What Are Friends For?

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“Don’t mention Scotch,” Conn groaned. “Don’t mention stomach.”

“I set up a meeting with Production at eleven. I called Frank Czarnecki and asked him to bring his whole design team with him.”

Conn started to nod, then thought better of it, relaxing against the warmth of her hands and feeling her fingers work through the knots across his shoulders. “So we’re still having quality-control problems with that remote-controlled underwater seismic unit. Damn!”

“They’re running at a fifty percent reject rate, with no sign it’s improving. Frank swears the problem isn’t with the design, but with something in the manufacturing process.”

“And Production swears the problem’s in the design.” Conn flexed his shoulders, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot through his skull. “That design is sound, Andie. I went over the schematics with Frank six dozen times. The damn thing should work. The prototype met every test way above specification.”

“So there’s a bug in the manufacturing process,” Andie said thoughtfully.

“Seems so. Wherever the hell it is, though, we’ve got to track it down fast. DeepSix Exploration has just signed a billion-dollar oil exploration contract with the Canadian government and needs those remote units now. We can’t sell them a product that might work half the time, and they’re not going to wait around while we try to figure out what’s going wrong.”

He groaned again, this time in frustration, and tipped his head forward so she could massage the nape of his neck. “What’s your take on the situation?”

“Our design and production teams are the best in the business, but they mistrust each other on principle. What if they’re spending so much time blaming each other for the problem that they’re overlooking something else? Something no one’s thought of yet.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know.” The rhythmic motion of her fingers paused as she thought about it, then resumed their slow massage of his neck muscles. “Some element in the manufacturing process that neither has control over. Something we don’t make. Something that comes in from the outside that—”

“The system program chip.” Forgetting his aching head, Conn sat straight up. “We subcontract it from Schoendorf Systems for less than it would cost to make it ourselves.”

“So what if there’s some sort of sporadic manufacturing problem at Shoendorf’s end? It’s possible that flawed chips are getting through our spot checks and into our units. That would explain why only some are faulty, while others are fine.”

Conn was already reaching for the phone. “I’m going down to the production floor to talk with Bob Miller. You call the warehouse and have them send over a random sampling of chips—pronto. We’ll test the little suckers this afternoon.”

“On it,” Andie said, already heading for the door. “I’ll call Shoendorf and have them fax over copies of all their quality-control tests for the last six months. I’ll also see if they’ve changed suppliers. Maybe the problem is farther up the line.”

Grinning, Conn watched Andie as she strode across the room and out the door, his hangover miraculously gone. “Tell that Frenchman of yours if he wants to marry you, he’ll have to go through me to do it,” he called after her. You’re mine!

Hell, he’d be bankrupt without her, he thought idly as he waited for someone down in Production to pick up the phone. It chilled him a little, just the thought of losing her.

There was no one else in the company whose judgment he trusted as much as he trusted hers. She didn’t just know the business inside out; she knew him just as intimately, able to finish his thoughts for him while he was still struggling to put an idea into words, able to follow his leaps of logic when he was sorting through a problem while everyone else stood around trying to figure out what he was talking about.

She was his sounding board when he needed to talk an idea through, and had enough solid ideas of her own that he’d learned to listen when she had something to say. She could cut through the clutter to the heart of a problem faster than anyone he knew, too, playing devil’s advocate when she needed to, knowing which questions to ask, which issues to raise.

Besides, unlike most of the people who worked for him, she wasn’t afraid of him. She tolerated his occasional lapses in temper, ignored his bellows of impatience, told him to shut up now and again when she got tired of listening to him rant and rave over some problem.

He had to grin. Everyone else just ran for cover and lay low until the storm blew over. But Andie always seemed to take things—and him—in stride, rarely rattled, never confused, a small spot of calm in an otherwise chaotic world.

