Out of Love

  Approaching voices shattered the moment and they pulled apart. When the people passed, Carmen kissed her temple gently. “Will you come back to my room?”

  Judith never considered saying anything but yes.

  Moments later, they were in a taxi speeding toward the hotel. As they pulled into the valet circle, Carmen tossed a twenty into the front seat and told the cabbie to keep the change. Together, they rushed inside and strode quickly toward the elevators, oblivious to the people who milled about. They grabbed the first elevator and Carmen pushed the button before anyone else could board. The instant the door closed, she pinned Judith to the wall with a crushing kiss. “I want you everywhere,” she murmured. Her hands snaked inside Judith’s parka to massage her breasts.

  Judith gave herself up completely to the hungry assault. If Carmen’s lovemaking was as fierce as her foreplay, she was about to go somewhere she had never been. She clung to Carmen’s arm as they exited the elevator and hurried to the room. Carmen swiped her key card and the door opened into a suite, where cardboard boxes lined the entry.

  “Hi, Carmen.”

  They froze in the entryway. “Raul.”

  Also by KG MacGregor (available from Bella Books):

  Just This Once

  Mulligan

  The House on Sandstone

  Sumter Point

  Malicious Pursuit

  Copyright © 2007 by KG MacGregor

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.

  First Edition

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Cover designer: LA Callaghan

  ISBN-10: 1-59493-105-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-59493-105-5

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Cindy Cresap for her usual lumberjack . . . I mean, crackerjack editing job. Thanks also to Jenny and Tami for their technical edits, and to Karen, who collects all the dropped words at the bottom of the page and pushes them back up to where they belong.

  Dedication

  I’m dedicating this one to all of you who can’t help falling in love across the miles. May your love be worth it.

  About the Author

  Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, KG MacGregor dreaded the summer influx of snowbirds escaping the Florida heat. The lines were longer, the traffic snarled and the prices higher. Now that she’s older, slightly more patient and not without means, she divides her time between Miami and Blowing Rock.

  A former teacher, KG earned her PhD in mass communication and her writing stripes preparing market research reports for commercial clients in the publishing, television and travel industries. In 2002, she tried her hand at lesbian fiction and discovered her bliss. When she isn’t writing, she is probably on a hiking trail. www.kgmacgregor.com

  Chapter 1

  “ . . . so, next item of business. I need someone to take Bill Hinkle to dinner on Saturday night. Anyone?”

  From her position at the head of the conference table, CEO Carmen Delallo tilted her head to catch the eye of a reluctant volunteer. Seeing none, she chuckled and honed in on Lenore Yates, one of her three senior research associates.

  “Come on, people. He’s one of our biggest clients. Which one of you wants to make a splash?”

  Lenore sighed dramatically and tossed her pen on the table. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Carmen was pleased at the sentiment, if not the lack of enthusiasm. Bill Hinkle was the CEO of Franklin Resorts, a Philadelphia-based time-share vacation company. He was also a sexist womanizer, but as a major client, he deserved personal attention from The Delallo Group.

  “But he’s not going to be happy about having to settle for an underling.”

  “I have an idea how we can head that off,” Carmen said, reaching into a paper bag at her feet. Sliding a small box of business cards across the conference table to Lenore, she cleared her throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages . . . please give a nice warm welcome to the new vice president of TDG, Lenore Yates.”

  The room went silent for several seconds as the shocked staffers, including Lenore, digested the news. Then the cued applause broke out as excited congratulations were shouted from around the room.

  “Carmen!” Lenore dropped her jaw in amazement.

  “I know, I know. I should have talked to you first, but Cathy told me I needed to share the workload and you seemed like just the sucker to take the job.” She grinned back at Lenore, proud of her decision. Lenore was the only one on the senior staff she trusted to work with complete autonomy on the company’s behalf.

  Lenore fingered the new embossed business cards. “Am I getting a raise?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Carmen answered smugly, her tone teasing. “Speaking of Cathy, who’s in charge of the Rosen Track?”

  Everyone laughed as one of the research assistants spoke up. “She called in from Harrisburg about an hour ago. She said you owe her big-time for this and that she charged a bottle of their best wine for dinner last night.”

  “Figures. With a whole bottle of wine, we probably could have gotten her on an airplane.”

  Cathy Rosen was Carmen’s administrative assistant, and also her oldest and dearest friend. And she had a mortal fear of flying. She rarely attended travel conventions like the one this weekend in New York, but Carmen depended on her totally and had begged her to make the overnight trip from Chicago by train. There was a lot on tap for The Delallo Group this weekend, including Carmen’s keynote address on Saturday and a Sunday night reception for clients at Central Park’s Tavern on the Green.

  “She also says to tell you she’s taking Tuesday off to recover from the return trip.”

