Chapter 7

"GOOD MORNING, Mister Turko," Josie beamed. "Breakfast is on the terrace."

"Thanks," Steve curtly replied, avoiding the knowing gleam on the maid's face. Breakfast at noon, he thought, his body aching as he moved across the foyer.

"I pressed your suit the best I could," the maid said. "It sho' was a crumpled mess!"

"Thanks," Steve repeated, somewhat awed by all the service.

"Thataway," Josie informed him, waving her hand across the living room to a glass-paneled door slightly ajar. "They're waiting for you."

Steve started across the room, his leg muscles straining. Something clicked in his brain and he stopped short, swiveled his head back to Josie. "They?" he questioned.

"Miss Adele," Josie replied, absently flicking a duster about the room. "And Mister Moore."

Steve tensed. "Mister Dan Moore? President of the Polar Bear Company?"

"Yes, sir," Josie beamed. "And your breakfast is getting cold."

"Well, let it get cold!" Steve angered, turning suddenly to retreat. "Josie, get my hat and coat."

"But Miss Adele is waiting—

"Dandy!" Steve fumed. "She'll be waiting a helluva long time!"

"Shoot!" Josie shrugged. "Don't let Mister Moore bother you. They ain't married no more."

"Married?" Steve paled.

"Mister Moore wuz her first husband. But that was ages ago. Why, Miss Adele was practically a child then."

"That's nice and cozy," Steve sarcasmed. "Now all we need is for her second husband to return and join us for breakfast."

"Oh, no," Josie started, shrugging all of her huge body. "Mister Crandon is her third husband. In-between there was this little guy who—"

"Spare me the details," Steve cut in sharply. "Who needs it!"

"Steve, darling." Adele's voice trailed across the room.

Steve turned sharply, sucked in his breath at the sight of her standing in the terrace doorway. He was aware of the leopard-skinned Capri pants clinging to her thighs. But most of all, he was aware of the lush bouquet of hair tumbling over her shoulders, streaming down the length of her sleek sides and swirling about her haunches.

Adele closed the gap between them, arms out to him. "Well, don't you look sharp," she sighed. She waited, dropped her arms to her sides. "I left my hair down—the way you said you liked it."

Steve pulled himself together. "What the hell gives with you? Why is Moore here?"

"Dan?" she shrugged. "Stevie—don't tell me you're afraid of your boss?"

"No, dammit, that's not it at all. I just don't like the idea of broadcasting last night to everybody! We might just as well have sold tickets—" He remembered Josie's presence and cut it short. Josie suppressed a giggle and waddled away into the kitchen.

"Steve, darling, Dan doesn't know that you spent the night with me. I told him you were stopping by."

"He's not that naive," Steve protested.

"Well, it's none of his damned business."

Steve caught his second-wind. "And you didn't tell me that he was your first husband!"

"Details bore me," she shrugged, straightening his necktie, brushing up close to him. "And besides," she whispered, wetting her lips. "We didn't have much time for talking last night."

Steve felt himself weakening, let out a gush of air. "I can't figure you out."

She twined her arm about his. "Then why try?" She flicked a kiss at the soft flesh of his neck. "Your breakfast is getting cold," she monotoned, urging him toward the terrace entrance. "And we have important business to discuss."

"This is crazy—" Steve hesitated.

"Please, Steve. Dan is drinking his breakfast and lunch, and if we don't get at it soon he'll be slobbering drunk."

Steve gave in, marched across the room with her. The moment he stepped out on the gaily furnished 'terrace with its lush growth of natural ferns and flowers he was aware of a lightning-quick change in his outlook. Once out on the lofty perch overlooking the city an envy gnawed viciously at his senses. He liked the majestic feel of things as he ambled across the penthouse garden, the swirl of clouds seemingly at his fingertips. This was what he wanted; he was moving in the right direction, and he was mature enough to know that there was a price tag on it. He steeled himself; somehow, he'd meet the price—no matter how steep.

Steve stopped short at the sight of the beet-faced, silver-haired president of the firm. His eyes locked with those of the elder man—and Steve knew there was no turning back.

Adele wisely remained on the sideline. Dan Moore unlisted his hand from his drink and eased into a wide smile. The man pushed himself away from the table and steadied himself on his feet. He thrust his right hand out to Steve.

"How are things on the vice squad, Lieutenant Turko?" Moore grinned.

Steve smiled and suddenly found himself laughing along with Moore at the inside joke. The laughter subsided and Steve sideglanced Adele, and with a moment's meeting of the eyes, the bargain was sealed. Sure of himself, Steve swung into action. He gripped Dan Moore's hand in a hearty handshake. "Please be seated, Mister Moore—"

"Dan's the name," Steve's superior interrupted.

