“Do you mind me asking how you found out about our situation?”
“TIN’s founder and CEO is a bit fanatical when it comes to searching out any and every opportunity for growth. When you put out the call for a new contractor the other day, word got to him and ultimately to me.”
“I have to admit, the timing is perfect on our end as well. Please. If you don’t mind, my assistant—”
“Liza, yes, we’ve met.” Veronica picked up her briefcase and followed Sheila down the hall as Liza emerged from the employees lounge at the far end of the hall, a plastic container in her hand. “By all means, have her join us. It’s my understanding the Tremayne Foundation thrives on multiple points of view, as does TIN. The more input we have on what you all think would work best for you the better.”
“I overheard you say you’d missed lunch due to a previous appointment,” Liza said and offered her a duplicate salad to the one Sheila had picked at earlier. “What can I get you to drink?”
“You are a lifesaver.” Veronica beamed. “Iced tea would be aces.”
“On it,” Liza said as Sheila escorted Veronica into her office. She caught sight of Malcolm emerging from the staircase and shut the door before they could make eye contact. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on . . . well, anything they’d said to each other. Then why did she want things to be different?
“If TIN is willing to step in where Valley Wireless left off,” Sheila said, “I’ll make sure you all get as much publicity and attention as you want. My main concern is keeping the project on schedule.”
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re not in this for publicity, however we do appreciate the offer.” Veronica pulled out a new legal pad and fountain pen.
“Don’t you want to eat—”
“I’m a marvel at multi-tasking,” Veronica said. “I’m also old school when it comes to negotiations, so let’s get down to it. What do you need from us?”
***
By the time Veronica scribbled her way through pages of notes and memos, Sheila’s eyes were crossing and the clock read half past four. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was missing something, or that she’d met or seen Veronica somewhere before.
“I’d like it understood there are no strings to this deal.” Veronica’s statement was enough to renew Sheila’s faith in humanity. “If you and the members of the foundation’s board are amenable to the terms we’ve set out, I’ll look into some local contractors . . .”
“We’re amenable.” Sheila wasn’t about to give her a way out. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Trust me, that look on your face will keep me smiling for weeks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my hotel room and get the papers drawn up. Shall I email them to you or your assistant?”
“Both, please. We have plenty of office space here, if you want to use it while you’re in town. There’s nothing worse than working in a hotel room.”
Now it was Veronica who looked surprised. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Liza—” Sheila started.
“Yep.” She scooped up her papers and scampered out of the office.
“I appreciate the hospitality.” Veronica gathered her own items. “I’m finding I like Lantano Valley a lot more than I expected.”
“We like to surprise people.” Sheila saw Liza wave from the hall. “Looks like Liza will get you taken care of.”
“Don’t suppose you have another one of her hanging around?” Veronica teased. “I can’t remember the last time I had someone so attentive working for me. Or even against me. Unless you count prosecuting attorneys or court reporters.”
Recognition chimed and Sheila inclined her head. “Veronica Crenshaw.”
Veronica’s porcelain skin went a shade paler and she ducked her chin.
“I’m sorry,” Sheila said, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “I just made the connection. You were Asa Crenshaw’s defense attorney at his murder trial.”
“Guilty.” Veronica’s voice became a tad more forceful in stashing her notes in her bag. “My favorite word on the planet. I only wish I’d heard it more often in regards to my client.”
Sheila touched her arm. “I should have found a better way to say that. It’s just I thought I recognized you—”
“New hair color, my mother’s name, and new career doesn’t seem to have been the camouflage I’d hoped for.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“No, don’t apologize.” Sheila heard the defensive combination of cool control and disappointment in her voice as her accent ticked up a touch. “It’s not every day you make a deal with a woman who got a killer off scot-free.”
“You mean your father.”
“In my experience, one doesn’t negate the other. If you’d rather work with someone else—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sheila cut her off. “You can’t change it and if you ask me, you did your job. The prosecution didn’t prove their case.”
“And hearing the words not guilty doesn’t make a man innocent.” Veronica kept her head bowed. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ve tried to put the last few years behind me and I’d rather no one know—”
“If anyone around here can keep a secret, it’s me.” Sheila tapped fingers against her heart and waited until the other woman met her gaze. “No judgments on my end, I promise. The past is done. Nothing you can do to change things.” Something she should have kept in mind during her conversation with Malcolm.
“I appreciate that.”
But Sheila could see her recognition had put the other woman on edge. “I assume your boss knows—”
“He does.” Veronica said with a tight smile. “This job saved my sanity, maybe even my life. I’ll never be able to repay him for what he’s given me. Purpose. And a few windmills to tilt at.”
Now that Sheila understood. “Well. He has the right woman working for him. I hadn’t thought about half of what you’ve presented. If TIN is willing to provide even a fraction of what you’ve proposed—”
“I’m sensing a lack of trust.” While Veronica’s words might have implied an accusation, her tone didn’t.
