Flirting with Disaster (3 page)

"Coffee with that?" Chewing on her pencil, she looked away as a couple of people walked in.

I hesitated and then figured I could as well try. "How's the chocolate shake?" I asked.
 

She raised her eyebrows and gave me the patented look skinny chicks give fat girls when they order food they crave but never touch. Pursing her lips Joanne said, "Okay, I guess."
 

"Then I'll have one instead of coffee, please."

Shaking her head as if to tell me I should know better, she left me to my work and returned a couple of minutes later with my order. Service was fast.

I ate half my omelette which was nothing to write home about and then tasted the shake. I didn't spit it out but I wanted to. It was bad, too sweet, too chocolatey. Either they didn't use the same products or my standards had evolved more than I realized during the last decade.
 

Well, maybe not all aspects of my standards ... because when Ryder Bishop strolled into the place with a lovely smile on his face, he still took my breath away. He had aged, of course, but time had been kind to him. His hairline was a little higher but his eyes still crinkled in the sexiest way.

Joanne seemed to share my opinion. "Hey, big boy," she purred when he got close to the counter. She stood straighter and threw her shoulders back as if wanting to call his attention to her boobs.

He just nodded at her and asked for his order. His tone clearly expressed his lack of interest but she didn't get it.

"You should call me sometime." I felt sorry for her. Withholding the cup of coffee while waiting for her answer, she dug her grave a bit deeper.

"Yeah, I'll keep you in mind."
 

He would call her when hell froze over. Ryder Bishop hadn't changed at all. What puzzled me was how a fuck-them-and-leave-them kinda guy managed to find fresh meat. I would have thought by now he would have either moved to a fresh hunting ground or settled with someone.
 

Ryder walked passed by my booth and frowned. For a second I thought he recognized me but no; gals like me were still transparent to guys like him.

Nothing out of the ordinary, and the day started out well enough. I went through my usual routine, but something circled through my mind. It was that chick, the one from the diner, with the milkshake. Did I know her? No clue why I had a moment of recognition, but as soon as it started, it passed. I figured she just looked like someone I used to know. I couldn't remember her name. Either way, I decided it wasn't the girl I was thinking of and went on with my day.

The thing was it wasn't common for strangers to wander around these parts. This was the kind of town most drivers avoided or drove past. The cracks in the façade, the overgrown grass in too many empty lots, the roads that seemed forgotten by the paving crews, yeah, this wasn't the place people came to hang out for no reason. It was hardly the jewel along the ocean. If beachgoers were looking for a day trip, this was not the shoreline they picked out. They'd go farther north and enjoy swanky homes or south for a boardwalk that offered amusements. The only thing Ocean Crest offered was a beach and quiet place to hang. Most people didn't trust the area though; it had been through its share of problems.
 

Earlier in the morning, Dad rang me up and asked if I could run an errand for him. It's not like I was loaded down with work. I had a couple of car inspections to do, but not much else. I glanced at my watch and hopped into my truck. My bike wouldn't be much help in carrying bags and boxes.
 

I pulled into one of the slanted parking spaces outside Pandora's Lunch Box. It was a local eatery and deli that had been a staple in town. The chimes on the door jingled as I went inside. Pete, the owner, was an older guy who had been part of Ocean Crest for as long as I could remember. He bellowed out a hello, his voice deep and full of gravel.
 

"Hey, Pete, I'm here to pick up my dad's order. He called it in earlier. How's your elbow doing?" I liked Pete. He was a simple guy, talked a good game, and wasn't too nosy. He was good for small talk and never delved into politics or anything uncomfortable.
 

"Makes it harder to work every day," he groaned. He couldn't afford to stop work and close up shop. It was the only way he knew to feed his family. He'd had the delicatessen for the better part of thirty years. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him. Pete turned and picked up a couple of brown bags off the stainless counter. He read off a list near the register, “Bagels, donuts, two sandwiches, and a container of cream cheese,” he finished. "Tell your pops I threw in some extras, and thanks for the business."
 

