by Dani Collins
“Oh, don’t! What am I, a masochist? I am not still hung up on that guy. He just wants me to talk Dad into retiring and not exercise the option clause to take over.”
No hard feelings, he’d said. Unfortunately, the soft ones were like quicksand, threatening to smother her. And even though she had been serious when she had told him she didn’t hold onto petty grudges, she couldn’t afford to be a pushover.
“Here’s the thing. I ran over to the hospital to tell Dad that I was staying the night and he gave me the paperwork from Walter. Dad’s willing to take the buy out, but the amount Walter is offering... I don’t know if it’s fair. I need more information.”
“Do you want me to read through it? It’s a long way from family law and I’m not even a lawyer yet, but...”
“I already made you a copy.” Paige wrinkled her nose, cheekily offering the pages she’d copied minutes ago. They were still warm.
“Of course you did.” Britta shook her head and rolled her eyes as she took them, then tucked her chin and asked cautiously, “Have you talked to Lyle about any of this?”
“I left him a note last night. He was out.”
Britta dropped her gaze and said a non-committal, “Mm,” while moving the papers to a different corner of her desk.
Because she suspected, as Paige did, that Lyle had been out drinking? Or something else?
“What’s he done now?” Paige prompted.
Britta’s shoulders fell and she bit her lips together, like she was debating whether to say.
Paige waited, fingers tightening on the folder she held in her lap.
“I haven’t wanted to tell you.” Brit’s gaze flashed up. “With it being touch and go with your Dad and everything...”
“Brit.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Paige almost fell out of her chair. “Who—? With Lyle? When?” They’d been divorced for years.
A nasal buzzing sounded. Britta touched a button on her phone and Paige realized it was the receptionist ringing through.
“Your ten o’clock is here,” a disembodied female voice said.
Oh, hell. The factory, Paige remembered.
Britta said, “Five minutes,” then released the button and swore. “I know. It was an accident. A huge accident. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t know.”
“Sweetie, I don’t care how full my plate gets. There’s always room for you.”
“I know, I do. I just—” Britta plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and blew her nose, eyes reddening by the second and voice growing strained. “I didn’t want to tell you because I know what you’re going to say.”
“That I’ll help,” Paige affirmed. “That I love you and—”
“You’re going to tell me to keep it,” Britta said flatly.
Chapter Four
Sitting in the reception area of Roy Furnishings, surrounded by the scent of cedar paneling and whatever perfume the receptionist had trailed out when she’d left to find Walter, Paige tried to wrap her brain around Britta being pregnant. Tried to grasp how desperate her best friend must feel if she was considering what she was considering.
She probably should have stayed with her, but Paige had been in shock, Britta had been welling up, and they’d both had places to be. Once she was able to get back to her, they could—oh, hell, she had planned to leave for Seattle after this.
She needed to get home, check in with work. She was using family emergency time and her boss loved her so she wasn’t worried for her job, but even the best employers were only so understanding.
But this was Britta. It didn’t matter that she had said she didn’t want help. Of course Paige would help in any way she could. Britta was family. Figuring out how to help was the problem. She mentally wrestled the situation until she was distracted by the sound of heels clicking toward her.
She smiled. More family.
Olinda emerged through the same archway where the receptionist had disappeared. She was a super-sized version of Paige’s mother, ten years younger, taller, blonde to the roots and even more curvaceous. She halted and her smile fell away.
“Who hit you? Lyle?”
“No!” Paige scolded. “I bumped heads with someone.” She skimmed past mentioning Rosie’s name. She was used to seeing Olinda in her double-wide on the outskirts of town, when they had their standing mid-month date for lunch. She hadn’t seen Olinda here at Roy Furnishings since she’d caught up the filing that one summer going into Grade Ten.
A surge of affection—relief even—brought Paige to her feet. She held out her arms for a hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” Olinda’s skirt swayed, and her embroidered navy sweater revealed two-inches of cleavage when she bent to embrace Paige. Her hair was sprayed so stiff it crunched against Paige’s cheek like balled up newspaper. “How’s your Dad?”
Some of Paige’s tension eased as the scents of sandalwood perfume and lemon-scented hand cream cloaked her along with warm, plump arms, reminding her of the tea talks she’d shared with Olinda while the older woman had coached her through puberty.
“He’s okay. How are things here?”
“Well, I’m sad to admit it’s become a routine.” Olinda pulled back, but kept Paige’s elbows in her big hands. “We all know our battle stations and we’re on them. It will be a relief to finally settle things. And honestly?” She gave Paige’s arms an extra squeeze. “As much as I hate to see Grady leave, when I was cutting the check I realized that I might actually get that money he owes me. So, you know, silver linings.”
Paige’s grip on her purse slipped. It hit the floor with a thump.
“What, um, what check?” she asked as she bent to retrieve her bag.
“For Grady’s half, to buy him out. Walter asked me to prepare it this morning. That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?”
“No. We haven’t even—” negotiated, Paige almost said, but cut herself off as the receptionist returned to her desk.
“Walter will see you in a few minutes.”
