Kane, Andrea (32 page)

"So," Sabrina concluded, with a quick glance at her
watch. "That gives all of you more than enough time to put your heads
together and come up with an initial assessment of me." She headed for the
door. "Someone will have to let me know how I measure up. See you at
eleven, Rita."

6:35 P.M.

Mt. Sinai Hospital

Carson was propped up on his elbows, watching the door like a
predatory hawk, when Sabrina and Dylan walked in.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?" Sabrina feigned ignorance, slipping off her
jacket and slinging it over the back of a chair.

"Well, Radison told me twenty minutes ago that you were
here.... It took you this long to waltz into my room?... What'd you do, stop
for a five-course dinner in the lounge?"

"No," Dylan replied, pulling up two seats, one for himself
and one for Sabrina. "We stopped to talk to Dr. Radison. We wanted an
update. We had to wait. He was with another patient. There are one or two of
those around, you know. Anyway, he told us you were doing better. Although I
can see that for myself. You're cranky as hell." Dylan turned to Sabrina.
"Like I said, he's a miserable patient."

"No shock there," Sabrina quipped back.

She wasn't fooled by Dylan's bantering tone. He was worried about
Carson. She could see it written all over his face. And the way he was
scrutinizing his friend, giving him a thorough physical inspection—it was far
from subtle.

She found herself doing the same thing.

Walking over to Carson's bedside, she acknowledged to herself
that, despite all the medical reassurances Dr. Radison had provided, she needed
to see for herself that Carson was okay. She'd been uneasy all day, troubled by
what his reaction must have been to Stan's news about Russ. Obviously, he'd
jump to the immediate— and no doubt accurate—conclusion that there was a tie-in
between his own assault and Russ's murder. So, on top of coping with his sense
of loss, he'd experience a sense of guilt. He cared about his employees. He'd
feel responsible. And—talk about the straw to break the camel's back—he had the
additional burden of shielding and comforting Susan. He was a strong man, but
he was in a weakened state. There was just so much strain he could hold up
under, despite his unwavering show of bravado.

It was amazing how well she understood this man, almost on
instinct. Then again, in many ways it was like gazing in the mirror.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sabrina spotted the dialysis
machine, which had reappeared in Carson's room and was now sitting idly to the
side. The sight made her insides twist. Not that its being there was a
surprise. She knew Carson had undergone another dialysis treatment. Dr. Radison
had told them so. She'd responded by asking him to put a rush on her
tissue-typing. But, according to him, that was pointless, since it would be
weeks before Carson was strong enough to undergo surgery—should it be needed.

Dammit. She was beginning to feel as frustrated and helpless as
Dylan.

"Cut it out, both of you," Carson barked out,
interrupting her train of thought. "You're about as subtle as bricks....
I'm fine.... Strong as an ox... I'm just losing my mind, lying here in this
bed.... Can't do anything but think. And thinking sucks."

"I'm sorry about Russ," Sabrina said quietly, laying her
hand over his.

Carson gazed down at her fingers covering his, and an odd expression
crossed his face. "Yeah, me, too." His voice was rough.

"Everyone's going to the service," Dylan interjected,
closely observing the exchange between father and daughter. "And the
contributions to the YouthOp fund are spilling over on Marie's desk."

"Yes, the line at her desk looked like passenger check-in at
JFK." Sabrina heard the tremor in her voice, and she mentally beat herself
up. Losing control wasn't her thing. And now certainly wasn't the time to
change that. What the hell was wrong with her? It had to be fatigue and tension
combined with the adrenaline drop that followed a long, roller-coaster of a
day. Still, there was no excuse.

She forced herself to get a grip.

"My staff's the best," Carson replied. He was watching
her, and Sabrina knew it. "Including Russ. I expected nothing less... than
total unity." He obviously sensed Sabrina's turmoil, because he gave her
hand a hard squeeze before releasing it. "Hey," he chided. "I
don't fall apart that easily.... Just ask Dylan... As for that machine you were
staring at... it did its job.... Dialysis is a piece of cake.... Stop
worrying."

"I'm not worrying," she retorted. This time her voice
was steady. "Not only do you look better, you've got some color, you're
breathing more evenly, and you're sitting up without support. As for being
strong as an ox, maybe not yet, but almost—that is, if your grip's any
indication." Her brows arched. "Or is it fear that's prompting your
newfound strength? Are you worried that I destroyed your company in nine short
hours?"

"The thought did cross my mind."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but Ruisseau's better than
ever." Sabrina gave him a smug look, filled with mock-challenge. "I
even came up with a few ideas you haven't—at least not yet. But when you hear
them, you're going to wish you had."

Rather than take the bait, Carson just studied her, his blue eyes
probing. Abruptly, a grin curved his lips. "You're hooked. Damn. It took
less time than I

Thought… One day at the helm, and you're hooked." He settled
himself on the pillows, his gaze still fixed on her. "So, how did it
feel... being president of Ruisseau? What's your take on my company?"

Sabrina sat down and crossed her legs. "The overview? Or the
blow-by-blow?"

"Both."

Having expected that response, Sabrina was already reaching for
her briefcase. "I took notes."

"Good." While she retrieved them, Carson turned to
Dylan, who'd settled himself in the other chair. "In the meantime, what'd
you think? Was she all I expected?"

"She was amazing," Dylan reported. "Slapped her
cards right on the table and turned up aces. She gave the troops a few minutes
to catch their breath, then plunged into basic training. She worked everyone's
butt off, especially her own. Despite a few war wounds, the feedback was great.
Rave reviews across the board." A wry grin. "The consensus is, she's
almost as much of a slave-driver as you are, but with a slightly more genteel
and persuasive delivery. In a nutshell, she's a tsunami, but no one realizes
they've been hit. A brilliant strategy."