He thought of holding her this morning. Of how she’d felt in his arms, all female softness and warmth, of the taste of her skin, her hair, her mouth. It had surprised him a little, how right she’d felt there. And his strong response had surprised him just as badly; he hadn’t realized until then just how damned sexy she was, how much he’d enjoy making love to her again.

How much he’d enjoyed it twelve years ago, he reminded himself with an inward smile. Strange, how a man could forget something like that until it all came rushing back, every detail of it, of her, so clear it could have been merely a night ago.

He realized what he was doing suddenly and sat upright with a breathed oath, irritated at his own wandering thoughts. He had to stop this. She’d kill him if she even suspected he was thinking of that night more than a decade ago, let alone remembering it in fond detail.

And this morning. This morning had nearly been the mistake of his life.

It had been too easy, reaching for her like that. Too comfortable. Granted, it had been a hell of a long dry spell since Judith had walked out, but a little sexual deprivation hadn’t killed a man yet. Simple lust was no excuse to ruin the best friendship he’d ever had or would ever have, so unless he was prepared to lose Andie completely, he had to make damned sure he kept things strictly business between them from now on.

* * *

Andie glanced at her watch, frowning at how quickly the morning was slipping by. Bob Miller and Frank Czarnecki would be in the third-floor meeting room in another half hour. And if she wasn’t there to referee, they’d be at each other’s throats in minutes, each convinced the other was responsible for the seismic unit’s dismal failure rate on the assembly line.

It wasn’t that neither wanted to take responsibility, it was just that both felt more loyalty to Devlin Electronics—and Conn—than they did to each other. They wanted the DeepSix seismic project to work. And took it very personally when it didn’t.

Her phone gave a subdued chime and she reached for it absently, doing some quick mental calculations on the new production figures for that gigantic order of memory boards they were putting together for a well-known computer company. On schedule and under budget, so far. She made a mental note to congratulate Bob Miller.

“Andie,” Margie said into her ear, “trouble’s on its way.”

“Trouble?” Instinctively, Andie looked up at her office door. “Who and what?”

“Killer shark,” Margie said with a chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Killer what?” But Margie had put the receiver down with a click, and before Andie could figure out what on earth she was talking about, her office door swung open and a swirl of red silk, swinging blond hair and expensive perfume came through.

Andie felt her hackles rise. “Good morning, Olivia. It’s nice to see you.”

“I doubt that,” Olivia Woodruff said with a quiet laugh. She smiled down at Andie. “Protective little enclave you have here, isn’t it? I have to practically submit to a strip search to get a visitor’s badge from Security, then I have to fight my way by Margie to get in here, then by you to see Connor.”

Smiling with equal warmth—that is to say, none at all—Andie leaned well back in her chair, legs crossed, and eyed the intruder calmly. “I’d tell you to go right in, but he’s not here.”

“In a meeting, I suppose.” Olivia’s eyes drifted toward the door to Conn’s office, as though suspecting a lie.

“No, he’s down on the production floor somewhere.”

“And I suppose having him paged is out of the question?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it. He doesn’t like being interrupted when he’s busy.”

“Not even for me?” The smile was bold. The eyes above it bolder.

“Not even for me.” Check and mate.

“Mmm. Serious indeed.” Olivia’s smile was as cool as her pale blue eyes.

As always, she was dressed for battle, clad in purple silk trousers and a coordinating purple-and-apple-green blouse, over which she’d carelessly tossed a brilliant red silk jacket. The effect was dazzling and expensive and probably created whiplash up and down the street as she passed by.

“So, our mutual friend is single again, I hear.”

“I don’t discuss Mr. Devlin’s personal business, Olivia,” Andie said with a smile. “You should know that by now.”

“True. Getting information out of you is like prying money out of one of my ex-husbands.” Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, she gazed down at Andie companionably. “I suppose it’s only courtesy to advise you that I have designs on him.”

