Morgan's Chase 1-3 Triple Play

By Lucy St. John

THE CHASE IS ON FOR LOVE, MONEY AND THE PERFECT WORK-LIFE-FAMILY BALANCE FOR THIS FAST-RISING PROFESSIONAL WOMAN WITH NEEDS

Who is heroine Morgan Chase? She's a sexy white-collar executive with blue-collar roots, a bio that closely resembles that of her anonymous author. Morgan's professional life is taking off, just as her personal life is bottoming out.
Stung by a messy divorce from her Fortune 500 Ex, Morgan is twice shy, but increasingly needy -- and wanting. This doesn't mean Morgan lacks men in her life. In fact, there's too much testosterone in her orbit. Problem is, Morgan has a difficult time choosing, and there are both pleasures and pitfalls attached to each of Morgan's would-be men. Hence, the chase.

Who is author Lucy St. John? Lucy St. John is the super-secret Nom de Plume of a major league, highly successful female executive. She sticks to what she knows in creating her brand new, breakthrough romantic series, "Morgan's Chase." All the juicy details are ripped right from Lucy's own fast-climbing corporate life.

St. John's superheated, highly evocative - and, yes, controversial -- narrative chronicles both the corporate boardroom battles and the behind-the-scenes bedroom tumbles of a fast-charging female executive out to shatter the glass ceiling. In doing so, St. John's passionate prose is as authentic as it is addictive.

Once you begin following Morgan's Chase, you won't be able to stop. It's a wild, sexy, thrilling, funny -- and touching ride -- whether inside the boardroom, or the bedroom. For Morgan Chase, both venues are her playing fields now. And she's determined to win!

FROM THE AUTHOR:

Dear Reader,

All of my fiction springs from the realities we women face every day in the push-and-pull of our professional and personal lives. So you know as well I that as hard as we work, as much as we try, life shows us that the forces of fate are for more powerful than all of our personal and professional struggles, combined.

That's why all along the way, shocking events put Morgan's chase in perspective. At times, we find Morgan as an unlikely loser on both sides of her ongoing chase for balance in her personal and professional life. Her family is thrown for a loss, and so too is her love-life.

The blows comes so fast and so furious, Morgan is pushed back on her heels like we've never seen her. There are dark times. But Morgan and her allies eventually pick themselves up and respond. And when they do, there's a new-found fury and purpose to their actions.

Morgan hits her stride. She makes all the right moves in both her professional and personal lives. It appears she is on the cusp of achieving everything she ever dreamed - and more. At long last, after many false starts, she's about to reach a new level of intimacy in her romantic relationship with ex-Navy SEAL Travis Walker.

Is the elusive finish line for Morgan's chase finally in sight?

I welcome you to enjoy the deepest, richest, most exciting and satisfying Morgan's Chase installments yet. Indeed, it has all been leading up to this. And every character, every situation comes alive and plays a part in the wholly unexpected outcome.

I just know you're going to love it!

Yours,
Lucy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucy St. John
• Release date: Mar 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301397679

Lucy St. John

Lucy St. John is the super-secret Nom de Plume of a major league, highly successful female executive. She sticks to what she knows in creating her brand new, breakthrough romantic series, "Morgan's Chase." All the juicy details are ripped right from Lucy's own fast-climbing corporate life.St. John's superheated, highly evocative - and, yes, controversial -- narrative chronicles both the corporate boardroom battles and the behind-the-scenes bedroom tumbles of a corporate climbing female executive out to shatter the glass ceiling. In doing so, St. John's passionate prose is as authentic as it is addictive. Once you begin following Morgan's Chase, you won't be able to stop.Dear Reader,All of my fiction springs from the realities we women face every day in the push-and-pull of our professional and personal lives. So you know as well I that as hard as we work, as much as we try, life shows us that the forces of fate are for more powerful than all of our personal and professional struggles, combined.That's why all along the way, shocking events put Morgan's chase in perspective. At times, we find Morgan as an unlikely loser on both sides of her ongoing chase for balance in her personal and professional life. Her family is thrown for a loss, and so too is her love-life.The blows comes so fast and so furious, Morgan is pushed back on her heels like we've never seen her. There are dark times. But Morgan and her allies eventually pick themselves up and respond. And when they do, there's a new-found fury and purpose to their actions.Morgan hits her stride. She makes all the right moves in both her professional and personal lives. It appears she is on the cusp of achieving everything she ever dreamed - and more. At long last, after many false starts, she's about to reach a new level of intimacy in her romantic relationship with ex-Navy SEAL Travis Walker.Is the elusive finish line for Morgan's chase finally in sight?I welcome you to enjoy the deepest, richest, most exciting and satisfying Morgan's Chase installments yet. Indeed, it has all been leading up to this. And every character, every situation comes alive and plays a part in the wholly unexpected outcome.I just know you're going to love it!Yours,Lucy

