Once More with Feeling

ONCE MORE WITH FEELING

A novel by

Phyllis Humphrey

Smashwords edition

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Copyright 1998, 2011 by Phyllis A. Humphrey

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or henceforth invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, website or broadcast.

The cover image is the copyrighted property of the artist, C. H. Humphrey, and is used here with permission.

This ebook published by Criterion House at Smashwords

ISBN: 978-1-884162-30-5 (Smashwords Editions)

ISBN: 0-8217-6093-9 (Print Edition)

Chapter 1

June 1998

On a scale of one to ten, Jaime decided her office on the main floor of Taylor, Jones and Watt, Stock Brokers, was about a four. No walls, just partitions to mark the cubicles. A desk, two chairs, computer and telephone--she didn't need more, although she'd love another client or two.

But first, a cup of coffee. She walked toward the stairs and noticed several heads lift as she went by. After four months, the fifteen men were used to her as the only woman broker in that office, but she knew her naturally curly red hair, or the current skirt fashion, which showed off her legs, still elicited an admiring glance.

That day, however, she sensed someone else stared at her. Turning her head, her gaze locked with that of a man who had just come through the main doors. He was tall and well built, with hair of a darker shade of red than hers, and he wore a handsome Burberry raincoat. She smiled. The man must be a stranger--native San Franciscans seldom wore raincoats in June. The morning fog would soon burn off, no matter how gloomy it seemed at the moment.

The man returned her glance, and she realized he must have thought she smiled at him, not--as was the case--at her own thoughts. She looked away and went to the break room.

Moments later, she returned to her desk. She always felt comfortable in her tiny office and loved the work. She bent over a list of possible clients and was about to pick up the phone when a deep, masculine voice greeted her.

Good morning.

Jaime looked up, and her eyes met the dark brown eyes of a man standing in her doorway, the same one who'd been admiring her earlier. She swallowed hard, then told herself there was no need to be embarrassed just because they had exchanged glances before.

May I help you?

I'm looking for a stockbroker. He shrugged his broad shoulders. The receptionist pointed me this way, but I thought she sent me to a James Campbell.

It's Jaime Campbell. She smiled while she corrected him. And you're in the right place. I’m a registered representative.

He stood, unmoving, in her doorway, and she saw he was over six feet tall and incredibly good-looking, with a straight nose and firm chin set in a squarish sun-tanned face. Jaime couldn't help wondering how a redhead could tan so well. It had never been possible for her.

I was expecting-- he began, and then paused.

You were expecting a man, Jaime finished for him. As you know, there are many women representatives these days. And besides, she added, with an broader smile, hoping to convince him to stay, it's my turn.

I beg your pardon? He came forward, filling the small space with his imposing presence.

Please sit down. Jaime pointed to the walnut arm chair. The receptionist sent you to me because each one is called in turn when a new client comes into the office.

He continued to stand, so Jaime was forced to rise as well, although at five feet nine in her heels, she still found it necessary to look up to him.

I see. He paused, then repeated, It's your turn.

Exactly.

I don't mean to appear chauvinistic, but I had been expecting a man, and-- He broke off.

At least he had the decency to be embarrassed about his sexist remark. I assure you I'm perfectly capable, she said. Women take the same course of study for these positions as men, and must turn in equally high marks.

It's not that. He shook his head. You're so young.

Thank you for the compliment, but I'm almost thirty. She had just turned twenty-eight, but she knew people in their thirties and forties--she judged this man to be somewhere between--had difficulty accepting investment advice from someone too much their junior. Besides, she hadn't lied; she was a lot closer to thirty than to twenty.

Please be seated, she said again, but he only stared at her until she could feel a flush rising to her usually fair skin.

Then he said, Excuse me, turned and left.

She watched him return to the receptionist for a moment, before moving toward the manager's office. Her stomach knotted. What was he saying to her boss? Why would he do that without even giving her a chance?

She sank down abruptly in her chair, before any of her co-workers could wonder why she was staring at the boss's office. She turned her attention once more to the list of names on the desk, but it blurred before her eyes, and her mind refused to concentrate. She could only think of the man in the manager's office, no doubt discussing her.

Bob Grant, the manager of that branch of Taylor, Jones and Watt, was more than her employer, he was her friend as well. Bob was fifteen years older than Jaime and had taken an almost fatherly interest in her when her husband, Bruce, had been killed in an automobile accident. Since she was between jobs at the time, he had urged her to take Bruce's place in the firm. After Bob's divorce, she and Bruce had sometimes invited Bob to dinner, and had also sailed with him on his twenty-eight-foot boat in San Francisco Bay.

Still, friends or not, she was not a charity case and would never let him down. She had thrown herself into studying the market and found she not only liked the world of buying and selling securities, but apparently had an aptitude for it. Once she acquired a long list of satisfied customers and generated high commissions for the firm, Bob would see his decision justified and be proud of her. Certainly, if hard work was any criterion for success, she would attain that goal before she reached the age of the insensitive man who had just left her office.

As if responding to her unspoken thoughts, the man himself once more appeared in her doorway. Her eyes widened. What had Bob said to him?

Ms. Campbell, please forgive my earlier rudeness. He removed his coat, revealing a well-cut three-piece suit, placed it across the back of the chair, and sat down.

Jaime didn't answer. She was too surprised. Plus, his earlier dismissal remained fresh in her mind.

You must have thought my remarks were based on your being a woman. That wasn't the case at all, just a misunderstanding. Mr. Grant told me how qualified you are, head of your class, as well as graduating with high honors from Stanford University. I must say, I'm very impressed.

Her hurt dissolved slowly with his compliments. He looked and sounded sincere. Thank you.

