Snowbound Snuggles
Page 41
“I assure you, ladies and gentlemen . . . ” Philip’s voice cracked. He coughed, tried again. “This is a mistake.”
Howell Junior’s smile gleamed in his narrow face. “Oh, it’s a mistake, all right. Yours. Did you really think you’d be able to step into the presidency of HHE with your sly rumors and backstabbing?” Howell used his words like a knife. “I’ve heard some rumors of my own, Sedgwick. Care to comment on who your mistress is? Remember how you got an employee pregnant at your last company, and then fired her? Did you know she sued the company and nearly bankrupted them?”
“Greedy bitch,” Philip spat. “She wasn’t satisfied with that money. Her baby’s father had to pay her too.”
Edie gasped, putting it together. “Philip . . . Aurora . . . you?”
“You can’t prove anything.” Philip’s eyes gored Howell. “No one can ever prove who the father was. The Rowan woman stampeded over the tracks.”
Edie paled.
Philip turned a smile, shark-like, on her. “Oh, yes, my dear, you were very effective in distracting management. They were so busy trying to deal with your self-righteous mayhem, they never had time to discover who was really to blame. But it wasn’t me.” He winked.
Edie wished she could disappear into the floor.
“And then you were hired here, where you could screw things up for Everett Kirk, that smug bastard. Which you did, so well.” He laughed.
“You got me hired here, Philip.” Edie blinked stinging eyes. “You did it.”
“Years of waiting, but you were the thorn that finally felled the mighty Everett Kirk. Then it was only a matter of sweeping aside Junior.” Philip smirked. “But it wasn’t me that did it.”
“That’s enough, Sedgwick,” Howell said. “It was you and we’ll find proof. Or they will.” He nodded at the men in black suits. “In the meantime I invite you to leave. Now.”
The men rose and came around the table to stand, one on each side of Philip, waiting.
“You’re history, Howell.” Philip surged to his feet. “I’m the clever one. I’ve got all the right things, the right wife, the right home, the right—hey!”
Howell Junior leaped to his feet, steamed around the table, grabbed Philip by the arm and hustled him out the door. The Feds followed. As they walked out of the boardroom, Philip tried to wriggle back in but Junior slammed the door in Philip’s face. Then he turned and slapped his hands together in a satisfied done.
“Bravo, Houghton,” Howell Senior said. “Ladies and gentlemen, come to order. We need to discuss the damage that traitor has done.”
Edie slipped out of her chair, out of the conference room.
She was horrified. Philip had gotten her a job here, not because she was a wonderful manager.
But because she was a total jerk.
Eyes burning, she turned the opposite direction from the retreating tall backs in black herding an unbowed Philip, and returned to her cubicle. There, she reached for the desk phone, but stopped herself. This was personal. Instead, she dug her cell phone from her purse.
She called Everett. Maybe he hadn’t left the building yet. Maybe he was waiting for her somewhere. Maybe . . .
He picked up, and before she could say a word shouted, “Edith Ellen Rowan, what the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Rats, Everett. What the rats did I think I was doing. And hello to you too.” She was inordinately comforted just hearing his voice.
“What the iguana did you think you were doing, I don’t care! Why didn’t you leave Philip Sedgwick to me? Dammit, Edie, that’s why I quit when I did. I was trying to protect you.”
He’d been trying to protect her? Edie blinked scratchy eyes. “I didn’t do much. Howell did most of it. How did you know the backstabber was Philip?”
“Please.” The old arrogance was back in full force. “Once I’d left the cesspool of corporate politics and cleared my head it was simple enough to figure out. COO is next in line for the presidency, certainly, but right after that is VP of Finance. Howell’s nasty, but he’s a vulture. He’d only prey on me after I was dead. Sedgwick is the praying mantis.”
“They’re female,” Edie said.
A beat. “Praying mantises are female?”
“The cannibalistic ones are.”
“Edie, it was just an analogy. And not the point. The point was, I was trying to keep you from being implicated in this mess.” His voice hardened. “But there you were, in the center of all the trouble yet again.”
Her body drained of blood. “Everett, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t turn back time, Edie.”
There was an awful silence.
She cleared her throat. “But Everett . . . now that Philip’s gone . . . ” She had called Everett for a reason, a reason she’d barely dared to think. Now after hearing his hard tone, it took all her courage to say it. “You could come back. You could be president again—”
“No. I am never coming back to HHE.”
Her heart broke. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to work there anymore, but she’d hoped . . . but no. He didn’t want to return for her, either. “Oh. Of course.” Shoulders slumping, she hung up.
Then she typed out a short letter of resignation. There was nothing here for her anymore either. Leaving the letter on Howell’s desk, she gathered her few things and left HHE forever.
Chapter Nineteen
To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com
From: ED@mythicmail.com
Subject: Ev, E.E., Hardass . . . ThePrez?
Everett, is that you? Because if it is—I love you.