Andie bit back a hostile reply and smiled gently. “Well, then I suppose it’s only fair to tell you that you’re just one of many, Olivia.” She was amused to see a flicker of annoyance deep in the other woman’s eyes. She let her smile widen. “I figure by the time word gets around, he’ll be knee-deep in women with designs comparable to yours.”

Olivia didn’t smile back. “And what about you, Andrea? I get the impression you may have a design or two yourself.”

“Dating the man you work for isn’t good business, Olivia.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s been a long while since I worked for anyone but myself, but I seem to remember that dating the boss added a bit of excitement to the day. Although I suggest that if you decide to indulge in some midday desk-top lovemaking, lock the office door unless you want to startle the secretarial staff.”

Andie had to laugh. “Have you taken a good look at the top of Conn’s desk lately? Making love on it would be like making love in a mine field—if you came down on one of those prototype circuit boards the wrong way, you could hurt yourself.”

To her surprise, Olivia gave a snort of genuine laughter. “God, he’s like a kid with all that electronic junk, isn’t he? We were in his car last week, stopped at a red light, and the next thing I know he’s got his window down and is talking with a ten-year-old in the car beside him about video games!”

“If you’re serious about having designs on him, you’d better get used to it. And it would be a good idea if you learned how to play some of those video games, too.”

Olivia shuddered delicately. “I don’t think so, thanks.” She displayed long-tapered fingernails painted the exact shade of red as her jacket. “I’m certain I can interest Conn in games of a more personal nature.”

Andie thought fleetingly of being in Conn’s arms that morning, could still almost feel the coiled strength in his lean body as he’d pressed against her, wanting, needing....

“I have no doubt of that,” she said with forced calm, fighting the temptation to launch herself at Olivia’s slender throat. Killing Olivia wouldn’t do much good in the long run. Another woman would simply take her place. Trying to keep women away from Conn was like trying to keep bees away from a picnic.

“Well...” Olivia made an exaggerated show of looking at her watch. “I can’t spend all morning here. Are you sure you can’t call Conn and tell him I’m here?”

“I have no idea where he is,” Andie said quite truthfully. “It could take twenty minutes to track him down, and even then there’s no guarantee he’ll stop whatever he’s doing to take my call. You said it yourself—he’s like a kid when it comes to electronic gadgets. And the production floor is like a gigantic toy shop. He could be down there all afternoon.”

Olivia’s expression darkened and she glared at the door to his office impotently. “Tell him I was here, will you?”

“Of course. Does he have your number?” Low shot.

It earned her a cool look. “You know he does, Andrea. And trust me, honey—I have yours.” Countershot.

Andie had her mouth open to make a pointed retort when the door banged open and Conn strode in, grinning broadly. He had his expensively tailored suit jacket tossed carelessly over one broad shoulder, the top two buttons of his Armani shirt undone, hundred-dollar tie hanging loose around his neck. There was a smudge of grease on his shirtfront, his hair was tousled as though he’d run his fingers through it in exasperation and he was brandishing a circuit board like the Grail itself.

“You were right, darlin! Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Three

Olivia Woodruff was leaning against the corner of Andie’s desk, looking like a million dollars, as usual. She turned toward him with an expectant smile as Conn strode across the room. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment as he stepped by her and leaned down to plant a long and thoroughly satisfying kiss squarely on Andie’s upturned mouth.

Trying to ignore a distinctive and erotic stirring low in his belly, he grinned and squatted beside her chair, feeling like a five-year-old on Christmas morning as he brandished the circuit board. “You got it in one, hotshot. I owe you big for this one—you probably saved us about twelve million bucks in contracts.”

She grinned back, eyes sparkling. “So...it was the board.”

“Nearly three months ago, Shoendorf changed suppliers for one of the components used on the board. They’d been having trouble with quality control, but no one told us about it.” He dared to lean across to give her another swift kiss. “You’ve earned yourself a raise, kid.”

Andie laughed, looking as genuinely pleased at having the problem solved as he was. “So I can cancel the meeting with Production and Design?”