Adele eased into the act with one of her best smiles. "Sit down, sit down," she urged the men as they concluded the long handshake. "You must be famished, Steve."

Moore held the back of the wicker chair while Adele seated herself. "1 can imagine," the silver-haired man stressed, glancing down at Adele. "A young man must burn up a great deal of energy."

"You're not that old," Steve quipped, then let go a grin calculated to inform Dan Moore to cut his little game of sly remarks.

"Now," Adele said solemnly once they were seated, "suppose we drink to Steve's brainstorm—the Polar Bear Company's new subsidiary."

"Here-here!" Moore vigorously chimed in, raising the glass before him. "I'll drink to that!"

Steve studied Moore's evident need of a drink and devilishly decided to make him wait. "What's the big occasion?"

"The Polar Bear Home unit," Adele stressed, tofill Steve in on the details. "Complete with a built-in freezer cabinet for storing party snacks and hors d'oeuvres." Adele turned to Moore. "Steve was about to take his plans to one of our competitors," she lied. "Fortunately, I got to him just in time."

"I told you he had a lot on the ball!" Moore beamed. "Exactly the second line of merchandise we need to make Polar Bear grow." His facial muscles twitched steadily and with a shaky hand he downed most of his drink.

Adele pointed to Steve's glass. "I thought you might like to join me in a Bloody Mary."

Steve raced his brain. He had difficulty deciding whether or not Adele had taken Moore totally into her confidence. At any rate, he decided to join the cast and play out the scene. He leaned over closer to Moore. "Dan, I still have one big qualm about Polar Bear being the outfit for this type of sales program. And that's Sheldon. He's not the man for a class operation."

Moore coughed with glee, turning suddenly to Adele. "What have I been telling you? We're in a rut with Sheldon. We should've canned him a long time ago."

"We won't go into that at the present, Dan," she replied pointedly.

"Why not?" Steve asked, squaring with her.

Offguard, she momentarily showed her annoyance at his brashness. She quickly about-faced into a smile. "There's really no problem. Sheldon will re-main in charge of home freezer sales—you, Steve, will be in charge of home bar sales. You'll operate independently."

Steve studied the pair. "And I'll have a free hand?"

"That's right," Adele stressed. "Pick your own staff, set up your own sales program."

Steve eyed her cautiously, awed by her drastic transformation from almost nymphet-like love-partner to hardened businesswoman. He shifted his gaze Moore as the beet-faced man downed the re-der of his drink.

Steve decided to play it smart. It wouldn't hurt to have Dan Moore on his side. From what he had heard, the oldtime salesman was once pretty sharp at figuring all the angles in breaking down sales resistance. Maybe Moore still had some of the old stuff left in him. Steve returned his gaze to Adele and he had to admit one thing to himself.

He couldn't totally trust the woman.

"Okay," Steve nodded, toying with his glass. "Just as long as Sheldon stays in his own backyard. I only answer to one man—Dan Moore." Moore perked up quickly and Steve capitalized on it. "I'd like to go over my sales program with you, Mister Moore—I mean, Dan. I feel certain that we think a lot along the same lines."

"I'll go to bat all the way for you, Steve," Moore replied assuringly.

Steve tasted the Bloody Mary, looked across the table at Adele. She sat with her mouth open, evidently aware of Steve's lightning-quick moves. "Say, this tastes good," Steve informed her. "Did you mix it?"

"Oh, yes," she said slowly, evidently pulling out of her stupor. "With my own little hands."

Steve downed more of his drink and studied her. There was a faint defiance in the curve of her mouth and the determined set of her chin. The dark glitter of her eyes seemed to be tapping out a message: Stay in line like a good little boy, Steve Turko. Don't press your luck too far.

Steve suppressed a smile and absently shifted his gaze to the remainder of the reddish-brown fluid in his glass, trying desperately to picture Dan Moore as a husband to Adele. Even more puzzling was their present, friendly relationship—especially if it still existed in bed. Steve doubted the possibility—now that the booze had gotten the best of Moore. He momentarily wondered if all of Adele's men ended up like Moore. His better senses questioned his own involvement, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind by downing the remainder of his Bloody Mary.

"Well!" Steve beamed, rubbing his hands eagerly. "Now for breakfast. I'm famished!" He lifted the heavy silver lid off his plate. "Ah, ham'n eggs and hot biscuits!"

