Gould waited until the door closed again before he spoke. He sat back, mirroring my defensive position.
“I know I’ve just sprung this on you, and it’s not the first thing we’ve dropped in your lap over the last few days,” he admitted.
I said nothing.
“Just tell me, what will it take to make you say yes?”
I met his gaze squarely. “There is nothing you can say.”
There was also nothing I could do to save myself, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him.
“I know you understand how time-sensitive this is. I’m willing to give you any resources you need, any faculty you need to take with you. I’ll make it work. And Mr. Rossi is prepared to compensate you and anyone else you bring along very handsomely.”
If there was one thing that pissed me off, it was being maneuvered into a corner by the likes of this guy. And Nick.
Years of pent-up frustration and rage exploded inside me. It was, I realized, an overdue reaction and much more than the result of cumulative stress. I’d had it. I was done with bending over backward to satisfy everyone else’s needs, only to find myself still wanting. I was sick of being unheard and having my needs subjugated to last place. Even now, my entire career, my life, was at stake and I was expected to fully devote myself to another cause.
Gould would not use me for his own purposes while my staff was on track to be laid off if I didn’t find funding—long-term funding.
“You know that Nick and I have a past.” I saw no need to be discreet. He’d witnessed our little reunion, and he wasn’t the idiot he sometimes pretended to be.
His cheeks grew red. “I imagined that was the case, yes.”
“And yet you have the temerity to ask me to do this, when you have some idea of how contentious that relationship might be? Wasn’t it enough that I toured him around when I clearly didn’t want to?”
He sat forward, fingers drumming the table. “I am aware of that, and Nellie and I were both grateful. But, I also know you enough to know that you’re a professional, a stellar researcher. While there may be some . . . initial discomfort, I have no doubt that you could interact as two professionals.”
I raised my brows. “So, to clarify, you’ve just said I should have no problem sacrificing my own discomfort for you and the hospital’s gain?”
His face took on the holier-than-thou expression he wore when browbeating medical students. “The hospital’s gain is your gain. The School of Medicine has a unique relationship with the hospital—”
“Peter, I may not be here in in three months—”
“The hospital might not be either!”
Shocked, I took in his reddened face and heavy breathing. It was clear he hadn’t meant to make that admission. He ran a hand over his balding head.
“That doesn’t leave this room.”
“Of course,” I said immediately, still battling my surprise.
He studied his hands for a moment, calmed his breathing before he returned his gaze to me. “I know what I’m asking you. I do. And I’m sorry you’re in this position. But we are doing everything we possibly can to keep this hospital afloat as the entity that it is now. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “I do understand. But . . .” I shrugged, knowing my next words would make me sound callous, but needing to establish a strong position. “What does that have to do with me? I’m concerned about Carly Sanders, one of my research assistants, who is currently worried that her son won’t be able to attend his senior trip. And if I don’t get a grant within the next three months, Carly will be worrying about whether or not she can pay her mortgage. Now, I’ve gotten plenty of grants. Grants that have helped this hospital, our patients, and this community. But not the R01 that’s required for my tenure, and submitting more applications will take all the limited, precious time I have left. I’ve come close. And if I had more time, I’m certain it would happen. Otherwise, I and all the people who depend on me for a living are done. We won’t be here anyway, whether or not the hospital is.” I squinted at him. “Seems like we’re both in difficult positions, doesn’t it?”
The truth was that I cared very much about the hospital and the university community—obviously I did. But I owed my staff. They were my responsibility. They deserved for me to be their advocate always, to put them first.
He let out a breath. “I’m not involved in the tenure process, you know that.”
“I know that’s not true,” I countered flatly. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my hands flat on the table, kept my breathing slow and regular.
He hesitated. “I’m not the only decider.”
I leaned forward and met his tired blue eyes, because it was now or never. “I guess the real question then, is how desperate are you?” Play big or go home, Zora.
He went still.
And then, the absolute last thing I expected happened. A smile.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, and it was the first smile I’d seen on him that actually worked on his grim face. His gaze turned sharp and assessing, but also appraising, as if he saw me in a new light. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you, Dr. Leffersbee.”
I didn’t let him see my relief that this gamble had apparently paid off, even though I couldn’t help but think, Neither did I.
“The best I can do is a strongly worded letter of support accompanying your application,” he said. “And I’ll throw all my weight behind it in discussions. But you know, obtaining that R01 was the benchmark. I don’t think it should be in your case, if I’m honest. You’ve more than demonstrated your mettle as a researcher and you’ve done this campus a lot of good as a result. But I’m not the only person on the committee, so you understand my letter is only one voice among several.”
I nodded coolly. “I understand. But it’s a great start.” Inside, mentally, I executed a victory dance, complete with cartwheels. I can’t believe that worked!
His eyes narrowed. “So you’ll conduct the training next week?”
“Yes.” Fine. I’d suffer through more time with Nick. Whatever. It was worth it if my staff all had jobs in three months.
