Luring A Lady
Page 24
After a moment's hesitation, Sydney nodded. "Thank you, Janine."
"Good luck, Ms. Hayward."
Sydney smiled and shut the door. She was going to need it. Face composed, she turned back to the room. "I've just been told that Mrs. Wolburg is about to make a televised statement. I'm sure we're all interested in what she has to say. So with your permission, I'll turn on the set." Rather than waiting for the debate to settle it, Sydney picked up the remote and aimed it at the console in the corner.
While Lloyd was stating that the board needed to concern themselves with the facts and not a publicity maneuver, Channel 6 cut from commercial to Mrs. Wolburg's hospital bed.
The reporter, a pretty woman in her early twenties with eyes as sharp as nails, began the interview by asking the patient to explain how she came by her injury. Several members of the board shook their heads and muttered among themselves as she explained about tripping on the ripped linoleum and how the noise of the construction had masked her calls for help.
Lloyd had to stop his lips from curving as he imagined Sydney's ship springing another leak.
"And this floor," the reporter continued. "Had the condition of it been reported to Hayward?"
"Oh, sure. Mik—that's Mikhail Stanislaski, the sweet boy up on the fifth floor wrote letters about the whole building."
"And nothing was done?"
"Nope, not a thing. Why Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski, the young couple in 101, had a piece of plaster as big as a pie plate fall out of their ceiling. Mik fixed it."
"So the tenants were forced to take on the repairs themselves, due to Hayward's neglect."
"I guess you could say that. Up until the last few weeks."
"Oh, and what happened in the last few weeks?"
"That would be when Sydney—that's Miss Hayward—took over the company. She's the granddaughter of old man Hayward. Heard he'd been real sick the last couple years. Guess things got away from him. Anyway, Mik went to see her, and she came out herself that very day to take a look. Not two weeks later, and the building was crawling with construction workers. We got new windows. Got a new roof going on right this minute. All the plumbing's being fixed, too. Every single thing Mik put on the list is going to be taken care of."
"Really? And did all this happen before or after your injury?"
"Before," Mrs. Wolburg said, a bit impatient with the sarcasm. "I told you all that hammering and sawing was the reason nobody heard me when I fell. And I want you to know that Miss Hayward was there checking the place out again that day. She and Mik found me. She sat right there on the floor and talked to me, brought me a pillow and a blanket and stayed with me until the ambulance came. Came to the hospital, too, and took care of all my medical bills. Been to visit me three times since I've been here."
"Wouldn't you say that Hayward, and therefore Sydney Hayward, is responsible for you being here?"
"Bad eyes and a hole in the floor's responsible," she said evenly. "And I'll tell you just what I told those ambulance chasers who've been calling my family. I've got no reason to sue Hayward. They've been taking care of me since the minute I was hurt. Now maybe if they'd dallied around and tried to make like it wasn't any of their doing, I'd feel differently. But they did what was right, and you can't ask for better than that. Sydney's got ethics, and as long as she's in charge I figure Hayward has ethics, too. I'm pleased to live in a building owned by a company with a conscience."
Sydney stayed where she was after the interview ended. Saying nothing, she switched off the set and waited.
"You can't buy that kind of goodwill," Mavis decided. "Your method may have been unorthodox, Sydney, and I don't doubt there will still be some backwash to deal with, but all in all, I think the stockholders will be pleased."
The discussion labored on another thirty minutes, but the crisis had passed.
The moment Sydney was back in her own office, she picked up the phone. The receiver rang in her ear twelve times, frustrating her, before it was finally picked up on the other end.
"Yeah?"
"Mikhail?"
"Nope, he's down the hall."
"Oh, well then, I—"
"Hang on." The phone rattled, clanged then clattered as the male voice boomed out Mikhail's name. Feeling like a fool, Sydney stayed on the line.
"Hello?"
"Mikhail, it's Sydney."
He grinned and grabbed the jug of ice water out of the refrigerator. "Hello, anyway."
"I just saw the news. I suppose you knew."
"Caught it on my lunch break. So?"
"You asked her to do it?"
"No, I didn't." He paused long enough to gulp down about a pint of water. "I told her how things were, and she came up with the idea herself. It was a good one."
"Yes, it was a good one. And I owe you."
"Yeah?" He thought about it. "Okay. Pay up." Why she'd expected him to politely refuse to take credit was beyond her. "Excuse me?"
"Pay up, Hayward. You can have dinner with me on
Sunday."
"Really, I don't see how one has to do with the other."
"You owe me," he reminded her, "and that's what I
want. Nothing fancy, okay? I'll pick you up around four."
"Four? Four in the afternoon for dinner?"
"Right." He pulled a carpenter's pencil out of his pocket. "What's your address?"
He let out a low whistle as she reluctantly rattled it off.
"Nice." He finished writing it on the wall. "Got a phone number? In case something comes up."
She was scowling, but she gave it to him. "I want to make it clear that—"
"Make it clear when I pick you up. I'm on the clock, and you're paying." On impulse he outlined her address and phone number with a heart. "See you Sunday. Boss."
Chapter 6
Sydney studied her reflection in the cheval glass critically and cautiously. It wasn't as if it were a date. She'd reminded herself of that several hundred times over the weekend. It was more of a payment, and no matter how she felt about Mikhail, she owed him. Haywards paid their debts.
Nothing formal. She'd taken him at his word there. The little dress was simple, its scooped neck and thin straps a concession to the heat. The nipped in waist was flattering, the flared skirt comfortable. The thin, nearly weightless material was teal blue. Not that she'd paid any attention to his suggestion she wear brighter colors.