Paige gave a quick nod of acknowledgement and sat down with Olinda, side by side, and leaned close so the receptionist wouldn’t overhear. “I’m not here to close the deal. I just wanted to talk to him about it.”
Is that really what Walter had thought when she’d left her message? She’d said she wanted to discuss things further, not sign off. Was Walter just being his typical bullish self, pretending to take her agreement for granted? Or was he really that arrogant he thought he could name a figure and her father would sign?
“Paige, it’s a real pain when Grady’s not here,” Olinda complained. “We only have one signing officer. The customers hate talking to Walter. Because Grady gives them whatever they want and he doesn’t,” she added with a tuck of her chin.
“I need more information before I can advise Dad.”
“But I could really use that money,” Olinda insisted in a whisper.
And Paige couldn’t help thinking Britta was worried about how she would afford another child. Maybe she’d feel like she had more choices if she knew she could count on Lyle’s support payments. That meant Lyle needed his job even more than ever.
“I can’t let Dad sign just because it’s easy,” Paige argued.
Olinda played with her charm bracelet, one of them the round #1 Step-Mom Paige had given her for Mother’s Day before Olinda had left, furious that Grady was cheating on her. “Is there any chance he’d sell the house? Downsize?”
“Oh, shoot. I forgot to ask Britta about that.” Paige touched her temple.
“What?” Olinda prompted.
Paige debated, not wanting to throw rocks at a hornet’s nest, but, “Rosie said this morning that she should be listed as part-owner of the house.”
Olinda made a choked noise and sat taller. “Where on earth would she get that idea?”
“From the screwdrivers she was drinking for breakfast? I don’t know. Apparently someone who got their law degree off Bos
ton Legal reruns said that given she and Dad lived together for more than six months, they’re common law. I have no idea. I’ll ask Britta.”
Olinda’s bracelet gave a tinny rattle as she raised her hand to gesture in frustration. “I sank my life savings into that house when I married Grady.”
“I know.” The weight of endless responsibility pressed down on Paige, but Olinda got her support check once a month, same as Paige’s mom. “I don’t think he’ll sell. Lyle won’t leave unless it’s in a pine box and he’s the one that’s kept it standing—”
“Barely,” Olinda interjected.
Maybe he didn’t care about aesthetics, but Lyle fixed all the leaks and kept the appliances running. Paige bit back saying so, only murmured, “He deserves something. More than Rosie. She can get in line.”
Behind their mother, she silently added. Connie was happy enough in the apartment above the barber’s, but it would be great if she could cut back her housekeeping shifts at the motel.
“You’re in a position to give everyone the security your father should have provided. Don’t you want to do that?” Olinda pressed. “Make him settle his affairs.”
Paige had some influence over her father, but a lot less than anyone realized. He was as likely to spend every red cent on ponies as let her talk him into doing what she thought was right. At least having all his money tied up in the factory had kept him from blowing it. She was afraid of what he’d do if he had a lump sum in his bank account.
Paige rolled the ring she’d bought for her right hand because she missed wearing her wedding rings, sighing, “Affairs.” She was trying for humor, attempting to cover the distress she felt. The pressure. “Could there be a better circumstance for that word?”
“Thanks for waiting,” a deep, compelling voice said.
She lifted her head and was snagged by the tractor-beam of Sterling’s blue eyes.
~ * ~
Her robin’s-egg colored overcoat was beaded with rain—or tears, if her red eyes were anything to go by. Her cheek had blossomed with a definite smudge of mauve where she’d taken that clip from Rosie yesterday.
A surge of protectiveness rose in him, disconcerting when he was trying to keep a cool head and close this deal without sending it sideways.
“See me before you go.” Olinda touched Paige’s arm as she rose, waited for her nod and walked away on a clip of heels.
Paige stood and forced a distant smile. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“I’m surprised to see you, too. Yesterday you made it sound unlikely. Can I take your coat?”
She hesitated, then nodded jerkily, turning her back, moving her purse from hand to hand as she slipped out of the long raincoat and stepped away.
Her pearl-gray skirt and short-sleeved top were knitted from something that looked like cashmere, with swirly cables running from her shoulder to the backs of her knees, hugging the contours of her body. She’d neglected a button at the top of her spine and Sterling almost reached to do it for her, wanting to linger in the subtle cloud of floral warmth. He wanted to brush his knuckles along that line of shiny, brunette hair that hung with such precision to midway down her nape, wanted to feel how fine and soft it was.
She pivoted so the button was out of reach.
“You won’t be sitting in, will you?” she asked as he forced himself to turn away and hang her coat.
Here came the tricky part. “I will.”
She clutched her purse in two hands, her straight arms pressing her breasts together a little, plumping them. Her hair fell forward in damp spikes against her cheekbones, and as he studied her, she rolled her ankle in her sassy laced boot.
“Why?”
“Because Dad’s—” not attending to details. His father hadn’t been the least bit concerned by the unlocked door. It niggled at Sterling, making him afraid to leave his father to his own devices with this deal. If it went off the rails, Sterling would never forgive himself.
