by Thorpe, Kara
When he’d cracked opened his eyes, they’d been bloodshot and filled with so much heartache that she’d nearly vomited on the floor. He opened his mouth to say her name, but all that came out was a pained croak. She’d scrambled onto the narrow bed and held him as tightly as possible.
His pained, heartfelt mantra was the stuff of her nightmares. “It should have been me. They’re dead, Gigi. It should have been me.”
She disagreed. She was sorry two people had died, but Tab was all she had. He’d spent two nights in the hospital. They stayed another night in a Huntsville hotel before returning to the townhouse. His broken wrist, broken ribs, and busted head healed on schedule. His spirit hadn’t faired so well. His status as a minor and her team of downright vicious lawyers had kept the story from the media. It was one of the few things that had gone right for them.
As soon as the cast had come off his arm, he’d attempted to slit his wrists in the bathtub. A week after that, he’d chased a handful of Tylenol with two tumblers of vodka. Even after the coroner had determined that the two in the other car had been drunk, and the county district attorney had opted to not press charges, Tab continued to blame himself.
Four psychologists had sat with Tab. Survivor’s guilt was the diagnosis every time. Two of them recommended time in a full-time facility. The less tactful of the two received an apology and a hefty pay-off check after Georgiana had thrown her mother’s favorite vase at his head. She’d listened to their advice, though, and worked with Dan on NORA and ERIC.
Six months after the accident, they were in a holding pattern. Tab refused to leave the townhouse. He completed school assignments and video chatted with a private tutor. They didn’t talk about suicide or blame. They didn’t talk about the accident either. Georgiana knew it wasn’t healthy, but she was afraid of pushing him and shattering the fragile balance. She felt like they were floating aimlessly, sharing half a life, and didn’t know how to move past it.
Certain that she wouldn’t wake Tab, Georgiana lifted one of her synced tablet PCs off the bedside table and unlocked it. It only took a moment to access NORA’s system. Dan had given her one of the rooms in his workshop for a project of hers she didn’t want near Tab. He had full access to the room, but he’d respected her privacy. She didn’t believe Robert, given his attitude earlier, would be as considerate. After changing the access requirements for that room, she quickly updated NORA’s system with the doctor’s instructions for Dan’s return home.
Glancing through her personal calendar made her stomach ache. She hadn’t gone for an extracurricular MBA like her father and Robert. Her degrees were in mechanical engineering and physics. Numbers were easy so she had no problem with budgets or financial analyses but was completely lost when talk turned to updating the benefits package or marketing. Every time she missed a meeting or sat while information went in one ear and out the other she felt like she was letting her father down.
A dinner date notation for Thursday gave her pause. Her assistant knew better than to schedule anything without prior approval. She clicked on the tab for the date and paled. Dinner with Walt Prask.
The ink was still wet on Prask’s divorce papers. Ex-wife number five was a surgically enhanced bottle blonde two years younger than his daughter Claire, Georgiana’s childhood friend. Jerome Collier had publicly lambasted Prask’s business ethics, but it was Prask’s skeevy behavior and suggestive remarks that bothered Georgiana.
She couldn’t risk calling Yvonne, her assistant, and waking Tab. An email would have to do. She opened the program prepared to ask Yvonne what in the hell the younger woman had been thinking when she noticed an email from a senior member of Collier Analytic’s Board of Directors.
Expecting a politely worded chastisement for her less than stellar performance at the last teleconference, she opened the message. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Prask had gone behind her back and made an offer directly to the board. They were losing faith in her, despite the positive financial numbers, and were considering the offer.
Anger boiling like hot oil in her veins, she tapped out a terse email response and copied in every director. She owned a majority of shares in the company, and she was still CEO and executive chairman of the board. They couldn’t make a deal without her signature, and they’d lost their collective minds if they thought they could bully her. ‘Collier Analytics is not and will never be for sale!’ was her final line.