He said a report you did recently was quite outstanding, and shows you have a real grasp of the market. And then, he continued, there are my aunts.

Your aunts? Jaime repeated.

Yes. They live in the city and apparently worked with your late husband, Bruce Campbell. They told me I must look him up for my own investment needs.

Jaime's heart plummeted. So she was not being chosen for her expertise after all, but because the man's relatives were satisfied with Bruce's performance. Again, hiding her feelings, she remained calm. What are your aunts' names?

Dora and Laura Frazier.

Jaime reached for her client book and scanned the list. I contacted them, but they never returned my calls.

Perhaps they didn't recognize the name. They're elderly ladies and sometimes a little-- He gestured with one hand. They may not have made the connection.

But the fact is, Jaime said, I am not my husband. Perhaps, now you know your aunts' recommendation was not for me at all, you prefer to see someone else.

She regretted the words at once. As badly as she needed new clients, why that reluctance? Why encourage him to take his account elsewhere? Did it have anything to do with his devastating smile and her quickening heartbeat?

He studied her face a moment. Had that been the case, I wouldn't have returned to your desk, but here I am.

Jaime found his gaze unnerving, and his velvet brown eyes seemed to bore into her. She looked away, tried to cover the confusion of her conflicting emotions. She reached into her desk drawer for a new client form to fill out and plunged ahead. Very well, I'm certain we can work well together in the future, Mr. Frazier.

I'm sure we can. And the name is MacRae. My aunts' names are Frazier, but mine is MacRae.

Please forgive me.

No apology necessary. I should have made that clear at the outset. They're my mother's sisters and never married. His look swept over her face. In spite of my earlier reluctance, I see now this could be a very rewarding experience.

Jaime's gaze flew to him once more. What did he mean by that? Was he hinting at a different kind of relationship? Unfortunately, since Bruce’s death, she'd run into too many men who wanted more from her than market opinions. She put her sudden doubts behind her. Mr.--

Your first name? she asked, pen poised over the form.

Marshall.

--Mr. MacRae didn't appear to be that kind of person at all. He seemed serious and business-like, just the sort of client she wanted.

Middle name or initial?

Ian.

Again Jaime's personal thoughts intruded. Ian was a favorite name, one she imagined giving to a child some day. Will there be any other names on the account?

No, I've just moved to San Francisco and I'm single.

So he was apparently unmarried. The news pleased her, although she decided it was irrelevant. Once the form was filled out, she began her usual questions for new clients. What are your investment objectives, Mr. MacRae?

He didn’t hesitate. Capital appreciation. I have no need for present income.

Are you interested in municipals?

Definitely not. Bonds of any kind are far too tame. His face turned from serious to smiling, revealing even, white teeth, and his eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief. I'm looking for growth and willing to be a bit aggressive.

She liked his smile. She had already forgiven him for his earlier chauvinism. A shade speculative, perhaps?

Yes, I don't mind taking a flyer now and then into a new company that might turn out to be another Microsoft. In fact, I discussed that with your manager. He assured me you wouldn't be too conservative for my needs.

I hope that's true. She remembered how her mother often lamented having a red-haired child, inquisitive and impetuous from her earliest years.

Do you want to purchase some stock now, or do you prefer to give me a day or two to prepare recommendations?

Both, I think. Do you have something to recommend at this time?

As a matter of fact, I do know of a very interesting possibility. It's called Peters Technology. She suddenly realized he was frowning. Is something the matter?

That's the firm in what you Californians call Silicon Valley, isn't it? Forget them, I'm not interested. His manner was abrupt and even condescending, and Jaime felt her earlier hostility returning.

She tried not to sound as dismayed as she felt. I beg your pardon. I've investigated the company, and it's not one of those dot-com start-ups that--

I'm sorry, he interrupted, but I happen to know that stock isn't going anywhere.

Jaime was taken aback but managed to speak softly. May I ask where you get your information? Since you've only recently moved to this area--

A friend of mine knows someone.

In other words, a tip, Jaime finished.

He paused before answering. That's true, but--

It's your decision of course. She felt a little miffed but tried not to show it. I don't want to force you into anything against your better judgment.

No one ever does. He seemed to have added a mocking quality to his tone of voice.

Jaime found herself on the defensive. She recognized that fault in her nature, but found it hard to resist wanting to prove herself. In ths case, however, our research department did a very thorough study recently, and I visited their offices not two weeks ago for a first-hand look.

Still smiling, he leaned forward slightly. Did you? He seemed suddenly willing to listen to her opinions.

Jaime took advantage of his new attitude to add arguments to her side. Since you said you were interested in aggressive investing--even speculative, perhaps--I don't see how you can object to Peters Technology.

Perhaps you're right.

Despite trying to achieve that result, Jaime was surprised by what seemed a rather sudden capitulation. A bit flustered, she opened her file on the company and focused on the papers inside. I predict their next quarter's earnings will be fifty per cent higher and at a price/earnings ratio of only fifteen.

Well, in that case, perhaps I'll try it. He raised one hand and pushed back the shock of hair from his forehead. I could risk a gamble, a small one perhaps.

I don't consider this a gamble. Peters could really be the next big growth company.

He studied her intently, seemingly concentrating on her mouth. She bit her lower lip. For a moment, words refused to come to her mind at all. Instead, she found herself looking at his mouth too, with its inquisitive smile pulling up one corner, the smooth, firm lips. As if compelled by an inner voice, she raised her eyes to his. They stared into her own quite frankly.

She tore her gaze away and idly folded the Wall Street Journal which lay on her desk. Not since her first dates with Bruce on the Stanford campus in Palo Alto