“Let’s just say it’s my theme of the day,” Sheila said and looked up when someone knocked on her door. “But I always hope for the best. Yes?”
“Hey, got a second?” Morgan popped her head in seconds before she was shoved through the door. “Gina and I thought we’d check in and see if you were up for a girls’ night— Oh. Hi.” Morgan stopped short, holding up her hand to stop Gina proceeding further. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“Your timing’s perfect.” Sheila got to her feet and waved her in. “Veronica Harrison, my sister, Morgan. You wanted to know more about the ins and outs of the foundation and what we have planned for the center, she’s the one to ask.”
“To the contrary.” Veronica followed her lead and greeted Morgan with a handshake and a smile, any vestiges of their previous conversation gone. “I think Sheila has given me everything I need to make the final recommendation to my employer.”
“Final decision for what?” Suspicion crept into Morgan’s eyes as Sheila busied herself behind her desk.
“We ran into a little hitch with the electrical and Internet installation on the entertainment facility, but the good news is TIN Consolidated just stepped in to cover everything,” Sheila said. “Veronica is their vice president.”
“That’s not just good news, it’s great. But what happened to—” Morgan frowned, and Sheila had the feeling she’d be the victim of an inquisition in the not-too-distant future.
“Bailed,” Liza said. “Did you bring the—” she addressed Gina.
“I left the file on your desk,” Gina said. “Oh. And this was left at Corrine’s desk. For you.” She held it to Sheila.
“Excuse me for a moment, will
you?” Veronica indicated her ringing phone and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her.
Sheila slipped her nail under the seal and popped it open, withdrew the folded piece of paper with a check stapled to it. She blinked. “Holy—”
“What’s wrong?” Morgan scooted to peer over Sheila’s shoulder, then gripped Sheila’s arm so tight Sheila’s fingers tingled. “Son of a cricket, that’s a check for . . .”
“From who?” Liza and Gina spoke together, scrambling over. “How much?”
“TIN,” Sheila managed, her hands shaking as her face went cold. “For the foundation. The center. For everything.” For years.
“But who specifically?” Morgan snatched the letter, stroking the check as if it were made of pure gold. “Checks just don’t appear, legitimate ones, anyway,” she added, but no one other than Sheila would have caught her sister’s veiled reference to the fact she’d accepted a significant amount of cash from Nemesis earlier in the year. Cash that had nearly closed down the center and the foundation. “Sheila?”
“Read it,” Sheila said, walking over to the table so she could brace herself. Her knees wobbled, her skin tingled.
“‘There’s no one I trust more. M.’ M as in . . .” Morgan gasped. “Oh, Sheila. Malcolm?”
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. But she could think. And suddenly more than just the check made sense.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, ladies.” Veronica strode in, giving no indication she’d noticed the stunned silence. “Work calls.”
“Where is he?” Sheila asked, fingernails digging into the polished wood of the table. She kept her eyes down while she wrangled her temper. Secrets. Lies. Again. To her benefit maybe, but lies of omission nonetheless, and in her experience, there was nothing worse.
“I’m sorry?” Veronica halted well away, as if understanding she needed to stay out of striking distance.
“Malcolm Oliver.” Sheila angled her chin at the woman who had just given her every solution to every problem the foundation had. “That’s who you work for, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Admirable. Infurating.
“Sheila?” Morgan stepped forward. Sheila shook her head once, held up a hand.
“Where is he?” she asked Veronica.
“The Empire. Suite eleven seventeen.”
Sheila grabbed her purse before snatching the letter out of her sister’s hand, leaving the check with her.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Morgan called as Sheila stomped out the door.
“Cash it.”
***
Malcolm stared at his cell phone as it vibrated its way across the coffee table. The familiar number may as well have been fire hot given his urgency to answer it.
He felt like shit. The damned antibiotics weren’t doing anything but making him feel worse, which wasn’t a good sign. The familiar, terrifying exhaustion had landed on him before he’d gotten out of the car, accompanied him through the lobby and into the elevator like an irritable, irascible companion. He’d barely made it into his room and to the sofa before he dropped off into the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks. But the buzzing of his phone may as well have been the bells of St. Mary’s calling parishioners to Sunday mass.
He sat up, feeling better but still woozy enough that he wished he had something more substantial in the makeshift kitchen to eat or drink than leftover pizza and soda water.
“Get it over with,” he told himself, but his stomach protested, rolling around his non-existent lunch as he reached for this phone.
The doorbell rang.
Malcolm laughed and scrubbed a hand down his face before he shoved himself up and wondered for the millionth time who had thought it smart to put a doorbell on a hotel room. Came with the price of the stay, he supposed. Home away from home and all that.
He’d known she’d show up. How could she not given how he’d outed himself as the foundation’s personal benefactor and white knight, not to mention his father’s biggest business rival.
He didn’t, however, anticipate Sheila storming through his front door as if the Furies from Hades had hitched a ride on her stylish shoes. Seeing her now, hair flying, eyes sparking, heels clacking with more determination than the most ardent of beauty-pageant contestants, his heart swelled.
