Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3)

by Gretchen Galway

  “Your grandfather left it to you.” He leaned forward. “You have to keep it.”

  She smiled. Another four-year-old. “You’ll be just fine. Sometimes we take things a little too seriously, don’t you think?”

  He tilted his head and regarded her, silent for so long Bev was afraid she’d offended him. Suddenly he leaned back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms and regarded her over his steepled fingers. “You’re perfect.”

  A nervous laugh caught in her throat. “Why, thank you, Liam.”

  “I’m not letting you out of this room.”

  She did laugh then. Maybe he was too accustomed to people bowing down to him. She got up and gave him a sad smile. “As of this week, I own this room.”

  He nodded. “And I’m going to keep it that way.”

  “Nice meeting you, Liam, but Richard is waiting for me.”

  With athletic grace, he was out of his chair and leaning over the desk toward her. “Hold on. Hear me out.”

  “No time.”

  “Tell you what.” He pointed at her. “I’ll call Richard for you. I’m sure his flight isn’t as early as he made it sound. I—I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I know why your grandfather didn’t leave the company to your aunt. And why you can’t either.” His brown eyes softened. “Please.”

  She froze midway to her feet, caught in the photogenic tractor beam of his face. “He was just confused. A mistake.”

  “Ed Roche was many things. Confused was not one of them, not even at the end.” He picked up the phone, held her gaze. “I loved him, you know,” he said softly.

  Like a saltine crushed in a chubby fist, Bev’s resistance crumbled. She sagged back down into the chair and said, “Okay. If it’s all right with Richard, and you promise to walk me to his office.”

  With his gaze never leaving her, he stepped around the desk, dragging the phone with him, and got between her and the door. “Richard, I’ve got Beverly Lewis here. She’s going to be about a half hour late. Can you stick around?”

  While he was looking away, she took the opportunity to study him more closely. Even in sweaty workout clothes, he was imposing. She had never been the insecure type, but she envied the effortless confidence he exuded like carbon dioxide out of his lungs, just the waste product of his existence.

  He brought the phone back to his desk. “He can wait. He’s flying out of Oakland and was just worried about getting over the bridge. But he’s got a little time.”

  “All right. So, tell me—”

  “First, let me get you some coffee or something.” He strode to the door.

  “No, really, I don’t need—”

  “And I can change out of these clothes.”

  “All right, but I have my own flight out of SFO—”

  “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

  Bev let out a breath, kicking off her left shoe to rub her aching toes. She could have gone straight to the airport and dealt with this over the phone, but then she would have been as bad as her mom, grieving with remote control.

  The room was interesting—cluttered, but interesting. She glanced at the door and shoved her foot back into the shoe she vowed never to wear again. With a limp, she made her way over to a presentation board hanging on the wall. About three feet wide, each board displayed a parade of paper dolls—flat, simple sketches filled with computer-generated colors and patterns. Fabric swatches with pinked edges were glued in a line at the bottom, though the bright colors had been ripped off and reattached with Scotch tape. Yellow Post-Its were scattered here and there, marked with yes or X, or in one case, NFW.

  She noticed a thick binder open on Liam’s desk. With another glance at the closed door and one at her watch, she edged closer and flipped through the pages. The men’s line, from the looks of it. More sketches, lots of spreadsheets, actual buttons and zippers and fabric swatches taped to the paperwork. Fascinated, but curious about the fun stuff—women’s—she peeked around his office until she found a bookcase with more binders. She dragged a heavy one labeled FALL into her arms and dropped it onto a table.

  Ah, that was more like it. Some color. She smiled, imagining herself in the skin-tight yellow short-shorts. My God, the wedgie she would have.

  “Glad you found something to do,” Liam said from the door.

  She swung around, annoyed at the wait yet disarmed to see he’d changed into khakis and an olive button-down shirt that brought out the golden flecks in his eyes. His damp hair was combed back, emphasizing the strong bones of his face.

