Sweet Fortune by Jayne Ann Krentz

From the Publisher

Everyone thought Jessie Benedict's impending marriage to Sam Hatchard was a great arrangement -- everyone, that is, but Jessie herself. Was she the only one who could see that Hatchard, her powerful father's protégé, had a scheming ulterior motive in marrying her? He was more than just a chip off the old workaholic's block -- he was positively lusting after Jessie's inheritance to build his own business empire!

Free-spirited Jessie has plans for her own career as a detective -- starting with the rescue of a teenage girl from a dangerous cult. But when a break-in and an intimidating act of vandalism strike close to home, her investigation pairs her with the compellingly masculine entrepreneur. Hatch does make her heart beat deliciously fast, but she's not taking orders from any man. Imagine her surprise when he turns out to be not only a friend and ally, but a strong, tender lover who, in the end, knows how to seal a deal -- with her resounding "I do!"

Publishers Weekly

The mystery surrounding an unsavory cult leader enlivens Krentz's ( Silver Linings ) latest contemporary romance. When psychic Irene Valentine is temporarily put out of commission by a fall down some stairs, her employee Jessie Benedict gleefully takes over the helm at Seattle's Valentine Consultations. After all, her new position means that Jessie will be too busy to spend time with Sam Hatchard, CEO of her father's company and Vincent Benedict's first choice for son-in-law. Fighting an attraction to ``Hatch,'' Jessie emphatically refuses to marry an even worse workaholic than her father. But Hatch sticks with her, especially when she takes on a potentially dangerous case: Martha Attwood hires Jessie to discredit the leader of a radical environmentalist cult that lured her daughter away from college. Jessie knows she's onto something after a break-in at Valentine Consultations and an attempt to vandalize Hatch's prized Mercedes. As the investigation heats up, Jessie becomes less certain that Hatch is the humorless, one-dimensional businessman she so loves to hate. (Oct.)

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From Chapter One<

"I can't see."

"It's all right, Mrs. Valentine. Your eyes are fine." Jessie Benedict leaned anxiously over the frail figure on the hospital bed and patted the hand that clenched the sheet. "You took a nasty fall and you've got a few cracked ribs and a concussion, but there was no harm done to your eyes. Open them and look at me."

Irene Valentine's faded blue eyes snapped open. "You don't understand, Jessie. I can't see."

"But you're looking right at me. You can see it's me standing here, can't you?" Jessie was alarmed now. She raised her hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two." Mrs. Valentine's gray head moved restlessly on the pillow. "For heaven's sake, Jessie, that's not the kind of seeing I'm talking about. Don't you understand? I can't see.

Understanding dawned and Jessie's own eyes widened in shock. "Oh, no. Mrs. Valentine, are you sure? How can you tell?"

The elderly woman sighed and closed her eyes again. "I can't explain it." The words sounded thick and slurred now. "I just know it's gone. It's like losing your sense of smell or touch. Dear God, Jessie, it's like being blind. All my life it's been there, and now it's just gone."

"It's the blow on the head. It must be. As soon as you've recovered from the concussion, everything will be fine." Jessie looked down at her and thought how small and fragile Mrs. Valentine appeared when she was not wearing one of her colorful turbans or the flowing skirts and jangling necklaces she favored.

Mrs. Valentine said nothing for a minute. She lay motionless on the hospital bed, her hand still clenched around the sheet. Jessie wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep.

"Mrs. Valentine?" Jessie whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Didn't fall," Mrs. Valentine muttered heavily.

"What did you say?"

"Didn't fall down those stairs. I was pushed."

"Pushed." Jessie was horrified anew. "Are you sure? Did you tell anyone?"

"Tried to tell 'em. Wouldn't listen. They said I was all alone in the house. Jessie, what am I going to do? The office. Who's going to keep the office open?"

Jessie squared her shoulders. This was her big chance and she was not going to blow it. "I'll take care of everything, Mrs. Valentine. Don't worry about a thing. I'm your assistant, remember? Holding things together while the boss is out of the office is what assistants are for."

Irene Valentine opened her eyes again briefly and gazed at Jessie with a dubious expression. "Maybe it would be better if you just closed the office for a couple of weeks, dear. We don't have all that many clients, heaven knows."

