Sheila considered skipping to her office if it wouldn’t mean spilling her drink. One problem potentially solved, leaving a few dozen or so left on her list. But it was going to be hard to concentrate when she had this possibility looming over her head. “What else is on my schedule for today?”
“Um. Sheila, wait.” Liza scrambled out the door to fall into step behind her. “I tried to get her to wait in the lobby, but she kind of insisted on waiting in your office.”
Sheila stopped and stepped to the side to stop Liza from bashing into her. “Who?”
“Um, it’s Alcina Oliver,” Liza whispered with a touch of awe. “She was very nice, but, kind of intimidating, you know? I wasn’t sure how to say no to her.”
Sheila chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Sheila assured her. Alcina could hold her own against a freight train if she wanted. “Why don’t you plan on ordering lunch from the deli on Fifth? We’ll see if we can get a handle on the gala plans once I’m done with Alcina, okay?”
“Okay.” The relief on her face was almost comical. The effect Alcina could have on people was more entertaining than a troupe of circus performers. “Okay, great.” She let out such a sigh of relief Sheila wondered if she’d deflate completely. “Let me know if she wants a refill on her tea.”
“The girl knows how to schmooze,” Sheila said as she pushed open the door to her office and found Alcina sitting on the brocade couch, a delicate teacup perched on her knees. “Good morning, Alcina.” She set her purse and coffee down on her desk and joined her on the sofa. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I hope Liza took good care of you.”
“Reminds me a bit of you at that age. Very poised, even when she’s scared out of her mind.” The twinkle in Alcina’s eyes made Sheila smile. “I have to admit, it’s fun to make people uncomfortable. She’s one of the Juliano girls, isn’t she?”
“Yes. She and Gina both work for the foundation.”
“Strong genes in that family,” Alcina said. “Excellent business sense, too. Those grocery stores of theirs can’t be beat. Every few weeks I have my companion bring me some of their lasagna. Reminds me of my years in Italy after the war.”
“I take it those market runs are a secret?” Sheila teased.
“Feel free to share,” Alcina said. “I owe you an apology, showing up like this unannounced, but after seeing you last night I decided this morning was as good a time as any. I want to hire you.”
“Another party already? I assumed you were here to go over the art auction’s guest list.” Sheila’s mind went to instant schedule mode as she searched out her file for the event. When was she going to fit something in before the gala? “And I’ll grab my phone so I can look at my calendar.”
“I’m afraid this one can’t be scheduled ahead of time, Sheila.” Alcina leaned forward and set her cup on the narrow table in front of them. “I want you to plan my funeral.”
***
“Okay, that takes care of the last additions to the gala’s guest list.” Sheila slid the note-filled legal pad across the table to Liza, who shoved a final bite of arugula, goat cheese, and cranberry salad into her mouth. “Let’s get the invites into the mail by Friday and update the website soon after. You can call Caprianos and confirm they’ve got the catering job and make sure we put the call out for an extra twenty to twenty-five servers. Oh, and I’ll want to meet with their sommelier to choose the wine.”
“Got it.” Liza glanced at her phone. “It’s twelve fifteen.”
Sheila stood and stretched, dismissing the lunch she’d barely touched by closing the plastic lid and picking up the fruit cup brimming with strawberries and grapes instead. She’d been bouncing between dread and nerves since Alcina left, her pronouncement about her impending funeral lodging in Sheila’s mind like a thorn under her skin. If she thought about it too much, she might just trigger an emotional explosion she couldn’t contain. And she didn’t have time to explode. “Alcina is supposed to be sending me the guest list for the art auction.” She might have three weeks to toss together two huge social events, but experience told her it would feel like days. Tonight she’d be perusing Chadwick’s list of potential bidders and attempt to get a handle on what he was trying to achieve.
Everything she found out now was one more weapon in Nemesis’ arsenal, especially since they had yet to get the final details on what art pieces he’d be auctioning off. “How are plans coming for the Fourth of July?” At least that was one party she didn’t have much of a hand in. Except the fruit salad. She had to remember to do the fruit salad.
“Mom and Dad and the Fiorellis are corralling all the family barbeques. If it can be grilled, sauced, or otherwise scorched, it’s on the menu. I’ll miss these get-togethers next year when I go to college.” No doubt both she and her sister were looking forward to the freedom college would provide.
“Maybe your mother will be distracted enough to forget about Morgan and Gage’s engagement for a while.”
Liza arched a brow.
“Yeah, forgot who I was talking about for a minute,” Sheila said. “I’m going to take a few minutes.”
“Leave it.” Liza pushed Sheila’s hand away when she reached for her cell phone. “You aren’t leaving the building. I know where to find you if anything urgent comes up. Go. Decompress. Eat something.”
“Okay, Mom.” Sheila didn’t have to be told twice as she grabbed her sunglasses and headed to the one place she could relax. And forget.
