The Never List

by DL White

  "Yes. I like him. I don't know about a forever kind of thing, but he's definitely getting this first round."

  "Is he asking you to risk your job for him, Es?"

  "No," I shot back, vehemently shaking my head. “He would prefer that I didn’t. He's dead set against it.”

  "But you're going to do it anyway."

  I poured myself a cup of coffee, added cream and Splenda, and stirred. I avoided O'Neal's gaze because I knew what his reaction would be.

  "Esme…"

  "I know. But you know how it's been at Benning. It wouldn't be a terrible thing to never have to face Ethan again. It would be so much easier if Miller would be an upstanding guy here. He could provide updated financials, and I wouldn't even have to consider going behind his back. Trey could make an intelligent, informed decision instead of walking into this situation blind."

  "He's not even the man you're paid to care about."

  "The thing is that the man I'm paid to care about may not be worth caring about. And the man I do care about? Is worth getting fired to protect."

  I shrugged, picked up my coffee mug, and headed toward the stairs. "I need to get ready for work and head down there. What time is your flight?"

  “Almost noon,” he answered. He got up to empty his bowl but turned before I got out of earshot. "Make sure he thinks you're worth protecting. And start logging into WhatsApp and updating us. I'm tired of asking your sisters what's going on with you."

  "I'm tired of providing entertainment for y'all. These are not the Awkward Adventures of Esme Whitaker anymore. This could be real, and potentially something very good for me. And y'all are too nosy."

  O'Neal fake sniffled as I walked away. "My little Esme is all growed up."

  Inside my bag, my work phone buzzed. I pulled it out, expecting a cute note from Trey about how much he already missed me, or that he was looking forward to seeing me today, or asking what flavor of coffee I wanted from Brew Bar.

  Instead, it was a message from Reese, Ethan's Executive Assistant: Report to Benning this morning before going to Miller Design. Ethan needs to speak with you. Please acknowledge receipt and report ETA.

  Fuck.

  I sat in a guest chair in front of Ethan's desk and set my bag near my feet. My nerves were so shot that my body vibrated. I tried crossing one leg over the other to appear super casual. My right leg trembled so violently that I opted to sit up straight, both feet flat.

  I'd dressed to impress at least, in an olive-green scoop neck dress that clung in the best places and draped over others, with Weitzman suede pumps dyed to match. I was no longer dressing only to impress myself. I knew somebody that would look and would enjoy getting an eye full of thigh visible through the deep side split.

  The thought of Trey ramped my nerves up even more. What if Ethan was pulling me from the project? What if he was planning to replace me with someone who didn't "give a damn"?

  The door to Ethan's office opened, and he rushed in, sliding his laptop and a stack of files on his desk. "Esme," he said in greeting. "Thanks for coming in."

  "You say thanks as if you gave me a choice. It surprised me to receive a summons to the office today. Is there anything to be concerned about?"

  Ethan situated himself at his desk and arranged it the way he liked it. Laptop to his right, files and notes to his left, stacked so that they were only organized to him. His desk was otherwise bare, but he kept a few utensils in a cup on the credenza behind him, between framed photos of his family. At least, I assumed the people in the photos were his family. He hadn't swapped them out in the entire time I'd been working for him.

  "Always with the smart ass comments, Esme." He scowled, punching keys on his laptop while he spoke. "I received a concerning phone call from Thomas Miller this morning. Pettigrew is pushing hard on a few terms of the contract, and he's unsatisfied with the progress. He doesn't feel like you have his back in this negotiation."

  My jaw dropped open. Was Miller throwing me under the bus?

  "I want an update, and I don't want to hear the party line that everything is on schedule. What's happening out there, Esme?"