"Nonsense," Jessie said briskly. "I'll manage just fine."

"Jessie, I'm not sure about this. You've been with me only a month. There's so much you don't know about the way I run the business."

A nurse bustled through the door at that moment and smiled pointedly at Jessie. "I think that's enough visiting for now, don't you? Mrs. Valentine needs her rest."

"I understand." Jessie patted the frail hand that clutched the sheet one last time. "I'll be back tomorrow, Mrs. V. Take care and try not to worry about the office. Everything's going to be just fine."

"Oh, dear." Mrs. Valentine sighed and closed her eyes again.

With one last concerned glance at the pale woman in the hospital bed, Jessie turned and walked out into the corridor. She cornered the first official-looking person she saw.

"Mrs. Valentine believes she was pushed down the stairs of her home," Jessie informed him bluntly. "Have the police been notified?"

The resident, an earnest-looking young man, smiled sympathetically. "Yes, as a matter of fact, they were. First thing this morning after she was found. I was told there was no sign of any intruder. It looks like she simply lost her balance on the top step and tumbled to the bottom. It happens, you know. A lot. Especially to older people. You can check with the cops, if you like. They'll have filed a report."

"But she seems to think there was someone in the house. Someone who deliberately pushed her."

"In cases such as this, where there's been a severe blow to the head, the patient often loses any memory of what really happened during the few minutes just before the accident."

"Is it a permanent memory loss?"

The doctor nodded. "Frequently. So even if there had been an intruder, she probably would have no real recollection of it."

"The thing is, Mrs. Valentine is a little different," Jessie began, and then decided the young man probably did not want to hear about her employer's psychic abilities. The medical establishment was notoriously unsympathetic to that sort of thing. "Never mind. Thanks, Doctor. I'll see you later."

Jessie swung around and hurried toward the elevators, her mind intent on the new responsibilities that awaited her back at the office. In a gesture that was unconscious and habitual, she reached up to push a strand of hair back behind her ears. The thick jet-black stuff was cut in a short, gleaming bob. It was angled from a wedge at her nape to a deep curve that fell in place just below her high cheekbones. Long bangs framed her faintly slanting green eyes and emphasized her delicate features, giving her an oddly exotic, almost catlike look.

The feline impression was further enhanced by her slender figure, which seemed to throb with quick energy when she was in motion, or appeared sensually relaxed when she sprawled in a chair. The black jeans, black boots, and billowing white poet's shirt that Jessie had on today suited the look.

She frowned in thought as she waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the hospital lobby. There was a lot to be done now that she was temporarily in charge of Valentine Consultations. And the first thing on the list was to cancel a previous engagement.

The thought brought both giddy relief and simultaneous disappointment. She was off the hook for this evening.

But she was not certain she really wanted to be off the hook.

This unpleasant and confusing mix of emotions was something she was having to deal with frequently of late, and matters were not getting better. Her intuition warned her that as long as Sam Hatchard was in her life, things were only going to get more complicated.

Jessie strode quickly down the street, her boot heels moving at a crisp pace along the sidewalk. It was a beautiful late-spring day, if one ignored the faint tinge of yellow that hung over Seattle. Smog was something nobody really wanted to talk about in what was considered the most beautiful and livable of cities. People tended to ignore it when it had the audacity to appear. They preferred to talk about the rare sunshine instead. And it was perfectly true that the smog would disappear soon, blown away with the next rain. Fortunately, in Seattle a rain shower was always on the way.

The trees planted in a row along the sidewalk formed a fresh green canopy overhead. The rapidly evolving Seattle skyline, with its growing number of high-rise buildings, was spread out against the sparkling backdrop of Elliott Bay. Ferries and tankers glided like toy boats on a deep blue pond. In the distance Jessie could barely make out the rugged Olympic Mountains through the haze.

Jessie narrowed her eyes against the glare. She reached into her black shoulder bag and whipped out a pair of dark glasses. Sunny days were always disconcerting in the Pacific Northwest.

It took Jessie about twenty minutes to cover the distance to the quiet side street where Valentine Consultations had its offices. The tiny firm was housed in a small two-story brick building located several blocks from the First Hill Hospital, where Mrs. Valentine had been taken that morning.