***
Malcolm stepped off the elevator on the third floor of Tremayne Investments and Securities, half of which had been dedicated as the headquarters of the Tremayne Foundation. Now this was a work environment he could get behind. Typical Jackson Tremayne. Practical, warm, inviting, and completely professional.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Sheila Tremayne’s office.” The fortysomething secretary sitting behind the half-moon reception desk rose to her feet, the kind and welcoming expression on her face triggering his memory. “Corrine, isn’t it? It’s nice to see you again. Malcolm Oliver.”
“Of course, Mr. Oliver. A pleasure,” she said with nary a trace of anything but good cheer. “How are you finding Lantano Valley after all this time?”
“Much the same,” Malcolm said, a little uncertain how to react to such a polite greeting. “How have you been?”
“Just fine, thank you. Liza?” Corrine called to the young, thin blonde walking toward them. “Is Sheila in her office?”
“Decompressing on the roof,” Liza said. “Hi.” She came over and held out her hand despite the armful of folders and papers she carried. “I’m Liza Juliano, Sheila’s assistant.”
“Malcolm Oliver.”
“Oh.” Liza blinked, but Malcolm had to give her credit. She didn’t lose a beat. “Well.” The nervous smile that curved her lips made him suspect his reputation had crossed generations. “She’s in the rooftop garden getting her dose of vitamin D. East corner. She doesn’t think we know about her hiding place, but that’s where you’ll find her. Stairs are just there.” She pointed behind her and they switched places as he headed in that direction. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“That’s Malcolm Oliver?” He heard Liza ask Corrine, who shushed her in response. “From Oliver Technologies? The one who—”
Malcolm closed the door on the rest of her statement.
The entire expanse of the roof had been landscaped and decked out with patio tables and chairs, dozens of containers filled with blooming plants, and areas of lush greenery. No one would guess a building full of workers lay under them. The gentle rumble of water features added a soothing effect as he made his way across the expanse, noting the collection of tipped pottery and vases distributing water through its tumbling depths. A few employees milled about, s
ome with coffee or water from the self-serve station located under the eaves. Others finished up lunches before disappearing down the same staircase he’d come up.
He headed east and, sure enough, found Sheila standing at the railing looking out over Lantano Valley. The afternoon breeze played against her hair and ruffled her sky-blue skirt. But there was nothing relaxed about her posture. She’d crossed her arms over her chest, her feet were locked together at the ankles, and he feared if anyone touched her, her spine might snap.
“Gran beat me here, didn’t she?”
Sheila looked at him so quickly he could all but feel her neck scream in protest. She didn’t respond. Her jaw tensed and her arms tightened around herself as if strengthening her armor against an intruder.
“I can go if you want.” Not that he wanted to. This place was as perfect as any he’d found in the city.
“Since when do you ask if you should go?”
Ouch. Okay, he deserved that. “Since realizing not asking before was the biggest mistake of my life.”
Sheila’s entire body sagged as she stared up at the sky, exposing the pale skin of her neck to the warm afternoon sun. “For once could you say the wrong thing?” Her arms dropped to her side as she faced him. “Please?”
He smiled and pushed his sunglasses higher on his nose, held out his hand. “Ask me how long I’ve been working on that line.”
“If you say since the day you left I may have to push you off the roof.” But she took his hand for a moment before picking up a container of fruit and setting it on the table between them.
“One of the things I always appreciated about you.” He could see why she liked this area amidst potted palms and flowering geraniums. “Was your ability to both terrify and enchant at the same time.”
“Look who’s talking.” The shade the fauna provided had her pushing her glasses onto the top of her head, but it took more than stunning sunlight and blinding color to erase the sadness he saw hovering in her gaze. “Is she sick?”
“Alcina?” Malcolm stretched out his legs. “Not that I know of.” Not that she’d tell him if she were. Ironic, that. “But her habit of being exceedingly practical can border on the macabre. I’m sorry she sprung it on you.”
“I’m not a funeral director.”
“And yet you didn’t say no.”
“Of course I didn’t.” There was no indication the tension stringing her together was easing. If anything, she looked more uncomfortable than when he’d first arrived. When they’d dated, he remembered Sheila as thriving, living life as if it would never end . . . or could end tomorrow. There weren’t adventures she wouldn’t dream about, and yet looking at her now, he realized what he hadn’t seen since he’d been back.
The spark that made Sheila completely Sheila.
“You’re tired.”
Sheila narrowed her eyes. “If that’s your way of saying I look like crap—”
“As if that’s possible.” He earned a rolling of the eyes for that one. “I just meant every time I’ve seen you the last few days you’ve been working like a fiend. If it’s not one event, it’s the next, or the next one after that. What’s your downtime like? When was the last time you took a day off?”
“I go to yoga on Saturday mornings,” she said as she looked at her watch. “And not to prove your point, but I have a meeting in a half hour so if you wouldn’t mind?”
“I want in.”
“In where?”
His entire body tightened. “Please don’t backload your questions.”
Sheila’s face went furnace red.
“I want in with whatever you’re up to with my father,” he said before they delved any further into dangerous territory.
“Oh.” Disappointment rang loud and clear and made him wonder if . . . “Of course. Your father.”