Book preview

Chapter 1

Morgan Chase always suspected that professional success brought with it a certain amount of sexual satisfaction. It had certainly worked for her mega-rich, super-successful ex-husband, Brock Ballentine. She guessed this from the way he puffed on those enormous Cubans with such self-satisfied smugness. Certainly, a man’s cigar was proxy for his penis.

Now, she knew it for certain.

There she was, commanding the oak-paneled boardroom of Tech Teachers Ltd., having brought the firm’s breakthrough education project in on time and on budget. Morgan’s entire team gazed up at her with respect and admiration. Her male personal assistant -- a decade younger with the dark features, hair and body of a Greek god -- was by her side, as well. His smoky, brooding eyes were locked on her.

Even the company’s executive vice president – Morgan’s boss – Hal Linden was rapt by her commanding presentation, the final internal unveiling before her breakthrough project would be unfurled before the Pennsylvania Department of Education.

There was no doubt. She, Morgan Chase, had reached the pinnacle. The blue-collar born, Wharton-educated daughter of a humble Pittsburgh firefighter was now setting the world ablaze. And it thrilled her, even as she stood at the center of the boardroom and aced her carefully crafted presentation. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Her sculpted cheeks flushed with just the right amount of pride. And, yes, an electric charge buzzed beneath her Victoria’s Secret thong.

Morgan was feeling it – that mythic business boner that the Big Boys like her ex-husband and Hal Linden had tried to keep all to themselves. But she had it now. She earned it. And, by damned, she would keep it erect.

What we have created, what we will bring to market, ladies and gentlemen, will do nothing less than revolutionize public education, Morgan annunciated with perfect diction that had long ago been sanitized of her Western Pennsylvanian accent.

As she spoke, her assistant, Darren Spencer, cycled through the fully animated three-dimensional samples of the digitized teaching tools that would make books, notes, tests and even teachers completely obsolete.

In the age of the Internet, the smartphone and the personal computer tablet, where digitized bits command our children’s attention for hours on end, the classroom teacher is as outdated, quaint and financially unwise as 1950s television, Morgan sang on, her voice a perfect mix of confidence, enthusiasm and competence. We are harnessing the undisputed hypnotic power of the video game and turning it into an undeniable force of light, knowledge and education. We are making it a teaching tool that won’t be seen as a chore to our children. It will be sought out by them as an immersive, mind-altering, game-changing fountain of knowledge. These tools harness digital technology to conjure first-hand experience and hands-on education that can transport our children to the ends of the earth, the depths of history, the halls of science, and the pantheon of business. Not to instill a mindless mush of facts, dates, places and people, but to engrain, instill and inspire real emotion, experience, experimentation and imagination. And our young people will come to this vast oasis of education, not because a class schedule tells them to, or a bell rings or a teacher stands before them. But because their very neurons and nerve endings will crave it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the precious fruits of your long and loyal labors. I give you my dream that each one of you has toiled tirelessly to make a workable reality. I give you Project Renaissance.