The outer door of the aging structure bore the legend of Irene Valentine's business and the stylized picture of a robin, the logo of a small, struggling computer-software design firm which shared the premises. Jessie opened the door and stepped into the dim hall.

The opaque glass door on the right opened. A thin, rumpled-looking young man in his early twenties stuck his head out. He looked as if he had slept in his clothes, which he probably had. He was wearing jeans, running shoes, and a white short-sleeved shirt with a plastic pocket protector full of pens and assorted computer implements. He peered at her through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, blinking against the light. Behind him machinery hummed softly and a computer screen glowed eerily. Jessie smiled.

"Hi, Alex."

"Oh, it's you, Jessie," Alex Robin said. "I was hoping it might be a client. How's Mrs. V?"

"She's going to be okay. Bruised ribs and a concussion. The doctors want to keep her in the hospital for a couple of days, and then she's going to stay with her sister for a while. But she should be fine."

Alex scratched his head absently. His sandy hair stuck up in patches. "Poor old lady. Lucky she wasn't killed. What about her business?"

Jessie smiled confidently. "I'll be in charge while she's away."

"Is that right?" Alex blinked again. "Well, uh, good luck. Let me know if you need anything."

Jessie wrinkled her nose. "All we really need are a few new clients."

"Same here. Hey, maybe we should try advertising our combined services." Alex grinned. "Robin and Valentine: Psychic Computer Consultants."

"You know," said Jessie as she started up the stairs, "that is not a bad idea. Not bad at all. I'm going to give that some thought."

"Hold on, Jessie, I wasn't serious," Alex called after her. "I was just joking."

"Still, it has distinct possibilities," Jessie yelled back from the second level. She shoved her key into the door marked Valentine Consultations. "I've already got a slogan for us. 'Intuition and Intelligence Working for You.'"

"Forget it. We'd have every weirdo in town knocking on our door."

"Who cares, as long as they pay their bills?"

"Good point."

Jessie stepped into the comfortably shabby office and tossed her shoulder bag and sunglasses down onto the faded chintz sofa. Then she crossed the room to the mammoth old-fashioned rolltop desk and grabbed the phone. Best to get this over with before she lost her nerve, she told herself.

She threw herself down into the large wooden swivel chair and propped her booted feet on the desktop. The chair squeaked in loud protest as she leaned forward to punch out the number of her father's private line at Benedict Fasteners.

"Mr. Benedict's office." The voice sounded disembodied, it was so composed and exquisitely professional.

"Hi, Grace, this is Jessie. Is Dad in?"

"Oh, hello, Jessie." Some of the professionalism leaked out of the voice and was promptly replaced by the comfortable familiarity of a longtime acquaintance. "He's here. Busy as usual and doesn't want to be disturbed. Do you need to talk to him?"

"Please. Tell him it's important."

"Just a second. I'll see what I can do." Grace put the phone on hold.

A moment later her father's graveled voice came on the fine. He sounded typically impatient at the interruption.

"Jessie? I'm right in the middle of a new contract. What's up?"

"Hi, Dad." She resisted the automatic impulse to apologize for bothering him at work. Vincent Benedict was always at work, so any phone call was, by definition, an unwelcome interruption.

Jessie had concluded at an early age that unless she took pains to avoid it, she would end up apologizing every time she talked to her father.

"Just wanted to let you know something's come up here at the office," she said, "and I won't be able to go to dinner with Hatch and the Galloways this evening. Got a real management crisis here, Dad."

"The hell you do." Benedict's voice thundered over the phone. "You gave me your word you'd help Hatch entertain the Galloways tonight. You know damn well it's crucial for you to be there. I explained that earlier this week. Galloway needs to see a united front. This is business, goddammit."

"Then you go to dinner with them." Jessie held the phone away from her ear. Nothing, literally nothing, came before business in her father's world. She had learned that the hard way as a child.

"It won't look right," Vincent roared. "Two men entertaining Ethel and George will make the whole thing took too much like a goddamned business meeting."

"For all intents and purposes, that's what it is. Be honest, Dad. If it weren't a disguised meeting of some kind, you and Hatch wouldn't be so concerned about it, would you?"

