like a total asshole.
A framed photo of Sheila was resting on Morris’s desk, turned slightly outward so that visitors could see her pretty face. She was smiling, her dark Asian eyes alight with amusement, full red lips parted to reveal straight white teeth.
She was laughing at him.
Phone still glued to his ear, Morris turned his back for a moment as he reached for something on the bookshelf behindhim. In one smooth motion, Ethan turned the photo toward Morris so he could no longer see Sheila’s face. Better.
Morris finally put the phone down and jotted a quick note on his yellow memo pad. “My apologies, Tom. I’m working on a deal with Japanese investors over the phone—not the easiest thing to do even with all our technology.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Gardener.” Ethan slipped the business card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I’m just glad you could fit me in.”
“Call me Morris.” Bits of boisterous conversation drifted into the office from the hallway. “Whoa, I’d better close the door. My team is a chatty bunch and it can be distracting.”
Ethan’s heart rate quickened. “Uh, would you mind terribly if we left it open? I have a tendency to get a bit claustrophobic.”
Morris raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Only during interviews.” Ethan’s grin was sheepish and he hoped it hid his burgeoning panic.
Morris relaxed in his seat. “No problem, we’ll leave it open.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Morris,” he said again, waving a hand dismissively and turning to face his computer. Large fingers clicked on the mouse. He scrolled until he found what he was looking for. “There’s the e-mail. You know, Tom, I’m glad to meet you because Randall says you’d be a tremendous asset to our organization. He says the two of you know each other from Stanford and you moved here to get married. What did you study?”
“I majored in economics at Stanford, then went to Wharton for my MBA. Specialized in strategic investments for global industries, particularly those based in the Middle East.” The story rolled smoothly off Ethan’s tongue. He’d practiced reciting it for days. “Met my fiancée here when I did an internshipat Microsoft in their business development division. Decided Seattle might be a nice place to raise a family.”
“Where you from originally?”
“I grew up in Texas. Austin.” Same place as Morris.
“You’re kidding. What area?”
“Tarrytown.”
“Clarksville!” The hearty laugh again. It hurt Ethan’s ears. “Small world. How long were you there?”
“I graduated from Steve Austin High in ’99. Left for Stanford after that.”
“I graduated in ’78. Go Hawks!” Morris seemed pleased. “Christ, we’re practically family. Does Randall know that you and his old man are from the same hometown?”
“He didn’t mention it? I thought for sure that’s why you agreed to meet me.”
“Well now, he might have, maybe it slipped my mind.” Morris’s grin didn’t waver, but his eyes changed ever so slightly.
Interesting. Morris Gardener wasn’t a half-bad liar. Ethan tucked this tidbit away for future reference. He knew for a fact that Morris hadn’t talked to his oldest son, Randall, in years. Sheila had confided this little piece of gossip to Ethan months ago in bed, after a particularly sweaty romp involving her silk scarf and a jar of chocolate body paint.
It had been the easiest thing in the world to make up an e-mail address for Randall and contact Morris, asking dear old Dad if he could make time to meet with his good buddy Tom from college, who was in town and job hunting.
Ethan said, “Randy told me you’ve been here at Bindle for over ten years, used to work at LoneStar Capital.” He’d actually read this off the man’s bio that was posted on the firm’s website.
“That’s right, Tom. Transferred over in ’99 and never looked back.”
“So you’re clearly happy with your career here. How would you