by Tasha Black
Wayne walked slowly up to West, smiling with saccharin sweetness. The kids clapped louder. Even the ones with metal arms.
“I’ll bet you’re happier to see them than you are to see me,” Wayne said quietly.
“What’s this?”
West tried to stay calm. The last thing he needed was a bunch of moms with their panties in a bunch.
“We wanted to say thank you,” Jeffries said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The kids are really excited about their new prosthetics - their families are overwhelmed at your generosity in allowing them to participate in such an expensive trial. I can’t thank you and your Medical Prosthetics team enough, Mr. Worthington. Truly, you are angels.”
West looked around. It was a merry group. The table was covered with an enormous cake studded in strawberries, with the words “Thank you” spelled out in red frosting. He glanced over at Cordelia to see what she made of it all.
She stood near the corner with a nice looking middle aged lady and a girl in a wheelchair. Cord and the woman were whispering hotly, as if they were arguing. He headed over to investigate.
“Cord,” he asked. “Who’s this?”
She spun around with a guilty look.
The lady she’d been whispering with smiled at him.
“I’m Janice, Cordelia’s mother. I wanted to thank you for what you’re doing for both of my daughters.”
West studied her face. Yes, he could see the resemblance. Then he looked at the girl in the chair.
She had long red hair and a spray of freckles across her cheeks, but when she smiled up at him with those big blue eyes, there was no mistaking that she was Cordelia’s sister.
She didn’t have any prosthetic or missing limbs that he could see.
“I’m Jessica,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Hi Jessica, I’m West.” She had a firm grip for someone so small. “I really appreciate your sister. She’s been instrumental around here.”
Cordelia made a funny sound behind him.
“But I don’t know what I’ve done to help you, Jessica.”
“Well, you haven’t done it yet, West, but I know you will soon. Your Medical Prosthetics team is going to use their tech to give me back the use of my legs. I’ve been in physical therapy since my accident to keep my muscles strong for when that day comes.”
“Jessica works very hard in physical therapy,” Janice said.
“Once I get my legs back I’m coming to work for you too.”
West felt his world spin a little on its axis.
Cordelia grabbed his elbow.
“I think they expect you to say a little something.”
He turned to look over the room again. So many expectant little faces.
Was his company really making their lives better? Did they really not care that his dad had made his money on bad mortgages? Or that West was a skirt chasing bastard?
He wondered how they’d feel if they knew how he had spent the bulk of the last few days.
“Thanks for coming out, guys,” he said softly.
The room was suddenly too quiet.
“You really surprised me today.” He shot Cordelia a cold look, and she averted her eyes. “We spend a lot of time at Worthington Enterprises thinking about what to make, how to make it, whether or not we’ll be able to keep making it…”
A little boy next to him was pushing a drawing his way with a metal hand. When West looked down the boy’s eyes sparkled under his mop of tiny dreadlocks and he winked like a pirate.
The drawing was of a big building with a “W” on it. Next to it was a guy in a superhero outfit with a “W” on his chest. Next to him was a little superhero with an “S” on his chest.
“It’s your fortress,” the boy said in a stage whisper.
West felt his eyes crinkle in a true smile.
“Epic,” he whispered back.
“And that’s me, Sean. When I get my new arm I’m gonna be a superhero too.”
A smiling woman stepped forward and tapped Sean’s little shoulder.
“Sean Cooper, you quiet yourself down. We all want to hear what Mr. Worthington has to say.”
“Yes, mom,” Sean said with a melodramatic eye roll.
West cleared his throat to continue. But somehow whatever he’d been going to say seemed stupid.
“I just want to say, I’m glad you’re all here to celebrate something real, something good that has come from my family’s company. Now let’s eat!”
The kids yelled in approval.
West grinned and grabbed a knife. He cut big slices of cake and Cordelia scurried over with paper plates and plastic forks. He dumped a slab of cake on each plate and she handed them out to the kids, who couldn’t believe their luck, and to their moms who all insisted they didn’t want any but ate it anyhow.
By the time everyone had a plate West was sticky and happy. He turned to find Cordelia but she was laughing her head off with Sean’s mom.
As he watched, she stabbed a strawberry with her fork and licked a dollop of frosting from it.
His heart almost stopped.
Goddammit. Why was she hot? It wasn’t her clothing - she was dressed like a nun on safari - white blouse buttoned up to her neck, brown pants, straw colored hair hanging stick straight to her shoulders.
He wished she would eat another strawberry.
She turned and caught him looking at her. Instantly she blushed. The color in her cheeks only made her sexier.
He turned away quickly and into the eyes of her sister. She must have wheeled over while he was cutting cake.
“Hey, Jessica.”
“Do you think my sister is pretty?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
Jessica shrugged.
He couldn’t help smiling.
“So when you come to work for me, what are you going to do?” He hunkered down to speak with her eye to eye.
“Not what she does.”
