by RJ Blain
“We have a budget for corporate-sponsored housing. I’ll make sure it’s done,” Annamarie whispered before retreating to her desk.
At three-thirty, when it was time to leave for the dinner meeting, I was ready to go home and sleep. Instead of succumbing to the temptation of cancelling the meeting altogether and rescheduling for another day, I packed up my laptop, stuffed it into my oversized purse, and ignored Sam’s slack-jawed stare. “Yes, I am going to the meeting like this. No, I don’t have time to change. They can deal with it.”
“It was my idea,” Annamarie chirped from the reception.
“You’re going to make an impression, that’s for certain.”
“If Dad asks you, you know nothing, Sam.”
“When did she get involved in corporate clandestine operations, Annamarie?”
“This morning, apparently. I think it’s the medications. She’ll talk your ear off if you give her half a chance. Not a bad thing, considering she’s fielding a dinner meeting.”
“Dealing with the fallout from this morning?”
“Yes. Try to be back by eight-thirty, Miss Evans. I’m not sure I can coerce any other executives into meetings tonight to cover for you.”
If dinner took three hours, I was going to need bail money. Once again, Sam brought the car around to spare me the steps in the parking garage. I slid into the back, buckled in, and sighed from relief at having escaped the office.
“Day from hell?”
“I threw a pitcher of ice water over the entire board while Dad was looking over company bylaws.”
“Was that before or after your father fired Mr. Harthel?”
“Before.”
“Nice baseball cap. Who did you steal it from?”
I had forgotten I was wearing the hat. “One of the security guards on the meeting floor. I meant to give it back.”
“I’m sure it’ll keep until tomorrow. You’ll need to text me thirty minutes before you want picked up if you don’t want a wait. If you sneak a nap, I’ll even wake you up when we arrive.”
“So I can be bleary-eyed on top of hoarse and casually dressed?”
“You’ll make them feel important if you look utterly ragged.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“You caught me.”
“Seriously, if I fall asleep now, you won’t wake me up. How much sleep has Dad been getting lately?”
“Not enough.”
“I noticed. He spent several hours out cold on the couch while I dealt with work. Does he need to see a doctor?”
“No, but you do tomorrow afternoon at three.”
The last thing I needed was Sam slipping into the same protective mode as Dad. “Noted. I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at two—one-thirty if you’re at the office tomorrow.”
I groaned. “Nothing closer?”
“Sorry, Matia. I don’t pick the appointment locations. All I do is drive the car.”
Arguing about it wouldn’t change anything. “I stole Harthel’s assistant. Dad doesn’t know yet.”
Sam snorted. “It’s about time you got an assistant of your own.”
“Did you run into the slime dropping his things off today?”
“Fortunately not. The building security guards claimed the boxes and signed off for them. I was gone before he came to retrieve them. Would you rather if I waited near the restaurant for you?”
“No. It’ll probably be two hours—maybe longer, depending on how long they want to talk. If I’m lucky, I’ll be out in an hour flat, but I don’t have high hopes of that.”
Sam sighed. “You’re supposed to be resting, you know.”
“I have all three inhalers, I brought all my medications, and I even figured out how to take them on my own. I’ll be fine, Sam.”
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay, okay. If I need anything, I’ll call.” I sighed, wondering if I’d ever be fine again after what had happened at LaGuardia. “Oh, any luck on finding Ryan?”
“No luck, sorry. There was one Ryan on the passenger list for Terminal B, but unless your gentleman is a woman named Danielle, it’s not a match.”
I wasn’t surprised, but I sighed from disappointment anyway. Finding a man using a photograph of his sweaty chest was likely impossible, and without the ability to identify his hair color, eye color, and skin tone, I’d have an easier time finding a needle in a haystack.
Chapter Nine
While the Italian restaurant Annamarie had selected wasn’t New York’s finest, it came close. Sam’s chuckles rang in my ears long after he had left me on the curb to rot. Sighing, I pushed my way inside, wondering how I’d get through a business meeting in a restaurant where formal funeral attire wouldn’t have been out of place.
The host took one look at me and grinned, dipping into a bow. “Your party has already arrived, Miss Evans. Please follow me.”
Several someones would face payback for not warning me about the restaurant, but I’d save Annamarie for last as thanks for sparing me the hassle of explaining who I was and warning the restaurant staff I wasn’t wearing anywhere near my finest. I followed after the host, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. At the very least, if anyone laughed too hard at me, it weighed enough to make a viable weapon.
Rule two was overrated anyway.
When the host led me to a table set up for twelve people and eleven men were waiting for me, it took every bit of my willpower to plaster a smile on my face and at least try to pretend I wanted to be meeting with them. I’d been to many business meetings over the years with Dad, but never had I seen one quite so unbalanced.
Larger meetings tended to include at least one token woman in the group. I’d grown up living the reality of that role, although Dad used me to his advantage whenever possible.
The only man to rise was directly to my left, and his mouth was partially open, although I couldn’t tell if he was surprised or horrified. His hair was a darker gray than his skin, which was a duskier hue than his companions.