With that, the video presentation reached a crescendo in which characters from history, science, math, economics and various other disciplines came together as if to underscore the 360-degree education that was now at the click of a mouse or the jerk of a joystick, all courtesy of Project Renaissance and Morgan. As music swelled, the iconic characters surrounded an empty classroom seat. This symbolized the space waiting for each and every school student across Pennsylvania and beyond. All that stood in the way of their access to this limitless knowledge served up in this addictive new way was an unprecedented $890 million upfront commitment by state education secretary David Dillon. Morgan would be meeting with Dillon in just two days to tie up this remaining detail. With her team breaking into spontaneous applause, Morgan had no doubt that she would secure the contract, instantly legitimizing Project Renaissance as a nationwide teaching tool capable of nothing less than revolutionizing public education, as we knew it.

Right on cue, the swelling music ended, the boardroom lights came up and the entire boardroom stood and continued its admiring applause. All eyes were locked on Morgan. She had done it. And everyone in that room knew it.

Thank you, she said, shouting over her team’s enthusiastic applause. But you’re applauding yourselves. You, each of you, did this. You took a pipedream and turned it into reality. And by the end of the week, we will take the product that each one of you created and turn it into a multi-billion-dollar licensed property that will be sought after by each and every school district in this country. So I salute you. All of you.

I second that, executive vice president Hal Linden echoed in his rich baritone.

Morgan was both surprised and appreciative that Linden, who headed the company’s heretofore-stodgy education and textbook division, had permitted her to get through her entire presentation without so much as a peep. Perhaps, this was because Linden knew he had bucked against the project from the start. And now that it would mint the company as a national player, he soon would be deferring to Morgan, rather than directing her. After bringing in Project Renaissance, Morgan was in line to head up her own division – Interactive Education Technologies. It would be spun off from Linden’s Education Division. And with Morgan installed as its executive vice president, she would control the company’s biggest revenue-generating sector. And then Linden would be lucky to be Morgan’s co-equal, let alone her boss.

What a fantastic job. All of you, Linden continued. The one-time college quarterback’s handsome face was relaxed into his most gracious grin. All of you taught this old textbook salesman a thing or two about the future of education, I must say. But none more so than Morgan, here.

Linden turned and looked admiringly at Morgan.

You did it, he said, dipping his head in a show of deference. You had the vision – one I admit I did not see – and you executed it. It’s the greatest display of product innovation, team-building and institutional transformation that I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing in the corporate world. You should be proud. And you will be rewarded. All of you will, but none more so than your leader, mentor and friend, Morgan Chase.

With that, the applause swelled again, and Linden leaned over and hugged Morgan, then planted a fatherly kiss on her reddened cheek.

She didn’t expect this. To be sure, she had long fantasized of the flirty, dismissive Hal Linden kissing up to her one day. But the sharp break and sudden reversal of their roles was too abrupt, even for her.

Thank you, Hal, she said, somewhat embarrassed and, yes, even feeling a bit sorry for old, gimpy Linden. After all, he had always been a straight shooter with her. He was upfront about his skepticism. Yet, he had never tried to sabotage her project -- or her authority. And now that the tables had turned, he would not stand in the way of her rightful ascendancy in the company.

All right, everyone, Morgan announced, trying to regain a measure of control over the situation. We don’t have that contract signed yet. I want each of you to write a one-page review of the presentation so I can tweak it for the secretary. We meet in two days. This was our pat on the back, but that meeting is our defining moment. It’s when Project Renaissance becomes the new reality of public education. So let’s go people.

Morgan would not have to speak twice. Her team knew and respected her boundaries. They began packing up their laptops and iPads, each of them pausing to shake Morgan’s hand or hug her on the way out of the boardroom. In a matter of minutes, the only people remaining in the room were Morgan, her assistant Darren and Hal Linden, who had crashed back into his swivel chair. His audience gone, Linden’s grin had wilted to a frown, and he appeared decidedly less powerful slumped in his chair.

How do you think it went? Morgan asked Darren.

The twenty-something’s piercing eyes shone brightly under his dark brows.