"Gee, thanks—I think." Sabrina edged him a sideways look,
although her real reaction was a one-eighty from the one she displayed. Rather
than rankled, she felt pleased and reinforced by Dylan's praise. He didn't hand
out compliments easily. By the same token, she didn't usually need to hear
them.

If
that didn't speak volumes about whatever was happening between
them, nothing did. And if that was an indicator of the shape of things to
come—she didn't even want to go there. Not now.

God, there was so much emotional turmoil converging on her at
once—she wondered if she was going to survive.

"You're welcome." Dylan was watching her, and that
lopsided grin went from wry to something else—something knowing and intense.

Was it Sabrina's imagination, or was the room suddenly ten degrees
warmer?

"A subtle tsunami, huh?" Carson was muttering with great
satisfaction. "Couldn't ask for more. A balls-and-diplomacy combo... Just
like Gloria planned."

That
dragged Sabrina's attention away from Dylan. "Nice
phraseology," she commented. "A balls-and-diplomacy combo. I sound
like something you order at McDonald's." She paused in her
paper-shuffling. "And what do you mean, just like Gloria planned? Did your
sources turn that up when they checked out my mother?"

"Nope... Came straight from the source... She's almost as
impressive as you are."

"Excuse me?"

"Your mother. She stopped by today."

The briefcase slid to the floor. "My mother?" Sabrina
repeated. "She was
here?"

"Yup. We had a great visit.... Long overdue, too."
Carson nodded at some internal thought. "No surprise you turned out
great... She's quite a person."

"Wait a minute." Sabrina waved her hand in disbelief.
"You're saying my mother came to the hospital specifically to visit
you?"

"Uh-huh. Helped me get through my first few minutes alone...
after Susan left... Stan had told us about Russ.... Gloria's a wise,
compassionate woman.... And if you're wondering why she didn't clue you in to
the fact that she was coming... it's because she knew you had your first day at
Ruisseau on your mind.... She didn't want to add to your stress.... She plans
on telling you about our talk.... I just happened to see you first.... She
said, if that happened, I was welcome to fill you in."

"I see." Sabrina wasn't sure she did. "What did you
two talk about?"

Carson snorted. "That's a stupid question."

"I'll rephrase. What in particular about me did you
discuss?"

"Let's just say that Gloria gave me a lesson... in
fatherhood. She also told me she supported... what I had in mind for you. That
meant a great deal... to me." He shifted impatiently. "Now tell me
about Ruisseau... , Who did you meet? What were your impressions?"

Sabrina continued to eye him. "You're not going to elaborate,
are you?"

"Nope. But you are. Get out those notes... and start talking."

With a sigh, she complied, telling herself she'd worm the details
out of her mother later, wondering at the same time if she would. She had a
sneaky suspicion that much of this heart-to-heart between her mother and Carson
would remain private.

Odd, having two parents looking out for your welfare rather than
one.

"Did Stan take you around?" Carson pressed.

"He was terrific," Sabrina assured him. "In between
my meetings, he took me from office to office, and cubicle to cubicle. He
introduced me to everyone from the VPs to the cleaning staff. I started with
Marie, whom I thanked profusely for making my new apartment feel like a home.
Incidentally, she's the most efficient, insightful assistant I've ever come
across. And talk about multitasking—wow. Be good to her; you won't find another
like her."

"Gotcha. What else?"

"Rita Whiting. She and I really hit it off. We tossed around
some pretty wild marketing ideas. The energy in that office could've blown up a
tanker."

Carson chuckled. "I knew you two would be on the same
wavelength." He gestured at her notes. "Go through the whole
rundown."

Sabrina launched into an extensive elaboration of her back-to-back
interactions, giving him every detail, touching on the various unique talents
she'd perceived, the outstanding employees she'd zeroed in on—those she
referred to as "the best of the best"—and the occasional weaker link
she detected.

The latter were few and far between, a smattering of B's and B+'s
in a company full of A's.

"Nothing to sit up nights about. Just things to stay on top
of," she clarified to Carson. "And remember, these were only first
impressions. I have a long way to go before they're etched in stone."

"Damn good start... Right on target, in most cases..."
Carson had listened intently, his forehead creased in concentration. But now
Sabrina could see how exhausted he was.

"Enough," she concluded, putting away her notes. "I
just crammed a nine-hour day into twenty minutes. You need to rest. Suffice it
to say, you're right. I'm hooked. Even the visit to the lab, and watching the
perfume being made, was fascinating. I could picture you doing the extractions,
mixing and testing, creating all your groundbreaking fragrances." A brief
pause, and she regarded Carson soberly as she realized how true her own words
were. "I can't thank you enough. This is a once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity."

"Um—I'd say it's a draw." Contentment softened the lines
of pain and fatigue on his face. "Having you in my life and in my
company—those are pretty once-in-a-lifetime, too."

Sabrina rose. "You get some sleep."

"Where're you going?"

"To pump my mother for information."

A faint chuckle. "Don't bother. She won't tell.... She's the
one you inherited the diplomacy part of the combo from." He turned to
Dylan, who'd also gotten up. "You look crappy... like you're about to keel
over...."

"Thanks," Dylan retorted dryly. "But I'm holding up
fine."

"Yeah. Right." A sudden thought seemed to strike Carson.
"Did either of you eat today?"

Dylan squinted, trying to remember. "I had a muffin after the
meeting. Other than that, nope. Just lots of coffee."

Carson grunted. "What about you?" he asked Sabrina.

"Same," she confessed.

"Then go get dinner," Carson ordered. "Jesus,
you're like two damned college kids.... You treat your bodies like shit----Now
go get some food... and I don't mean a sandwich and coffee.... Something
substantial. Sabrina, you've got a huge corporate expense account now.... Use
it."