“If there’s something else you’d like to consider . . .”
“Depends,” Sheila said and gave his heart a jolt. “Are you here for good?”
“No.” He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t have time for lies. “I don’t belong here, Sheila. I never did.”
“And this is the only place I belong.” Regret painted her lips.
“Damn. If I’d said yes we could be finishing this conversation in bed.”
Sheila laughed, one that lit up her face before she covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head. “I missed you, Malcolm.”
And he’d missed her. More than he ever realized. “I don’t like seeing you sad.”
She shrugged. “Beauty queens aren’t allowed to be sad.”
He leaned over and because he couldn’t resist, stroked a finger down her cheek. “You never won,” he whispered.
“Oh, that’s just mean.” But she laughed again and he felt better for it. “What are you doing here, Malcolm?”
“Trying to seduce you?”
“No, you’re trying to convince me to help you, which, believe it or not, I’m happy to do, but it’ll be quid pro quo.”
“That sounds dirty.” He grinned at her but this time she shook her head and pointed a finger at him.
“This isn’t funny. And as you pointed out to me the other night, anything doing with your father isn’t a game.”
“Agreed.” But the final piece he needed to finish his father off continued to elude him. So far the computer hack hadn’t produced anything useful, aside from a string of emails he felt certain his father wouldn’t want the SEC seeing. But what was life without having another hurdle to jump? What was it John Lennon had said? Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans? “What are you doing where my father’s concerned?”
She considered him and he could all but see the gears grinding in her head.
“You don’t trust me,” he said when she pinched her lips together and flipped her sunglasses over her eyes.
“It’s not a matter of trust. Exactly.”
“I’m not going to get in your way—”
“You’re already in my way. Being around you makes everything . . . complicated.”
“Back at you.”
“God, would you stop the Prince Charming routine? I’m not playing games, Malcolm. Not with your father, not with you. There’s more to this situation than you realize. People who can get hurt, disappointed.”
“So tell me. Prepare me ahead of time.”
“It’s not just up to me.”
He could tell by the way she bit her lip she hadn’t meant to say that. Interesting. “What do I need to do to prove myself worthy?”
“Tell me why you’re back.”
Malcolm sighed. Was there a downside to telling her? “I’ve been buying up shares in Oliver Technologies.”
“You’re—” She let out a low whistle, looked away. “Wow. Okay. I take it Ty doesn’t know.”
“No reason for him to.” But if his brother had been paying attention to the company, he should have noticed something was off.
“Same old Malcolm. You want what you want on your terms. Nothing given in advance, nothing that doesn’t bring you a return on your investment.”
“Now hold on—” He straightened.
“You just told me you’re stealing your father and brother’s company as if it were nothing more than a withdrawal at the ATM.”
“Funny.” And true.
“No, it’s not. Have you even thought about what this will do to your brother? No.” She shoved forward in her chair. “What you’re doing with him, keeping these secrets, making decisions that will affect him for the rest of his life, it’s a replay of five years ago when your father did the same thing to you—or so you want all of us to believe.”
“You’ve been talking with Nathan.”
“He thought I should know what’s going on with you, yes. Don’t be mad at him for it.”
“Do I look mad?�
� If anything, it saved them time and him an awkward conversation. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about revenge. Or if you’d believe me.”
“That your father set you up and sold you out? Of course I do, but there’s more to what happened than you realize, so here’s something to mull over: If you’d even thought to tell me the truth, I might have left with you. But you didn’t give me that choice. You decided, on your own, what had to be done and you just went ahead and did it. And you know what? That’s fine. Things worked out the way they were meant to. But this thing with your father and brother? With us?” She pointed between them. “This is the consequence. The way you’re going about things means I was right. I can’t trust you to be honest with me. And without trust, there’s nothing salvageable.”
Her calm tirade kick-started his anger. “Are we going to pretend you ever trusted me? Did you even try to find me, to ask me what had really happened at the company? Did you ever once think I was innocent of what I was accused of?”
She reached out and cupped her hands around his face, tugged him closer. “Yes. I did. And that you never believed in that, in me, is why we are where we are.”
She pressed her lips to his, a blink of time, but when he shifted forward, when he reached for her, she stood up and walked away.
Chapter Eight
“Miss Harrison, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Sheila continued to shake off the afterburn of her conversation with Malcolm as she approached the lithe, stylish woman looking out the fifth-floor window. Time to compartmentalize.
“I was early, and it’s Veronica, please.” Her voice carried the faintest trace of a British accent. Hair that reminded Sheila of a classic Hollywood actress—or maybe a Celtic warrior—swung down around narrow shoulders, sunlight catching the red strands like fire. Startling smoke-grey eyes were intense yet friendly as she returned Sheila’s handshake. “I’m glad we could arrange a meeting at such short notice. TIN Consolidated has been looking for a way to expand its charitable donations program. I can’t tell you how excited we are about the prospect of joining forces with the Tremayne Foundation.”
Here Comes Trouble Page 8