  Carmen shook her head. “You know, sometimes I fantasize about being the one in charge.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Lunch is here,” their receptionist announced from the doorway.

  “Have them set it up in here,” Carmen said, standing to stretch her legs. She hated these long meetings as much as anyone, but they had a lot of ground to cover before heading out en masse for the Association of Travel Professionals convention. As her crew bustled around the food cart, she walked to the window and peered out. Their twenty-first-floor offices in the Sears Tower afforded a marvelous view of the sparkling Chicago River.

  “Here, Carmen.” A research assistant handed her a plate with a half-sandwich and a scoop of pasta salad. “Cathy told me to make sure you ate.”

  “She doesn’t even trust me to feed myself?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Carmen took the plate and returned to her seat as the staff settled back in. “Okay, what else is there to talk about? Raul?”

  The young Hispanic man sat up straight and shuffled his papers, pushing his lunch aside for the moment. “I’ll have three terminals up and running in the exhibit hall by tomorrow afternoon. We should be able to demonstrate all the new software upgrades and give people a chance to train. Everything has to come down at four o’clock on Sunday.”

  “Need any help with that?”

  “I can handle it, but I won’t complain if somebody brings me coffee and cookies every now and then.”

  Carmen turned to Richard and Kristy, her other two senior staffers. “A lot of our clients will be coming through there. I’d like to have at least one of you in the hall with Raul at all times. Can you two work that out?”

  They glanced at each other and nodded.

  “Anything else we need to
talk about?”

  Kristy checked her notes. “Any advice on how to handle Art Conover?”

  Carmen grimaced at the mention of their chief rival and shoved the last of the sandwich in her mouth. “Mace?”

  Her answer was echoed by others offering similar suggestions. Conover Data Source analyzed credit card expenditures to compile profiles of travelers according to their zip code, and Art Conover coveted TDG’s clients. His line of services was inferior to TDG’s, but adequate for media buys. It was also considerably less expensive. Though Carmen refused to regard him as a serious threat, he had successfully skimmed off a few of TDG’s budget-conscious clients.

  “You all know what to expect from Art,” she mumbled as she finished chewing her lunch. “He’s going to come sniffing around to see what we’re up to. Be nice. Laugh him off if you have to, but don’t talk business with him. I’ll get Cathy to set up a breakfast or something on Sunday and I can feed him everything he needs to know.”

  “I have a few ideas for what you can feed him,” Richard said.

  “Don’t worry about Art. It never hurts to know what he’s up to. We all need to get out there and meet people this weekend. Make a good impression, especially at the Tavern on Sunday.”

  She looked around the room at their confident faces.

  “Okay, if that’s it, let’s call it a day. I know you’ve all got planes to catch this afternoon. We’ll regroup at lunch tomorrow. See Cathy in the morning for where that will be. Safe travels.” She stood and gathered her papers. “Oh, and Lenore . . . I guess we need to talk about how much more work you’re willing to do for an extra ten dollars a week.”

  “I can tell you that right now.”

  Carmen laughed and led the way into her expansive corner office. Despite all the last-minute obsessions, she was excited about this year’s convention, especially with the opportunity to present Lenore as her new vice president.

  “What’s all this going to mean?” Lenore asked.

  “Obviously, the biggest thing is that you’ll have the title to go along with all the duties you’ve been pulling for the past couple of years. My hope is that clients start to feel that doing business with you is like doing business with me.”

  “I can’t imagine people will ever feel like that.”

  “Then we have to fix that. I want this company to be more than me.”

  “Cathy was right. You really have been spread pretty thin.”

  “Tell me about it. But it was my own fault for not delegating. And when I started handing things off to you, the first thing I noticed was how it helped our bottom line. Now I feel like I’m getting twice as much done.”

  “There’s no way I can match you on a scale like that, Carmen. Unlike you, I go home sometimes.”

  “Now, now. No picking on my personal habits. I have Cathy for that.”

  Lenore studied the new business card again. “I really am honored by this.”

  “You deserve it,” she said sincerely. “And just in case the honor alone isn’t enough, I’m offering you twenty percent on both your salary and profit sharing.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, I know. You’re willing to do it for free because I’m the best boss in the world. And you’ll always be grateful for this wonderful opportunity to work with me side by side. You don’t have to say it. It just makes us both blush.”

  Lenore shook her head and smiled. “You really are the best boss in the world, Carmen.”

  “I appreciate what you bring to the company, Lenore. And I’m the one that’s grateful.” She handed over a copy of the press release that would go out on the business wire that afternoon. “Now go catch your plane.”

  Judith O’Shea paid the clerk and collected her generous slice of pizza. Her friend and coworker Celia was standing at a tall table, already eating her lunch. Judith shouldered past the crowd to the far side of the table, where she was out of the cold air from the open door. Their favorite West Village pizza stand was always packed at midday, but the pizza was worth putting up with the crowd.