"That's not the point, Jessie. This is supposed to be casual. A social thing. You know damn well what I'm talking about. We're concluding a major deal here. Hatch needs a dinner companion and Galloway needs to see that I'm backing Hatch one hundred percent."

"But, Dad, listen..." Jessie was afraid she was starting to whine and stopped speaking abruptly.

It was impossible to explain to her father how much she resented being ordered out on a business date with Sam Hatchard. Vincent would not understand the objection, and neither would Hatch. Two birds were obviously being killed with one efficient stone here, after all. Hatch could pursue company business and the courtship of the president's daughter at the same time.

"Sending you along is the perfect solution," Vincent continued brusquely. "The Galloways, have known you for ages. When they see my daughter with the new CEO of Benedict Fasteners, they'll be reassured that the shift in management has my full support and that nothing is going to change within the firm. This is important, Jessie. Galloway is from the old school. He likes a sense of continuity in his business relationships."

"Dad, I can't go. Mrs. Valentine was injured today. She's in the hospital."

"The hospital? What the hell happened?"

"She fell down a flight of stairs. I'm not sure yet just what happened. She's got a concussion and some broken ribs. She'll be out of the office for a few weeks. I'm in charge."

"Who's going to notice? You told me yourself she doesn't have a lot of clients."

"As her new assistant, I'm aiming to fix that. I'm going to develop a marketing plan to improve business."

"Jesus. I can't believe my daughter is working on a marketing plan for a fortune-teller."

"Dad, I don't want to hear any more nasty comments about my new job. I mean it."

"All right, all right. Look, Jessie., I'm sorry about Mrs. Valentine, but I don't see how that changes anything concerning tonight."

"But I'm in charge here now, Dad. Mrs. Valentine is depending on me to hold things together, and there's a ton of stuff that has to be done around here."

"Tonight?" Vincent demanded skeptically.

Jessie glanced desperately around the empty office, her eye finally falling on the blank pages of the appointment book. She tried to sound firm. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I'm going to be very busy getting the files in order and working up my new plan. You should understand. You've never worked anything less than a twelve-hour day in your life. Usually fourteen."

"Give me a break, Jessie. Running Benedict Fasteners is hardly the same thing as running a fortune-teller's operation."

"Don't call her a fortune-teller. She's a psychic. A genuine one. Look, Dad. This is a business I'm running here. Just like any other business." Jessie lowered her voice to an urgent, coaxing level. "So, would you do me a favor and tell Hatch I'm sort of tied up and won't be able to go with him tonight?"'

"Hell, no. Tell him yourself"

"Dad, please, the guy makes me nervous. I've told you that."

"You make yourself nervous, Jessie. And for no good reason, far as I can tell. You want to stand him up tonight when he's counting on you, go ahead and stand him up. But don't expect me to do your dirty work."

"Come on, Dad. As a favor to me? I'm really swamped, and I don't have time to track him down."

"No problem tracking him down. He just walked into my office. Standing right in front of me, in fact. You can explain exactly why you want to leave him stranded without a dinner date two hours before he's set to finalize a major contract."

Jessie cringed. "Dad, no, wait, please..."

It was too late. Jessie closed her eyes in dismay as she heard her father put his palm over the receiver and speak to someone else in his office.

"It's Jessie," Vincent snorted. "Trying to wriggle out of dinner with the Galloways tonight. You handle it. You're the CEO around here now."

Jessie groaned as she sensed the phone being handed into other hands. She summoned up an image of those hands. They were elegant, beautifully masculine. The hands of an artist or a swordsman.

Another voice came on the line, this one as dark and quiet and infinitely deep as the still waters of a midnight sea. It sent a faint sensual chill down Jessie's spine.

"What seems to be the problem, Jessie?" Sam Hatchard asked with a frightening calmness.

Everything Hatch did or said was done calmly, coldly, and with what Jesse thought was a ruthless efficiency. On the ,surface it appeared the man had ice in his veins, that he was incapable of real emotion. But from the first moment she had met him, Jessie's intuition had warned her otherwise.

"Hello, Hatch." Jessie took her feet down off the desk and unconsciously began twisting the telephone cord between her fingers. She swallowed and fought to keep her tone crisp and unhurried. "Sorry to spring this on you, but something unforeseen has come up here at the office."