  "Well, I have to disagree with Miller. At every turn, my conversations with Mr. Pettigrew have led with Miller's needs in mind. I've been clear that there are reasonable concessions to be made on both sides, but Mr. Miller does want to come to terms. He will not give away his company. Mr. Pettigrew understands that —"

  "Then what's the problem?" Ethan was more of a menacing, low talker, not a brash man, but today his tone was sharp. "This should have been open and shut. Nothing to fuck up, just process the contract. Easy work, that's why I gave it to you. Now, Miller tells me that you and Mr. Pettigrew seem friendly. That you often spend time together away from the office—"

  "That little room that Miller gave us to work in is a hole, so yes, we take our meetings offsite, where I plead Miller's case and get Pettigrew to come forward. And when I return to the office, I bring something that Miller can agree to. You told me to get this job done. I'm trying to do that."

  "Mmmhmm. I bet you are."

  My eyes narrowed. "What… what does that mean?"

  "Miller suspects something is going on between you and Pettigrew. Frankly, I don't care if it gets the contract signed. Pettigrew is pushing to involve legal and asking for financial statements that he doesn't need. If you're close to him, find a way to get him to sign. This deal has to go through, Esme. Fuck him if you have to but wrap this up. Whatever it takes, or it's your ass. Am I understood?"

  I wanted to laugh.

  I wanted to cock my head back and scream in laughter. Did my boss just suggest that I do what I've been trying not to do? I was being set out like a sacrificial lamb. Whatever it took to get Miller Design sold, Ethan would do it.

  After the transaction was processed, Ethan would have a reason to fire me.

  I swallowed my seething, roiling anger, grabbed the straps of my bag and stood. "Understood," I bit out, then walked out of his office.

  I hustled to my car, got in, and sped away.

  I had to talk to Trey. And not at Miller Design.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Trey

  * * *

  A phone call broke through a monotone modern rap hit with bass that thumped so hard, I felt it through the steering wheel. It was too young for me, but I was too lazy to look for a new station. The dashboard display read Esme Whitaker.

  I'd just picked up our coffee and was headed to Miller Design. She would either have news to share—maybe she had worked miracles to bring him around—or she'd be calling to tell me how much she was looking forward to seeing me.

  "You miss me, huh?" I called out as I picked up the line.

  "Trey, it's Esme."

  I hadn't known her long, but I knew when someone's voice held an unusual edge. "I… know. That's why I said– anyway, what's going on? Are you at Miller already?"

  "No. And I don't think you should go there either. We need to meet."

  "I'm at Brew Bar, on my way to Vinings."

  "I really need to talk to you before you go out there, Trey. And I won't be there. Can you meet me at Pettigrew?"

  "Uhm sure. Yeah." I was confused, but I didn't think Esme would redirect me without reason. "Park in the lot and wait at the front desk. I'm on my way."

  "I'm already here."

  I redirected to the southbound lanes, headed toward Pettigrew. I parked in my spot between Pops and Vincent, then rushed inside the three-story, bright yellow group of buildings overshadowed by the Pettigrew Construction sign.

  Esme was waiting in guest seating. The sight of her shapely body in a dress and heels, hair in bouncy curls and her stern, concentrated stare into the atmosphere made my heart leap. I'd kissed her goodbye a few hours ago, but damn, it was good to see her.

  I called out to her, catching her attention. She hopped up, picking up her bag. I laid a hand on her shoulder and dipped my head to catch her gaze. "Hey, what is going on? Why are you here?" />
  "I'm fine. I didn't mean to make you worry; I have a lot on my mind. Can you take me to your office? I need to speak to you in private.”

  I signed her in and escorted her to the executive suite, then into my office.

  I'd refused to take over Pops' office, mostly because I believed in my heart that he would be back. His assistant guarded his space like a German shepherd. I also hated his furniture and had become accustomed to my office suite. And my view.

  I handed her the coffee that I'd picked up for her, which had stayed impressively warm, but she didn't seem to notice, taking large gulps from the cup. I sat on a corner of my desk and waited until she was ready to talk.