He turned to examine her face again. Did she know what Cordelia had been doing for him? It certainly wasn’t the kind of work you told your little sister about - especially the parties. He cringed inwardly.
“What do you think she does?”
“I dunno. Get your coffee and stuff.”
Sweet relief.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“Well, I’m not going to do that stuff.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m an inventor,” she said, puffing out her chest with pride.
“Excellent! Why do you want to work for me?”
“Because you have enough money to make something incredible happen - like you’re going to do for me. And because you’re the kind of person who does it even though you could make more money doing something else. I think you deserve a good idea person like me.”
“What ideas do you have?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jessica grinned and tapped her temple. “You’ll have to get me walking and hire me first.”
“I can already see you have a good head for business.” West stood and fastened a single button on his suit jacket. “Come and see me when you’re ready for a job. I’d be honored, Jessica.”
“Mr. Worthington,” Cordelia whispered in his ear, “I think we need to duck out and head up to our next meeting.”
Murmuring into his ear and getting him out of social situations was a huge part of her job. But today, Cordelia’s whisper seemed to caress him. West’s whole body came to life with anticipation under her soft breath.
He smiled regretfully at Jessica. He had actually been having fun - which was more than he could say for most of what went on in the board room.
“Hey Sean,” West called.
The boy turned to him instantly.
“Is this picture for me?” he asked, holding up the superhero drawing.
“Yeah,” he shouted back, “definitely!”
“Thanks, man. I’ll see you later.”
The boy’s smil
e couldn’t get any wider.
West tucked the drawing in his inside jacket pocket, and slipped out quietly, Cordelia trailing close behind.
14
Cordelia fell into step with West but he was lost in thought. The hallways seemed longer than usual.
At last they arrived back at the main lobby.
The elevator doors slid open, then shut behind them, smooth as silk.
West jiggled his keys in his pocket.
Cordelia tried to get a read on him without noticeably staring.
“You made your point, Cord.”
Cordelia considered denying it, or apologizing, or even running away. Somehow, she kept her mouth shut.
He took a deep breath and turned to look into her eyes.
His eyes were so dark. They glittered dangerously.
“I am not who you want me to be,” he said, his voice building like distant thunder. “I don’t care about your sister or your mother or your club of freaks. I care about two things, my money and my pleasure. And if you ever try to get between me and one of them again I won’t just fire you, I will end you. So you better stop giving me those doe eyes and start giving me what I want.”
Cordelia stood paralyzed, her eyes locked on West’s. She ought to have been disappointed at his words, and even afraid for her job.
She wasn’t.
Fixed in the moment by his passion, her body responded by softening and unfurling for him. She waited helplessly, praying for him to do something, anything, to end this aching anticipation.
The subtle ding of the elevator broke through the haze of Cordelia’s need. West’s jaw clenched and he ripped his gaze from hers.
15
Cordelia watched West straighten his tie and step out of the elevator like nothing had happened. She was so lost, the doors nearly slid shut again with her still inside.
At the last moment, she remembered to inhale and trot after him. Had she really not been breathing?
The large conference room was decorated warmly compared to the rest of the building, with forest green walls and the trim was a creamy white. The pine floors had been reclaimed from some barn in South Carolina at West’s request. They were a cheerful pumpkin hue that Peter had once told her was their natural color, and not a result of the varnish, which had been applied clear. He told her the color was because the wood was so old. The pine trees cut back then were bigger and older, and their age allowed the quality of the wood to grow richer and more beautiful.
It was odd to think that Peter, West’s softer side, was gone. After the way West had treated him, Cordelia wasn’t entirely surprised. But she had expected him to be back within a day or two. He was not the kind of man to hold a grudge.
There was no time to think about it.
Edward Dalton greeted them.
“Your guests are waiting,” he said in a flat tone that Cordelia thought must be ironic.
“Fine, send them in,” West said. He sat at the head of the table and patted the chair next to him, “Cord.”
Well, at least she wasn’t being sent for coffee.
Cordelia tried to slip into the seat without allowing herself to be aware of his big body beside her. It wasn’t easy. She could practically feel the heat pouring off him.
She studied the view from the huge windows to distract herself. Sheets of precipitation sliced across Glacier City’s buildings, and dark clouds bruised the sky. Even the weather responded to the moods of Westley Worthington.
He stood, and she scrambled to follow.
Dalton opened the door and three people entered. Two, an older man and younger woman, wore dark uniforms with rows of colorful pins near the lapels. Typical military types.
The third wore khaki fatigues, unadorned, save for a single patch on his arm depicting a wolf’s head above the words ALPHA DIVISION. An odd tapping on the pine floor drew Cordelia’s gaze down to the metal, blade-style prosthesis that had replaced the man’s right foot. It reminded her of the ones runners used, except with jagged teeth for better traction.
The woman stopped in her tracks when she spotted Dalton.