They were all younger men dressed in their best suits, although the variations in tones assured me they weren’t all in black and white formal attire.
Without allowing my smile to slip, I offered my hand. “I hope I didn’t leave you waiting long, gentlemen. Since Mr. Harthel can’t attend, I’m Matia, the representative for Pallodia Industries.”
Eleven pairs of blinking eyes stared at me. Deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car were more responsive. “Is this when I should make an assumption regarding communications with Mr. Harthel? Unfortunately, due to the nature of his being let go this morning, I am working with old information.”
I sat, pulled my chair to the table, and stashed my purse between my feet.
“Mr. Harthel was let go?” The gentleman to my left sank onto his seat, thrusting out his hand. I clasped it in a firm grip, applying as much pressure as my slender fingers allowed, which was met with an equally firm squeeze on his part.
There was a challenge in the man’s shake, which I answered by ignoring it altogether. I freed my hand and took a sip of water to soothe my throat. “A polite way of saying he was fired for lying to the board in a meeting this morning.”
“I see. Well, I’m grateful you could make time in your schedule to meet with us on such short notice, then. I’ll admit, we were expecting Mr. Harthel. I’m Dalton Sinclair, the Vice President of Marketing for Mirage Resources. Let’s skip the formalities, shall we? Please call me Dalton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Dalton.”
He made introductions around the table, and the eclectic mix of accountants, marketers, secretaries, and attorneys intrigued me. I smiled and nodded to each one of them, hoping I wouldn’t have to call any of them by their names.
Remembering Dalton’s was going to be difficult enough.
“From my understanding, Mirage Resources is based in London. Is that correct?”
“Yes, tha
t’s correct. Unfortunately, our CEO was unable to make the trip. Most of us are from our New York office. To prevent any misunderstandings, what do you know about the negotiations?”
Before I had a chance to answer, the waiter came, and I invited Dalton to order wine if he desired, choosing hot tea to help with my throat. I was intrigued when they followed my lead, all choosing non-alcoholic beverages.
Recapping the initial negotiations as a part of the discussion process wasn’t completely unheard of, and I covered the benefits of the medical research equipment Mirage Resources would sell to Pallodia Industries. With the license for the patents, Pallodia could expand into several important markets.
Harthel had likely ruined all the numbers work we had done, but I laid out the original opening bid, which totaled over a hundred million dollars for the purchase of several patents and licensing of several more.
I stopped frequently to take sips of my tea and water, horrified at how hoarse my voice was. At least I didn’t wheeze despite how much talking I was doing. It was bad enough I had to resort to a cough drop.
Using an inhaler in front of so many businessmen would do a lot more harm to my reputation than good.
We were interrupted several times by the waiter, who took our orders and returned with our meals, which we ate when we weren’t talking. I barely tasted my food; spaghetti normally appealed, but with so many watching me, I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than a few bites, instead choosing to fill the silence with everything I remembered from the proposals and information I had compiled for the meeting.
The entire time, the representatives of Mirage Resources looked troubled, exchanging looks when they thought I wasn’t watching. Dalton frowned, glancing across the table at one of the attorneys. “Mr. Harthel had made a drastically different proposal.”
“Before discussion continues, I’d like to make it perfectly clear any discussions for a merger, share sales, or personnel acquisitions weren’t intended to be brought to the table.”
Someone at the other end of the table snorted, and a wave of chuckles and titters worked its way to me. Dalton was the last to crack a smile. “For such a young woman, you’re shrewd. What made you come to the conclusion he had proposed one—or more—of those things?”
While I couldn’t remember their names, I did remember which two men were the attorneys, and I gestured to them. “As the sellers, you wouldn’t bring a pair of corporate attorneys for starting negotiations. They’d be involved later in the process, after we had a written proposal ready for examination. Their presence means you wanted a direct and immediate legal guidance, which implies a broader scope of negotiation—or a more serious acquisition on your part.”
“You’re familiar with negotiations, I see. What is your rank at Pallodia Industries?” Dalton looked me over, his eyes narrowing.
I gave him the time to speculate and wonder at my attire, taking a sip of my water. “Executive Vice President.”
Several of the men choked and coughed, and Dalton’s eyes widened. “You’re the Executive Vice President?”
“Mr. Harthel probably told you he was aspiring to—or already held—the position, didn’t he?”
Dalton wasn’t the only one who flinched. I blinked as the missing pieces fell into place. With me out of the picture, Harthel was the likeliest one to take my place, which was probably the reason for the board meeting. After seeing me in the lobby, he had the choice of continuing the farce or informing the entirety of the board he hadn’t followed protocol. If he had managed to force Dad into a leave of absence, he could have secured his position in the company, either ousting my father or taking over my role.
“I apologize, Miss…?”
“Evans. No apology necessary, Dalton. You’re not responsible for Mr. Harthel’s actions, and I hope we can restart negotiations so they’re beneficial to both of our companies. If you are all located in New York, I’d like to propose we conduct further meetings at our office building—or yours, if you’d prefer. I’d also like to extend apologies on behalf of Pallodia for our inability to make the initial negotiation meeting.”