  She pulled her eyes away and focused on the cup he held out to her. Long, tanned fingers curled around it. She took the cup without letting herself touch him.

  It was natural to go full girly around a man who looked like him, just biology at work. And now he was bringing her something to put in her mouth. She wrapped both hands around the cup and went back to her chair.

  He sat down behind his desk and watched her take a sip, saying nothing.

  “So,” she said, grimacing at the taste of the coffee. It tasted like something scraped off the bottom of the oven. “You were in the Olympics?”

  He hesitated. “I swam backstroke in the relay. Though just in the heats.”

  “But you were on the team that got the gold?”

  He turned his attention to his computer, put his hand over the mouse. “Impressed?”

  “Sure.” Bev loathed hard-core athletes. People who devoted themselves so intently to their own bodies were seldom concerned about anyone else’s. “Go ahead and tell me what you wanted to tell me. We’ve run out of time.”

  He didn’t turn away from the computer. “Just a minute.”

  She took a deep breath. At school, she had a responsibility to redirect children to polite behavior, and she knew a delaying tactic when she saw one. “You don’t know why he left it to me any more than anybody else.” She got to her feet, put the cup on his desk. “Whatever problem you have with my aunt, you’ll have to take it up with her directly.”

  “It’s not my problem with Ellen. It’s everyone’s problem.”

  “Look, I’ve heard she can be difficult. Believe me, I’ve heard stories. But there’s nothing I can do.”

  “‘Nothing’ is exactly what you should do. Don’t sign anything.”

  “She said the whole building has come to a halt since my grandfather died. Nobody has the authority to do anything.”

  “What she means is they’re not letting her fire people anymore.”

  She studied him. “Like you?”

  His eyes flickered with surprise. He picked up a pen and flicked the cap off. “Not just me.”

  “But she would if she could?”

  “Oh, I imagine she would.”

  She propped her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “I think I see.”

  He scowled. “No, you don’t. Please. Sit down. This isn’t about me.”

  She stayed on her feet. “So, the big secret is that my aunt is difficult to work with, so my grandfather left it to me. Is that right?”

  “He began to doubt your aunt’s long-term commitment to the company. She was looking to sell out.”

  Bev shook her head and looked around the office. “Well, given she’s worked here for thirty years, she has the right. Listen, could you call me a cab? As soon as I sign those papers, I’m off to the airport myself.”

  He got to his feet and was now the one looking down on her. “What’s she offering you?” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Come on—how much?”

  She felt guilty for even considering the fifty thousand dollars Ellen promised, but her mother thought she was being taken. “None of your business.”

  He snorted. “Thought so. Everyone has a price.”

  Her face flooded with heat. She blinked at him, struggled to stay polite. “You are totally off base. I might not even take it.”

  “Might? Your lawyers don’t have a problem with that?”

  “No lawy
ers. This family doesn’t need a legal battle on top of everything else. If she wants to offer me money, I’m happy to consider accepting it.”

  “Happy?” He gaped at her. “Just like that?”

  “Call me Switzerland. The rest of my family loves to fight. I don’t.” Giving the company to Ellen might help mend a few rifts, but if not, at least her hands would be clean.

  “Some things are worth fighting for. Some people are worth fighting.”

  “I’m a preschool teacher. We teach peace.” She looked at her watch, suddenly angry she’d given him any time at all. “It’s late. First you’re going to show me where a bathroom is. Then Richard’s office.”

  He stared at her silently for a moment, then stood up. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try.”

  Without another word, he led her out of the office, down another drab hallway and into the factory proper. “The bathrooms are around the corner. I’ll wait here.”

  She walked past a dark storage area filled with a row of racks stuffed with clothes, through a creaky door that was labeled with a hand-drawn sign. The bathroom was a tiny space with two stalls, one occupied. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and perfume and Pine-Sol.

  When Bev finished and was washing her hands, she heard a sniffle from the other stall, then a stifled sob that triggered every overdeveloped nurturing bone in Bev’s body. After another sob, she gave in and asked, “Are you okay?”