Fantastic, he gushed. You’ll have Secretary Dillon eating out of the palm of your hand.

As long as his hand is curled around a pen that scribbles his signature on a state contract -- that’s all I care about, Morgan shot back. I know you’re going to kill me, but I’ll need you to collate all the staff reviews to determine if there are any common themes that might prompt us to rethink portions of the presentation.

Darren bobbed his chin up and down in the affirmative as he scrawled Morgan’s instructions on paper.

Not a problem. I’m on it. Anything else?

I’d probably feel better if we went through it a couple more times. How’s first thing tomorrow?

Perfect, Darren chirped.

You’re the best, she said, and then turned to Linden.

Any feedback, Hal? Morgan asked.

The vice president frowned.

I think you nailed it, he said, matter of factly. With that product, a monkey could close the deal.

Gee, thanks, Morgan said uncertainly, her face twisted into a puzzled expression.

You know what I mean, he said, waving his hand. You did a great job. But it’s product that will make the sale. That’s what an old textbook salesman once said to me – let the product close the deal.

Morgan nodded. My plan exactly.

Good, Linden brightened. Can I borrow you for a second?

Sure, she said.

In private, Linden elaborated, shooting a look at Darren, still right by his boss’s side, as always.

Yet, Darren didn’t so much as move, even though the executive vice president had just dismissed him. Instead, his eyes went to Morgan. She absolutely loved his loyalty.

Finally, she nodded to her handsome, young assistant.

Do you need anything else, Ms. Chase? Darren inquired, as if not having heard Hal Linden at all.

It’s fine, Darren. I’ll meet you back in the office, Morgan said, smiling her appreciation.

In moments like these, she could imagine herself getting lost in Darren’s deep brown eyes. She was only human, after all. And she was all woman – a woman who had been without a husband for nearly two years and one who had never quiet shaken off her college coed shyness around men, especially handsome men. Sometimes, Morgan, as beautiful and confident as she was now, still saw the pimply, bespectacled freshmen frowning into her dorm room mirror.

Absolutely, Darren replied. I’ll get right on those staff reviews.

Darren’s dexterous hands and long fingers gathered up the laptop, mouse and legal pad, folded them under an arm and glided to the door. Morgan watched him depart with a mix of pride and just the slightest hint of lust. As professional as she was, there was no denying that her sexual juices still stirred at work. Mostly, it was a function of all the time she spent at the office, along with all the attractive people who populated it.

Got quite the loyal puppy, there, don’t you? Hal Linden spoke from his chair, as if reading Morgan’s mind.

The remark caught her by surprise. She half-jumped, then turned to Linden, attempting to collect herself.

He’s competent, she said. It’s the main metric I use to evaluate my team.

Of course, Linden said, leaning forward, a knowing grin on his face. How many points for his looks?

Hal, Morgan scolded.

Linden coughed a laugh.

That’s the problem with you female executives, he chuckled. No sense of humor about sex. If you were a guy, you’d be calculating your hubba-hubba rating right down to the decimal point as we speak.

Morgan frowned at what she knew was the truth. For ages, looks were part of the criteria male executives used to grade their female employees. Why not the other way around?

All right, she said. He’s a 9.7.

And the deduction? inquired a playful Linden.

If anything, he’s a bit too subservient, Morgan confided, feeling liberated at her first foray into locker room banter. I like a little more of a challenge. He could do with a bit of an ego and attitude, as well.

Of course, Linden agreed. You were married to the great Brock Ballentine. Talk about an ego.

Too much in the other direction, Morgan corrected. Way too much in the other direction.

Now you’re getting it, Linden cheered. Once you start being the Alpha, it comes easy, believe me. You’ll even come to appreciate subservience. In fact, your own ego will demand it.

Linden let loose a wicked chuckle. This time, Morgan felt cheap. She needed to switch tracks.

Well, she muttered. Thanks for the lesson.

Anytime. It’s about the only thing I can teach you anymore.

