by E. Ayers
A FINE LINE
By
E. Ayers
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Smashwords Edition
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Copyright © 2011 by E. Ayers
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Dedication
To George, who believed in me.
~~~ One ~~~
Chloe Langston checked her clothes in the mirror of the ladies’ room. She wanted to make a good impression.
“Ready?” Tara asked. “Rumor has it that Rich Warren is back from Texas and will be running this meeting.”
“That’s what I heard. I’m anxious to meet him. I knew a Richard Warren. Went to junior high and then high school with him. He was a total nerd.” She tugged at her pink silk top under her jacket and smoothed her matching skirt. Now she wished she’d worn something better.
“I had one of those in my class, Edgar Snodgrass. Everybody called him Snotgrass.” Tara laughed. “I can’t believe how heartless and cruel I was back then.”
“I know what you mean.” Chloe thought back to her days in high school and the image of Dickie Warren made her frown. She hated him.
“We don’t want to be late, or we’ll wind up standing. I loathe these meetings. They are a total waste of time.” Tara leaned towards the mirror to run her perfectly manicured finger under each eye.
They scooted out the door and into the meeting room. Chairs had been set up around the long table, but Tara was right, there was no question that there were not enough chairs. They found two across from one another.
“Hi, Chloe,” John said.
She smiled at her supervisor.
“How’s everything going? Has your team started on the Dunhurst Project?” John asked.
“We’ve been on it since Marion assigned it to us last week.” She really didn’t understand why he’d ask that question. To her it was another task that needed to be completed.
“Then your team is ahead. Trying to motivate everyone to switch gears is nearly impossible. I’d like to get with you after this meeting and see how you managed to do it.”
How I do it? She wanted to choke her supervisor who seemed to act as if anything different upsets his entire coffee routine.
Marion stood at one end of the main table and tried to call the room to order. The plea for complete silence fell over the packed room of middle managers about as successfully as a substitute teacher trying to get a room full of third graders to settle down after recess.
The temperature began to rise with all the bodies crammed into the small space, and Chloe felt her body protesting her suit jacket. She slipped off her jacket and rolled her eyes at Tara who stifled a giggle.
The room immediately hushed as a man entered. From where Chloe was sitting she could only see his back as he strode to the front of the room. It wasn’t until he pulled out the lone chair at the head of the table that she caught a glimpse of the Vice President of NUAgra Foods. Her mouth fell open as her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. “Dickie Warren?” The name escaped from her lips.
His head jerked in her direction and a smile slowly spread across his face. “It’s Rich, Ms Woodrich.”
“Pleased to meet you Rich. I dropped the Woodrich for Langston about ten years ago.”
“Ah, my newest team leader. Interesting. I’ve called this meeting….”
Shock kept her from hearing what he was saying. Instead she stared at him, trying to piece together the images from so many years ago to fit the confident executive. It wasn’t tallying. Gone were the braces, the thick lenses embedded in ugly black frames, and the ears that stuck out. How had she even recognized him? His once dark brown hair was now prematurely shot with silver especially at his temples. The glasses were gone. Contacts or laser surgery? His ears. What happened to his ears? He had to have had surgery to correct those wind flaps. Lost in thought she didn’t hear her name being called.
Tara hissed, then nudged Chloe’s foot.
“Mrs. Langston, would you like to comment?” Rich Warren tapped his pen on the table.
Her breath caught in her throat. Flustered, she asked, “Excuse me, on what?”
“The new proposed package.” His smug grin looked exactly the way she had remembered it.
Think! “Why don’t you ask someone who has been with the company for more than three weeks?”
“Because, I asked you.”
She unknotted her gut long enough to gather her wits. “From a marketing standpoint you’ve presented a unique and interesting challenge.”
He glared at her. She felt the heat of his stare into the pit of her stomach. She returned his gaze with a slight smile, knowing he was toying with her as a cat would harass a mouse before the kill. Suddenly she was fourteen again facing her nemesis while vying for scholastic honors. I hate you, Dickie Warren!
“Ms Langston, I’d like to see you in my office after this meeting is adjourned. Does anyone have any questions?” Rich Warren asked.
John leaned over and whispered, “I guess that means I’ll catch up to you this afternoon.”
Chloe nodded at John and followed Dickie out of the meeting. It wasn’t until they were alone in his office that either one said anything.
“Well, that’s what I get for spending the last three months at our Texas office. Just what did I do to deserve you?” Rich asked.
The old war between them stirred fire within her. “I could ask you the same thing. If I had any idea that you were part of this company, I would have never sent my résumé.”
He punched a few keys on his computer. “My mistake. If I had bothered to seriously look at your application I would have figured out it was you. I tend to let human resources do their job.” He fingered his mouse. “You’ve done quite well climbing the corporate ladder with each new job.”
She sat opposite him and leaned back into the big leather chair. Her stomach churned with hatred. “So how did you manage to become a VeePee?”
“I’m damn good. What’s your excuse?”
“You cost me my scholarship.” The words left her mouth on fire.
“Like hell I did. You always were a bitch.”
“How dare you!” The old inferno burned brightly, except she was no longer a teen.
“Lower your voice. This conversation is private, and it has nothing to do with your job.”
“It doesn’t? You just called me a bitch.” She stood and almost sent the big leather chair over. She waved her finger at him. “I can string you up for harassment.”
“Don’t even think about it. You have a job to do, and I have a job to do. Maybe we need to settle what happened a long time ago.”
“There’s nothing that needs resolving, unless you’d like me to finish the fight.” Her hands balled into fists at her waist.