  The sobbing quieted. Bev felt bad for intruding and turned on the water. When she was reaching for a paper towel, the woman in the stall cleared her throat and said, “I just needed a minute.” She sniffed loudly, and Bev remembered something her aunt had complained about at the funeral, how everyone at Fite acted like babies.

  Perhaps her aunt responded to babies differently than she did. Bev unzipped her purse and dug through for something, anything, to offer. She took out a half-unraveled green roll. “Would you like a Lifesaver?”

  The woman blew her nose. “The candy, right? Not drugs or something?”

  Bev bit down a laugh. “Candy.” She tore the wrapper apart in a spiral. “Wintergreen.”

  A long, delicate hand with chipped red fingernails appeared over the top of the stall. “You must be visiting.”

  Bev handed her the entire package in case she didn’t want Bev’s skin touching the candy itself. Some of her preschoolers would turn down a cupcake if they couldn’t pluck it out of the plastic box themselves. “Yes. Just visiting.”

  She snorted. “Thought so. Nobody here would give a shit.” Her hand appeared over the door to return the package, and she muttered thanks again before falling silent. When it was obvious she could do nothing more, Bev went back out into the cluttered storage area.

  Liam leaned against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles. He pointed to a glass doorway past a drinking fountain. “The finance guys are through there. Think you can find Richard yourself?”

  She was surprised he was letting her go. “Sure.”

  “I’ve got to get upstairs for a meeting.”

  “Of course.”

  He stood there, more relaxed than he’d been, then drew a card out of his pocket. “Here. If you need to reach me.”

  She just stared at him, disturbed by the faint smile growing in the corner of his mouth, the smile of a German shepherd.

  “I won’t—” she started to say, but he tucked it into her jacket pocket himself and strode away. “Hey!”

  He was gone. Something about him disturbed her more than the cup of caffeinated sludge he’d given her. She reached into her pocket to feel the card but didn’t take it out. It didn’t matter how he made her feel. She wouldn’t be back.

  She walked through a swinging door into a carpeted, air-conditioned corridor, past the row of cubicles to the large glass-walled office at the end with the CFO’s gold nameplate on the door.

  It was dark. Closed. Empty. And affixed at eye-level, a folded-over yellow Post-It note with her name in all caps. She peeled it off and unfolded it.

  Richard the CFO had left for the airport after waiting until one-thirty and wouldn’t be back until Friday.

  Bev frowned at it, confused, then groaned.

  Liam.

  She wrote an apologetic note to Richard on the Post-It and stuck it back on the door. Then she took Liam’s business card out of her pocket, crumpled it in her fist, and threw it into the blue recycling bin near the copy machine.

  She’d have to come back, just like he wanted. And worse for her, she’d have to delay it past Friday, since she couldn’t call in sick at her job like corporate people. She’d already used up all her limited personal time on the funeral, helping her mother cope, visiting the lawyer. The next available time she would have was over a week away when the school was closed for the summer.

  Liam Johnson thought she’d be easy to push around, just like her mother, her aunt, infant receptionists—everyone.

  I will take the money, Bev thought, striding through the dark corridors, past Liam’s empty office, out to the lobby.

  She would call Ellen, reassure her the deal was still on. She’d convince her mother to reconcile with her sister now, the best chance in decades to get talking again. And she’d use that fifty grand to jump-start her career at the school.

  One thing she wouldn’t do was let one grouchy, sweaty jock get in her way.

  ❧

  Click here to get LOVE HANDLES, available now in e-book, paperback, and audiobook!

  About the Author

  GRETCHEN GALWAY is a USA Today bestselling author who writes romantic comedies because love is too painful to survive without laughing. Raised in the American Midwest, she now lives in California with her husband and two kids.

  To get an email alert about sales and new releases—and get a free short story!—please sign up at www.gretchengalway.com.