Sharona’s purple-painted mouth was grim. “I only want people on my team who I can rely on.”
You mean, you only want yes-men who’ll do your bidding, even if it’s wrong, she thought. Knowing in advance that the road leading to the VP job was a pile of rubble made the blow easier to take, but that didn’t justify Sharona taking potshots at her character. She defended herself. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to this company. My track record is impeccable. My projects have been—”
“Speaking of projects. . . .” Sharona snatched up a folder from beside her and threw it across the desk at Jenessa. She caught it clumsily, recognizing it at once. Her proposal for the halfway house.
“Is that a joke?” Sharona asked. “Do you honestly think you could get me to agree to this preposterous idea?”
“What’s so preposterous about it? The proposal’s sound. It meets all our criteria for donations, and the community goodwill we’ll get out of it is better than gold.”
“I don’t need a lesson in Community Relations 101 from you, dear,” Sharona snarled. “I know what the benefits are. I hear your rationale loud and clear. What I want to know is, what the hell makes you think I’d back a project your boy-toy has his heart set on?”
Enough with that already! “Mitchell isn’t my—”
“What he is, is a thorn in my side. One who insists on sticking up for a bunch of miscreants who have no problem undermining the company, destroying property—”
She knew what Sharona was referring to. During the night, someone had disabled the electrical feed to the main freezers, along with alarms and monitoring systems that would have notified Control staff to the problem. In a matter of hours, tens of thousands of dollars of Bianchi’s frozen desserts had thawed to a useless, sodden, wasteful mess.
But not even Sharona could be crazy enough to think that was Mitchell’s doing. “He had nothing to do with that, and you know it. He’s probably down there right now, working on the problem.”
She could picture him, confident but unhurried, finding solutions, and, with his easy air of authority, getting people to do what was needed to rectify the situation. He didn’t have to shout to be heard. Hell, he’d won her over just by whispering in her ear, and claiming her with his body.
She was assailed by the urge to get Sharona out of her office by whatever means, freeing her to race down to the plant and find him. Maybe she could convince him to step away from the site for a few minutes . . . long enough for her to tell him she wanted him back, whether he loved her or not. Having part of Mitchell was better than none at all.
But she couldn’t budge an inch, because she was stuck with Sharona, who shrugged at Jenessa’s counter-argument, nonchalant even when she was wrong. “I’m still not approving this.”
“Because of him?” The extent of Sharona’s spite was staggering. “But the community needs a halfway house! What about the hundreds of women who could benefit from this?” She clutched the proposal in agitated hands.
“I’m supposed to care about a bunch of crackheads?” Sharona laughed. “Oh, please girl. Your slumming expedition’s gone to your head.”
Jenessa let that one bounce off her, not willing to let Sharona taunt her into losing focus. She felt heat in her face, a tingle in her body. Mitchell would never sit around and let something so unjust pass. And after spending so much time in his company, neither would she.
She leaped up and walked deliberately around her desk, drawing strength with each step, inhaling righteous energy, soaking it in. From somewhere inside, the mutant Storm-spirit rose, filling her with energy from her cascade of blonde hair to the tips of her expensive leather shoes. She held the proposal out to Sharona, right up to her face. “You’re approving this.”
“Excuse me?” Sharona reacted in surprise to the sound of steel in Jenessa’s voice, but recovered enough to grind out, “You need to watch your tone.”
Screw her tone. “You’re signing this, or I go above you. I’ll take it to Tony. If Tony won’t hear me, I’ll go to the Board. But it’s not going to get that far, because I know you’re backing me up.”
Sharona was nonplussed, but forced a laugh. “Or what?”
“Or Tony and I are going to have a chat about some of your less conventional IR practices. Ones that involve employees spying on others. Trying to undermine a legal, legitimate, union-sanctioned strike . . .”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“Tony would never believe you. You’ve got no proof.”
Jenessa shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe he’ll think I was out of my mind, or playing the same petty office games everyone around here likes so much.”