“Sergeant Dalton,” she said, clearly surprised to see him.
She was not as surprised as Dalton. He looked like a wolf caught in a trap. Cordelia had never seen him off his game before.
“It’s just Edward, nowadays, Ma’am,” he said, glancing at the gold bar on her uniform. “I see it’s Lieutenant Sterling for you. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Dalton said, heading out the door before she could say any more.
Cordelia had a bad feeling about this meeting. Anyone that flustered Edward Dalton was not someone to take lightly.
The older man reached a hand across the table.
“Westley Worthington,” he said, his voice coarse like sandpaper. “I’m Major Andrews. This is Lieutenant Sterling and Corporal Gibson. We’re glad you could make time to meet with us.”
“Nice to meet you,” West replied, pumping his hand once. “I’m not sure I’m interested in selling, but I’m always glad to open a conversation.”
Cpl. Gibson, a tall brutish-looking man, furrowed his brow. Lt. Sterling looked nearly as serious, but her twinkling green eyes gave away her amusement.
Major Andrews was unfazed. He took a seat, leaning back in his chair like a lion after a meal. This was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. The other two remained standing behind him.
West seated himself and leaned back as well.
Cordelia wondered when one of them would break the silence. Each was already trying to establish dominance.
Major Andrews spoke first. He may be used to controlling the front lines, but the boardroom was Westley Worthington’s battlefield.
“Lt. Sterling, if you will,” he said gruffly.
Sterling stepped forward, producing a tablet that wished it was an iPad but wasn’t. She swiped at it, and a video began to play. It opened with a close up of the wolf symbol, followed by a montage of soldiers in action, zoomed in to a slow-motion IED explosion, then slowed things down with pictures of soldiers injured in the line of duty, sidelined by missing limbs. It was pretty heavy handed, but it made its point.
“Thousands of soldiers have lost limbs in service to our great nation,” Sterling began, her voice calm and confident. “To be blunt, this costs the armed forces a great investment in training and removes experienced personnel from key positions.”
“Current prosthetic technology can help these soldiers lead normal, productive lives back home.” She swiped the screen through a slide showing a prosthesis like the one Cpl. Gibson wore. “But they are not advanced enough to allow a wounded soldier to return to a combat situation.”
“So let me get this straight,” West said coolly. “You want to use my tech to keep wounded soldiers from going home to their families? I’d think the soldiers would have some objections to that.”
“You’d be wrong,” Sterling shot back, her green eyes flashing like a cat with a cornered mouse.
She’d set him up for that response. She was good.
Cordelia typed a reminder into her iPad to get some background info on Lt. Sterling.
“First,” Sterling said, “the nature of an injury which resulted in an amputation would be sufficient to necessitate a medical discharge. So the process would be completely voluntary.”
West looked outwardly calm, but Cordelia sensed the tension building in him.
“Second,” the officer continued, “you might have noticed, none of the soldiers who defend America’s interest at home and abroad have been conscripted in any way. It is a life they chose, and one that is very much part of their identities. Many feel a profound sense of loss when that aspect of themselves is lost. Depression and suicide rates are very high among wounded veterans.”
“Corporal Gibson, She gestured to the man standing behind Major Andrews. “Why don’t you tell Mr. Worthington what you would do if you had a prosthetic
that qualified you to serve?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He stepped forward and glanced at Lt. Sterling. She nodded.
So that’s why he’s here. A human touch. Well played.
“I come from a military family.” He looked at the table, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to enlist. My parents were never prouder. I love my family, Mr. Worthington. After I made it through training and got deployed, I found a second family. But when I was injured, I had to leave them behind. They still need me over there.”
Gibson looked up from the table and met West’s eyes.
“You were right about soldiers having objections about not being allowed to go home to their families. But my brothers and sisters in my unit are the ones I’m being kept away from.”
A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, followed immediately by a bone-shaking peal of thunder.
Cpl. Gibson flinched at the sound, and brought his hands up protectively. His eyes darted around the room until they found Lt. Sterling and locked.
She held his gaze for a moment, and his hands returned to his sides.
“You did well, Sergeant,” she said. “That will be all.”
The man stepped back to his position, flanking the seated Major.
“You’ve heard the phrase, blood is thicker than water, Mr. Worthington?” she asked.
“Of course,” West replied.
“Most people use it to express the strength of family ties,” she said. “But the original saying is, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. A bond forged in blood is the strongest of all.”
An involuntary shiver ran down Cordelia’s spine at the sincerity in her delivery.
“Well said,” West admitted, “but why me? Why Med Pros? I’m not the only one working on advanced prosthetics.”
Sterling tapped her tablet, and a series of charts swam by.
“The Medical Prosthetics Division of Worthington Enterprises is losing money,” she said, pausing as though she expected West to react. When he didn’t, she continued. “Medical Prosthetics has limited skilled personnel and lacks the ability to obtain FDA approval on even the most basic of patents.’