  Celia meticulously picked the black olives off her slice and dropped them onto her paper plate. “Did you see the new commission structure on Todd’s desk?”

  “I don’t have to go looking for bad news,” Judith answered with a groan. “It always finds me.”

  “The bottom line is it’s going be another half a percent, effective next month.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know. They’re all greedy bastards.”

  “True, but that’s not the worst of it, Cee. There just isn’t as much to go around anymore with so many people doing their own bookings on the Internet. And it’s only going to get worse.”

  “I know. You remember that lady that had me put together the trip for all those women going down the Amazon?”

  “The one that turned around and booked it herself on the Web?”

  “Asshole. After I’d done all the work.”

  “Don’t you miss the old days when we used to go on all the tours? I think I’d rather make less money and do that than grind out every single dollar on the phone.”

  “Me too.” Celia finished her pizza and wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “Sometimes I just want to go into Todd’s office and put both my hands on his scrawny neck and squeeze.”

  Judith had to admit the image of her hefty friend strangling their boss had appeal. Todd wasn’t a bad manager. He just had a different formula for success than his Aunt Myrna, a flamboyant lesbian with an Auntie Mame streak. Myrna had built the company as a boutique agency servicing New York’s gay and lesbian community. Todd, who wasn’t gay, kept the niche market, but he wanted higher volume with a lower margin, a formula that relied on Internet marketing and national sales. It meant more customers, but with less of a personal touch.

  “I don’t blame Todd. He just has a different vision. The only thing that matters to him is if bookings are up.”

  “I know, but it’s not fun anymore. We might as well be working at a factory.”

  Her appetite gone, Judith wrapped the rest of her pizza in paper and wiped her hands. “Think you’ll talk to anyone this weekend?”

  “Don’t say anything, but I have a friend who works in corporate travel at one of the TV networks. They’ve got an opening, and she’s going to try to get me an interview with them.”

  “I bet they have good benefits. I have something lined up too.”

  “At the conference?”

  Judith nodded and took a sip of her drink. “There was an ad on the Web from Durbin Dreams, so I sent them a résumé. They called me back last week. I’m supposed to have lunch with Bob Durbin tomorrow to talk about it.”

  “Durbin’s big!”

  “Not all that big. But they probably have about thirty or forty agents.”

  “Compared to our six.”

  “Right, but they’re no Zeigler-Marsh. Z-M’s probably got a couple thousand all over the country.”

  “Where’s Durbin’s office?”

  “Lexington. Upper East Side.” It would be a schlep from her apartment in Chelsea, but Celia was right about the factory atmosphere at Rainbow Getaways. If she was going to work in a boring job like that, she wanted better benefits and higher commissions. A larger agency would do that.

  “You’d make a lot more money there, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  Celia gestured toward the remains of her pizza. “Is that for Agnes?”

  “If she’s out.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  Judith zipped her parka and pulled on her gloves. The late winter cold front that came in last night had her chilled to the bone. “I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to a few days out of the office.”

  “Me too. I can’t believe Todd isn’t even going to the convention. It’s like he doesn’t care at all about the travel business.”

  “That sums him up, though. At his core, he’s not really interested in what we do at the age
ncy. He likes the business part, all the figuring out how to squeeze margins from this and that, how to consolidate the media buys, and so on. He just doesn’t care what we’re selling. It might as well be curtain rods.”

  “Probably make more money,” Celia groused.

  Judith and Celia turned the corner toward their office, dodging the garbage cans that lined the sidewalk. Up ahead, an elderly woman held up a tattered towel salvaged from someone’s trash. As they drew closer, she looped it around her neck as if it were an elegant scarf.

  “Looks good, Agnes,” Judith called.

  The old woman’s toothless face lit up as she recognized them.

  “I have a little pizza left over. You hungry?”

  She nodded and held out her hand eagerly.

  “Did you sleep inside last night?”

  “Yeah.” That was the most conversation Agnes could manage.

  “Good for you. It’s supposed to be cold again tonight so you better find a place to stay warm, okay?” Judith knew Agnes was a regular at the shelter on Barrow Street because the priest had told her so when she dropped off a bag of old clothes.

  “I’m surprised she doesn’t follow you home,” Celia said as they continued down the street.

  “I worry about feeding her sometimes, you know? What if she starts depending on me and I end up working somewhere else where I don’t see her every day?”

  Celia shrugged. “You don’t see her every day as it is. And it’s not like she comes looking for you.”

  “I guess that’s right. She probably gets lunch at the shelter and whatever I give her is extra.” That thought made her feel better in case she got the job with Durbin.

  “Hey, do you want me to ask my friend at the network to try to set up something for you too?”

  “No, just toss me your bones when they want to do escorted tours.”