The woman Wyatt had taken on an actual date.
“This is Caila Harris. She was sent here by Endurance to close down the plant,” Holly Martin announced in her best impersonation of a human megaphone.
The cacophony of voices surrounding her dulled as people turned to stare at her. Just moments before, she’d been enjoying the sense of camaraderie and affiliation small-town life offered. The warm feeling of welcome and the belief that people cared about your well-being.
That had all evaporated with Holly’s words, leaving her privy to that other part of small-town life. The part she hated, that had sent her fleeing from Maryland. That sense of alienation. Of being different. Of being blamed for being an outsider.
You’ve done this before. You’ve dealt with hostile people. You know how to handle this.
Caila met Holly’s unfriendly blue eyes and understood that this had nothing to do with her or even the closing of the factory and everything to do with Wyatt being with her the night before.
“She’s partially correct. I was sent here, but to evaluate the plant, not close it down.”
Technically true. It wasn’t Caila’s decision to close the plant. That decision had already been made by the higher-ups.
“Same thing,” Holly sneered. “We see no one from your company for years. We do the best we can to get the orders out and then they send someone here to criticize the work we’ve done?”
A light-skinned black woman at the neighboring table pursed her lips and cocked her head. “We? You just moved here, Holly.”
A flush mottled Holly’s cheeks. She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s still true,” she said, through clenched teeth.
Another woman looked annoyed, but she spoke up. “Holly has a point.”
“If there’s something you want to tell me, I’m willing to listen,” Caila said, addressing the crowd around her.
“It may just be about facts and numbers to you, but to us, it’s more than that. Our coworkers are like our families,” a voice chimed in.
The floodgates opened.
“My mother worked on the line for twenty-five years. Five days a week, ten hours a day. She ate lunch with the same people. They celebrated their anniversaries and birthdays. Offered support when family members died. And now, they’ll be gone. If they’re lucky, they’ll find other jobs.”
“Do you people care what you leave behind? Or is it all about the profits? If you have a free minute during your ‘evaluation,’ drive to Grange a couple of counties over. See what happened to them when Allen Shoes left. It’s a ghost town.”
“How much money does your company need? You can’t tell me Endurance isn’t still making money. I bet the executives are still rich. They just want more and they’re willing to ruin the lives of thousands of people if they can add another million to their bottom line.”
Holly wasn’t done. “She doesn’t care about that stuff. She wants to know if someone is stealing product and selling it on the side or if people are lazy and not showing up for work.”
Caila was shocked by the venom the other woman spewed.
Is this because Wyatt didn’t ask you on a second date?
She needed to remain calm. Unlike Holly, this wasn’t personal for her. She wasn’t upset over some guy. Caila was here representing Endurance and she had to remember that in her response. “That’s not the information I want to know.”
Though it would help.
“We don’t care what you want to know. We’re not going to rat out our neighbors, because you buy a few baked goods,” Holly said, her gaze sharp.
The pounding began in her forehead, just above her right eye. This hadn’t turned out the way she’d planned. She’d wanted a little information about the town, not to be treated to the second coming of the Salem witch trials. By now, enough people were openly staring that Caila knew the Bradleton gossip mill would soon be active. Between the pinball machine challenge at the diner, the scene at the football game, and now this community confrontation, it wouldn’t be long before this incident was discussed in every bakery and bar in town.
Resigned, she unzipped the small pocket on the side of her pants and pulled out the twenty-dollar bill she always carried with her ID when she ran. She held it out to Blair.
She knew when she’d overstayed her welcome.
Holly stopped Blair with a hand on her arm when the redhead reached for it. “It’s on the house. We don’t need your charity.”
Caila almost laughed at the absurdity. “Yes, you do. It’s a fundraiser, remember?”
“She’s right,” Blair said, shaking off Holly’s touch and taking the money. She gave Caila the cookies and her water. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And keep the change,” Caila said, walking away.
Well, that had been a disaster. What had happened to her since she’d arrived in Bradleton went beyond a few people knowing who she was. She’d consistently made a spectacle of herself and lost any hope of maintaining anonymity.
Although it had been a while since she’d conducted an evaluation, she hadn’t forgotten the rules. Keeping a low profile was key. No one wanted to make a lot of noise, especially when their presence might result in the loss of jobs. She’d need to—
What the fuck?
Only by the grace of God did she not face-plant on the street! That might have been satisfying for Holly, but it would’ve been an unfortunate image for both Caila and Endurance.
Caila turned to discover what large obstruction she’d failed to see that had almost broken her ankle—imagine that, stuck here and immobile!—and saw a teenage girl sitting on the curb, quickly drawing her legs to her chest.
Crap. Now she’d be accused of assaulting Bradleton’s children.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Are you okay?” Caila asked.
The girl rubbed her calf, then gazed up at Caila through a mass of dark, tangled curls. “I’m fine, but—” Her gaze shifted to a book that was sprawled in the middle of the street.