"Will do," I said. I settled the bill and picked up the bags now next to the register. "Hope the elbow heals up soon."
 

"You and me both," he said.
 

Outside, about to climb into my truck, I waved as Tony passed by in his cop car. I didn't have time to play chase with him. I needed to run this stuff to my dad, so instead I drove down the boulevard and turned toward the factory. That plant was the lifeblood of the town. There wasn't much business left.
 

Some days, I wondered what life would be like outside of here, but usually I just pushed those thoughts away. My brother worked in a cubicle in California and flipped homes on the side. I guess he couldn't run any farther, going from the Atlantic to the Pacific coastline. I didn't blame him; Ocean Crest wasn't a basket full of good memories after my mom died.

I pulled into the parking lot of the plant and grabbed the bags I took notice of a white car that looked out of place and stopped in my tracks. What was that doing here? I stared at the white BMW that had almost run into me. My stomach twisted. Maybe one of the big wigs was visiting. That's probably why Dad wanted the food for the meeting. He probably felt the need to impress the big boys, maybe keep them at bay a little while longer. The wolves were knocking at the door, and he was buying time. His father knew the factory's numbers were down, but did his best to do what he could with what he had. That plant was his life. He'd given everything to it.
 

I shook my head and went inside. In search of my father, I found him just outside his office. The woman, I knew her. She was the one from the diner. Her shoulders were squared and tense. She meant business, there was no denying her stance. I heard slight whispers before he ushered her into his office.
 

"Dad," I called out, trying to stop whatever was going on. I could see his posture shifting with his mood. I didn't say anything, just eyed up the woman, and handed off the bags when he turned. "Call me, later."
 

I saw it in his eyes. Dad wore dread on his face. His eyes were almost expressionless, except for the bits of pain he couldn't hide from me.

The woman stood her ground, her hands now on her hips, irritated at having been interrupted. I tried not to notice the way her skirt held snug to her hips. She was bigger than most women, but she wore her business suit well. She wasn't too bad close up, except for the fierceness that said she'd snap off a lion's head if it looked at her the wrong way. That woman had control issues. I felt bad for whomever had to tame her ass in bed.
 

I hoped my dad could salvage something good out of the meeting.
 

Monday morning, I worked from home, sending out the report I needed to file about my last mission and drove to the factory a little before lunch.
 

Getting out of my car, I tugged on the skirt of my suit, ran my fingers through my hair and took a deep breath. I could do this and I could do it well. It was not going to be pleasant, but it was the way to climb a new step on my ladder.

To delay the inevitable for a few more minutes, I walked around the building. The construction was sturdy. It had weathered well with the years. After studying the blueprint, I knew the structure was supported by the outside walls and could be totally gutted and converted into just about anything.
 
That wouldn't be a problem, what would be was finding something to convert it into.

Pushing the main door conjured memories of childhood I'd worked hard to chase from my mind. It reminded me how terrified I was when I was called up here. Mr. Bishop would always try to break the news gently, but I knew. The only reason he called or sent for me was because my mother passed out during operating hours.

Despite the noise of the machines, two workers raised their heads when the door slammed shut behind me. Two women, slightly older than me. Thankfully no one I recognized. I smiled at them and they eyed me suspiciously. Even if they didn’t know my suit’s price, they could see it was expensive. It was clear I was not here to apply for a job.
 

I passed a few unoccupied machines to reach the foreman's office. His back to the glass partition, Dylan Bishop studied a ledger. Poor man, his entire hierarchy had been let go and he was never
 
trained for the jobs piled on him. I knocked on the door, and he waved without turning around or raising his head.
 

Even after I'd stepped in and closed the door behind me, he kept looking at his work. I cleared my throat and said, "Mr. Bishop." The sound of my voice startled him and made him turn to look at me.
 