  "Thanks for this." She said, holding the cup in both hands. "So, I got called into Benning this morning. Ethan tore into me about the progress on the contract. Miller had called him, pissed because he felt like he was being pressured to sign the contract early, that you were pushing him to sell his company for less than he wanted to take for it, and that he felt like you and I were working together against him."

  "We kind of are. But I'm not trying to tank this deal. I did email him this morning to request updated financials. I said my team wanted to take one last look at the numbers before it heads to legal."

  "Well, that started a shit storm. Ethan said something about you demanding financials that you don't need. Miller told Ethan that he thinks there’s something going on between us and used it to encourage me to do what I had to do to get you to agree to his terms. His exact words were, fuck him if you have to."

  "Oh." I felt my brows hit my hairline. "That's… not ok."

  "Yeah. And not that the thought didn't cross my mind—"

  "Or mine."

  "But that's what we've been trying to avoid, yes? The appearance of impropriety? Anyway, the cat is out of the bag where you and I are concerned. We apparently don't hide our affection for each other well."

  She couldn't help but smile. Neither could I. I didn't care if Miller knew that I had feelings for his contracts administrator. Those feelings in no way affected my mission to acquire Miller Design.

  "But it feels like Ethan is setting a trap to fire me. No matter what happens with this deal, I'm on the chopping block. Miller is pushing him, so he's pushing me. And I figure that there must be a reason that he doesn't want you to see actual numbers."

  "We agree there. But that means that—"

  "I'm going to lose my job anyway," she said, her brown eyes wide and brows raised. "And if they don't fire me, I'm going to quit. At the very least, I won't have to work for a man who tells me to fuck a guy to push a deal through."

  She paused, pushed out a harsh breath, and continued. "So. I ran the reports that I needed to run while I'm still employed. That you need to be able to close this deal."

  I hung my head, slowly releasing a loud, hissing breath. "I really didn't want you to do that, Esme."

  "I know, Trey because it means risking my job, but my job is already at risk. I may as well go down in flames. It's the right thing to do. Besides, it's not like it's illegal. It's not that I can't, or that they have forbidden me to. I hadn't because those reports were all provided to me. I took them at face value. Did Saul ever run his own Dun & Bradstreet report?"

  D&B was like Experian or TransUnion, a credit reporting agency but for businesses. Like consumer credit agencies measured my worthiness to open a credit account or take on a loan, D&B measured and monitored the same for a commercial entity. That report would answer every concern an acquiring company might have.”

  "By the time I came on board, they were signing papers. When I took over, Miller revamped the contract and raised his purchase price. Like you've said, we received a portfolio of documents from Miller's accounting firm. The report was in there. I don't honestly think he ran a single report."

  "That's interesting because it's one of the first steps in setting up a customer profile at Benning, but I wasn't directed to do so."

  Esme handed me her coffee cup, then turned to pull some folders and her computer from her bag. She flipped open the folder, revealing a neat stack of pages and notes clipped inside.

  "This is the D&B report that Miller provided to Saul and Benning. As you can see, there are a few blips, but it's relatively clean. It's also quite aged, not current at all. Few companies have zero debt and no marks. This looks standard for a ten-year-old company, as reports go."

  She opened her laptop, then pulled up a report.

  "Take a look at this report that I pulled an hour ago when I was sitting in the car. A delinquency score measures how likely a business will be to have severely late payments. It goes from 101 to 670, with 670 being the highest. That's like having a perfect credit score. Miller scores 209, which means they probably pay some bills on time, but for the most part, they're frequently more than 90 days late on more than one account."

  "That means Miller is hiding some debt somewhere, then?"

  "Probably," she confirmed with a slow nod. "If he had the money, he'd pay the bills. Firms in this position struggle to keep the lights on and make payroll, pay taxes, and keep benefits current, then hope for the best with everything else. He might get a large down payment on a job and make a balloon payment to bring him current, but then he'll fall behind for the next four months while the job is progressing, then catch up when the final payment hits the bank. He might pay installments on a loan for drafting equipment, but he'll be late on software renewal. Or let machinery almost be repossessed before they'll make a payment."

