Here Comes Trouble (8 page)

“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.

“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.”

“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?”