“One more condition,” he said.
My internal victory dance halted abruptly. “What?”
“You help Mr. Rossi and his team through the entire process. He needs regional feedback from beta users in our community. We need to anticipate and address any special challenges our community members may experience. He’ll need help navigating the university and marketing. And he’s committed to overseeing that process until we’re satisfied it’s done right. You make yourself available to him.”
“However, after the training—”
“Even after the training. You make yourself available if any member of his team needs help, Mr. Rossi included. Help him find his way. This is a relationship I—we—need to cultivate.”
“You’re asking a lot of me,” I murmured, for once not hiding my discomfort.
“I know. But you’re asking a lot of me, Zora.” His words and his expression were candid. “Will you do it?”
I lowered my elbows to the table, rested my head on my hands. “Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice, Dr. Leffersbee. In this case, the choice is about which is more important to you. Guaranteeing the continued employment of your research staff? Or avoiding a potentially uncomfortable—albeit temporary—interaction?” I listened as he stood, walked to the door, adding, “I think we both know which you’ll choose.”
I watched my sister’s loose-limbed stride across the busy restaurant and marveled that we were, in fact, twins. It seemed inconceivable that we’d once waved to each other across the darkness of our mother’s womb with the same tiny, star-shaped hands. It seemed more likely we were from warring intergalactic tribes.
But the force of nature advancing toward me was indeed my twin sister. My younger sister, technically, although she’d been born with a two-pound advantage. Brimming with her usual
caged, restive energy, Tavia dropped into the booth across from me.
She wore a stylish, one-piece jumper that flattered her leanness. I’d absorbed enough of her style advice to recognize the outfit and jewelry would easily transition to an evening out. Whereas the idea of nightly networking dinners and empty small talk at parties automatically set my teeth on edge, Tavia thrived on social interaction.
She pushed a hand through the layers of her perfectly coiffed weave, her dark eyes moving over me as she settled into the opposite side of the booth. I’d barely registered her windblown arrival before she tossed questions across the table like handfuls of bright confetti.
“So, is that what you’re doing with your hair now? Really? Why’d you wanna come here? We could have tried the new Mediterranean restaurant up the street. Walker loves it, but you know it doesn’t take much to make Walker happy. Why are you dressed like that? Did someone die?”
I blinked down at my black T-shirt and jeans. “Hello to you, too, Octavia.”
She frowned, already perusing the menu in front of her. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”
“Uh-huh. ’Cause I just love your ongoing commentary about my appearance.”
Dang. Okay, I fully admit it, I’d thrown a little kindling on what had the potential to become a brushfire of a conversation. But I was just so damn tired and sour from my meeting with Dean Gould earlier that day.
She flicked another glance in my direction. “I’m just saying, you look like the Supremes are about to sing backup for you. Your hair is begging for deep conditioning and shaping, and it’d be great to see you in something that showed your shape while not absorbing all the other colors in the light spectrum. But, hey. If you like it . . .”
I’m just saying. The three words that most often accompanied her opening salvos.
Ladies and gentlemen . . . we’re off.
I suppressed a sigh, one hand rising to pat my wild mane of curls. In truth, I’d noticed my ends were a little frayed from neglect after the briefest glance in the mirror. I made a mental note to have my stylist reshape my growing cloud of hair.
One of these days.
“How’s your day going?”
Tavia’s gaze drifted from the menu up to my face. “Damn. You’re making nervous small talk. What’s happened?”
The waiter, a young man nervously clutching an order pad, chose that moment to wander over.
“Good afternoon, ladies.”
Tavia spared him the barest glance before returning her stare to my face. “Not now, come back later.”
I suppressed a groan at her rudeness. He blinked at her tone, then wandered away.
“That’s not okay. You can’t talk to people like that or treat them that way.” How many times have I told her that over the span of our lives?
“What’s going on,” she repeated, dismissing my words with an imperious wave. “Just tell me.”
My shoulders tensed. Interactions with Tavia often left stomach acids climbing up my throat.
“I don’t want to talk about it. You wanted to meet. What did you want to talk about?”
She watched me through half-lidded eyes. “Are you sure—”
“Why am I here, Tavia?”
She reared back. Even I was surprised by the bite in my tone. I took advantage of the ensuing silence and signaled to the waiter who still hovered nearby.
Too late, I’d realized I should not have attempted any conversation with my sister before I’d undergone a mood adjustment. My normal stores of patience were long gone, depleted. To be clear, my love for Tavia was never in question, but our conversations required painstaking hyper-vigilance on my part. I’d come to understand the barbs and conversational flares she threw out like Princess Peach on a Mario Kart track weren’t always intentional. She didn’t always set out to start arguments.
I didn’t always set out to react.
Her lips flattened. “Is this about tenure? I don’t know how many times we have to tell you—”
“I don’t want to work for the bank, Tavia.”