Not at all, Morgan shot back, perhaps a bit too consoling.

I don’t need your pity, he scoffed. I’ll be fine. Textbooks still have a long run ahead, despite your new-fangled teaching tools. I’ll miss working with you, though. Once you move out and up to your own division.

Thank you, Hal. Morgan glowed at Linden’s acknowledgement of her imminent promotion. It made it all the more real. And she couldn’t wait.

That’s why I’m requesting the honor of your presence for dinner – 7:30 tonight at Ruth’s Chris. My treat, of course. No office talk, either. Just two old souls chewing over life – and filet mignon.

Sounds wonderful, Morgan haltingly replied. But with the presentation coming up...

It’s two days away, Linden cut her off. And you already have it down cold. I insist.

Okay.

Don’t sound so thrilled.

I am. Thrilled that is, she said. Thanks for the gesture.

Don’t mention it, Linden said, pushing himself from the chair. Meet me at the bar. Come hungry – and thirsty. Your move to the Big Boys’ table starts tonight.

With that, Hal Linden, all six-foot, three-inches of the old college quarterback, scrambled out of the boardroom.

Morgan was left alone with her triumph.

Could it really be true? At long last, had she finally arrived?

Chapter 2

Morgan clomped confidently across the 28th floor of the Pittsburgh skyscraper. Her corporate colleagues seemed to stop and stare as she strode through the plush, paneled, labyrinth hallways and offices, until reaching her own spacious but not-yet-corner office.

Her assistant, Darren Spencer, rose wordlessly, right on cue as she breezed by his desk. He swiped his iPad from his too-neat desk, turned on a heel and followed Morgan into her comfy confines. She proceeded directly to her leather captain’s chair and promptly plopped down into its arm-like embrace.

Darren dutifully closed the office’s heavy wooden door behind him. And just like that, Morgan was finally off stage.

She exhaled with a mix of relief, pleasure and exhaustion from behind the wooden expanse of her desk. She kicked off her heels, and flung her pedicured feet atop her desk, then leaned back in her leather chair.

After a moment to center herself, Morgan looked up sheepishly at Darren. Her crystal blue eyes peeked through tufts of sandy blonde bangs.

So how do you think it went? Really?

This was the unconfident college coed fishing for a compliment but secretly expecting the worst. It was as if Morgan always expected to be unmasked as a fraud. Deep down, she still didn’t believe that she belonged here.

Darren deposited his iPad on her desk, danced around its expanse, and expertly laid his strong, gifted hands on the knots in her shoulders.

It went absolutely great, he reassured, as he kneaded at the tensile-strength tension Morgan carried in her shoulders. You know it did.

Morgan’s eyes were closed in ecstasy. She grinned, then opened them, only to see the designer photographs of her two children staring back at her.

Samantha, 12, was a whip-smart, hard-charger with an underdog’s determination but a nihilist’s perfectionist bent -- just like her mother. Geoff, 10, was the complete opposite. He possessed a devil-may-care attitude, harbored no shortage of confidence and a strong sense of entitlement -- just like his daddy. He even looked like Brock. They shared the same sly, slanted smile, along with eyes that seemed to hide the constant calculations going on behind them.

Morgan allowed her eyes to fall closed again, surrendering to the pleasure being delivered by her personal assistant’s talented fingertips.

Right there, she commanded. God, you’re good.

Only because you deserve it, Darren insisted. You deserve a lot of things.

I don’t know about all that, Morgan moaned. But I’ll take your shoulder rubs any day of the week.

As if on cue, Darren dug in deeper, working the muscles, kneading out the tension. It had been building throughout the day, the week, the year. It had been a long, hard slog bringing Project Renaissance to fruition.

So what did Linden want? Darren probed ever so gently, his hands never missing a beat.

You won’t believe this one, Morgan purred, her voice deep and lost in Darren’s massage. He’s insisting upon taking me out tonight. Drinks and dinner at Ruth’s Chris.

Hmm, Darren hummed in non-response.