Caila hurried over and grabbed it before it was trampled by the crowd, grateful it was a library book with a clear protective covering. Dusting it off, she was surprised by what she saw.
“The Handmaid’s Tale,” she read, impressed. She didn’t think teenagers even read these days, let alone advanced stories that explored the dangers of governmental control over female reproduction. “That’s some heavy stuff.”
“Thank you,” the girl said, accepting the book.
“You watch the show?”
“No. We don’t have Hulu.” She shrugged. “I just like to read.”
The girl’s defensive words caused an ache in Caila’s throat. She remembered making a similar statement over and over during her own childhood. Certain places weren’t kind to a kid who preferred the world of books to her own peer group. When her mother used to criticize her for keeping her “nose in those books” and missing out on life, Pop-Pop always defended her.
“Let her be, Mona. The girl’s smart. And she’ll benefit more from reading than she will hanging out with those knuckleheads.”
Caila choked back impending tears and nodded to a spot on the sidewalk next to the girl. “May I?”
The young girl shrugged again. “It’s a free country.”
Caila sat down and crossed her legs. “What’s your name?”
“Jada.”
“Hi, Jada. I’m Caila.”
“I know.” Jada flipped through the pages of her book then looked at Caila and wrinkled her nose. “Is what they said true? Are you closing down the plant?”
I’m only doing an evaluation.
The canned response was on the tip of her tongue. But when she looked into the young girl’s curious and intelligent light brown face, she found herself admitting something to her she hadn’t told anyone else. “It’s a possibility.”
Jada’s expression flickered and she looked down at the book in her hands.
Caila hesitated. “Were you
planning to work at the plant?”
“God, no.” Jada laughed, then covered her eyes with a hand. “That sounded awful. I shouldn’t have said that. What I meant was my future plans don’t include staying in Bradleton.”
Caila experienced an inexplicable rush of relief. “And may I ask what those plans might be?”
“College. I just turned in my financial aid forms. I should hear from the places I applied to in the spring. People in my family work at the plant, but that’s not for me. I want more. More than I can have staying here.”
“Jada!” A little girl, with a similar mop of dark curls, rode up on a bike. “Mom said you need to come home so she can go to work.”
Jada sighed and stood. “I have to go.”
Caila shaded her eyes and looked up at her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jada.”
“You too.” Jada took a few steps, then turned back. “People around here may give you a hard time, and I understand why. But . . . I don’t know. It’s nice to see someone who looks like me doing well at life outside of town.”
Caila understood the conflicting emotions. “Thanks. Here.” She removed one of the three packs of cookies she’d bought from the bag and handed the rest to the teen. “For you and your sister.”
Jada accepted the bag with a nod, then hurried after the little girl.
Caila watched until they’d disappeared from view. Then she stood, brushed the dirt and leaves from the back of her pants, and headed back to the B&B.
She’d thought she could complete this assignment on her own and get it done quickly. But she’d stumbled upon problem after roadblock mixed with complications.
As an analyst fresh out of B-school, she’d conducted dozens of evaluations, usually at company headquarters or regional offices, located in large or mid-sized cities. She hadn’t been concerned about the consequences of restructuring departments or lost jobs. There’d been enough distance between her decisions and those who’d be impacted that she could focus on producing phenomenal work and making a good impression on her bosses, not so much the people behind the numbers.
But now . . .
Her job, and possibly her career, depended on her finessing information into a report that Endurance could use to get out of the Chro-Make contract. A contract that kept a third of the town employed.
In order to gain access to that information, it would appear that she’d need the help of the charming, sexy mayor. The man intent on convincing her company to honor that contract, who also managed to scramble her brain and stir her heart with one touch.
If she didn’t find a way out of this predicament soon, she’d risk losing everything she’d ever worked for.
Because of a man.
Again.
Chapter Twelve
It hadn’t taken Wyatt long to realize he’d fucked up. The challenge he now faced was what to do about it.
How had the situation gotten away from him so quickly? He’d been convinced he’d be able to enjoy his evening with Caila and do his job at the same time, without her catching on. And even if she did, she’d have to be impressed by his efforts, right? That had always been his experience in the past.
When he’d been younger and trying to evade Asher’s attempts to take him on a hunting trip, he’d been able to persuade his mother or Violet to tell his grandfather he was sick and spend those days sequestered in his room, watching movies and playing video games.
In high school, when he’d missed taking his girlfriend to the Harvest Ball in favor of a road trip with his friends to see Matchbox Twenty in concert in Roanoke, he’d smoothed her ruffled feathers with an over-the-top apology in the cafeteria and a chauffeured limo ride the following weekend to Richmond.
Even at the football game, he’d managed to handle the scene with Holly so that it didn’t end with a dramatic blowup or her hating him. But with Caila, it had been the first time in a long while when he hadn’t been able to sweet-talk his way out of a situation with a woman.
And somehow, he didn’t think some flowers picked from the Bradley Estate’s garden and a correctly calibrated smile would be enough to solve this problem.