"Mr. Bishop, I'm Barbara Johnson. The New York office must have called you to let you know I would be here today."

He removed his reading glass and stood, holding out a hand to me. "Ms. Johnson, nice to meet you." He tried to be gracious, but I’m sure it was difficult. He knew my presence meant his universe was going to be rocked.

Shaking his hand, I hesitated to tell him I'd known him for as long as I could remember, but decided against it. It was not the moment to take a stroll down memory lane.

"You know why I'm here," I said.

"You're gonna close us down?" he asked trying to conceal a defeated expression.

"Well, the final decision has yet to be made but there's a growing concern about the lack of profitability of this entire operation," I stated with a gesture encompassing the entire building. "I won't lie to you, though, I'm not very optimistic about the future of this place."

"I understand," he said. "But you will have a go at saving it, won't you?"

"That I will." I meant it, but it would take nothing short of a miracle for me to make sure they wouldn't be closed at the end of summer. "Why don't you show me around and then we can order something to eat and talk about it over lunch."
 

"Fine, let me make a phone call and I'll be right with you."

I stepped out of his office to give him privacy and waited for him by the door, counting the number of workers on the floor. There were about thirty. That's the number of families that would most likely be cursing my name soon.

Dylan Bishop came out and walked with me through the floor, explaining the work stations that were unmanned had to be abandoned because the parts to repair the machines no longer existed. They had long ago ran out of retired machines to cannibalize and there was no budget for new equipment.

We took the stairs to the first floor. The corporate offices had been unoccupied for a decade. A ghost town. I would need to clean one of the cubicles to set up my work station.

Slowly, we retraced our steps to his office and were standing by the door when he whispered, "Letting go half of the workers wouldn't be enough, right?"

I tensed, putting my hands on my hips and whispered back, "You're not being fair. I can't tell you anything right now. I need to look at your books first."
 

As he opened the door for me to walk in, I heard a voice call out, "Dad." Ryder came up, handing bags to his father. We looked at each other. My eyes remained on his face while he gave me a full body scan. Even though the expression of his handsome face didn't change, I knew he decided he would not be adding me as a possible candidate to the list of trophies.
 

It hurt more than it should’ve and that surprised me. We lived in two different universes now. I had climbed up in the world while he had stayed here. Why should I care that the heartthrob of Nowheresville dismissed me at first glance?

Ryder's father said something to him I didn't catch and the local playboy turned and left.
 

While clearing space on his desk to make room for the lunch bags, Mr. Bishop asked me, "How long will you be staying in town?"

"For as long as it takes." Taking a chair from the corner and bringing it next to the desk, I added, "I've planned to give it a couple of months, but this could take a lot longer." Or it could be all over in a single fortnight.

My answer seemed to reassure him a bit. "Do you need help finding accommodations?"
 

"No, thank you, I have a place to stay. However, it hasn't been lived in for a while and I will be looking for someone to help me fix a few things, if you have someone in mind, I would truly appreciate it."

"I have just the man for you," he said. "He's got hands of gold. If it's fixable, he'll find a way to make it work. Gimme your number and he'll call you tonight or tomorrow at the latest."

I wrote down my cell number on the back of one of my business cards and we had an amicable lunch during which he proceeded to tell me about most of the employees.
 

The man was smart, he realized it would be harder for me to give them the boot if they became more for me than names on a list.
 

Dad called to tell me he'd found work for me, which was a welcome surprise. The extra money would help catch up on a few bills that had fallen behind. Even though I didn't mind working for my keep, when I heard who it was for, I scowled. I was less than thrilled, but when it came down to cash, it all spends the same.
 

I studied the number on the paper, trying to decide whether to call her tonight or in the morning. It was the lady from Dad's office I'd seen earlier. She was like a crocodile scavenging for her next meal. The very one who drove the BMW that almost took me off the road. I decided it was probably better to get it over with. I dialed her number and waited.