Take Me Two Times Page 5

  “And it must have been you who requested, in fact, that Ms. Gwendolyn Davies make the recovery, not Avy Hunt.”

  Quinn’s gut clenched. “This is outrageous. I had no knowledge that Ms. Davies even worked for ARTemis.”

  “I find that extremely difficult to believe, Mr. Lawson, especially in light of the fact that you were once married to Ms. Davies.”

  Jaworski dropped the information like a bomb, and it had the desired effect: The rest of the board exploded in a blur of pinstripes and power ties, accusation and acrimony.

  Quinn stood up and braced his hands on the table. “I don’t believe this,” he thundered over them all.

  “Is my information erroneous, Mr. Lawson?”

  His throat felt full of sand. Quinn shook his head and tried to calm down. “It’s not erroneous, Ed, but you’re leaping to conclusions that are erroneous. Gwen Davies and I were married for about five minutes when we were very young. I haven’t seen her in fifteen years. I haven’t spoken or e-mailed with her in fifteen years. I certainly didn’t cook up some half-baked forgery plot with her to defraud Jaworski Labs, which is clearly where you’re going with this!”

  “So you’re telling this board that all of these connections are bizarre coincidences?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  Jaworski scoffed. “Lawson, how can you expect us to believe that?”

  Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, as if this would stop the top of his head from blowing off. “How can you believe I’d have anything to do with stealing from this company?!”

  “So you’re the unwitting buffoon, then, of your ex-wife? Is that what you’re saying?”

  That possibility was almost worse than being called a criminal. Could Gwen have targeted the mask, stolen it, had it copied, and then “found” the copy for a fat commission? Quinn couldn’t bend his mind around it. What motive would she have had? Disgracing him? But why, after all of these years? It didn’t make any sense. And she’d claimed that she didn’t even know he worked for Jaworski.

  Gwen was many things: too pretty, too careless, too rich, too flighty. She was also an emotional coward, in his book. But he’d never known her to be a liar. And though she was now a thief of sorts, she played for the good guys. None of this added up.

  “That’s your story, then. Your ex made a fool out of you.” Jaworski’s voice dripped with scorn, and it acted as lighter fluid on Quinn’s flaring temper.

  “No!” he said. “I’d stake my reputation that she had nothing to do with this, either.”

  “Your reputation is in shreds,” Ed said sharply.

  “Then I’d stake my life!” Quinn shouted. Why he felt so strongly, he didn’t know. Why in the hell was he defending a woman who’d betrayed him? Who’d broken her vows, walked out on everything they had? A woman who’d destroyed his budding faith that he could have a happy ending in life, in spite of his miserable beginnings?

  “Lawson, I don’t much care at this point what you stake. I don’t think any of us do.”

  Quinn stood up and buttoned his jacket. Then he raked his gaze over the vultures. “Fuck you,” he said evenly.

  The room fell to a dead silence, which suited him just fine. He stared directly at Jaworski.

  “You can question my business decisions. You can question my numbers. You can question any of my strategic forecasts and recommendations. But I will not allow you to question my integrity! I won’t stand here and be called a crook.”

  One of the other directors spread his hands wide. “Calm down, Lawson. Nobody’s calling you a crook.”

  “Yeah, you are. Deny it,” Quinn said to Jaworski.

  The old man’s face creased with even more wrinkles, more suspicion, more ill will. Bereft of hair, his head looked a lot like a sphincter sitting atop a custom-made suit.

  I’m done. Unbelievable, but after less than a year in this job, I am done. Quinn’s stomach pitchpoled like a catamaran in a Miami hurricane.

  So be it.

  There wasn’t a damn thing he could do. They couldn’t go backward from this, and they damn sure couldn’t move forward.

  “As of this moment,” Quinn announced, “I’m resigning as president and CEO of Jaworski Labs. It’s clear to me that I no longer have the confidence or support of the board of directors, and it will be impossible for me to function effectively as a leader in this hostile environment.

