanted the opportunity to be near him.

Philip's voice interrupted her thoughts. "If you're offered a secretarial position at Sinco tomorrow, accept it and leave from there for Missouri. If I don't hear from you by noon tomorrow, I'll know you got the position, and I'll arrange to have the condominium ready for you within a week."