You don’t like him, Morgan said. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

I don’t trust him, Darren corrected. But that’s not the issue. The fact is, Linden likes you. He’s liked you for months now. But not as a colleague, or even his direct report. He’s targeting you because you happen to be the great Brock Ballentine’s ex-wife. Linden is one clumsy corporate-climber who won’t rest until he can bag those bragging rights.

Morgan’s eyes popped open in shock. Tell me what you really think, why don’t you!

I’m just saying -- be careful, the chided underling offered demurely.

I can take care of myself, said Morgan, sliding up in her chair, finally emerging from her brief pleasure coma. Problem is, I can’t seem to take care of my kids. Not while pursuing a career, that is. I have to make yet another call of shame.

Isn’t that why you employ a nanny? Darren pointed out. And spoil her with pay, I might add.

Ramona is worth every red cent, and then some, Morgan answered, reaching for her smartphone. Her doting, diligent care of my two children is the only thing that pries open the jaws of guilt just enough to allow me to function. I just wish I didn’t feel as if I were turning into their father. I pounded Brock into the ground for never being around and choosing the office over his wife and children. And now that I’m a corporate contender, damned if I’m not doing the exact same thing.

No. You’re not, Darren insisted, swinging around the desk and locking eyes with his boss. You’ll never be like him. Ever. You’re all heart. It’s what makes you good at your job. And it’s what will keep your bond strong with your kids.

I hope you’re right, Morgan said, just before touching the phone’s illuminated screen to call home. God, I hope you’re right.

Ballentine residence, Samantha said with practiced pronunciation after a few rings.

We’ll hello there, young Miss Ballentine. Aren’t you the little lady today.

Mom, the girl giggled good-naturedly.

Guilty as charged. Morgan smiled into the phone.

When are you coming home? her daughter immediately inquired. It was always the first question. It was as if Samantha sensed the reason for her mother’s call.

Oh, baby. I’m going to be late, Morgan exhaled her confession.

Again? her daughter glumly asked.

Yeah, Honey. I’m sorry.

I know, Samantha said, sounding so defeated, as if she’d heard it all before, hundreds of times.

What’s Geoff doing? Morgan asked as brightly as she could, desperately trying to change the subject – and the mood.

What do you think?

Playing video games.

Yep.

Morgan knew her son was an addict for anything with action and on-screen graphics. In fact, it was this infuriating fixation that actually inspired Project Renaissance. Morgan had come to her epiphany after years of browbeating Geoff to put down the joystick and pick up the books. She remembered thinking: If only he spent as much time on his schoolwork as he did those damn video games.

But it was the reverse of the question that was Morgan’s moment of true inspiration: If only his schoolwork were as engaging as those damned video games!

A mother’s idle, wishful thinking soon germinated into an idea, a concept, a paradigm shift.

Now that was something she could run with, Morgan thought to herself, even as Geoff remained hypnotized by the sound and fury of some combat game or other. That’s something that could start a revolution.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Now the same interactive video technology that had made such a willing prisoner of her son was separating Morgan from her children. She told herself this was different. This was for the greater good, to improve education, to salvage the next generation, to make America great again.

But was it really that different?

Should I get him? Samantha asked.

What? Morgan sounded bewildered. Lost in all of her doubts.

Do you want me to get Geoff, so you can talk to him? Samantha’s temper seeped into her voice now. Her mom wasn’t even paying attention to her on the phone.

Uh, no. That’s okay, Honey. Morgan snapped back. She knew if Samantha put her son on, Morgan would just get his brain-vacuumed, zombie voice. A string of yeses and no’s that far too often passed for conversation between a workaholic mother and her game-obsessed son.

Just say ‘hi’ for me and make sure he listens to Ramona, okay?

Sure. Like that will ever happen, Samantha deadpanned.

It’s not that bad, Morgan added, not even convincing herself of this. Put Ramona on. I’ll have her take you guys somewhere cool tonight. Where do you want to go?

P.F. Chang’s, Samantha answered without hesitation.

