Rough Harbor Read Online Free PDF Page B

had picked up in London, somewhat funky, kind of avant-garde.
    In truth, her own taste was a little more conservative, but she needed to stand out and look different than the leather chairs and wood paneling most people associated with financial management firms. Nothing sent up-and-coming talent away like a place that looked straight out of the men’s lounge at a country club. In general, Caitlyn’s clients hated to be told what to do by old men in three-piece suits.
    So, she’d gone deliberately in the opposite direction. And it had worked. Caitlyn tapped her fingers on the desk as she counted in her hand. Fifteen new clients in four months. Not a bad track record.
    Maxwell had said good work, of course. And what else? “Keep that up, and you’ll be running the place in no time.” She was doing that now, trying to remember everything Maxwell had said to her over the past few months, from the first phone call in London to their last dinner together.
    Caitlyn stood and walked over to her window. The view was okay. If you stood on tip-toe and leaned, you could catch a glimpse of Queensbay Harbor, but for the most part, you got a view of the parking lot. Clouds were piling in. It would probably rain later, slicking down the roads and pulling more of the late fall leaves off their branches.
    She had thought Maxwell was promising her the firm. But now, with careful consideration of what he had actually said, she realized he’d only made vague hints – which was why she’d needed to search his private office, to see if there had been anything in writing.
    She had meant to be in and out, Caitlyn thought. Why did Noah Randall have to be there at that particular moment? She hadn’t found anything, which Caitlyn thought was exactly how it was supposed to be. Maxwell wouldn’t have put anything like that in writing. Maxwell Randall was not the type to throw over his own son for anyone, not even her.
    Noah had looked good. California and his life choices had agreed with him. He’d filled out his lanky frame until she couldn’t help but notice the way the shirt had stretched across his muscles. Dark hair, tan, and the smell of whisky and wood had mingled together. She closed her eyes, breathing, imagining the smell of him.
    Caitlyn sighed. Noah Randall was as different from Michael St. John as night and day, but in those few moments with Noah she’d felt more – what? Longing, desire? – than she had in months.
    It was only because of their history together. Their unresolved history. When someone was supposed to have been your first, and it didn’t work out, and then he shows up looking all yummy and delicious… and angry… well, a girl couldn’t help how she felt, could she?
    Caitlyn shook her head and smoothed her gray skirt, straightened her blouse. There was a staff meeting in ten minutes, and since she hadn’t heard from Maxwell’s lawyer, she had a sense of where this was going. Maxwell Randall, smooth, wily and an operator, had used her to help him save his ass.
    And now he was dead. Too much to drink, leaning too far out over the edge of the bluff, and now he was gone. Caitlyn should have gotten something in writing from the old bastard. A lovable one, but a bastard none the less.
    The phone rang. And rang. Caitlyn looked at it. Her assistant, Heather Malloy, was supposed to answer it, but she must not be at her desk, again.
    “Caitlyn Montgomery,” she said, picking the phone up and pulling a pad towards her to jot down notes.
    “Well, well, well. I finally get to speak to you in the flesh. Your grandfather always spoke so highly of you.”
    Caitlyn froze. Lucas Montgomery was a ghost whose name was rarely spoken.
    “Who are you?”
    The voice on the other end laughed hoarsely and then coughed. Ex-smoker, Caitlyn thought.
    “Peter Flynn. An old friend of your grandfather’s. It always ate me up, how it ended with him.”
    Caitlyn went awash in bad memories, staring at a picture on the wall, which