"Good luck, Ms. Hayward."
Sydney smiled and shut the door. She was going to need it. Face composed, she turned back to the room. "I've just been told that Mrs. Wolburg is about to make a televised statement. I'm sure we're all interested in what she has to say. So with your permission, I'll turn on the set." Rather than waiting for the debate to settle it, Sydney picked up the remote and aimed it at the console in the corner.
While Lloyd was stating that the board needed to concern themselves with the facts and not a publicity maneuver, Channel 6 cut from commercial to Mrs. Wolburg's hospital bed.
The reporter, a pretty woman in her early twenties with eyes as sharp as nails, began the interview by asking the patient to explain how she came by her injury. Several members of the board shook their heads and muttered among themselves as she explained about tripping on the ripped linoleum and how the noise of the construction had masked her calls for help.
Lloyd had to stop his lips from curving as he imagined Sydney's ship springing another leak.
"And this floor," the reporter continued. "Had the condition of it been reported to Hayward?"
"Oh, sure. Mik—that's Mikhail Stanislaski, the sweet boy up on the fifth floor wrote letters about the whole building."
"And nothing was done?"
"Nope, not a thing. Why Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski, the young couple in 101, had a piece of plaster as big as a pie plate fall out of their ceiling. Mik fixed it."
"So the tenants were forced to take on the repairs themselves, due to Hayward's neglect."
"I guess you could say that. Up until the last few weeks."
"Oh, and what happened in the last few weeks?"
"That would be when Sydney—that's Miss Hayward—took over the company. She's the granddaughter of old man Hayward. Heard he'd been real sick the last couple years. Guess things got away from him. Anyway, Mik went to see her, and she came out herself that very day to take a look. Not two weeks later, and the building was crawling with construction workers. We got new windows. Got a new roof going on right this minute. All the plumbing's being fixed, too. Every single thing Mik put on the list is going to be taken care of."
"Really? And did all this happen before or after your injury?"
"Before," Mrs. Wolburg said, a bit impatient with the sarcasm. "I told you all that hammering and sawing was the reason nobody heard me when I fell. And I want you to know that Miss Hayward was there checking the place out again that day. She and Mik found me. She sat right there on the floor and talked to me, brought me a pillow and a blanket and stayed with me until the ambulance came. Came to the hospital, too, and took care of all my medical bills. Been to visit me three times since I've been here."
"Wouldn't you say that Hayward, and therefore Sydney Hayward, is responsible for you being here?"
"Bad eyes and a hole in the floor's responsible," she said evenly. "And I'll tell you just what I told those ambulance chasers who've been calling my family. I've got no reason to sue Hayward. They've been taking care of me since the minute I was hurt. Now maybe if they'd dallied around and tried to make like it wasn't any of their doing, I'd feel differently. But they did what was right, and you can't ask for better than that. Sydney's got ethics, and as long as she's in charge I figure Hayward has ethics, too. I'm pleased to live in a building owned by a company with a conscience."
Sydney stayed where she was after the interview ended. Saying nothing, she switched off the set and waited.
"You can't buy that kind of goodwill," Mavis decided. "Your method may have been unorthodox, Sydney, and I don't doubt there will still be some backwash to deal with, but all in all, I think the stockholders will be pleased."
The discussion labored on another thirty minutes, but the crisis had passed.
The moment Sydney was back in her own office, she picked up the phone. The receiver rang in her ear twelve times, frustrating her, before it was finally picked up on the other end.
"Yeah?"
"Mikhail?"
"Nope, he's down the hall."
"Oh, well then, I—"
"Hang on." The phone rattled, clanged then clattered as the male voice boomed out Mikhail's name. Feeling like a fool, Sydney stayed on the line.
"Hello?"
"Mikhail, it's Sydney."
He grinned and grabbed the jug of ice water out of the refrigerator. "Hello, anyway."
"I just saw the news. I suppose you knew."
"Caught it on my lunch break. So?"
"You asked her to do it?"
"No, I didn't." He paused long enough to gulp down about a pint of water. "I told her how things were, and she came up with the idea herself. It was a good one."
"Yes, it was a good one. And I owe you."
"Yeah?" He thought about it. "Okay. Pay up." Why she'd expected him to politely refuse to take credit was beyond her. "Excuse me?"
"Pay up, Hayward. You can have dinner with me on
Sunday."
"Really, I don't see how one has to do with the other."
"You owe me," he reminded her, "and that's what I
want. Nothing fancy, okay? I'll pick you up around four."
"Four? Four in the afternoon for dinner?"
"Right." He pulled a carpenter's pencil out of his pocket. "What's your address?"
He let out a low whistle as she reluctantly rattled it off.
"Nice." He finished writing it on the wall. "Got a phone number? In case something comes up."
She was scowling, but she gave it to him. "I want to make it clear that—"
"Make it clear when I pick you up. I'm on the clock, and you're paying." On impulse he outlined her address and phone number with a heart. "See you Sunday. Boss."
Chapter 6
Sydney studied her reflection in the cheval glass critically and cautiously. It wasn't as if it were a date. She'd reminded herself of that several hundred times over the weekend. It was more of a payment, and no matter how she felt about Mikhail, she owed him. Haywards paid their debts.
Nothing formal. She'd taken him at his word there. The little dress was simple, its scooped neck and thin straps a concession to the heat. The nipped in waist was flattering, the flared skirt comfortable. The thin, nearly weightless material was teal blue. Not that she'd paid any attention to his suggestion she wear brighter colors.