“Maybe he’ll think you’re trying to clear the way to put yourself into the VP’s chair.”
“Which your fat ass has probably broken.” Jenessa realized she was enjoying this. Sharona squirmed, so she drove her argument home. “Tony mightn’t believe me right away, but the seeds of doubt will be planted. And when he has a quiet moment, maybe he’ll ask himself . . . could it possibly be true?” She was still holding out the folder. “Do you want someone that powerful having second thoughts about trusting you?”
Slowly, Sharona took it, but her expression could have curdled milk. “I’ll have another read-through, but I’m not making any promises.”
Jenessa gave her a look that suggested she ought to seriously consider making promises.
In defeat, the VP was defiant. “But you just made yourself a very dangerous enemy. I’m going to make life at Bianchi’s a living hell from here on out.”
“Take your best shot; you won’t have much time. Because this . . .” she pointed at the folder “is going to be my last project. Once I see this through—and I will see this through—I’m out of here.”
The instant she said it, Jenessa was rocked by an insane panic. What had she done? Without thinking, without planning, she’d cut herself loose from everything she’d worked for. Everything she’d ever wanted. She thought of her mother, and wondered what she’d say if she knew her daughter was walking away from the dream she’d never been able to fulfill.
But ambition was one thing; selling your soul was another. There’d be other opportunities, more ways to prove herself. She was smart and skilled and had everything to offer. If she didn’t find a job worthy of her, she’d create one for herself. The peace inside her was like the day after a hurricane.
“Why?” Sharona’s gasp echoed Jenessa’s own surprise.
“Because you people are shallow and self-serving. You act like you’re God’s gift to Santa Amata, but the moment you feel threatened, you retreat behind your fortress. You had a chance to play this thing out so everyone, even the lowest level staff, could have held onto their jobs, but you thought only about yourselves. You siphoned off a hefty bonus while there are people out there worried about keeping their kids in school, for God’s sake!”
“I don’t see you giving your bonus back,” Sharona pointed out.
She thought of Mitchell, his precious building, and his generosity. Decision made. She smiled tautly. “Oh, I know where my bonus is going—”
The sound of the door banging the wall as it was thrown open cut through her words. Both their heads snapped around, so engrossed in their tense exchange they’d all but forgotten where they were. Merlin was standing there, clutching the doorknob so tightly his knuckles were bloodless.
Sharona exploded in exasperation. “Merlin, I swear to the Almighty if I see your face on more time today, you can clear out your desk!”
“Watch your mouth when you speak to my people,” Jenessa hissed, and Sharona ground her teeth. “What is it, Merlin?” she asked gently.
Merlin’s face colored up to the roots of his hair, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m sorry. Sorry, Jenessa, sorry Mrs. . . .Ma’am. But there’s more trouble at the plant. Sabotage. Somebody screwed with the boilers. And they caught the guy who did it.”
As she and Sharona entered the plant, Jenessa has
tily grabbed the mandatory lab coat and hairnet and dragged them on. She held another sterile package out to Sharona but the woman only sucked her teeth. “Are you freaking kidding me? Who has time for that?” By the time Jenessa had pulled on her disposable blue cotton overshoes, Sharona was inside the main food preparation area.
With the strike on, there were fewer workers on the production line than normal, but those who were there ran around frantically. Workers in blue denim coveralls, Mitchell’s people, were poking into everything. Some held basic tools like spanners and wrenches, while others were hooking machines up to sophisticated-looking diagnostic equipment.
A small group stood in the middle of the room. Jenessa spotted Mitchell immediately. He was speaking, moving his hands as he made his point. Everyone around him seemed to be listening carefully. Then, as if sensing her presence, he lifted his eyes unerringly to hers, and paused in mid-sentence. The bullet-stopping intensity of his look halted her in mid-stride.