—Edie
That evening she Skyped her grandparents to break it to them that she’d failed. She’d tried to strike a blow for the little guy. All she’d really done was make life intolerable for the true corporate paladin.
Everett.
“So I resigned,” she said after she’d stuttered through all that had happened. “As I walked out, Bethany joined me. You remember Bethany from the commune? It turned out she quit right after me.”
It was hard to admit her failure to her grandparents, who were beaming at her out of her laptop screen. They’d raised her, given her their best. “I just wanted . . . ” Her voice broke. “I just wanted you to be proud of me.”
“We are proud of you, sweetheart,” her grandmother said.
“But . . . but management won. And Philip, the worst abuser, nearly won the day.”
“We’re still proud of you,” her grandfather said. “You did what you thought was right. You helped people, honey.”
“I helped management!”
“No, you helped Houghton and Bethany,” her grandmother said. “They’re people, too.”
Her grandfather nodded. “You helped people, not the company or the bottom line.”
“But even that doesn’t matter,” her grandmother said. “We’re proud of you, sweetheart, whatever you decide to do. We’re proud of you because we love you.”
• • •
A week later, Edie was sitting at her kitchen table, going through the stack of open positions that she’d printed out. Bethany was with her, making coffee.
Edie’s pencil hovered over the programmer’s job she had interviewed for yesterday. It was a nice place, progressive and welcoming. But the CEO’s hair was too light, and a bit shorter than she trusted . . . oh heck. She was thinking of Everett again.
Why hadn’t he called?
Well, she knew why. He’d basically told her that she was trouble, trouble he didn’t need and didn’t want. She didn’t blame him. After all, who had been Sedgwick’s willing fool?
She crossed out the job listing, harder than was necessary.
“Did they offer you a job?” Bethany set a mug of latte in front of Edie and sat next to her with her own mug.
“Yes. But it wasn’t quite right.” Edie sipped. The sting of caffeine mingled with chocolate and sweet creamer. After a profitless week of searching and more than a little blue, Edie w
as very glad Bethany and her espresso machine had come to visit. “So far five companies have. None of them were quite right. You?”
“I’ve got two interviews tomorrow.”
“Good work.” Edie paused. “I’ve been wanting to ask something. Why did you quit HHE? You’d just been promoted.”
“The rumors.” Bethany shuddered. “Houghie, thanks to you, is starting to see me as a force in my own right. But even he believed I got the HHE promotion because we were sleeping together. I quit because I need a job of my own, Edie. Something I can be proud of, that Houghie can be proud of me for having.”
Edie thought of her grandparents, who were proud of her just because they loved her, and rubbed suddenly itchy eyes. Apparently, Howell wasn’t like that. Yet.
Everett was.
A tear squeezed out. She dashed it away.
“Thinking about Everett?”
“Could you tell?” She tried to take her mind off him by doodling on the job listings. “He hasn’t called.”
“And you can’t call him?” Bethany asked dryly.
“Oh, I called. Once.” Up the P, down the R, circle the O . . . “He was distracted. Said he’s in the middle of setting something up, and that he’d call when he was done. But he hasn’t. I’ve wanted to call him, but what if that was really a brush off?” She focused on the listing she’d traced. Programming manager wanted.
“Then he’s an idiot,” Bethany said. “Get on with your life, Edie. Get a kick-ass job. Then call him and make him beg.”
“Kick-ass job?” Edie picked up the paper. “Listen to this. Small but growing company. Employee-centered management style a must. Position may work closely with president. And the salary is definitely kick-ass.”
“Employee-centered? That sounds like just your thing.” Bethany leaned over. “Holy mama.”
“What?”
“That’s Tarcorp Consulting. They’re the up and comer. Investors clamoring to drown them in cash, full of bleeding-edge technology, and they’re great to their employees. Well? What are you waiting for? Call them.” Bethany grabbed Edie’s wrist, so tight it pinched. “And I want in.”
“Ouch, okay.” Edie punched the number into her phone. She gave the smooth contralto at the other end her name and some of her qualifications.
The woman asked a few questions, then said, “You sound like just the person we need, Ms. Rowan. Could you come tomorrow for an interview?”
Edie gave Bethany a thumbs up. “I could come in today.”
“Wonderful! We have an opening in an hour, at ten. And another at eleven. Would either of those work?”
Bethany grabbed her wrist again. Edie ground molars through the pain. “Well, actually . . . I know another progressive manager who’d be great. Could we have both appointments?”
“Absolutely. See you at ten.”
Edie clicked off. “We’re in. Can you let me go now?”
Bethany squealed and swept Edie into a hug that was actually more painful than the snake bite. “Thank you, thank you! This is ten times better than HHE. Houghie’ll just puke with envy. I’ve got interview clothes in the car. Can I—?”
“Bathroom’s yours.” Released, Edie raced into her bedroom, sloughed sweats and donned heels and hose. They made it to Tarcorp Consulting with five minutes to spare.