  “For the record, I think that you’ve been hasty, sloppy, and misguided in your investigation of this matter, and if any word of these accusations comes out in the media I will sue each director, the board as an entity, and the company for damages. That’s not a threat; it’s a promise. Are we clear, gentlemen?”

  Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

  “Are we fucking clear?”

  Finally Jaworski said, “None of us wants a breath of this released to the press. This company doesn’t need any more bad PR, especially not bad PR having to do with our security or possible executive corruption and embezzlement. The whole business with Shankton last year cost us dearly, and our stock has only just begun to recover in the wake of the scandal.

  “In light of all that, I’d like to move that we do not go to the police with this matter. I move that we accept Mr. Lawson’s resignation and give him exactly two weeks to recover the real Borgia mask. If in two weeks’ time we are still not in possession of our property, then we will reconvene and consider pressing formal charges against both Mr. Lawson and ARTemis, Inc.”

  The motion was seconded and voted upon. Within minutes, Quinn found himself back outside the Breakers, blinking in the sun. An old expression of his grandpa Jack’s came to him: A rooster one day, a feather duster the next.

  He wondered exactly how his world had just disintegrated. All he knew was that it had to do with his lovely and mysterious ex-wife.

  He walked like an automaton toward the company limo, the long black Lincoln Continental that he’d always called a hearse. It had certainly brought him in style to his own corporate funeral today. The driver, a blond kid named Peter, opened the door for him, and Quinn got in. He stared straight ahead as Peter got behind the wheel.

  “Back to the office, sir?”

  Quinn shook his head. “No,” he said grimly. “Take me straight to ARTemis, Inc.”

  He might have just instinctively defended Gwen, but she had a lot of explaining to do. He thought about tactics on the ninety-minute drive and decided to be very aggressive. His best offense was to put her on the defensive. He was more likely to catch her off guard and get the truth that way.

  chapter 5

  Gwen was working at home, compiling her report on the Borgia mask, when the phone rang. “Hello?”

  Sheila’s voice crackled over the line. “Gwen? Honey, you need to get over to this office right away.”

  “Why? Is there a problem?”

  “Uh-huh. You could say that.”

  “What is it, Sheila? You’re scaring me.”

  “Just get your little buns over here, doll face, and make it snappy.”

  Gwen slipped on the spike-heeled sandals she’d discarded by the front door and ran outside to the Prius. She gunned it straight into rush hour, downtown-Miami style. As her hands sweated on the wheel and she mentally cursed every brain-dead moron who slowed her down, cut her off, or gleefully endangered her life, she wondered what could be wrong at the office.

  Had Sid Thresher ordered an avalanche of red roses? Had an arrest warrant been issued for the couple of parking tickets she’d forgotten to pay? Had Quinn Lawson complained that she’d been rude? She couldn’t imagine him being that petty.

  She finally inched down Brickell to the parking garage ARTemis employees used and pulled in so fast that her tires squealed like a teenager’s. She all but ran to the elevators and emerged still breathless.

  She took three deep lungfuls of air before rounding the last corner and approaching the modern glass doors of ARTemis, Inc.

&n
bsp; A very unwelcome electric current shot through her when she saw Quinn, still looking so different from the shirtless guy in the well-worn Levi’s she remembered. Impossible to reconcile this businessman with the tough, edgy, incognito lover who’d taken her hard against a wall in Brazil. God forgive her, she could still feel him inside her, those rough stones against her spine. Gwen slapped away the images.

  Quinn was wearing a dark suit similar to the one he’d had on a couple of days ago. It was his expression that had changed. Instead of looking nonplussed, he looked . . . grim. Even angry. And at her.

  “Mr. Lawson?” she said. “How nice to see you again. How can I help you?”

  “You can help me,” he said in clipped tones, “by cutting the bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard what I said, Gwen.”

  It was her turn to grow angry. “Yes, I heard what you said. But I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Daddy’s Girl.”

  “I’m not playing any games, Mr. Lawson. And don’t call me that.”

  Sheila’s eyes were avid and wide as dinner plates behind her electric-blue reading glasses.

  Gwen squared her shoulders. “Would you like to step into my office so that we can discuss this privately, Mr. Lawson?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Where’s the mask, Gwen?”