"How could something unforeseen come up at a psychic's office?"

Jessie blinked. If it had been anyone else besides Hatch, she would have suspected a joke. But she had decided weeks ago that the man had no sense of humor. She glowered at the wall. "I won't be able to help you entertain the Galloways tonight. My boss is in the hospital and I'm in charge around here. I've got an awful lot to do and I've really got to get going. I'll probably have to work most of the evening."

"It's a little late for me to make other plans, Jessie."

Jessie coughed to clear her throat. Her fingers clenched around the phone cord. "I apologize for that, but Mrs. Valentine is depending on me."

"There's a lot of money riding on the Galloway deal."

"Yes, I know, but -- "

"George and Ethel Galloway are looking forward to seeing you again. George made a point of it. I'm not certain how they'll interpret the situation if you fail to show up tonight. They might think there's a buyout in the works or dissension between your father and me if I turn up alone."

Each word was an invisible blow, nailing shut the escape route she had hoped to use. "Look, Hatch..."

"If Galloway gets the idea that Benedict Fasteners is about to change hands or is in trouble, he might not want to go through with the deal. I would be extremely disappointed to lose this contract."

Jessie began to feel cornered. This was something Hatch did very, very well. She gazed around the office with a hunted sensation. "Maybe Dad could go with you?"

"That would be a little awkward, don't you think?"

The cold reasonableness of the words heightened Jessie's nervousness. Nobody on earth could make her as nervous as Sam Hatchard did. She twitched the phone cord and began swinging the swivel chair from side to side in a restless Movement. "Hatch, I realize this is awfully short notice."

"And not entirely necessary, I think." Hatch's voice was very quiet now. "I'm sure Mrs. Valentine doesn't expect you to work nights."

"Well, not usually, but this is kind of an emergency."

"Is there really anything there that can't wait until tomorrow?"

Jessie stared helplessly at the pristine work surface of her desk. She had a problem with honesty. When pushed into a corner, she tended to tell the truth. "This isn't the kind of business where you can schedule things, you know."

"Jessie?"

She swallowed again. She hated it when Hatch gave her the full force of his attention. She was far too vulnerable. "Yes?"

"I was looking forward to seeing you this evening."

"What?" Jessie straightened as if she had just touched a live electrical wire. The abrupt motion snapped the phone cord taut. The instrument toppled off the desk and landed on the floor with a resounding crash. "Oh, hell."

"Sounded like you dropped the phone, Jessie," Hatch observed as he waited patiently for her to come back on the line. "Everything all right?"

"Yes. Yes, everything's fine," she gasped as she straightened the twisted cord and replaced the telephone on the desk with trembling fingers. She was furious with herself. "Look, Hatch..."

"I'll pick you up at seven," Hatch told her, sounding preoccupied again, which he probably was.

He frequently did two things at once, both of which were usually business-related. The present situation was a perfect example. Jessie knew that courting her definitely came under the heading of business.

"Hatch, I really can't -- "

"Seven o'clock, Jessie. Now, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. I've got to go over some final figures on the Galloway deal with your father. Good-bye." He hung up the phone with a gentle click.

Jessie perched on the edge of the chair and stared numbly at the receiver in her hand as she listened to the whine of the dial tone. Defeated, she dumped the instrument back into its cradle and lowered her forehead onto her folded arms. She should have known there would be no easy way out of the Galloway dinner. The invitation had not been a casual one. Hatch was pursuing her. Nothing had been said yet, but it was no secret that Hatch had marriage in mind.

She was fascinated by Hatch. She might as well admit it. But she knew she dared not give in to his plans to marry her. For Hatch, the wedding would be no more than the consummation of yet another business deal. This particular contract would guarantee him a lifetime chunk of Benedict Fasteners, which was something he wanted very badly.

At the moment, courting Jessie was near the top of Hatch's list of priorities. She knew she was at least temporarily as important to him as any business maneuver in which he was presently involved. That meant she was in a very treacherous position. There was no denying her own interest in him, and on those occasions when he made her the sole focus of his attention, she was in serious danger of succumbing entirely.

A moth dancing around a flame.