The place had an attractive setup, half open, half private offices, and plenty of sunlight and lovely plants and art. The dozen people visible were in various stages of working, including two unabashedly doing nothing but thinking.
The receptionist guided them to the back. “Ms. Blondelle, you’re scheduled with HR, that door there. Ms. Rowan, you’ll interview with the president first.” She gestured Edie into a sunny corner office.
The office was split into two sections, a large sitting area with couches and tables, and a work area.
Behind the workstation, chestnut hair falling in loose waves to his shoulders, was Edward Everett Kirk.
Edie slowed. He looked up.
Their eyes met.
A smile spread on his face, brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Edie, right on time.” Without embarrassment, he leaped to his feet and hugged her.
“Have a nice interview.” The receptionist grinned and left.
Everett waved Edie to the couches. “I was going to call you tomorrow. Your timing is perfect. As usual.”
She stumbled to a couch and sat. “You started your own company, Mr. Kirk?”
“Restarted. Seemed like the best fit for me. Combines my corporate know-how with the independence of my Tarzan. I’m Everett here, not Mr. Kirk.” His smile grew.
Edie got lost in that dimple. She missed him so badly she shook with it.
He sat beside her, took her hands in his. “Edie, I’m sorry. I should have seen Sedgwick was behind the trouble at HHE sooner. I would have, but I was so angry and heartsick after your hearing. Then, when I figured it out, I was furious with myself for letting him get the upper hand. I was so afraid he’d threaten you before I could take him out.”
Her heart warmed, hearing that. “He was tricky, Everett. I let him use me, not once, but twice.”
“He deceived you. That’s different. Then, after he was arrested, well . . . I couldn’t face you until I had fixed it so I’d never be that vulnerable again. So that you would never be vulnerable again. I’d started my own company years ago and decided to spin it up again, expand it.”
“But you didn’t call.” Her fears bubbled out. “It was a week. You could have told me.”
“I didn’t want to call until I was sure I could make a go of it. But I couldn’t have waited much longer. I missed you so much.” He smiled. “Forgive me?”
She’d been so worried, but she couldn’t lie to him. Never could. She smiled back. “Always.”
They smiled for long moments into each other’s eyes. Then Everett cleared his throat. “Let me tell you about the position I’ve got in mind for you. A people manager. Someone who can relate to the worker, and fights for the little guy. Someone who complements both my Tarzan and my Kirk.” He kissed her hand. “The job title is Partner.”
She clasped his hands like a lifeline. “What about fraternization between employees?”
“I hope so.” He released her with one hand to snag a box out of his pants pocket. A ring box. “I love you, Edith Ellen Rowan. I hope you’ll say yes to a lifetime partnership, in business and at home.”
“Oh, Everett, I love you too. Yes!”
To: ED@mythicmail.com
From: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com
Subject: I love you
Edie—I love you too :)
—Everett
About the Author
I live in the Midwest with my beta-reader husband, two grandcats who demand equal lap time, a basement full of spare computer parts, and several musical instruments including a romantic cello and a flute for playing orchestral twittering birds. Visit me at www.maryhughesbooks.com, Facebook MaryHughesAuthor, or Twitter @MaryHughesBooks. I’d love to hear from you! Write me at mary@maryhughesbooks.com.
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
57 Littlefield Street
Avon, MA 02322
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Mary Hughes
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6429-9
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6429-1
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6430-2
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6430-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com, iStockPhoto.com/Pascalgenest; craftvision; grafikeray
Starr Tree Farm
Ellen Parker
Avon, Massachusetts
Conte
nts
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
To John and Jason:
Excellent young men who have encouraged me to pursue my dreams.
Chapter One
“Three . . . two . . . one. Happy New Year!”
Laura Tanner raised her plastic goblet toward the center of the circle and forced a smile. The church bell—only fifty feet above the basement room—sounded distant chiming in the new day, the new year, and her new life in Crystal Springs, Wisconsin. Her plans to move here sparkled at the sight of people who would soon be friends and neighbors.
Across the circle a strong male voice began to sing. Within a phrase the entire group of forty joined in “Auld Lang Syne.” Her lips moved but no sound came out. She flicked her gaze to the right, skipped over the woman she’d been visiting with a minute before midnight, and continued on to her aunt and two uncles. They appeared interested in the singing and each other. Good for them. She eased out of the circle and didn’t stop until she bumped against one of the long tables at the edge of the church basement.
One year. One complete cycle with three hundred sixty five nightmares that defied tea, warm milk, white noise, and physical exercise to the point of exhaustion.
Twelve months without Scott’s companionship, laughter, and yes, lovemaking. Tears threatened and she blinked them back.
We met on New Year’s Eve. Married the next time the date rolled around. She tipped her face toward the square ceiling tiles and tried to hang on to the six wonderful nights when the world threw a party and they could pretend it was all for them.