Trembling with fury and secretly pleased to finally feel something other than misery or apathy, she shut down her email program. Dan would be disappointed when he learned of her impulsive action, but she’d deal with that in the morning. If he couldn’t figure out a way to strike a deal between their companies without turning her into a hypocrite, she was certain his everything-rolls-off-my-back son could. Taking the company private had been her father’s backup plan for everything, and there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.
Tab sniffled. The hands clutching her sides flexed. She rested her cheek on the top of his head and quietly sang. She was too tired to remember any lullabies, but she figured Tab wouldn’t mind the substitution of her favorite song. Before the accident, he’d made a game of stealing her CDs and seeing how long it took for her to notice the loss.
Once he was settled, she wiggled back against the headboard and opened a program on her tablet. Throughout the numerous interviews with lawyers and law enforcement officials, Tab’s story had remained consistent. He’d felt something shift in the car just before he lost control. He’d tried the brakes, but they hadn’t responded. Neither had the steering wheel. The officers blamed it on a kid not being able to handle the powerful, modified engine, but Georgiana knew better. Tab wasn’t a liar, and he had spent his sixteenth birthday at a racetrack.
The totaled SUV was at Dan’s house, but she’d used a 3-D scanner to upload everything into NORA’s database. She hoped that if she rebuilt the SUV, virtually and physically, she could find the source of the shift Tab had felt. Hopefully whatever she found would make Tab realize that mechanical failure was at fault, not him.
She put Prask, Robert Norwood, the board, and her impossibly long to-do list out of her mind. It had been ages since she’d last assembled a car, but the familiarity was relaxing. With her brother snuggled against her side, Georgiana worked on discarding parts of the pickup truck mixed with the SUV and waited for the sun to rise.
Chapter Five:
Georgiana woke with her tablet PC plastered to her face, a crick in her neck, and Tab’s knee wedged against her screaming bladder. She gingerly extracted herself from her brother’s desperate grasp and hobbled to her bathroom. The few hours of sleep she’d managed to catch had done little to remove the cotton balls from her head.
“Lights on full, please.”
Light flooded the large, glass-block and chrome bathroom. Georgiana stared dispassionately at the tired, washed-out girl reflected back at her in the mirror. Fortunately, it was nothing a hot shower and bit of makeup couldn’t cover up. She’d become an expert at disguising her exhaustion when the situation required.
“ERIC, it’s a Pep blend sort of day.” She waved her toothbrush at the sensor. “Don’t tell me we’re out, either. I loaded the machine yesterday morning.”
“The requested coffee has been started, Georgiana,” the AI responded, a tad petulantly.
Her father’s three-thousand dollar, imported Italian espresso machine made the best coffee she’d ever tasted, but she’d balked at the thought of tearing apart the beautiful machine and wiring it into ERIC. She’d disassembled a pod-style brewer and turned it into a coffee jukebox of sorts. ERIC could brew a cup of any one of four blends of coffee, three types of tea, and two types of hot chocolate. The Pep blend, a mixture of dark roast coffee and ginseng, got her through the day, but it was nothing compared to her father’s liquid ambrosia.
While Georgiana brushed her teeth and showered, ERIC read off the local headlines and weather forecast. The stock futures for Collier Analytics w
ere up, she’d probably need her umbrella in the afternoon, and the Astros had lost their second game of the season. She instructed ERIC to flag the recap of the baseball game for Tab.
“Incoming call from Yvonne Ruiz.”
Georgiana uncapped the mascara wand and leaned closer to the mirror. “Put it on the speaker, ERIC.” She swept the wand of emerald mascara across one set of lashes as she waited for telltale click of a connection. “Good morning, Yvonne.”
“Good morning, Ms. Collier.”
Georgiana’s fingers flexed around the mascara wand. Yvonne’s formality came and went depending upon her mood. Georgiana didn’t mind. She didn’t feel old enough or qualified enough to be the big boss. The other woman was only three years younger and actually working towards her MBA. Her father’s assistant Mrs. Davis had been promoted to Director of Human Resources shortly after his death because Georgiana hadn’t been comfortable ordering around the woman who had gone with her to buy her first box of tampons.