Jessie closed her eyes and conjured up a picture of the man who had become her nemesis during the past two months. His personality was strongly reflected in his physical characteristics. He was built along lean, powerful, curiously graceful lines. His long-figured swordsman's hands went well with his austere, ascetic features.

She had tried to tell herself in the beginning that there was no fire beneath the cold, polite surface of the man, but she had known she was fooling herself right from the start. The problem was that, just as with warriors and saints, the fire in Hatch would never burn for any woman. It burned for an empire -- the kingdom he planned to build on the cornerstone of Benedict Fasteners.

Hatch had the full support of Vincent Benedict and the entire Benedict family for his ambitions. He had dangled an irresistible lure in front of all the Benedicts: in exchange for a chunk of the small, thriving regional business that was now Benedict Fasteners, he would take the company into the big time. Benedict Fasteners was a company based quite literally on nuts and bolts. It designed and manufactured a wide variety of products used in construction and manufacturing to hold things together. It had the potential to grow into a giant in the industry, a conglomerate that could dominate a huge market share. All it needed was a man of vision and enterprise at the helm.

Everyone in the family was convinced that Sam Hatchard was that man.

Of course, the only one who had really needed to be convinced was Vincent Benedict, the founder of the firm. And he had taken to Hatch immediately. The relationship that had developed between the two men was as profound as it was inevitable. Jessie had sensed it from the first moment she had seen her father and Hatch together in the same room. Hatch was the son her father had never had. Which might make him an excellent choice to take Benedict Fasteners into the big time but definitely made him lousy husband material, Jessie thought grimly.

Sam Hatchard was thirty-seven. Jessie had concluded that it would probably be another thirty years, if ever, before he mellowed. She was not about to give him that long. She was surely not that big a fool.

But the terrible truth, the heavy burden that weighed her down these days, was the knowledge that although she was running from Hatch, she was not running fast enough, and she knew it. The moth in her was strongly tempted to play with fire. Hatch had sensed the weakness and he was deliberately using it. It was no big secret. Everyone in the family was using it.

In one of the saner corners of her mind, Jessie was well aware that if she allowed herself to fall into Sam Hatchard's clutches she would be condemning herself to a marriage of unbearable frustration and unhappiness. She would be repeating the same mistake her mother had made in marrying Vincent Benedict. She would be tying herself to a driven man, a man who would never find room in his life for a wife and a family.

The end result of all her wallowing about in such a morass of conflicting emotions was, naturally, chaos for Jessie. For the last month, as Hatch's subtle pursuit gradually intensified, she had found herself dancing closer and closer to the flame, unable to resist, yet unable to surrender to what she knew would be disaster. It was ridiculous. She had to put a stop to the bizarre situation.

She had to learn to just say no.

The phone rang in her ear. Jessie started and jerked back in the chair. She automatically stretched a hand out toward the receiver and then hesitated, letting the answering machine take the call. There was a click, a recorded message of her own voice saying that the office was closed but that all calls would be returned as soon as possible, and then her friend Alison Kent came on the line.

Ever since Alison had become a stockbroker, her voice had taken on the upbeat cadences of a professional cheerleader. Jessie could almost see her old friend wearing a short skirt and waving a pom-pom as she made her cold calls.

"Jessie, this is Alison at Caine, Carter, and Peat. Give me a call as soon as possible. I've just found out about an incredible opportunity in a new fat-free cooking-oil product but we're going to have to move fast on this one."

Jessie sighed as the machine clicked off. For Alison, still new on the job, every deal was the opportunity of a lifetime, and Jessie always had a hard time keeping her distance. She had to admit that her initial enthusiasm had been high when she had agreed to become Alison's first real account at Caine, Carter, and Peat. Visions of making a killing had danced through her head and she had even wondered if she might have an aptitude for playing the market full-time. But a series of recent losses had given Jessie a more realistic view of Wall Street.

She dreaded returning Alison's phone call because when she did she would very likely end up buying a lot of shares in some company that wanted to market fat-free cooking oil.

The phone rang again and this time Jessie heard Lilian Benedict's voice on the answering machine. Her mother's warm, cultured tones poured over Jessie's frayed nerves like rich cream.