God, I love him so much, she thought. And if it wasn’t for my stupid, stupid decision to send him away—what was I thinking?—I’d be with him still. She ached with regret and longing. And in spite of the anxiety-charged atmosphere, the banging and clanging going on all around them, it was as if no one else was there but them. He acknowledged her with a silent nod, but she saw nothing in his expression that gave away what he was thinking.
The group he was talking to turned their heads in unison toward her, interested to see who or what had distracted him. She recognized Gonzalez, the plant’s foreman, one or two other technicians, and a dark, heavy-set man called Omari. One of Mitchell’s electricians, she believed.
A ripple of curious energy ran through Mitchell’s audience. There probably wasn’t a soul at Bianchi’s who didn’t know they were involved. Their inquisitiveness was palpable. By the time she joined them, willing the heat in her face to subside, he’d recovered their attention.
“I’m dealing with this,” he told Sharona, in a voice that invited no opposition.
He got it anyway. “That’s not your call to make,” Sharona said. She was glaring at Omari like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “I’m in charge of HR around here—unless you got a promotion I don’t know about—”
He didn’t bother to acknowledge her snide remark.
“And this employee’s guilty of a serious criminal offense. He’s already cost the company thirty thousand—”
“I ain’t got nothing to do with shutting down them freezers,” Omari cut in. His expression was an odd combination of sheepishness and defiance.
Sharona snorted. “Sure. All you did was mess with the boilers.”
Had he really sabotaged the boilers? Jenessa looked around hastily. Now she understood what was at the heart of the matter, the frantic running about made sense to her. Most of Bianchi’s cooking was done with enormous steam-heated boilers. They used natural gas to generate the steam, which passed through loops of solid metal pipes. If the gauges had been tampered with, or valves maladjusted, not only would production come to a halt, but increasing heat and pressure could be dangerous. The room was usually quite hot, but this morning, it was uncomfortably so.
The foreman, Gonzalez, glanced behind at the boilers, his face as sad as if someone had dumped paint on the hood of his car, but said nothing.
Omari’s black eyes were unflinching as they held Sharona’s baleful glare. “You can check the security tapes if you like,” he retorted. “Check ‘em now; I’ll wait. You’ll see I was nowhere near them freezers.”
“You could’ve put someone up to it,” Sharona pointed out.
Omari shook his head like a big bulldog. “When I do something, I come straight out and say I did it. And I didn’t mess with no freezer.”
“I guess the police will decide when they start building their case,” she responded.
Mitchell stepped in, holding up one hand. “There is no need to bring the police in on this.”
“He damaged company property,” Sharona reminded him.
“All I’m asking is for this to be decided by tribunal. As per the company agreement with the unions. We abide by whatever decision the tribunal takes. But it doesn’t need to leave the walls of Bianchi’s.”
“Always trying to be a hero, huh, Mitchell?”
Jenessa felt compelled to step in. “This isn’t about him,” she began.
“I can fight my own battles, dog,” Omari said at the same time. Then, to Sharona, “You got me on the boilers, but you and I both know you had it coming, don’t we, Miz Holmes?”
Everyone turned curiously toward the VP. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she huffed, but her jaw tightened.
“Huh,” Omari muttered, mainly to himself.“Teach you some respect. Think you can get a grown man like me to do your dirty work. . . .”
Mitchell gave him a warning look, and tried again. “All I’m asking—”
Sharona cut in. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”
Omari glared at Sharona, not seeming to care his future was being debated right in front of him. He muttered under his breath, “Think you can play me . . . what, I got a price tag on my head?”
“If you know what’s good for you . . .” Sharona warned. But her skin had taken on a sallow hue.
God, Jenessa thought, it’s getting hot in here.
Mitchell continued his argument with the patience and meticulousness of a lawyer. “Bianchi’s has systems and policies. Let them work—”
‘He’s out of here,” Sharona said. “That redundancy package he was turning up his nose at? He can forget about it—”
Hot, Jenessa thought. She almost envied Sharona for not wearing her overcoat. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back.