She’d never looked more magnificent.
“I can’t be bought.”
“Hello, Sheila.” He closed the door and returned to the couch, catching her look of confusion as he dodged the laser-sharp accusatory glare. “Come on in. Get yourself a drink.”
“You own TIN?”
Damn. He should have gotten himself one of those sodas. Or some water. He really needed some water. “Founder, owner, and CEO at your service. You’re welcome, by the way. Happy to help.”
“What is this?” She waved his note in the air, then, when he barely gave her a glance, stalked over to the sofa to shove it in his face. “You think you can just write me a check and all will be forgiven?”
“If you’ll look at the date, you’ll see I wrote that check last week.” Before he’d even left San Francisco.
“So that’s your solution? Throw money at the charity and ease your guilty conscience?”
“It’s more like belief in the work your foundation is doing. I don’t see the check, so I’m assuming you’re not here to return it.”
“Of course I’m not going to return it,” Sheila said, and to Malcolm’s disappointment, because there was nothing more entertaining that Sheila Tremayne in a full rage, she seemed to shrink away. “Morgan has it. Although I’d watch where you step from here on because chances are she’ll be bowing at your feet for the rest of your life.”
“I’d rather it be you.”
“You’d rather—” Sheila threw down her purse, reached out claw-like hands and let out the most unladylike roar he’d heard in his life as she pretended to strangle him. “What were you thinking? Are you insane?”
“Try disgustingly wealthy with no suitable heirs. I told you the new company was doing well.” What else was he going to do with the money? Buy a yacht? The thought made him seasick. “I have to be honest, this wasn’t the reaction I expected.”
“I was right earlier. You’ve lied to me since you walked back into this town.”
“No. I didn’t tell you everything. There’s a difference. And it’s only been a few days.”
“Semantics?” Sheila stalked back and forth between the two love seats as if she couldn’t quite believe they were having this conversation. Well, neither could he. “You said you’re here to even things with your father, to take over his company,” she blasted. “Putting the foundation between the two of you like some kind of shield is un—”
“Stop right there.” Malcolm shoved himself onto to his feet, anger pulling him up, offense keeping him there. “My plans for dear old Dad have nothing to do with my donation to the foundation or the center. I can’t believe you think I’d be so callous as to use you and your family that way.”
“Yeah, well.” Sheila hugged her arms around herself, scrunched up her mouth. “Okay, maybe that was out of line—”
“Maybe?” The hell with being tired. He pushed past her and headed into the kitchenette for that water, which he downed in thirty seconds. Christ. He needed a handful of Advil and about ten more hours of sleep. “Five years ago my father set me up, manipulated me into taking the blame for something I didn’t do. He destroyed everything I’d built, everything I had planned for myself as well as any relationship I had with my brother. So how about you get off that high horse you’re riding and while you’re at it, pull the scepter out of your ass. You made your point earlier today. I fucked up. I should have told you what happened five years ago when it happened. That I was leaving to protect Ty, but at the time, I made the only decision I could. And I rebuilt it all from scratch. On
ly this time it was my way. It was my business, my reputation, my bank accounts. And, honey, believe me when I tell you none of that was easy. But I won’t let you demean what I decide to do with what I’ve made of myself because you think I’m out to win you back. Trust me on this if nothing else. Even you aren’t worth the aggravation.”
“Now hold on—” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“No. Not anymore. I’m done apologizing. I’ve done a damn lot of good in the last five years and I’m going to enjoy reaping the benefits, beginning with getting that entertainment facility of yours up and running in record time.”
“Malcolm, I—”
“If you’re waiting for me to tell you I don’t give a damn what you think anymore, don’t hold your breath. You caught me. I’m guilty. I do care what you think. I always have, but you don’t want to hear that, do you? Because then you might just have to deal with your feelings about me. You want me to put my mouth where my money is? Fine. Challenge accepted. In the meantime, when you are ready to talk about this—” He moved in and crushed his mouth against hers, anger and frustration surging off him in waves as he felt her soften against him, her fingers curling into his shirt as she sagged and sighed. His head spun, but he stayed on his feet, set her away from him. “You know where to find me.”
“What’s wrong with you?” The question was so quiet he nearly missed it.
“What?” He blinked and saw her expression had shifted to one of concern. Oh, no. They weren’t going down that road. The last thing he wanted was to be anyone’s—especially Sheila Tremayne’s—object of pity. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Oh, so you just went on a tirade that would make a reality star an Oscar winner for no reason other than you wanted to lash out at me?” She pressed her lips together, brushed a finger over them, making him burn in an entirely different way.
He could feel the weakness coming over him again, sliding through his arms and legs like a poisonous viper. “Maybe I’m just tired of everyone assuming the worst of me.”
“I don’t think that,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. He needed her out of here. Before he collapsed. Before his doctor called again. Before he couldn’t hide the truth any longer.
Here Comes Trouble Page 9