  “What are you talking about? The last time I saw it, it was on your desk.”

  “The real mask. Where the hell is it?”

  “I gave you the real mask!”

  “Did you think Ed Jaworski wouldn’t have it examined and tested? Did you really think he was that stupid?”

  Her stomach dropped to her knees and she stared at him blankly. “You’re telling me . . .” Sweat broke out on her palms, under her arms, and at her hairline. She couldn’t seem to take in enough air. “You’re telling me that the mask I brought to you is not the original? It’s a duplicate?”

  He shot her a withering stare. “Were you trying to make me look bad to my board of directors? Were you setting me up?”

  Sheila’s eyes almost popped out.

  “Quinn, listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I delivered what I thought was the original mask to you, in good faith—I promise you. You have to believe me.”

  A pulse jumped at his jaw. He stood there shaking his big, dirty blond head. “No, Gwen, I don’t. You made me another promise fifteen years ago, and it turned out to be worthless. So I don’t have a whole lot of faith in this one.”

  She opened and shut her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. This situation was too awful to comprehend. She’d made her first big recovery for ARTemis, but instead of appearing cool and competent, she appeared to be a fraud.

  She’d known in her gut that something was fishy. And what was Avy’s first mantra? Listen to your gut. It never lies.

  Right now, her guts were twisted up and starting to heave. Sweat from the back of her neck gathered and poured in a stream down her spine, soaking her blouse.

  “For the last time, where is the mask?” Quinn roared.

  Gwen met his stormy, implacable eyes and shook her head. At last she found her voice. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and if you had anything to do with it, I will shut down your sleazy operation here so fast that your little pseudo-hip head will spin.”

  Sleazy? Pseudo-hip?

  “Who are you callin’ sleazy?” Sheila shot Quinn the hairy eyeball. He ignored her.

  “ARTemis has a stellar reputation,” Gwen said evenly. “Just what are you accusing me of? Say it, Quinn!”

  “You slipped me a bogus mask so that you can sell the original and make a boatload of cash.”

  “Is that right?” she said. She eyed him stonily. “You’ve got it all figured out. I need the money so badly that I made the duplicate in my kitchen sink with papier-mâché and a can of gold glitter.”

  He stopped ranting long enough to raise his eyebrows at the sarcasm in her voice. They both knew that with her trust, she didn’t need money. They both knew the duplicate was a very sophisticated piece, impossible to tell from the real one with the naked eye.

  “You have the connections to find someone, Gwen. Years of interior design work and commissioning custom artwork for your clients . . . or did you hire one of your mother’s jewelers to pull this off?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Gwen said. “What possible motive would I have for doing that? Give me just one.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  She held his gaze and raised her chin a notch, elevated one eyebrow, and mutely challenged all his assumptions. And to her surprise, Quinn dropped his gaze and looked away. Well, wasn’t that interesting.

  Then he stared back at her long and hard. He stood flat on both feet, head thrust forward, hands by his side, fingers curling into fists. He looked like a boxer, and the reception area was his ring. For a moment Gwen wished she were back in the warehouse, face-to-face with the python rather than with Quinn Lawson, whose dark gaze clearly communicated that he thought less of her than he did of a cockroach.

  The perspiration at her spine dribbled lower.

  She focused on his face, trying not to inhale the scent of him, a mix of clean deodorant soap, laundry starch, fine light wool, and hot, agitated male. Funny how he didn’t smell so civilized when he was angry. The faint cologne she’d detected in his office the other day had evaporated.

  His dark pupils continued to drill into her. He blinked once and then he was at it again, perforating her character, the very essence of her being. And then . . . she saw it. The softening in his irises as a smidgen of doubt crept in.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed softly. “You’re not lying.”

  Her knees went weak with relief. “No, I’m not.”

  “I wish you were,” he said, and sat down heavily in one of the visitor’s chairs.

  Gwen sat down opposite him. “I need to see the mask. Do you have it with you?”