"Jessie? This is Lilian. Just checking to see if you'd had a chance to talk to Vincent about the loan for ExCellent Designs yet. Oh, and by the way, enjoy yourself this evening, dear. Wear the little black dress with the V in the back. It's wonderful on you. Give my best to Hatch and the Galloways. Talk to you later."

There was another click followed by a pregnant silence as Jessie contemplated the fact that even her own mother was trying to push her into the arms of Sam Hatchard.

The situation was getting out of hand. Jessie got to her feet and began to pace the office. Nobody had actually used the word "marriage" yet in her presence, but it did not require Mrs. Valentine's psychic abilities to know what everyone was thinking, including Hatch.

A month ago when Jessie had first begun to realize what was happening, she had actually laughed. She had been so certain she could handle the pressure of the crazy situation. But now she was getting scared. There was no doubt but that she was being gently, steadily, inexorably maneuvered toward an alliance that a hundred years ago would have been baldly labeled exactly what it was, a marriage of convenience.

If she was not very careful, she was going to find herself in very big trouble. People who played with fire frequently wound up in the emergency room with singed fingers.

Jessie glanced at the clock and saw with dismay that it was nearly six. She would have to hurry if she was going to get back to her apartment and get dressed before Hatch showed up on her doorstep.

Hatch was never late.

Hatch pushed the folder of computer printouts across the desk toward Vincent Benedict. "Take a look. I think you'll like what you see."

Vincent scowled impatiently at the folder. "Of course I will. You're a magician with this kind of deal. Nobody puts a contract together better than you do."

"Thanks," Hatch murmured. It was true, he was very good at putting together projects such as the one he had recently completed between Benedict Fasteners and Galloway Engineering, but it was nice to be appreciated. Especially by Vincent Benedict.

Benedict continued to frown thoughtfully across the wide expanse of desk. It occurred to Hatch that Jessie had gotten her eyes from her father. They were a curious feline green, very clear and very intelligent. But there was a vulnerable quality in Jessie's gaze that was definitely not present in her father's eyes.

Vincent was nearing sixty, a vigorous, ruggedly built man whose heavy shoulders were a legacy of his early years in the construction business. His hair was white and thinning slightly. His face had no doubt softened somewhat over the years, but the hawklike nose and square, strong jaw still reflected the image of a man who had come up in the world the hard way. This was a man who had made most of his own rules in life, but he had played by those rules. If you were honest with Vincent Benedict, he was honest with you. If you crossed him, you paid. Dearly.

Hatch understood that kind of code because he lived by it himself. He had learned it long before he'd entered the corporate world, learned it in the hardworking, hard-playing world of his youth and young manhood, a world where real labor meant working with your hands. It meant ranching, construction, driving trucks.

The code had been drummed into him on the job, and after work it had been reinforced during nights spent in smoky taverns where a man learned to drink beer instead of white wine and where he picked up basic psychology by listening to the words of country-western music.

Hatch had liked Benedict right from the start. There had been an immediate rapport between them, probably because their origins were so similar. Vincent Benedict was one of the very few men Hatch had ever met whom he actually respected; he was also one of the even fewer number whose respect Hatch wanted in return.

"Are you worried about Galloway getting cold feet tonight?" Hatch asked after a minute during which it dawned on him that Vincent was not paying close attention to the figures on the printout.

"No." Vincent drummed his fingers on the desk in an uncharacteristically restless gesture and scowled.

"Did you have some questions?" Hatch prodded, wondering what the problem was. Benedict was usually nothing if not forthright.

"No. Everything looks fine."

Hatch shrugged and opened the second folder to scan the numbers inside. He had seen the potential in Benedict Fasteners immediately when Benedict had hired Hatchard Consulting briefly for advice on doing business with a Japanese company. The company had recently opened up a plant in Washington and had wanted to use local suppliers. Most were unable to meet the quality-control demands of the Japanese. Vincent Benedict had been wise enough to see the future could be even more profitable if he found a way to do so.

Hatch had shown him the way, and in the process concluded that Benedict Fasteners was precisely the ripe, cash-rich little business he had been looking for to use as a springboard to an empire. Vincent had refused to sell outright, but had hinted there was a possibility of a deal.