“We have a meeting at nine to review the newest NS contract, and then you’re scheduled to watch a demo of the guidance system for the HXJ defense contract.” There was a pause and the sound of fingernails clicking on a keyboard. “Lunch with the heads of payroll, finance, and HR is the last thing I have for today. Wepfer in Media Relations wants to get a comment from you he can pass along.”
“Comment on what?”
“The story in the finance section.”
Georgiana bit back a sigh. The finance section was one section she had ERIC avoid during their morning read through. She needed at least two cups of coffee before she dove in to that mess. “Yvonne, you know better. What story?”
“‘Collier Analytics is not and will never be for sale!’ asserts CEO and engineering wunderkind Georgiana Collier.” Yvonne quoted.
Georgiana’s arm jerked. “Damn!” The mascara wand fell on to the vanity. Emerald green smeared across the gray marble. She snatched up a wad of tissues and held them against her watering right eye. “Aaah, shit,” she hissed. She pulled the tissues away to assess the damage. The mascara streaks could be washed away and Visine would help with the redness. Not a total catastrophe.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, dabbing at her face with a cotton ball doused with cleanser.
“Georgiana has suffered a minor corneal abrasion following a mishap with a makeup applicator,” ERIC supplied helpfully.
Yvonne was silent for a moment. “I don’t even think I know what that means.”
Georgiana dropped the cotton ball into the wastebasket, glared up at the camera. “You can be reprogrammed, you electronic tattletale.” After clearing away the redness with a few drops of Visine, she applied a layer of mascara to replace what she’d wiped off. “It means I jabbed myself in the eye with the mascara wand, Yvonne.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” She slammed her makeup drawer shut and padded out of the bathroom. She tapped a code into the panel beside the closet. Her clothes hangers were bar-coded, as was her shoe rack, so she could have ERIC pull the necessary items.
“Tell Wepfer that I have no comment. I want to find out who leaked that quote. It’s from a private email I sent to the directors last night, so there’s your suspect pool,” she added.
“Yes ma’am. I will see you when you get to the office.”
As if aware of Georgiana’s exasperation, ERIC piped soothing, light jazz music into her bedroom and closet. Her mood gradually improved. The music did as well. By the time she’d finished dressing in a neutral linen straight leg pants, silk taupe camisole, and linen pinstripe jacket, they had progressed to the lively Zydeco music she typically preferred in the mornings.
The rustle of clothing and creak of the wooden floors coming from her brother’s room brought a faint smile to her face. It was rare for Tab to wake before she left. She hoped it meant he was going to have one of his good days. After securing the clasp of her rose gold watch, she slipped on a pair of rose gold and diamond hoop earrings. ERIC had already retrieved her shoes from the automatic shoe rack in her closet.
“You’re going to break an ankle in those.” Tab ambled into the room, collapsed on the end of Georgiana’s bed. “Don’t you have that meeting in R&D?”
Georgiana stepped into her camel-colored Italian leather pumps. The five-inch heel gave her enough height so that she was just shy of eye level with most male members of upper management. She gestured towards the custom chocolate brown sneakers an electric arm was setting on the small platform just outside the closet.
“I’ll switch for that meeting. I’ve learned my lesson. I also have a few other meetings, and I need to deal with the board. I’ll take every advantage I can get.” She scooped up the shoes and stuffed them in a canvas backpack along with a pair of jeans and a brown long-sleeved Henley. “I’m going to spend the afternoon at the hospital with Dan. Want me to swing by and pick you up?”
Tab didn’t issue an automatic denial. Georgiana held her breath but kept her eyes fixed on the zipper of her bag. She didn’t want to pressure him. Her heart sank when he shook his head slowly.
“No? Okay. Nada problemo, brother o’ mine.” She released the bag, hooked an arm around his neck. He stiffened instinctively, but relaxed when she pulled his head towards her and planted a wet, smacking kiss on his smooth forehead. “Just means more tapioca pudding and lime Jell-O for me.”
Tab’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You’ll tell Dan that I’m glad he’s okay, won’t you?”