  “Oh, no, darlin’. Understand that when they fire a man, they don’t generally let him take company assets with him—even fake ones.”

  “Fired,” she repeated stupidly. “They fired you over this?” No wonder he’d come in swinging. She’d caused him to lose his job. If possible, she felt even sicker.

  Had she been put on this earth just to repeatedly wreck Quinn’s life?

  He sighed. “Actually, I quit before they could. But the results are the same, and yes, our little disagreement was over the fake Borgia mask. You see, the board hired someone to do some digging, and they turned up the little-known fact that you and I used to be married, sweet pea.”

  Sheila, who’d just picked up the phone, dropped the receiver with a clatter onto her desk. “Married!”

  Gwen closed her eyes and prayed that any moment now, the floor would open and swallow her.

  “Your daddy’s lawyers must have left some threads dangling, honey, even after all their efforts to seal the records and whitewash his little debutante.”

  “Debutante!” Sheila was having a field day. She now had enough gossip to dine out on for a month.

  Gwen did her best to ignore her. “Look, Quinn, in order to figure out what’s happened here, I need to see the mask that I delivered to you.”

  “Too bad,” Quinn told her. “Because neither one of us can get our hands on it now. I’m quite sure that my access codes to the building have been terminated.”

  Sheila clattered away on her ergonomic keyboard, her acrylic nails jamming into the plastic keys in a little technological symphony. She peered avidly at the screen, the tip of her tongue barely visible at the right side of her tangerine mouth. What was she up to? Was she already getting in touch with Kelso?

  Gwen came to a reluctant conclusion: She was in over her head here. Much as she dreaded the shame and mortification of confessing her incompetence to any of the agents, it was time to call in reinforceme
nts.

  “Quinn, let’s go to my office, where we can talk privately about how to proceed.”

  “Oh, fine,” said Sheila. “Just leave me in suspense, why don’t you.”

  Quinn glanced from her to Gwen with a slightly bemused expression. It was one she’d seen countless times on the faces of other clients.

  “With pleasure,” Gwen told her sweetly. “By the way, have you mailed that package back to London yet?”

  “Working on it,” Sheila muttered. “Well, doll face, what a kick in the pants, huh? To quote that seventies song, ‘Reunited and it feels so good . . .’”

  Gwen felt heat flash to her face for the umpteenth time that day. “Has anyone ever threatened to fire you for gross insubordination?”

  “All the time,” Sheila said cheerfully. “All the time.”

  Gwen led Quinn down the corridor to her office, which was small but cozy. She’d furnished it with a sunny yellow armchair and ottoman, an oil painting of a woman reading, and a vase of tropical silk flowers. On the floor she’d tossed a brightly colored throw rug.

  She sat in a leather rolling chair at her corner computer desk, leaving the armchair for Quinn. “All right,” she said. “I think it’s time to call in a more experienced agent. My boss, Avy, is overseas, but she’ll have good advice. How is Jaworski Labs going to proceed?”

  “The desire is to keep this situation out of the media. The company cannot afford the bad exposure. I have two weeks to solve this mystery and track down the genuine mask. After that, Ed Jaworski and the board of directors will contact both their lawyers and the police. They’ll sue ARTemis for breach of contract and quite possibly fraud. I’ll warn you right now: They have deep pockets.”

  Gwen swallowed hard. “If they win a judgment against us, ARTemis could be bankrupted.”

  He didn’t deny it. He just clasped his hands together between his open knees. He stared at her in silence.

  “Quinn . . . we’ll get to the bottom of this. I know how you must feel—”

  “Do you, Gwen? Do you really? For the past few years, during my ‘meteoric’ rise in management, I’ve been able to look into the mirror without shame. I’ve been able to leave all of old Jack’s drunken escapades, all of my mother’s humiliations, all of my hometown’s scorn in the past. I’ve been the bastard kid who made good—and I’ve been proud of it. Too proud, maybe. But as of two hours ago, the shame is knockin’ on my door again. Rumors are swirling—did Quinn Lawson conspire with his ex-wife to defraud Jaworski Labs? Is he a low-down, rotten thief?”