Page 138 of Confessions

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THOMAS FITZPATRICK’S OFFICE was quietly understated. Located on the third floor of one of the oldest buildings in town, the original Gold Creek Hotel, the offices of Fitzpatrick, Incorporated were plush without being ostentatious.

Carlie was seated in a chair near the window and Thomas was speaking, his even voice well modulated from years of public oration.

“...So I don’t want any studio shots or pictures that are obviously posed. I want to show the men at work, doing their jobs, the American worker at his best.” Thomas Fitzpatrick leaned back in his leather chair, seemingly pleased with his eloquence. His hands were tented under his chin and, from the far side of his desk, he watched Carlie over his fingertips. His gaze was speculative and thoughtful and it bothered Carlie more than it should.

She didn’t know why she felt like a bird with a broken wing under the fixed stare of the neighborhood tomcat. She shook off the feeling. He was a man, a wealthy man, but he had no power over her.

Carlie hoped her smile didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “No mugging for the camera?”

“Absolutely,” Thomas said, a smile curving beneath his clipped mustache. “Now, mind you, I don’t want anything that looks the least bit...dangerous...or uncomfortable for the men. I want to show the logging company as an exciting but safe workplace, where we, at Fitzpatrick, Incorporated are concerned with the environment and working conditions as well as the bottom line.” He raised his eyebrows as if expecting her to comment.

“Is that possible?”

His lips twitched. “I think you can make it possible, Miss Surrett.”

She wanted to tell him that she was a photographer, not a magician, but she decided discretion was the better part of valor in this case. “I’ll give it a shot,” she agreed, feeling like a traitor.

“Good. Now tell me, how is your father?” He had the decency to look genuinely concerned.

“Better. He should be going home in a couple of days.”

Thomas sighed heavily. “When he’s up to it, have him call me. I’ve already talked to the corporate attorneys and accountants about the possibility of his early retirement, but I wanted to speak to Weldon again first.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said stiffly.

“Look, he knows that there are desk jobs available, but—”

“He doesn’t want your charity, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Nor your pity.” Deciding she shouldn’t discuss her father’s health with the man who was stripping away all of Weldon’s dreams, she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stood. “I can start working at the logging company offices at the beginning of next week.”

“Perfect. Just check in with Marge, the secretary over there, and she’ll let Brian know what’s going on.”

She started to turn to leave, but his voice stopped her. “There are a couple of other things.”

She tensed, but willed her body to relax as she turned to face him again.

“My daughter, Toni—you know her, I believe.”

“We’ve met.”

Thomas’s face clouded over. “She may be getting married soon—within the next couple of months—and we might need a photographer for the wedding. I wondered if you’d be interested.”

She wanted to tell him no, that she was already regretting working for him, that she didn’t want anything more to do with the Fitzpatricks and their money, but she couldn’t. She was too practical and until her father was home, the hospital and doctor bills paid, and his future a little more certain, Carlie couldn’t afford to turn down any offers. “I’d be very interested,” she said. “Have Toni give me a call.”

“I will. Now the other.” He set his feet on the floor and placed his elbows on the desktop. “It’s more personal. I was hoping you could find time in your busy schedule for dinner. With me.”

Uncertain she’d heard correctly, she hesitated for just a heartbeat. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

His grin was self-deprecating. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Ms. Surrett. This would be strictly business. I am, after all, still married.” A dark shadow passed behind his eyes for just a second, then disappeared.

“As long as we understand each other.”

“Absolutely. How about a week from Friday? Seven?”

Carlie felt uncomfortable. She was used to handling passes from men of all ages; she’d had more than her share of offers when she was modeling, but she couldn’t afford to offend Fitzpatrick. “Let me check my calendar.”

“Fine. I’ll give you a call,” he said, as she made her way out of his office and into his secretary’s, Melanie Patton’s, sanctuary. Melanie hardly glanced up as Carlie breezed by and swept through another set of doors to the reception area where a young girl was talking on the phone. The elevator took her down three floors to the foyer of the elegant old hotel.