“Why? You’re the one who tricked me.�
��
“How?” Her hands flew palms up. She had never actually done anything to him; at least, nothing that she could remember.
“Sending me a note saying that you wanted to meet me after homecoming under the bleachers, except it wasn’t you who came. It was Dora Winchester.”
“I never sent you a note.” She sat again in the leather chair.
“Oh, really? Then what’s this?” He reached in his pocket and removed his wallet. “Here.” He handed her a folded piece of notebook paper.
She took the paper from him, looked at the childish scrawl, and laughed out loud. “I never wrote that. Are you sick? What sane man carries a stupid note from high school in his wallet?”
He grinned. “Maybe I have always assumed that someday we’d have this meeting.”
“That’s not my writing, nor was it Dora’s. Hers was very rounded with lots of flourishes.”
“How would you know that?”
“She took the best notes, so I’d often look at hers if I missed something. Someone set you both up, and it wasn’t me.”
His grin faded, and he became very serious. “You did plenty of mean things over the years, but that one was damn cruel.”
“I never did anything to you. Never. And I never wrote that note.” Every negative feeling she had towards the man boiled and bubbled within her. “You’re the one who left the cheat sheet under my desk in physics.”
He pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You deserved it.”
“I busted my butt and studied hard for every grade I ever got. I had one hell of a time trying to prove that was not mine. I could have fingered you for that cheat sheet, but I didn’t. I knew it was you because of the way you make your fives.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Like a small H with a lid.”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“I hated you, Dickie Warren. I had always had the top grades until you came along and ruined it.”
He had the audacity to laugh at her. “You couldn’t handle the idea that someone was smarter than you?”
She knew he was baiting her, but she couldn’t help it. They did it for too many years, and they were both good at it. “You weren’t smarter. You had more time to study.”
“You really think that? You were busy with your friends and yearbook while I was helping my mom take care of my little brother.”
“Okay, so you had a little brother. I had two younger sisters and a single mom who worked. Life at my home was no picnic.”
She watched as he put his hands over his face. The clock on the wall ticked. She’d won that round.
Slowly, he raised his head and stared at her. “My little brother had leukemia. He died my freshman year in college. Every penny my parents had went towards his care. I was lucky I got braces.”
His sword ran through her. She bit at her lower lip to squelch the pain of his words. She couldn’t fathom losing one of her little sisters. “Sorry. I had no idea.”
“You judged me because I wasn’t a jock, and I didn’t wear the latest gear.” He picked up his pen and tapped it a few times on his desk.
“I didn’t like jocks.”
His eyebrows rose. “Could have fooled me.”
“I didn’t.” She didn’t like being on the defense.
“You liked that one guy who was captain of the basketball team.”
“I’ve known Bobby Hamilton since I was four years old, our families were friends, and we went to the same church. We were friends, and that’s all. I let him kiss me one time, because we both wanted to try it, but he wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“Bull. You two were always chummy.”
Bobby doesn’t belong in this conversation. “You never noticed that he didn’t date anyone?”
“He was dating you.”
“No, Bobby was my friend. He still is. Don’t you have any street smarts? Think about it.” She shook her head and pushed her shoulders into the back of the chair.
“About what?” His pen tapped again.
“Bobby.”
He looked at her quizzically.
“Bobby is gay. I think he had an inkling back then, but he was well in his twenties before he came to terms with it.” She blinked at an image of Bobby’s pretty blue eyes filled with tears when she told him she understood and that he’d always be her friend.
Rich raised his eyebrows. “You’re joking.”
“I’d never joke about something like that. He’s a good guy, and he’s still my friend.”
“Okay, so you have a gay friend and a husband.”
“Almost. I have Bobby and I ditched the husband three years ago.” She stared at Dickie’s left hand. “I’ll presume you’re not married. I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“I don’t have time for some whiney female. Twelve-hour work days aren’t exactly conducive to a romantic relationship.”
A giggle burst out. “I know the feeling. I’ve got a cat instead.” She smiled and settled down. “So in what field did you get your degree?”
“Bioengineering and business administration.”
“I’m impressed.” How did you get so handsome?
“Good. And why are you staring at me like that?”
“Where should I start?” She laughed. “What happened to your ears?”
“Plastic surgery.”
“They needed it.” She clamped her mouth around the giggle that threatened to spill.
“We need to put the personal remarks to one side and conduct ourselves like professionals” He raised his eyebrows and stared at her.
“Yes. But I don’t trust you. There are too many years of your shenanigans.”
“Get over it. You’re here and we’re stuck with each other. And what was that crap you fed me at the meeting?” He tapped his pen in an irregular cadence. “Were you too busy seething to pay attention to what I was saying?”
She shot him a hard glare. “Maybe I was.”
“I don’t have time to go over all the details. I’ll email you my notes. We have a huge investment in the Dunhurst Project. We’ve taken it out of the lab and into the fields. I want you to see it.”
“You mean traipse around a wheat field? And see what? I’m in marketing not botany.” She wanted to smack the pen from his hand.
“I want you to see it and see the difference. We’ve got a half-dozen farmers growing it for us. Pack your bags. You’re leaving Thursday morning.”
Her mouth fell open, and she had to purposely close it. “You’re sending me to look at a bunch of plants?”
“Acres of them, from North Dakota to Texas, to Tennessee.”
“And when will I be returning?” She reached across his desk, grabbed his pen, then slapped it on the desk in front of him.
He grinned. “Plan to be gone for a week.”
“I hate you, Dickie. You’re doing this to get back at me.”
“No, I wanted our newest team supervisor to get a firsthand taste of NUAgra. My understanding is that your team has really jumped on this campaign. Marion has been impressed with what you are doing.”