Free Masquerade by Janet Dailey Page A

side. He's the spokesman for the Crescent Line—the labor-relations man, the representative, the company's goodwill ambassador. The man's phenomenal, Remy. He knows even the newest employee by name. He can go down on the docks, take off his jacket and tie, and swap stories with the longshoremen over a beer like he was one of them. That same night he can put on a white tie and tails, mingle with a bunch of visiting dignitaries, and exchange views on global politics with all the ease of a diplomat. Everyone likes him. He's so charming and warm it's impossible not to."
    But the only image she had of her uncle was the one Gabe had just drawn for her. She had none of her own. "Sorry." She shook her head in regret. "I still can't remember him."
    "What about his son, Lance? He's the same age as me—our birthdays are just a couple months apart. He works for the company too, in the accounting end of it." He watched for some indication that his words were striking a familiar chord—and found none. "Maybe it would help if I told you that you don't like Lance."
    "Why?" she asked, surprised by his assertion.
    "You seem to think he's too full of himself, a little too contemptuous of women."
    "Is he?"
    "Probably," he conceded. "But the way they practically fall on their backs if he so much as looks at them, it's not really surprising that he doesn't have much respect for them. I used to be envious of him when we were in high school together. It was the closest I ever came to hating him. If he was around, not a single girl would look my way."
    "By that I assume you mean he's handsome."
    He laughed softly at that. "Actually the phrase 'handsome as the devil' could have been invented to describe Lance—dark hair, dark eyes, and a sexy, brooding look. He's the bad kind that mothers warn their daughters about and daddies meet at the door with a shotgun—and girls go crazy over."
    "He sounds like a bachelor playboy." She was conscious of her teeth coming together in an almost instinctive reaction of disgust and dislike. But was she reacting or remembering? She couldn't tell.
    "A bachelor? No. He's been married for three years and has a two-year-old son and another baby on the way. A playboy?" Gabe tipped his hand from side to side in a gesture that indicated that the decision could go either way.
    "In other words, he's a married playboy," Remy concluded, a little acidly.
    "Let's be realistic," Gabe protested, obviously coming to his cousin's defense. "If you're at a party and you keep being served up a tray of sweet, delectable morsels, are you going to have the willpower to say no every time it's offered? No man is that strong, Remy."
    "And Lance is a little weaker than most, isn't he?" she guessed—or was she guessing? She wished she knew, then shook off the question as unanswerable, just as so many others were. "You said he works in the company's accounting department?"
    "Yes. So you see, neither Lance nor I was interested or qualified to take over as president. Which meant we had to look outside for someone to replace Dad."
    The ringing of the suite's front bell was quickly followed by a heavily accented voice announcing, "Room service."
    "That must be the coffee I ordered earlier," Remy said, and automatically went to the door.
    The waiter swept into the sitting room with an elaborate tray balanced on his upraised palm. He made a production out of setting the tray down, arranging the china cups and saucers, setting out the cream and sugar, and adjusting the placement of a flower vase, totally indifferent to the heavy silence stretching over the room.
    He picked up the stainless coffee server. "Shall I pour, madam?"
    "No thank you."
    "Very well, madam." But he practically sniffed his disapproval as he presented the bill to her with a slight flourish.
    Remy hastily scratched her name across it and passed it back to him. When the waiter left, she locked the door behind him, then turned back to the room.
    "Would you like a