“Already took care of it. Bob and Frank are best buddies again, Purchasing is talking with Shoendorf about the problem, Bob shut down the assembly line until we run quality-control tests on all the boards in stock.... Crisis averted, thanks to you.”

Still laughing, Andie looked at his shirtfront and groaned. “I wish you’d put on a lab coat when you go down to the production floor to mess around. There’s a clean shirt in your office.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Another quick kiss and he was on his feet, looking around to smile at Olivia. “Hello, Liv, darlin’. Here to take me to lunch?”

“Forget it,” Andie spoke up promptly, her eyes glittering slightly. “We have to go over these figures again before this afternoon’s meeting. Make it dinner, or reschedule.”

Olivia smiled, reaching up to brush a smudge off his cheek, her fingers lingering there for a moment. “She takes such good care of you, doesn’t she?” she said sweetly.

There was something in her voice, in the very air around them, that made Conn look first at her, then at Andie. Both smiled beatifically, as charming as cats on a windowsill.

And as deadly, Conn thought uneasily. There was something a little dangerous in Andie’s eyes, and Olivia’s red fingernails flashed slightly as she took her hand from his cheek.

Now what? He knew Andie didn’t like Liv much, but there seemed to be an extra hint of hostility in the air today, a sense of something going on that he couldn’t quite identify.

Not that he deluded himself into thinking he’d figure it out in this lifetime. The complexities and rituals of female politics had always baffled the hell out of him. He’d decided a long time ago that the smartest thing a man could do was keep his head down and his butt safely out of the line of fire.

“Come on in and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” he said easily, putting his hand on Liv’s back and heading her gently but deliberately toward his office.

As the door closed behind them, he walked across to the hardwood table near the wall of windows overlooking Seattle’s waterfront. The coffee carafe was almost full and he poured two cups of the special blend he had Starbucks make up for him. He handed one to Liv. “Cheers.”

“More to the point, congratulations.”

“For?”

Liv’s mouth curved up in a gentle smile. “For finally getting rid of wife number two. It must feel nice, not having that hanging over you anymore.”

“Nice isn’t the word I would have chosen,” Conn said quietly. He still hadn’t entirely gotten used to the idea. He thought of Judith now deliberately, testing the memory for pain. Found only a weary sadness. “How did you find out? Don’t tell me the press has hold of it already.”

“A friend told a friend who told a friend who called me last night. I was going to drop by, but I had a dinner meeting that ran past midnight.”

Conn thought of the bottle of Scotch still sitting on his kitchen counter. “Probably a good thing you didn’t. I would have made lousy company.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could have come up with an idea or two guaranteed to raise your spirits. And who knows what else....” She grinned salaciously. “Come on, Connor, lighten up! You look like the hero in a Gothic novel, all scowl and thunder.”

He managed a rough smile. “It’s probably just the hangover.”

“Ahh.” She gave a knowing smile. “I see. It was that way, was it?”

He grunted something vaguely affirmative and walked across the room to drop into one of the big armchairs by the window. He usually enjoyed sparring with Olivia, but he was tired today. The kind of tired that went bone-deep and made him feel as if he’d never shake free of it. “So, what can I do for you, Liv?”

“God, so formal.” She kicked off her high heels and padded across to drop gracefully into the chair across from his. Lifting one long, curvaceous leg, she settled her bare foot into his lap. “You know why I’m here, Connor. I put a proposition to you a month ago. I’m still waiting for your answer.”

Conn settled both hands around her small foot and started massaging it. “I didn’t think you were serious, Liv.”

“Deadly.” She arched her foot, sighing in pleasure as he massaged her instep. “I want you to marry me. No strings, no fancy expectations, prenuptial agreements on both sides to protect our mutual business interests.”

“We could just sleep together and save the lawyers’ fees.”

She laughed. “Hell, I’ve been trying to get you into my bed for eight months, Devlin, with nothing to show for it but a near-terminal case of frustration.”