The Uneven Score Read Online Free PDF Page A

willing to call the police? While she stood there dumbfounded, he caught her by the elbow and escorted her back to his office. He was at least half a foot taller than her five-five. She didn’t know why she noticed, but she did. She didn’t know why her eyes kept wandering up to his face as he marched her along, but they did. There was a sexual magnetism about the man that she found quite impossible to ignore. Perhaps it was adrenaline, or the brush of his thigh on her hip, or just exhaustion. He was an arrogantly masculine man, and ordinarily Whitney wouldn’t have found him the least bit attractive.
    Florida, she decided, was doing strange things to her mind and body.
    Graham urged her into his office and kicked the door shut behind him. She observed the dark hairs on the wrist clamped around her forearm and the way the muscles tightened as he sat her down in a leather chair. He released her, and she leaned back, unable to suppress a yawn.
    “Jesus,” he said.
    “It’s been a long day,” Whitney replied.
    He pointed a finger at her and told her to stay put. Then he went around and stood behind the desk. “You’re Victoria Paderevsky’s new horn player, aren’t you?”
    “No.”
    “You’re not supposed to arrive until tomorrow. I had no idea she’d hired a woman, but then one never knows about our Dr. Paderevsky. Do you know her?”
    “Victoria Pader—” She fumbled at the last syllables.
    “Paderevsky,” Graham supplied.
    “We’ve never met.”
    “You’re lying, Miss Jones.”
    “Why don’t you ask her, then?”
    Whitney was confident Paddie would deny her.
    “I intend to,” Graham said, lifting the phone. At least Whitney assumed it was a telephone. The contraption looked as though it could run Graham Citrus in the absence of any and all of its many employees. Possibly it did. Suddenly he banged the receiver back down. “She sent you here, didn’t she? I’ll be damned. What does that wretched woman think I’ve done now? I suppose she blames me for Harry Stagliatti cutting out on her?”
    “Harry Stagliatti?” Whitney said blankly. It wasn’t a good effort; she’d known Harry far too long. She smiled vapidly, no easy task since she was anything but. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graham, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “I didn’t think you would,” he said dryly. “But if you’re a horn player, you’ve heard of Harry Stagliatti and I have a feeling that—” He broke off with a growl. “Curse that woman!” Then he picked up the phone again. “What are you doing?”
    “Calling the police.” He punched a button. “Sorry, sweets, but your wide-eyed innocent act hasn’t worked. If you won’t explain to me, you can explain to the police.”
    She didn’t realize she had been doing a wide-eyed innocent act. “Suppose we make a deal—”
    “No deals.” He punched two more buttons.
    “All right.” She licked her lips and considered her plight. The police would come and arrest her for breaking and entering. She would have to tell them she was Whitney McCallie, new principal horn for the CFSO. Paddie would be called. Paddie would claim ignorance. Whitney would go to jail. It was, she thought, an unpleasant scenario. Could she persuade Paddie to go public about the nasty incidents that had occurred the past few days and her own suspicions? It was unlikely. And Graham’s willingness to call in the police might be enough to prove to Paddie he was innocent, in which case Whitney herself wouldn’t want Paddie to go public. They would both come out looking like fools.
    “All right,” she repeated gravely, as though deciding, finally, to tell the truth, which, of course; was out of the question. She looked up at Graham and smiled, ignoring his glower. At least he’d stopped punching buttons. “I don’t have a sister on the nineteenth floor and I’m not a custodian. I’m a horn player. I know all about Harry Stagliatti and his resignation from the CFSO. I figured maybe