“Evans? The same as the CEO’s?”
I chuckled. “The same. I’m afraid he had meetings tonight and wasn’t able to attend. Should we continue negotiations, you’ll meet him.”
Dalton stared at me for a long moment before offering a smile, which made him look almost as young as me. “That would be beneficial for both of our companies. If you can provide me with your information, I’ll send over a copy of the files Mr. Harthel had given us for review. Do you think a meeting later this week is possible?”
“I think it’s a possibility.” I dug out my wallet and breathed a sigh of relief that someone had inserted new business cards. I didn’t have enough for everyone, but I handed over the entire stack to Dalton. “I’ll be in and out of the office tomorrow, but give me a call at your convenience and we’ll set something up.”
“I’ll do that, and I’ll inquire about the CEO traveling here to join us. If you could provide written documentation, it would help speed things along.”
My smile became genuine. “Email me. I still have copies of our original proposal.”
I misjudged how long it would take us to finish dinner, resulting in me waiting outside of the restaurant for Sam to arrive. While the other businessmen left, Dalton Sinclair remained, leaving me to wonder why he stuck around when he could have returned home.
I propped the restaurant up, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Waiting wasn’t necessary, Dalton.”
“It’s rude to leave a lady waiting on her own.” He relaxed, and with no care for his suit jacket, he joined me in leaning against the wall. “Please excuse how forward this is, but we were under the impression you had died in the LaGuardia bombing.”
“My purse was lost in the debris. Since there was trouble with my ID, I was listed as a Jane Doe for a while. Once they got that sorted, I went home. My father was rather busy, so he hadn’t notified anyone I was returning to work until I showed up.” I shrugged. “Terminal B was a mess, and it was quite a while before they managed to reach the section of the terminal we were located in.”
“Terminal B was the hardest hit.”
“I got lucky.” I still had no idea how I had made it out of Terminal B, but I believed Ryan was behind it. Without any matches on the passenger list, I had little hope of finding the man again, especially since my only photos of him involved his bare chest.
If I showed Sam the pictures, could he help me track Ryan down? I doubted it.
“Sounds like it. Had I known you were still recovering, I would have suggested we postpone the meeting.”
I shook my head. “Problems like this tend to escalate if left alone, and considering Mr. Harthel’s behavior, it couldn’t wait. I’d rather not leave either of our companies with an unfortunate mess to clean up—one larger than the one we’re already dealing with.”
If Dad ever found out how much ass kissing I was doing to the contact at Mirage Resources, he’d kill me. Salvaging a deal with the other company would serve as a starting point for making up things to him, since he had suffered far more than I had as a result of our aborted flight from LaGuardia.
I doubted my guilt would ever go away. My entire life had been before me, and every time my breathing began to wheeze, I recognized that life would be a lot shorter than I had anticipated.
“Mr. Harthel’s deal wouldn’t have gone through, anyway. It was shit. The one you prepared, that’s the deal the boss in London wants. Mr. Evans came up with quite the proposal.”
I laughed, and it triggered a cough so strong my eyes watered. Reaching into my purse for an inhaler, I fought the itch in my throat, somehow managing to contain it long enough I could ensure I’d be able to take another breath.
“You okay?”
I had cough drops for a chaser, waving Dalton off. It took several minutes for me to recover enough I could speak without croaking. “I was warned they’d be like tha
t. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”
Dad would kill me if he found out I was lying to clients.
“I had heard rumors Mr. Evans was masterful at preparing bipartisan proposals, but I hadn’t believed them until we saw the preliminaries. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share trade secrets, would you?”
My voice was raspy when I laughed. While Dad had been heavily involved in the Mirage Resources proposal, it had been my work. Originally, Dad was going to do the majority of the presentation, leaving a few choice tidbits for me. “Sure, I can share a trade secret.”
“Oh? What’s it going to cost me?”
“This one’s on the house.”
“I’m intrigued.”
Watching for his reaction, I resumed my relaxed stance against the restaurant’s rough exterior wall. “I’m very pleased you liked my proposal.”
Dalton’s eyes widened a little, so slight I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching him. “Your proposal?”
“He was the one doing all the talking for the proposal. I was the one doing all the thinking. Unfortunately, also the pie charts.”
“There has been a rumor about those, too. There were also a few rumors Mr. Evans’s daughter was best known for her ability to go through an entire meeting without saying a single word.”
“It’s a secret. I—”
The squeal of rubber and a flash of headlights drew my attention to the street. A taxi cut across the nearby intersection and plowed into the front of a car parked on the curb in front of the restaurant, sending a shower of plastic, metal, and sparks flying.
The impact launched the taxi over the sidewalk and directly into the light pole, plunging the street into darkness.
The car kept going and smashed into the side of the building, and the stench of burning gasoline and rubber filled my nose. Time slowed, and in the distance, sirens wailed.
My throat clenched and cut off my scream. I clapped my hands over my ears, willing the sounds and the smells to go away. My entire body turned cold, and a shudder ripped through me. Backing away, I shook my head to deny the wreckage of twisted metal and plastic.