philosophies and dangling thought patterns. If he wanted to see her again, there was no harm in it. And it was simple enough. He'd just pick up the phone and call her. They could have dinner again… on his terms. Before the evening was over, he'd discover what it was about her that nagged at him.
When his door opened, Reed's glance of annoyance turned into a warm smile few were ever treated to. "A little wet for golf?"
"Club's a tomb when it rains." Edwin Valentine walked into the room with the long, slow steps of a big man, then dropped heavily into a chair. "Besides, I
start to feel old if I don't make it in here every couple of weeks."
"Yeah, you look feeble." Reed leaned back in his chair and studied his father's ruddy, strong-featured face. "What's your handicap these days?"
"Four." Edwin grinned, pleased as a boy. "All in the wrist. Got wind you've all but signed Libby Barlow away from Galloway Records."
Cautious, always cautious, Reed merely inclined his head. "It looks that way."
Edwin nodded. The office had been his for nearly twenty years. The decisions had been his then. Still, he didn't feel any twinge of regret, any twist of envy at seeing his son behind the desk. That was what he'd worked for. "Great set of pipes on that little lady. I'd like to see Dorsey produce her first album with us."
Reed's lips curved slightly. His father's instincts were, as always, bull's-eye. "It's been discussed. I still think you should have an office here." He held up a hand before his father could speak. "I don't mean you should tie yourself down to regular hours again."
"Never had regular hours in my life," Edwin put in. "Well, irregular hours, then. I do think Valentine Records should have Edwin Valentine."
"It has you." Edwin folded his hands, and the look he gave his son was direct and calm. More, much more passed between them than the words. "Not that I don't think you could use some advice from the old man now and again. However, you're at the helm now. The ship's holding steady."
"I wouldn't let you down." Edwin recognized the intensity in his son's voice, and understood a portion of the passion behind it. "I'm aware of that, Reed. I don't have to tell you that of all the things that have touched my life, nothing's made me prouder than you."
Emotion rippled through him. Gratitude, love. "Dad—"
Before he could finish, or even properly begin, his secretary wheeled in a tray of coffee and sweet rolls. "By damn, Hannah, you're as sharp as ever."
"So are you, Mr. Valentine. Looks like you've dropped a pound or two." She fixed his coffee the way he preferred it. The flash of a wink she sent Reed was too quick to measure. She'd been with the company twelve years and was the only person on staff who would have dared the cheeky look.
"You witch, Hannah. I've gained five." Edwin heaped two rolls on his plate anyway.
"You wear it well, Mr. Valentine. You have a meeting at eleven-thirty with Mackenzie in Sates." She set another cup on Reed's desk. "Would you like for me to reschedule?"
"Not on my account," Edwin put in quickly.
Reed glanced at his watch and calculated the next thirty-five minutes. "I'll see him at eleven-thirty, Hannah. Thank you."
"Hell of a woman," Edwin said with a full mouth as the door shut behind Hannah. "Smart move, taking her on as your secretary when I retired."
"I don't think Valentine Records could run without Hannah." Reed glanced at the rain-drenched window again, thinking of another woman.
"What's on your mind, Reed?"
"Hmm?" Bringing himself back to the conversation, Reed picked up his coffee. "The sates figures look good. I think you'll be pleased with the results at the end of the fiscal year."
Edwin didn't doubt that. Reed was a product of his mind, of his heart. Only rarely did it concern him that he'd molded his son a little too closely after himself. "Doesn't look to me like you've got sales figures on the brain."
Reed nodded, deciding to answer the question while evading
When his door opened, Reed's glance of annoyance turned into a warm smile few were ever treated to. "A little wet for golf?"
"Club's a tomb when it rains." Edwin Valentine walked into the room with the long, slow steps of a big man, then dropped heavily into a chair. "Besides, I
start to feel old if I don't make it in here every couple of weeks."
"Yeah, you look feeble." Reed leaned back in his chair and studied his father's ruddy, strong-featured face. "What's your handicap these days?"
"Four." Edwin grinned, pleased as a boy. "All in the wrist. Got wind you've all but signed Libby Barlow away from Galloway Records."
Cautious, always cautious, Reed merely inclined his head. "It looks that way."
Edwin nodded. The office had been his for nearly twenty years. The decisions had been his then. Still, he didn't feel any twinge of regret, any twist of envy at seeing his son behind the desk. That was what he'd worked for. "Great set of pipes on that little lady. I'd like to see Dorsey produce her first album with us."
Reed's lips curved slightly. His father's instincts were, as always, bull's-eye. "It's been discussed. I still think you should have an office here." He held up a hand before his father could speak. "I don't mean you should tie yourself down to regular hours again."
"Never had regular hours in my life," Edwin put in. "Well, irregular hours, then. I do think Valentine Records should have Edwin Valentine."
"It has you." Edwin folded his hands, and the look he gave his son was direct and calm. More, much more passed between them than the words. "Not that I don't think you could use some advice from the old man now and again. However, you're at the helm now. The ship's holding steady."
"I wouldn't let you down." Edwin recognized the intensity in his son's voice, and understood a portion of the passion behind it. "I'm aware of that, Reed. I don't have to tell you that of all the things that have touched my life, nothing's made me prouder than you."
Emotion rippled through him. Gratitude, love. "Dad—"
Before he could finish, or even properly begin, his secretary wheeled in a tray of coffee and sweet rolls. "By damn, Hannah, you're as sharp as ever."
"So are you, Mr. Valentine. Looks like you've dropped a pound or two." She fixed his coffee the way he preferred it. The flash of a wink she sent Reed was too quick to measure. She'd been with the company twelve years and was the only person on staff who would have dared the cheeky look.
"You witch, Hannah. I've gained five." Edwin heaped two rolls on his plate anyway.
"You wear it well, Mr. Valentine. You have a meeting at eleven-thirty with Mackenzie in Sates." She set another cup on Reed's desk. "Would you like for me to reschedule?"
"Not on my account," Edwin put in quickly.
Reed glanced at his watch and calculated the next thirty-five minutes. "I'll see him at eleven-thirty, Hannah. Thank you."
"Hell of a woman," Edwin said with a full mouth as the door shut behind Hannah. "Smart move, taking her on as your secretary when I retired."
"I don't think Valentine Records could run without Hannah." Reed glanced at the rain-drenched window again, thinking of another woman.
"What's on your mind, Reed?"
"Hmm?" Bringing himself back to the conversation, Reed picked up his coffee. "The sates figures look good. I think you'll be pleased with the results at the end of the fiscal year."
Edwin didn't doubt that. Reed was a product of his mind, of his heart. Only rarely did it concern him that he'd molded his son a little too closely after himself. "Doesn't look to me like you've got sales figures on the brain."
Reed nodded, deciding to answer the question while evading
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