Sharona was still ranting, but Mitchell held up his hand. “Shh . . .”
“Did you just shush me? Oh, I know you—”
“Quiet, now.” He cocked his head, alarm growing on his face. “Gonzalez, you sure all the input pipes have been isolated?”
Gonzalez roused himself from his silence to give Mitchell an anxious look. “I gave the order. . . .” Then his face reflected Mitchell’s alarm. He yelled across the room. “Hey, Patterson! Did you—”
The air was filled with a sound Jenessa had never heard before, and a kind of compressed energy, like a geyser fixing to spurt. Even Omari looked scared.
“To the door,” Mitchell ordered. “Now.”
Jenessa began backing away, still not fully understanding what was going on, but trusting Mitchell instinctively. Sharona, being Sharona, stood her ground. “Hey, I was talking to you!”
He jerked his face to within inches of hers. “Out, Sharona! Now!”
“That’s Mrs. H—” she began. And then the sound of thunder drowned out her voice.
Jenessa watched in horror as the scene before her played itself out in slow motion: Mitchell hurling himself at Sharona, yanking her so hard by the arm it almost popped out of its socket. He half threw her, half fell onto her, their bodies hitting the floor with a dull thud. With a shriek torn from the mouth of Hell, a nearby pipe tore apart, spraying chunks of metal like bullets. A jet of superheated steam surged out, filling the air with an intense heat.
Jenessa felt Gonzalez’ arms around her as he dragged her to safety, his hands protectively shielding her face. “Patterson! Patterson!” he yelled. “Isolate!”
The pocket of steam backed up in the pipe vented itself out, like a pressure cooker regaining its equilibrium. Rivulets of hot water dripped from equipment. From where she stood, struggling to regain her breath, the air was sauna-dense and smelled of hot metal.
And Mitchell was in the middle of all that. She ran forward, clouds of steam stinging her face. “Mitchell! Honey, please . . .” The prayer in her heart was too fervent, and too incoherent to make it to her lips.
“Will you get your ass off me?” Sharona’s voice came from the other side of the cloud. “You’re heavy as a damn ox!”
Jeness
a’s heart thrilled to hear Mitchell’s low rumble. “Sorry, Sharona. Let me help you up.” He got to his feet and offered his hand. Sharona looked at it suspiciously, then grudgingly took it. She patted herself down, searching for an injury to complain about. “You knocked the wind out of me!”
The area where they’d been standing before the explosion was a hot, soaked disaster zone. The wall was peppered with chunks of steel which, under the force of the steam, had penetrated the Sheetrock like armor-piercing rounds. The steam itself had stripped off the industrial green paint like a high-pressure hose. Jenessa felt nausea rise in her throat. The only person who didn’t seem aware of the danger she’d been in was Sharona.
She was swatting at her dress. “Covered with dirt,” she was muttering. “Damper than a bathroom rug.” She twisted to inspect a smear on the back of her skirt. “People tracking in mud; got it all over me now.”
Jenessa could have reminded her that it was Sharona herself who’d refused to put on the sanitary booties, but she didn’t have the energy.
But as reality set in, Sharona began—no pun intended—running out of steam. She scowled half-heartedly at Mitchell. “You nearly broke my ribs.”
He gave her a laconic, “You’re welcome,” folded his arms and caught Jenessa’s eyes above Sharona’s head. His smile was slow . . . and devastating. It spoke volumes, and Jenessa found herself wishing to be anywhere but here. It didn’t matter, as long as they were alone.
Sharona’s lower lip protruded. Even she began to realize how ungrateful she sounded. “Um . . . thanks.”
He nodded, then said with finality, “I think we need to get out of here, and let the guys fix what needs fixing.” He glanced reassuringly at Omari. “They’ll have it to rights in no time.”
Leaving the technical folk to work on the problem, they walked to the front and began shucking off their lab coats and stuffing them into bins. Sharona was uncharacteristically silent.
The Irresistible Mr Cooper Page 19