“Of course I will.” She rested her forehead against his, tucked a bit of hair behind his ear. He was due for a haircut but getting him out of the house was likely to be difficult, if not impossible. “I’ll stop at the gift shop and pick out a balloon or two for him and say they’re from you.”
“Thanks.”
He surprised her by following her down the stairs and into the kitchen. He leaned against the island while she sipped hot, fragrant coffee. “What’s on schedule for you today, Théophile?”
He unenthusiastically described his Spanish test and physics project. Though not a terrible student, Tab preferred to focus his considerable brainpower on designing computer games and refining their father’s programs. Before the accident, he’d made remarks about attending Stanford, but she wasn’t sure if his plans had changed. The future was one of the dozens of topics they avoided.
She scooped fruit salad into two bowls and slid one across the counter to Tab. ERIC’s reminder that she needed more protein in her diet went ignored. Tab continued to complain about his physics project until she offered to look over his notes. His relieved smile made her grin. Like their father, he had no love for rules or hard science.
By the time she reached Collier Analytics’ sleek glass and steel downtown building, she felt better than she had in months. Out of habit, she parked her car into the space next to the vacant one still bearing her father’s name. She trailed her fingers across the cool aluminum sign and repeated her daily prayer, “Here’s hoping I make you proud, Daddy.”
Yvonne was waiting in the glass-walled office that had once been Georgiana’s. The short, voluptuous Hispanic woman studied Georgiana intently before nodding in approval. “Good morning, again. Your eye looks fine. No one will ever know you had an early morning brawl with your mascara.”
“Thanks, Yvonne.” Georgiana crossed the threshold between her old office and her new office. After her father’s death, she’d followed the board’s advice and moved into his office. She swore sometimes she could still smell scotch or the smoke from his cigars.
“If I had known you were going to wear those shoes, I’d have worn my platforms.” Yvonne extended her leg and shook her black, sensible pump. “You’re going to owe me an hour with Henri to make up for today.”
“Tell me who leaked the quote and you have a deal.”
Yvonne lowered herself onto the visitor’s chair in front of the antique mahogany desk and tugged the hem of her k
nee-length black skirt into place. She glanced at the notes on her ever-present tablet. “According to Wepfer’s sources, the quote was part of a longer email sent to the editor of the financial section by Mr. Hayes.”
Under the desk, Georgiana clenched her fists so hard her fingernails left crescent impressions in her palms. Carl Hayes was a professional director. He wasn’t on Prask’s board, but the friendship between the two men was one of the worst kept business secrets in their industry. Her father had privately questioned Hayes’ loyalty on several occasions. Georgiana questioned it daily.
“I’ll take care of Hayes, but I need you to set up a conference call with the other directors for the afternoon. I don’t care if they have to skip a golf game or their kid’s ballet debut. If they don’t like it, they can get the hell off my board.”
Yvonne smothered a grin. “Rawr. I think ERIC added a bit of Red Bull to your coffee this morning, Georgiana.”
Georgiana winked and resumed scrolling though her phone’s contact list. Yvonne’s signature on watertight nondisclosure and confidentiality agreements had granted the assistant limited access to ERIC. She was the only person, aside from Dan, Georgiana trusted with information regarding the AI or Tab’s accident.
“Is that all? Would you like another cup of coffee?”
“Nope.” Georgiana selected the entry for Carl Hayes. He lived outside of Los Angeles and was two hours behind. She didn’t feel the least bit of remorse over calling him so early. “No telling what I’d do to Hayes if I had any more caffeine.”
“Decaf for the boss lady, gotcha. I’ll send out a memo.” Yvonne ducked back into her office before Georgiana could throw a paperclip at her.
Georgiana swiveled the high-backed leather chair around so that it faced the bronze-tinted windows. She squeezed her eyes shut and soothed her raging temper while she waited for Hayes to pick up. Most of the board thought she was nothing more than a timid geek: good for producing money-making ideas but rather spineless and easy to intimidate. In all honesty, she just hadn’t cared enough to get worked up about anything they’d said. It wasn’t the first time she’d been underestimated; she was certain it wouldn’t be the last.