by Ava Miles
For the first time in his relationship with Evan, Chase envied him.
Trying to shake off this line of thought, he said the one thing guaranteed to push Moira away rather than pull her closer. “Let’s resume our discussion about the guest list for the fundraiser.”
Moira’s shoulders visibly tensed up. “All right, but I’m pouring more wine.”
“Good idea,” Evan said. Turning toward Chase, he added, “I have a rare bourbon for you when Andy gives you the go-ahead.”
“That’s something to look forward to,” Chase said. “Let me check on the meat and then we can talk.”
If he hadn’t been so attuned to Moira, he wouldn’t have seen her release a slow breath of relief. He told himself to go easy on her. She was only doing what she thought best. Problem was, she didn’t have any experience with corporate espionage.
Chase added more coals to the fire to keep the temperature up while they were chatting. If it ran a little hotter in the beginning, it wouldn’t hurt anything. The wood was smoking nicely. He felt a rare pride in the task. It was helping to calm him, anchor him. Sure, he might be laid up in a scooter, living in a home in Dare Valley that reminded him too much of the house he’d had as a boy, but standing out here in the night air, over the heat of the smoker, everything felt okay.
That sense of calm disappeared like the newspaper in the chimney starter as soon as he went back inside. They had all gathered around the hearth, and it took all of a minute for Moira to start outlining the reasons she felt it necessary to include Quid-Atch’s competitors.
“Moira, I know you think this is only a fundraiser,” Chase said, wheeling closer to the fire and facing her. “Let me tell you why I disagree. If we invite our competitors, they are going to find out everything they can about our plans for the center, including which benefactors we’re courting. Then they’ll go home and plot ways to capitalize on what they’ve learned.”
“That sounds pretty paranoid to me,” Moira said. “It’s only one night, Chase.”
“All it takes is one inadvertent thread of information,” Chase said. “Spoken casually over cocktails. They’ll send people who are trained to ferret this stuff out, Moira. Government contracting is a nasty business. Everyone is looking for an edge.”
“But this isn’t Quid-Atch, Chase,” Moira said. “It’s Artemis, and we’re not competing for any funds.”
“But we might be competing for grants in the future,” Chase said, glancing over at Evan, who was observing them from the couch. “Right?”
“No,” Evan said emphatically, squeezing Margie’s hand. “The whole point of the center is to allow inventors to develop their inventions and talents without being subjected to outside influences.”
Chase wasn’t so sure about that. “Let’s see how things progress.”
Evan gazed at him uneasily. “Between my money and the private benefactors we’re inviting to the fundraiser, I don’t believe we’ll need to compete for grants.”
“But you don’t know yet,” Chase said, pressing. “You’ll thank me if it’s a path you end up wanting or needing to take later. Haven’t you thought that some of Artemis’ inventors might want to apply for grants in addition to what the center can give them?” he asked. “It might be good training for them.”
Evan rubbed his chin. “You’re right about that. A lot of inventors survive on grants to keep their research going. We’ll only be helping them for a short time.”
“Right, it’s only a two-year program,” Chase said. “You’re training them to apply for patents. Why not grants?”
“I still don’t see why it matters whether the center or one of our inventors might want to pursue grants,” Moira said. “What does that have to do with inviting Quid-Atch’s competitors to the fundraiser?”
“Because we’d potentially be competing against those companies,” Evan said. “They have research centers too. Not like Artemis exactly. K-Barker has a research institute, for example, which isn’t technically under its corporate umbrella—”
“But is still linked to them,” Chase said, grateful Evan was finally hearing him.
“Okay,” Moira said, standing up as if too anxious to keep sitting on the ottoman next to Chase. “So what you’re saying is that we’ll have to train our inventors in what they can say and what they can’t say, like to our competitors at a fundraiser.” She turned to her official boss. “Evan, I thought the whole purpose of Artemis was to encourage innovation through invention. What you’re describing seems to stifle some of that. Why enter grants into the equation at all?”
“Welcome to the fine line of making money out of innovation,” Chase said gruffly. “No one really invents for the sake of it, Moira. Certainly not the initial applicants we’ll select for the program. We’re only going to fund invention ideas with social value. If they can turn that idea into a reality, they should make money from it. The public will benefit. Why not them?”
“And us, obviously,” she said with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “So is your vision for Artemis to be a farm team for Quid-Atch? Because no one mentioned that to me before I took this job.”
Even Margie squirmed in her seat at that comment. She’d appeared to be ignoring their argument up until then.
“Is there anything wrong with us finding young talent and nurturing it in the hopes it might fit within the Quid-Atch family?” Chase asked.
Her green eyes locked on his. “No, but—”
“Before you take this any further,” Evan said, interrupting them, “let me point out that we are not prescribing the kinds of things our inventors invent. People can come to us with all sorts of ideas that might have social value. Not all of their ideas will have an application to our work at Quid-Atch.”
“What if one of Artemis’ inventors creates an invention that could help the defense industry?” Chase pressed. “And Quid-Atch?”
Evan shrugged. “I see your point, Chase, but I don’t think we can circle the wagons around the center or our inventors like this. Moira is right. As much as I hate to admit it, we need to invite companies like K-Barker and Longburrow.”