"Josie enjoys cooking for a man," Moore dead-panned. "She'll fatten you up in no time at all."

"How about you, Dan?" Steve inquired. "Aren't you eating?"

"I'm afraid not," Moore replied, glancing at his wrist watch. "I have a one o'clock luncheon appointment." He pushed himself away from the table. "I'll have to leave you two." On his feet, he gestured for Steve to remain seated. "Don't get up. Enjoy your breakfast."

"I'll see you to the door," Adele informed Moore.

Moore patted Steve's shoulders. "Stop by my office later this afternoon. We'll get along just fine."

With a mouthful of ham, Steve nodded affirmatively.

"I'll be right back," Adele told Steve before leading Moore away.

Steve dug in at his breakfast. He'd earned it, he gloatingly told himself.

Adele returned well before the halfway point of Steve's breakfast. He gulped coffee, eyeing her suspiciously, assuming she'd had a farewell chat with Moore.

Keeping Dan sober is really a task," she shrugged, standing at Steve's side.

"Tell me?" he started, sideglancing her. "Do you keep all your ex-mates on some sort of pension plan?"

"If you're speaking generally," she intoned some-what annoyed, "you'll soon find out that I give nothing for nothing. And if you're speaking of Dan Moore in particular—don't underestimate the drunken old goat."

"Isn't he just a figurehead?" Steve inquired.

"He needs my vote to remain President—but I happen to need the support of the stock Dan owns. As I said, don't underestimate the old buzzard."

Adele massaged Steve's shoulders suggestively. "And something tells me that I might have under-estimated you, Steve. You're more of a go-getter than I assumed."

"Is that good or bad?" he asked, feigning innocence.

She dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades. "We'll find out soon enough."

"Maybe you shouldn't take the chance?" he pressed.

"I'm just too damned curious about you now," she deadpanned. She slid her hands to his face, turned him to her. "Steve? You'd never double-cross me, would you?"

Steve took his time. "Does an employee have the right to ask his beautiful boss the same question?"

She smiled that favorite smile of hers and brought her lips down on his. Fully. She eased off with a playful poke at his chin. "You're damned good in bed, Steve—that's for sure."

He shrugged a false modesty. "I try."

"You also tried damned hard to win Dan over to your side," she smugly informed him. "You're smoother than I thought."

He spread his hands out and palmed her ample hips, puffing her close to him until his face was flush to her bosom. "Shall we continue our business talk?"

"You're an executive now," she reminded him, her hands cupping the back of his neck. "You make the decision."

"All right," he started. "Let's talk about Sheldon. Why don't you fire him?"

She attempted to pull away from him. Unsuccessfully. "That's my business."

"What does Sheldon have on you?"

"None of your damned affair!" she screeched, lurching out of his grip.

Steve watched Adele compose herself as she sat on the edge of the chaise lounge near the breakfast table.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I shouldn't have lost my temper —just bear with me—I need you. We'll talk about that bastard Sheldon at the right time."

Steve hesitated, decided not to push it any further. He turned his wicker chair around, faced her, his knees almost touching hers. "I'll try not to get too impatient."

Adele smiled sincerely, taking his hands in hers. "What are we so solemn about?"

Steve stared at the lushness of the two blacksweatered mounds. "I'll bet you two-bits you're not wearing a bra."

Adele licked her lips playfully. "Why not bet four-bits whether or not I'm wearing panties?"

Steve leaned forward on the edge of his chair and freed his hands from hers. Those skintight Capris did something to the curve of her thighs and his fingers tingled to discover exactly what.

"I'll make you a more interesting bet," he whispered, nibbling at the lobe of her ear. "I'll bet you a dollar that Josie hasn't made the bed yet."

Adele lifted his hands from her thighs, her eyes meeting his fully. Her stare was fixed, challenging: as though informing him that she could top him any day of the week—that she'd call the shots.

"I'll make you an even better bet, Steve. I'll bet you a thousand dollars—" She paused purposely, snaking the length of her sleek torso suggestively back on the lounge. "Right here—right this moment."

. Steve swallowed hard, his gaze drifting about beyond the open terrace. To his left, two window-washers plied their trade. To his right, an elderly couple were relaxing on another penthouse terrace.

Adele grinned victoriously. "I don't give a damned who knows. Do you, Steve?"

"You bitch!" Steve snarled.

Adele boldly undid the clasp at the side of her pants, nonchalantly unzippered them, exposing the soft, white flesh.

"You bitch," Steve repeated.

Adele darted him a smug glance.

Steve turned and hurried out, mumbling to him-self, knowing that she had proved her point.

She was the boss.