And for that fleeting moment, she sounded like herself. Her daughter sounded exactly like a normal, happy-go-lucky 12-year-old. Unfortunately, the moment came courtesy of a well-paid nanny and a junk-food chain restaurant – not on account of Morgan. Still, she would take it.

P.F. Chang’s it is, Morgan agreed.

Chapter 3

Morgan waltzed into the crowded, oak-paneled bar clad in a short, black dress that she kept in an office closet for just these occasions – unplanned, after-work evenings out.

Businessmen crowded around the small bar in their shirtsleeves and cufflinks. They swilled single-malt scotch and downed double martinis. But the Boys’ Club gathering parted like the Red Sea to turn and watch as Morgan entered the room.

Hal Linden held a martini to his lips and nearly spilled it down his shirt when he caught sight of her. He quickly recovered and casually waved a hand in the air, directing Morgan to his end of the bar and the men who hovered within his sphere of influence.

Putting on a show, Linden placed his drink on the bar and barreled through the crowd to greet his prodigal protégé. He kissed her on both cheeks and took her by the hand, providing her safe passage through the den of business wolves. He introduced her to his cadre of cronies. The names sped by her – Walter, Joseph, Buck, Channing. None of it mattered. Morgan had been the wined-and-dined wife of the Fortune 500 club. As a veteran of such rarified air, nothing much impressed her. Certainly, not this collection of B-listers, stock brokers, bank vice presidents and insurance swindlers.

So what are we drinking? Hal Linden inquired after polishing off his martini in one final gulp. His ruddy cheeks glowed with an alcoholic light. It hadn’t been his first glass.

A Pinot, perhaps, Morgan ventured.

Linden frowned.

All this time, I’ve been grooming you for the Big Boys’ Club, and you order wine? the gimpy ex-college quarterback slurred.

I’m sorry. Morgan played along. What are my choices?

Single-malt scotch, neat, or a dry gin martini, Linden said.

Are we getting drunk? she asked.

Maybe, but that’s not the point. It’s all about projecting power. Those are power drinks. They’re what the executive suite swills.

In that case, a martini, Morgan commanded. Bombay Sapphire, please.

Linden’s alcohol-infused facial features brightened all the more.

Now, you’re talking, Linden approved, and then turned toward the bar.

Barkeep!

Later at dinner, Morgan was pleasantly lit.

It was as if all her burdens and cares – her ex-husband, guilt over the kids, and pressure from the project – had floated away on a river of gin. She laughed longer, blushed deeper and flirted freer than she ever had with Hal Linden.

There had always been a certain, ill-defined sexual tension between the older, wiser ex-jock and the younger, pretty protégé with a business pedigree provided by her super-successful ex-husband. Morgan had always controlled this aspect of their relationship, letting off sexual sparks only when it was to her advantage. But somehow, Linden had managed to level the playing field. Here, amid the low-murmur of the high-end steakhouse, feasting upon bloody rare filet mignon, washed down with copious amounts of alcohol, Morgan was succumbing to Linden’s charms.

There was something absolutely masculine and quintessentially American about him. He wasn’t drop-dead handsome. But he was strong, sturdy and rugged in a wonderful, wholesome way. He was a 50-something Ronald Reagan, but with a mischievous glint in his eye, instead of a genial one. And by damned, he was winning Morgan over.

It had been far too long for her. Too long without a man, a real man. And Linden’s magnetism was pulling her in. No wonder he was such a good salesman.

You know what makes this work, don’t you? Linden inquired, leaning over the white-clothed table.

What do you mean? Morgan joined him over the center of the table.

They were two business conspirators, or soon-to-be lovers. At this moment, it could go in either direction.

You and me. This. He gestured between them. How free we are tonight. How loose and open to any possibility.

Lemme guess, Morgan slurred. The alcohol.

She cracked herself up, as if this were the funniest thing.

Linden’s ruddy, strong-jawed face broke into a pleasing grin. He lifted his near-empty martini glass, hoisted it in a toast salute and knocked back the remainder.