Benedict had given Hatch a one-year contract as chief executive officer, during which time both men agreed to size up the situation and each other as well as the future.

The ink had hardly dried on the CEO agreement before Benedict had started playing matchmaker.

It had quickly become clear that the price tag on a share of Benedict Fasteners was ensuring the firm stayed in the family. There was only one way to do that, but by then Hatch had met Jessie Benedict and had decided the price was not too high. In fact, the whole deal appeared very neat and satisfactory all the way around.

The Galloway contract was in the bag, of course. The dinner tonight was just a social touch. It would cement the relationship and emphasize to Galloway that from now on he would be dealing with Sam Hatchard, the new CEO of Benedict Fasteners. Jessie's presence would attest to the fact that the transfer of power had Vincent's blessing.

"She says you make her nervous," Vincent growled suddenly.

Hatch looked up, his mind still on the numbers in front of him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Jessie says you make her nervous."

"Yes." Hatch returned his attention to the printout.

"Dammit, man, doesn't that bother you?"

"She'll get over it."

"Why do you make her nervous, anyway?" Vincent demanded.

Hatch glanced up again, amused. "What is this? You're not worrying about your daughter at this late date, are you? She's twenty-seven years old. She can take care of herself."

"I'm not so sure about that," Vincent muttered. "Twenty-seven years old and she still hasn't found a steady job."

Hatch smiled briefly. "She's found plenty of jobs, from what I've heard. She just hasn't stuck with any of them very long."

"She's so damn smart." Vincent's scowl deepened. "She was always smart. But she's changed jobs so often since she got out of college that I've lost count. No direction. No goals. I can't believe she's gone to work for a goddamned fortune-teller now. It's the last straw, I tell you."

Hatch shrugged again. "Take it easy. In a month or two she'll probably quit to go to work at the zoo."

"I should be so lucky. She seems real serious about this new job with the psychic. She's been there a month already and she sounds more enthusiastic than ever. She hasn't gotten herself fired yet, and that's a bad sign. People usually start thinking about firing Jessie within a couple weeks of hiring her. Hell, she didn't even last two weeks at that damned singing-telegram job. Guess it took 'em that long to figure out she couldn't sing."

"Give her time."

Vincent eyed him suspiciously. "It doesn't bother you that she's always bouncing around? Doesn't it make her seem kind of flighty or something?"

"She'll settle down after she's married."

"How do you know?" Vincent shot back. "What do you know about women and marriage, for crying out loud?"

"I was married once."

Vincent's mouth fell open. "You were? What happened? Divorced?"

"My wife died."

Vincent was obviously stunned that Hatch, whom he'd come to think of as a friend, if not the son he'd never had, had never mentioned his previous marriage before. "Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry, Hatch."

Sam met Vincent's eyes and said, "It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, well, like I said, I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Hatch went back to studying the printout. "Stop worrying about your daughter. I'll take care of her."

"That"s what I'm trying to tell you. She doesn't seem to want you to take care of her, Hatch. She's not exactly encouraging you, is she?"

"You're wrong," Hatch said gently. "She's been very encouraging in her own way."

Vincent gave him a dumbfounded look. "She has?"

"Yes." Hatch turned a page of the printout.

"Dammit, how can you say that? What has she done to encourage you?"

"She gets very nervous around me," Hatch explained patiently.

"I know, dammit, that's what I've been telling you. What in God's name...?" Vincent broke off, incredulous. "You're saying that's a good sign?"

"A very good sign."

"Are you sure about that? I've got two ex-wives and neither Connie nor Lilian was ever nervous around me," Vincent said. "Nerves of steel, those two."

"Jessie's different."

"You can say that again. Never did understand that girl."

"That's an interesting comment, given the fact that you intend to leave Benedict Fasteners to her."

"Yeah, well, she's the only one in the family I can trust enough to leave it to." Vincent snorted again. "Whatever else happens, Jessie will do what's best for the firm and the family. That's the important thing."

"But she obviously has no interest in or talent for running Benedict Fasteners," Hatch pointed out.

"Hell, that's why I brought you on board. You're the perfect solution to the problem." Vincent pinned him with a sharp look. "Aren't you?"

"Yes."

Copyright © 1991 by Jayne Ann Krentz