“It’s not working for the bank. It’s working with your family. This is our legacy, what Daddy and Grandpa built. There’s plenty you could do to put your education to use. The way we’re growing, the plans I have, we already need your help. We’re behind in outreach. And if we didn’t have to share you with the university . . .”
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “I don’t draw a salary from the bank for my outreach work and I’m stretched thin as it is. Let’s just . . . leave it alone for right now, okay?”
“Just listen,” she persisted, and I closed my eyes, pressed my lips together to bottle the unkind words that immediately sprang to mind. “You’re doing some good, I’ll grant you that. But you’re already competing against an insane number of other smart people who are also investigating incredibly important things, all of you fighting for rapidly dwindling funds. It’s a losing proposition, Z.”
Despite myself, I had to admit that it was a remarkably accurate and astute summation of exactly what had been happening for the past few years. That didn’t make it sting any less.
“Please, Tavia. Leave it be.” My voice broke. “Not right now.” My existing frustration with the family business, compounded by Nick’s sudden appearance, had left my sanity teetering on the thinnest precipice. I wanted nothing more than to get away from the bank and all the family-related angst it brought. If I gave in to the impulse to inform her of that right now, though, the odds of me screaming were high.
“Well, since we’re talking about future plans . . . I might need your help with a few things,” she said.
I cracked open one eye. The faintly sheepish note in her voice matched what was on her face. “What have you done?”
Her eyes left mine and settled on the tabletop, her slender fingers drumming a frantic rhythm.
Uh-oh. A speechless, nervous Tavia? Real trouble was afoot. Concern and trepidation gripped my heart in equal measure.
“It’s that bad?”
“I may need you to help me with Walker.”
God. Not again.
“How exactly would I ‘help you’ with Walker?”
“It’s just that he listens to you. He never listens to me.”
“And do you listen to him?”
She huffed and took an aggressive gulp from her water glass. “I’m thinking about the future of this company. Walker is happy to maintain the status quo. If it wasn’t for me, pushing, we wouldn’t have expanded past Knoxville. He’d be happy with the same little Green Valley branch. He’d be happy never to leave Green Valley at all.”
I considered my sister and the scowl marring her features. “You’re not in New York anymore, Gordon Gekko. Dad wants Walker in charge, he’s drummed that into everyone’s heads since we were born. I don’t necessarily agree that his Y chromosome automatically qualifies Walker for the keys to the kingdom, but then again, I’ve never wanted to rule from that throne.”
“He doesn’t have vision!”
“He doesn’t have your vision. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Have you tried talking to him about your ideas? Walker’s never been unreasonable. I know he’d hear you out.”
“Yes, we’ve talked. And we just don’t agree.” She selected a piece of bread from the basket between us and tore it in half.
“So, is browbeating him until he finally goes apeshit the best negotiating tool in your arsenal? How much longer do you think this cycle’s going to last before one of you kills the other?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “I know you’re the communication expert, but I didn’t come here for life coaching.”
I rested my head in the cradle of my hands. “You came here because you want something from me, though.”
Her nails resumed their drumming again, a dull, successive click, click, click. “Walker is mad at me. He, uh, he swore, told me to get out, that he didn’t want to see or hear from me again. Said if I wasn’t his sister . . .”
/> Her throat worked.
I felt a reluctant stirring of sympathy. But I was also exhausted from the whiplash of their moods and the growing volatility of their conflict.
My brother likely wasn’t completely innocent. But it was Tavia’s way to bulldoze through opposition, to throw her weight around until her relationships were only broken shards of glass. Any demonstration of remorse was always far too late and delivered long after her opponents’ wounds had festered. I recognized that same regret on her face now and wondered what damage she’d left in her wake this time.
“What happened?”
The waiter appeared with a platter of grilled eggplant and we ordered entrees. I noted Tavia somehow managed to look smaller during that time.
“I made a move without telling him,” she admitted.
I stirred my iced tea. “Again?”
She hung her head. “I know I shouldn’t have. I put in a bid on a property without telling him. But I already knew what he would say, and I didn’t want to waste time trying to explain—”
“How much?” I raised a brow at her silence. “That bad?”
She named a figure that made me whistle.
“How could you?”
She dipped a pita point into the eggplant. “It’s done now. I won’t know if mine was the winning bid until around a week or so from now. And if it is, well . . . We’re in business. He’ll come to see my point, and he’ll eventually agree I was right. Now, we just have to move forward. Will you help me get him to start speaking to me again?”
A month ago, before Nick had reappeared, I likely would have handled things differently. But at that moment, already flattened under exhaustion, worry, and fear, there wasn’t room to swallow another emotion.
“No. I will not help you manipulate our brother. I’m not the referee or the clean-up crew. Figure it out on your own.”
Tavia gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh, so you decide to retire from your lifelong stint as the bridge builder now? When it’s really bad, when I’m in this deep? I didn’t know it was an option to bail on your family.”
Been There Done That Page 9