Well, it sure doesn’t hurt. But that’s not what I mean, he continued, his voice both strong and soft, like velvet.

It’s you and me. We’re equals now, Morgan. With your completion of the project and your promotion all but assured, we’re equals. That mere fact redefines everything.

Morgan looked directly into Linden’s eyes.

I thought we weren’t going to talk about work?

Linden’s eyes bored deep into hers.

I’m not talking about work, he firmly said. I’m talking about us. Whatever happens between us tonight and here after is because we both want it. And whatever that happens to be, it doesn’t translate beyond our personal lives. It’s a safe zone. An oasis. As co-equals, we can create that for ourselves.

Without breaking their deep stare, Linden rested his hands on top of Morgan’s. His hands were huge and strong. They were knotted with veins, and the fingers were twisted like the roots of an old tree. Linden’s fingers had been broken many times in his football days. But his powerful, tanned hands enveloped Morgan’s soft, white ones.

And she felt safe. She felt good.

I do like this, she said softly.

Then don’t over-think it.

Isn’t this too fast?

Compared to what? Life? Computers? Youth? God blinks and our lives are over.

What do we do? Morgan asked.

I have a reservation at the Renaissance. Linden answered a bit too quickly, a bit too eagerly.

Morgan’s brain registered this sour note. She blinked and looked down, then withdrew her hands from underneath Linden’s.

When she looked up again, she saw a desperate salesman who had just realized he pressed a little too hard to close the deal.

Morgan shook her head softly. I appreciate everything. I really do. This, all this, it’s wonderful. The evening was spectacular. I can’t thank you enough for tonight, or the past two years. But it’s just too soon. I appreciate everything you said about us being equals now. But it takes time to wrap my mind around it.

Linden looked glumly at his empty martini glass.

I should go, Morgan said, reaching for her purse. The project’s not a done deal, yet. We still need that signature on the contract.

Linden managed to lift his suddenly tired eyes to look at Morgan. His face sagged with defeat and the numbness of one too many martinis.

So we’ll say, ‘to be continued,’ he offered. Not an end, but a pause, perhaps?

Morgan forced a smile.

Absolutely, she said. A pause to wait and see where this goes.

She popped up from her chair, lunged in and planted a kiss on Linden’s cheek, then fast-stepped through the dining room in her high heels.

Linden was left to stare glumly at an empty chair -- and at his empty martini glass.

Chapter 4

The cool spring air on the mostly quiet Pittsburgh street sharpened Morgan’s alcohol-dulled senses. She marched directly toward the parking garage, her heels clicking on the concrete.

What a night, Morgan thought as her feet pounded the pavement with almost violent determination. She nearly laughed out loud.

Hal Linden! My God, what had she been thinking?

But that was precisely the point. She hadn’t been thinking, not with all the alcohol, the emotional highs and lows of the day, the last two years of transition from blissfully married mother, to unhappily spurned spouse, to finally, the determined divorcee.

But she would keep moving, just as she focused like a laser on the parking garage just ahead. That was what she did.

Morgan was a survivor.

She breezed into the deserted garage lobby, fed her parking ticket into the machine, inserted a credit card, then waited for her passport to freedom to be validated.

The machine spit out her ticket, credit card and a receipt. And Morgan headed for the elevators.

The seventh floor, she thought, confidently recalling where she had parked. The color-coded garage number plate had been green. She could see it in her mind’s eye. It would not do to get lost in a Pittsburgh parking garage at 10:30 at night.

The elevator bell rang; the doors rolled open; and the elevator car deposited Morgan on the seventh floor. Her black Lexus SUV -- so practical with two kids and all -- was waiting for her just where she left it, down at the end of a shadowy row of cars in a far corner of the garage.

The soles of her pumps sounded gritty on the sandy concrete as she walked. It should have been a softer sound. But the concrete, echo-chamber acoustics of the vacant, silent garage amplified her every footstep.

For some reason, Morgan’s mind took note