He couldn’t tell Paige that, though. He held up his open palm.
“Dad’s old school, does things on a handshake half the time. Business is my business. I’ll make sure all the T’s are crossed and the I’s dotted.”
“I’m a CPA. I don’t let columns go unbalanced.”
“You’re an accountant?” She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d said she was a librarian. He reflexively took a skim of her lithe figure in that understated, yet dead sexy dress. She was way too hot to be an accountant.
“What did you think I was?” Her brows pulled into a frown, warning him to beware how he responded.
He searched his mind, drawing a blank. Retail? Some kind of high-end sales? Trophy wife? He kept his mouth shut because that sounded really sexist and he didn’t mean it that way. He wasn’t underestimating her. He had just thought she’d be doing something a lot more interesting than filing tax returns.
“I’ve never understood how anyone gets through that kind of schooling. I took a few Intro To Accounting courses while taking my business degree and I would not have the fortitude to do that for four years let alone the rest of my life.”
“Oh.” She blinked and a hint of a blush stained her skin. “Um, thank you?”
Yeah, that was one lame compliment, delivered badly. He scratched his cheek.
Had she heard the part about business being his business? Because he moved. He shook. But five minutes in a room with this woman and he was eighteen again, barely passing algebra because the girls all wore low-rise jeans and brightly colored thongs.
“Sterling?” His father came to the archway, expression clouded with hostility. Feeling threatened, Sterling’s mother had said.
Well, Sterling would only be here long enough to see Paige take the check. If she did, he could get on with his life, leaving her to pursue her accounting, and his dad to run the company he so desperately wanted.
If she didn’t...
Sterling shook off that thought and waved Paige to follow his dad, confident they could work through whatever hesitations she might have. After all, she had admitted yesterday that she didn’t want to stay here any more than he did.
~ * ~
“Grady signed those?” Walter asked once they were all seated in his office, nodding at the folder he’d left with her father yesterday.
Paige dragged her attention off the piles of paperwork on Walter’s desk, the grimy machine parts and samples of bedposts on the floor, the mirror frames and drawer-pulls littering the top of the filing cabinet.
“I, um, think I gave you a wrong impression when I called. I just—” She had read somewhere that ‘just’ was a word women overused, too often framing themselves as a subordinate. “I need more information,” she asserted.
Then she tried to cross her legs and accidentally bumped her toe against Sterling’s work boot. He had extended his legs into her personal space. He didn’t pull back, too busy looking at something on his phone, but his sprawl felt deliberate, like he was invading her territory.
Get out.
He flustered her. Yesterday had not cleared the air at all. It had left things more cloudy than ever and even a bump of shoes reverberated all the wrong kind of pangs in her. The kind of painful sexual awareness that came of an unrequited crush.
And if he wanted to be in this meeting so badly, why was he texting? Such an annoying man.
“What kind of information?” Walter forced her to drag her attention off his son.
Facing Walter was like dealing with a surly, dopey bear.
Tucking her feet beneath her chair, Paige addressed him with her prepared speech. “It’s difficult to advise Dad on whether this is fair compensation when I have no background on the company’s financial picture.”
‘I’ statements were very non-threatening and would hopefully get them off on the right foot.
“You want more money.”
“That’s not what I said.” She pinched one fingernail between the thumb and finger of her other hand, reminding herself
to keep this professional.
“Let me explain how this works.” Walter was oh-so-patronizing. “The company owns life insurance policies on both your father and I, based on half the company’s worth. If he had died from this recent heart attack, this is exactly what would have been paid to me, making it possible for me to buy out his heirs without going broke.”
“So if you died, Dad could buy your share?” Paige said, tilting her head to somewhere between naïve and dumb blond.
Beside her, Sterling made a noise, as capable as she was of seeing how things were working.
“No,” Walter said with a glacier’s worth of chill. “If I died, Sterling would use my benefits to buy your father’s share. This is Roy Furnishings.”
He punctuated with a hard stare.
“This check is exactly what the life insurance policy on Grady will pay: fifty-percent of the company’s net value as shown on the most recent year end statement. I’m taking a loan and I’ll keep paying the premiums for his policy out of my own pocket.” He touched his shirt magnanimously. “Knowing that eventually that policy will clear the loan. Meanwhile.” He tapped a window envelope, then pushed it across to her. “If you need a copy of the financial statement, it’s in your folder.”
“Yes, I looked at that.” Paige took the stapled document from the folder and set it on the edge of Walter’s desk with quiet rejection. “Since it hasn’t been audited—”
Sterling jerked forward in his seat and snagged the papers.
“There’s nothing wrong with our books.” Walter glared at the way Sterling flipped pages.
“I don’t mean to suggest there is, only that they haven’t been professionally examined.” Paige kept her expression neutral.
“Audits are expensive and disrupt the office.”
“I know what audits do.”
“We had a formal one done by the I.R.S. seven years ago. They didn’t find anything to complain about.”
“Are you serious?” Sterling’s voice had the snap of a leather whip.
“That was the last one? Seven years ago?” Paige had heard worse, but—