  "Can you forward that to me?" I stood, walking around my desk and picking up my desk phone. "I need Vincent to see it."

  "Sure. I'm sending some other reports to you from our platform, but they'll confirm what the Dun & Bradstreet report says. Miller Design is failing. It'll go under without a buyer."

  "Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable."

  It was the only word that Vincent had been able to utter since I'd called him into my office, laid out the entire situation with Miller, and showed him the reports that I'd pulled off the printers.

  And introduced him to Esme, who was in the process of saving our asses. He stared at the printouts, flipping page after page, his head moving back and forth and muttering the same word over and over.

  I swiveled in my chair, having long since shed my jacket and tie. Esme and Vincent were in the guest chairs in front of my desk. Esme looked exhausted, but also at peace, for someone that just took a huge risk for us and was on the verge of unemployment.

  It wasn't the outcome that I wanted, but I could not have been prouder of her.

  "What does this mean for us, then?" Vincent asked, finally looking up from the printouts, directing his question at Esme. "What should we do?"

  "Your current contract with Miller, the one he's pushing Trey to sign, anyway, stipulates that Pettigrew assumes ownership of all assets. In this case, we're mainly talking about equipment needed to run the business. Now that makes sense, considering you're both in the business of design. He's likely leasing the equipment, which means you'd have to assume payments. I don't know much about drafting and architecture, but I don't think Miller would be using old and outdated machines. We're talking state of the art, cutting edge… so he's in for a large sum."

  "We took a tour when we began negotiations," said Vincent. "He's got a nice shop over there. Brand new, updated, shiny. That's what we liked about them."

  Esme nodded, showing that she understood.

  "Given that, and his delinquency score, he's probably more than 180 days behind on loans on those machines. He might be hoping that a big payday gives him enough money to cover that debt and bring him current. And then they become your problem, your bill to pay."

  "The question, Vincent," I interrupted, sitting forward, "is if Miller is still a good target. He's got no room to play. We know the real deal, so if we still want this company, we can probably get it for a steal. Call that office a Pettigrew satellite and swallow it up."

  "Something to think
about, for sure. But son…"

  His gaze landed on me, and I knew what he was going to say. I averted my own eyes, so I didn't have to watch him say it.

  "It's time you talked to Saul. I know you don't want to, and had hoped to avoid it, but he needs to know what's happening. If we kill this acquisition, he will not be pleased. I want him to understand why."

  When I told Esme that the only thing I was really afraid of was Pops, I meant it. It wasn't a physical fear but an emotional one. I didn't want to tell him that I'd failed to do what he specifically set out for me to do.

  Begrudgingly, I nodded. And braced. This was going to be a tough conversation.

  Esme had offered to come with me, as had Vincent, but I'd declined both offers. I had to do this, to stand on my own two feet. Pops made me responsible, and as the man in charge, standing in for the man in charge, this was my task.

  That didn't make the task any easier. Neither did walking into my parent's house to see my sister sitting at the kitchen island, watching my mother cook.

  "Trey!" My mother called out, a bright smile breaking out across her face. I bent toward her so that she could drop the customary kiss on my cheek. "So nice to see you on a weeknight. Should I set a place for you for dinner?"

  "No, thanks, Mom. I'm actually here to talk business with Pops. It's important."

  Her joyous expression dissipated, replaced by a frown and a furrowed brow. "He put you in charge for a reason, to make these decisions with Vincent. Now you rush home to discuss everything with him, get him all worked up, and then I'm the one that has to live with him. Whatever it is, deal with it on your own. Don't involve him."

  "Can't really do that, this time. It's bigger than me, and at the end of the day, it's his company. But I do appreciate his health, and I'll try to keep him calm. Where is he?"

  She sucked her teeth and shook her head but pointed in the general direction of a corner office. "In his study."

  I turned to leave, but another voice stopped me. "Hello, little brother. Nice to see you. Thanks for acknowledging me. Love you, too."