Why couldn’t he ignore his attraction to her? Why couldn’t he keep his hands to himself? Why had he given in to his need to kiss her? Despite his best intentions, the boundaries between their personal and professional relationships were bleeding into each other and causing a hell of a lot of havoc. And now Chro-Make and the entire town could end up paying the price.
If he’d had any thoughts about seeking guidance from his family—not that he would, but if he’d wanted to—that notion had been laid to rest the moment he’d arrived to breakfast that morning . . .
“Did the homecoming game go well?” Asher had asked, shaking out his copy of the Bradleton Herald and folding it closed.
“It did,” he’d said, kissing his mother on the cheek. “We won and the boys played well. Coach Alvin may actually have a peaceful week.”
Peaceful, but not quiet. People would always have an opinion about football, especially in the days leading up to each game, but maybe the words Coach heard would be more supportive and less critical.
“I was curious,” Asher said, “since every phone call I received last night was about the spectacle you made with that woman from Endurance.”
Wyatt clenched his jaw and took a seat at the table. He might need to skip this little family ritual as long as Caila was in town.
“I think ‘spectacle’ is overselling it a tad.”
“Do you think it was smart to parade her around?” Renee asked. “People who consort with the enemy usually do so in private.”
Wyatt took a deep breath and held it in for a few seconds before letting it out. “I came up with a plan to give us a fighting chance and keep her here instead of back in Chicago, recommending another factory to Endurance. No one has standing to criticize the choices I make.”
“Yes, they do. Your constituents. And they do it by voting,” Asher said. “We may have a bit of an advantage because of our last name, but if the town’s citizens believe you aren’t acting in their best interests, you won’t get a second opportunity.”
“Taking Caila to the football game was part of the plan. She needed to be around us and hear from people who would be directly affected by the plant losing the Flair/Endurance contract.”
“It’s Caila now? I see. And did part of that plan also require you to hold Caila’s hand?”
Damn! Did his grandfather hire retired CIA spies to do his surveillance?
Wyatt accepted the cup of coffee Violet placed before him, waving away her offer for breakfast, having lost his appetite. “What is this really about?”
His mother sighed and put her fork down. “You have a reputation in this town—”
“Oh, come on—”
“Mayor McHottie.”
He didn’t think there was anything he disliked more than that horrible nickname, but he was wrong. Hearing his mother utter it was way worse.
“And as distasteful as I find that moniker, you needed some time to sow your oats.”
Wyatt cringed. “No one says that anymore.”
“Better he does it before he gets married.” Asher buttered a piece of rye toast. “Get it out of his system. I’m sure he could overcome a cheating scandal, but I’d rather not have to test that theory.”
“What are you talking about? There’s no cheating scandal. And I’m not discussing my private life over the breakfast table.”
“It doesn’t require a discussion. Only a statement. When the time comes for you to settle down, you will need to pick a woman who’s appropriate,” Asher informed him.
His grandfather’s implication set his blood simmering. “She’s smart, she’s beautiful, and she’s successful. What makes her inappropriate? The fact that she’s black?”
Asher bristled. “Was that one scene last night with Ms. Harris and the dental hygienist not enough? Are you aiming for another one? Do you expect me to deny it in some ag
grieved outburst?”
Wyatt eyed him levelly. “I asked the question because I wanted to know.”
“I’m not racist, I’m a realist. Her being black is a factor, but no, that’s not why I consider her inappropriate for you.”
Bullshit.
“You need to think about your position in this town. Ms. Harris is from the city. She’s here temporarily to do a job and then she’ll leave.”
They could assert their city-slicker rationale as loud as they wanted, but everyone at that table knew what their primary complaint was.
His mother jumped in. “Your wife needs to be someone who will put this family first. Whose sole concern lies in being a great first lady for the town and, eventually, Virginia.”
“Like you, Mother?”
Color tinted his mother’s cheeks and he immediately regretted the acidity with which he’d asked the question.
“Yes,” Renee responded, jerkily readjusting her napkin in her lap. “When I married your father, I understood what my role would be. I came from a good Virginia family. It was how I was raised.”
His brief moment of contrition didn’t stop irritation from tightening his jaw. “Why are we talking about this? I just met her three days ago!”
“And yet her presence has affected you in a way we’ve never seen before.”
“Why? Because I’m questioning your belief that you have veto power over whomever I decide to marry?”
“Because you want to forget that being the scion of this family requires you to put our history and legacy above your personal desires.”
“Shouldn’t the main criterion for the woman I marry be that we love each other? That we care for and support one another?”
Asher was stone-faced. “Your father neglected his responsibilities and we all know how that turned out. Do you—”
“Mayor? Mayor Bradley? Wyatt!”
The sharp tone of Bradleton’s city manager yanked him—thankfully—from that painful reverie. He snapped forward in his chair. “Yeah?”
As his city manager, Denise coordinated departments, supervised department heads, and reported directly to him. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
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