Chase wheeled his scooter forward until he was brushing knees with Evan, who was sitting on the couch. “You know how I feel about K-Barker, Evan. I wouldn’t allow the person who cleans their fancy toilets to show up at our fundraiser.”
“I heard what you said the day of your accident, Chase,” Moira said. “And I’m hearing you now. Sounds to me like you have a personal issue with K-Barker.”
She couldn’t be more right, and it wasn’t just because Trisha had slept with the smarmy CEO. No, she’d done much worse than that. The reason Chase was so nervous about security breaches was because one of the biggest ones in Quid-Atch history had happened because of him.
No one but Evan and Quid-Atch’s legal team knew, but Trisha had stolen papers related to a government bid and sold them to Maurie Wallins. Her lover.
It still pissed him off that he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d brought the papers home and put them in his safe, thinking they would be secure until he returned from a work trip. Trisha had taken them out from under him while he was gone, along with most of the possessions in their home, leaving him with a note that simply said:
I found a better offer. You’ll hear from my lawyers shortly.
K-Barker had won the billion-dollar bid out from under Quid-Atch by a hair. Either way, he had to give Maurie credit. He’d used Trisha and dropped her after she’d completed her purpose for him. Still, she hadn’t gotten off too badly. Despite the corporate espionage suit his lawyers had slapped at her, she hadn’t gone to jail. To add insult to injury, she’d be receiving a hefty alimony check from him for the next thirty years. The bitch.
“K-Barker isn’t as ethical as we are, Moira, and Chase is being cautious,” Evan said. “Chase, let’s go check on the meat.” He kissed Margie and flashed a smile to Moira, who didn’t return it.
Evan didn’t bother with a coat. Neither did Chase. On
ce they were outside, he turned to face his friend. “If you invite one of our competitors, you have to invite them all. I don’t want K-Barker there.”
“We’ll just have to keep an extra set of eyes on whomever they send,” Evan said.
Chase’s jaw popped. “You know who they’ll send.”
“I do,” Evan said, crossing his arms. “I hate Maurie almost as much as you do, but this is still the right move.”
“On that we disagree,” Chase said, his full attention on Evan. “This is a bad idea. You give Maurie an inch and he’ll—”
“Fuck your wife,” Evan said crudely.
Chase couldn’t have said it better himself. “I’m lucky to be rid of her,” he added, meaning every word.
“Moira can’t know what happened with K-Barker, according to the terms of your settlement with Trisha.” Evan ran his hands through his hair. “I still hate being out here talking about this without her. Margie too. She knows Trisha was a piece of work, but—”
“As you said, the case is sealed,” Chase said.
“I still hate leaving Moira out in the cold,” Evan said, rubbing his hands together to generate warmth. “Haha. I need to get back inside before I get frostbite. Look, Chase, I say we invite Maurie and those other assholes to the fundraiser and stick it in their faces that we came up with the idea for this center and they didn’t. K-Barker’s research center is nothing compared to what we’re going to accomplish with Artemis.”
“Let’s stick it to our competitors by beating them on this bid,” Chase growled. He wheeled over to the smoker to check the temperature and took a deep inhale of the hickory. Man, it smelled good. “Grab some more charcoal, will you?”
“You want me to put my hands in there?” Evan asked, rustling with the bag. “It’s filthy. I’m wearing Gucci.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Chase said, wheeling over toward his friend. “A little dirt never hurt anyone. In fact, it usually improves a person’s character.”
As Chase shoved his good hand into the bag, he realized his dad used to say that. The charcoal dropped from his hand, but he firmed his muscles to scoop up some more.
No amount of dirt in the world had helped his dad stay strong after the fire.
Chase still couldn’t reconcile himself to what his father had done. His dad had been such a strong man, but losing everything had broken him. Alcohol and depression had taken what was left. Even so, Chase had never forgiven him—didn’t think he could forgive him. How could a man leave his wife and two sons to deal with a fall-out like that?
He shook off the thought and wheeled over with a handful of charcoal.
“You can have the dirt,” Evan said, smiling. “Margie says I have plenty of character, and she’s a good judge.”
“She is indeed,” Chase agreed. “Can you open the firebox chamber?”
When Evan lifted the metal bar, Chase carefully placed the new coals on top of the existing ones he could reach. “Let’s go back in. I know when your mind is made up.”
“I hate being at odds here, Chase,” Evan said, clapping a hand on the shoulder of his good arm. “You know that. Moira makes the right points because she’s unbiased. As far as I’m concerned, that’s an asset.”
“Maurie will find a way to use this against us,” Chase said. “You know I’m right.”
“It’s only a fundraiser,” Evan said. “There will be hundreds of guests, and I meant what I said. We’re going to keep a close eye on Maurie. Happy?”
Chase wheeled himself toward the patio door. “No.”
Evan opened it for him. “I’m going to have Moira send out the invites tomorrow, Chase. We can’t wait any longer.”
“Wonderful,” he said, crossing the floor and heading back into the den. Personally, all he wanted to do was speed off into the night and forget about the damned fundraiser.
Margie and Moira had their heads together, but they jumped apart as soon as they saw him.
“I don’t like being shut out of a conversation about a fundraiser I’m in charge of,” Moira said.
“You knew when we hired you that there were things we couldn’t share for security reasons,” Chase said. “What you need to understand is that none of our competitors should be trusted. Ever. Especially K-Barker, and especially when we’re putting together a seven-hundred-million-dollar bid.”
Moira’s cheeks had flushed an angry red, and dammit, it only made her more attractive. “Maybe you should send me over a dossier on all the people I need to be wary of.”
“Maybe I will when Evan lets me back on my computer,” he shot back.
“Are you always this much of a conspiracy theorist?” she asked.
Evan put a hand on his shoulder before he could bark off another response. “Chase has a good understanding of what Quid-Atch faces when it comes to competing for government contracts. He’s also an excellent judge of character, with some of the strongest ethics I’ve ever come across in a corporate executive.”
Chase appreciated the support, but he could speak for himself. “I don’t believe in conspiracies, but we’ve seen a consistent lack of ethics from some of our competitors. Especially K-Barker. Do you want to know how far they’re willing to go? We’re talking hiring strippers or call girls to persuade consultants to go with them on a bid. And then there was the time—”
“The strippers and call girls are probably good enough examples, Chase,” Evan said wryly.
He sure as hell hoped so. “Moira, their practices have made me…cautious.” And sick to his stomach, but he wouldn’t add that.
“I appreciate you giving me a fuller picture of the odds you face in the defense industry,” Moira said. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure they have a shitty table, far from anyone important.”
As a slight, it was a good one. “No, stick them up front,” he said. “That way I can keep an eye on them myself.”
Because when Maurie came to the fundraiser—and he would—Chase wouldn’t rely on anyone else to keep an eye on him. He would be watching him the whole time.
Chapter 12
Moira couldn’t rise above the feeling that Chase was studying her as they finished dinner.
Everything had been delicious—especially his hickory-smoked pork shoulder—but she hadn’t been able to relax enough to enjoy it. He was angry with her, and it couldn’t continue. She wasn’t going to let their disagreement over the guest list for the fundraiser hurt their relationship, working or otherwise.
When Evan yawned in an exaggerated fashion after dessert, Moira made her decision. She wouldn’t take her leave with the newlyweds. No, she and Chase were going to have a friendly chat.
“You two go on home,” Moira said, giving them a smile. “Margie, I know you have an early morning. I’ll clean up.”
“No, we can help,” Margie protested.
“I insist,” she said, giving Evan a good look in the hopes he’d get the message.
He stood up quickly. “She means it, Margie. Let’s get you home so you don’t fall asleep facedown in your bread dough.”
Moira’s mouth twitched. “Not sure if that would be a good facial or not, Margie.”
The woman winced. “I don’t plan on finding out. All right, I’ll let you clean up this one time. Chase, thank you so much for smoking the meat for us. It was a treat.”
“Yeah,” Evan said, “I can’t wait to tell Rajan, Darren, and the others you have a domestic side.”
“Tell them and you die,” Chase said.
“If I didn’t know you, I’d believe you,” Evan said, walking over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Good job on the new hobby.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “It won’t last when I get back to work.”
“You never know,” Evan said. “Come on, babe.”
Margie went over to Chase and leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself and listen to Helga.”
Her lips were still twitching with a held-back smile when she pulled Moi
ra into a hug. “See you later.”
Evan hugged her too. Even though he was her boss, they’d met through her cousin, Jill, and saw each other socially at the extended Hale family parties. She wondered what Chase thought about that.
“Bye, kids,” Evan said as he closed the door.
Moira shook her head and started to clean up. Chase’s scooter wheeled after her.
“You don’t have to do this,” he commented as she picked up the plates and stacked them. “Evan has cleaning people come in daily to take care of things like this.”
“It’s no bother,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “Besides, this gives us some time to sort through your unhappiness with me.”
His scooter stopped immediately. “My unhappiness?”
She finished loading the plates into the dishwasher. “I know you’re angry with me about the guest list. I don’t want that hurting our relationship.”
His gray eyes darkened to storm clouds. “Are you questioning my professionalism?”
“I don’t know why, but this issue is obviously personal to you.” She headed back to the table and collected the glasses. “You also don’t like Evan agreeing with me.”
“We’ve been known to disagree before,” he said, not bothering to deny it.
After she placed the glasses in the dishwasher, she leaned back against the counter. “I don’t want us to be at odds over this. I also don’t want you to stop trusting my judgment.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
The derision in his voice was unmistakable. “Your opinion of me and my judgment matters.”
“Not enough to back down when I disagree, it seems.” He gave her a pointed look.
“I told you I wasn’t going to hold back with you. You said you wanted that. Have you changed your mind?”
“No,” he said, putting his hands to his head like it was paining him. “Christ, do we have to talk this out? You’re making this more personal than it needs to be. I don’t question your judgment. I just think you’re wrong on this one point, okay? It doesn’t change my faith in you or your abilities as the center’s director.”
