by Nicole Fox
“Dane Bishop is one of most vocal complainants.” He came around the table and handed her a folder. He remained standing, towering over her. “Here's a file we put together on him.”
“You have a freaking dossier on him?” she asked disbelievingly, as took the file from him and flipped it open. “What's his deal? How are we involved with him?” she asked, as her eyes scanned over the pages, immediately going to his picture.
Damn, he looked good in a uniform. He was tall and well-built, and he had red hair, which she'd always kind of a had a thing for, and dark, brooding eyes. That uniform, though, with its officer's bars on the shoulders, didn't look good for BioSphere. The family of one patient complaining because they were trying to squeeze some money out of a massive corporation was one thing. A military vet trying to do it was completely different.
“Brother to a patient who took Hymalete,” Edward said. “He's claiming our medication had side-effects we weren't aware of, and that they were the cause of a psychotic break.”
Emily's eyes flicked up to Edward, locking with his over the top of the open folder. “And were they?”
“Are they what?” he asked, shifting a little on his feet.
“Responsible?”
He shifted again and cleared his throat. “The researchers from the initial project are surprised, from my understanding.”
“Surprised by what?” Emily said. “By it having this effect?”
“In a sense, yes. They're surprised it was . . . being used in this situation.”
Emily blinked. “What is that supposed to mean, Edward? Are you trying to say that, when asked about the side-effects this patient had, the researchers were surprised because that kind of side-effect had never occurred during the clinical trials?”
“I'm saying,” Edward said, “that there were no completely successful clinical trials done on this class of patient, or for these symptoms.”
They never even experimented with this class of symptoms? Why were the doctors even prescribing it, then? What the hell was going on here?
“Why,” Emily said, her voice low and controlled, “Were doctors prescribing our medication for a different set of parameters than was originally specified, Edward?”
“Because,” Edward said, pausing to again clear his throat, “Our sales teams may suggested, in certain educational meetings with private primary care physicians, that Hymalete had been shown to be useful in that situation.”
“And what situation was that, Edward?”
“Veterans with PTSD.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she had to purse her lips together to keep herself from coming completely unglued. Thank God she'd sent the rest of the executives out for lunch. “And who is this Dane Bishop, again?”
“His brother was Benton Bishop.”
She shook her head. It sounded familiar, like it was just on the tip of her tongue. “Doesn't ring a bell. Enlighten me.”
“He was a decorated Iraq War veteran who murdered his family a little over a year ago.”
She nodded, her eyes locked squarely on Edward's. “Ah,” she said, closing the folder and passing it back to her VP of Sales. “You do realize what this means, right? This means we need to remove Hymalete from the market immediately while we research this.”
Edward shook his head and went to say something. “But, Emily-”
“No, Edward,” she said, her voice coming out as sharp as rapier blade, cutting his words down before the thought could leave his mouth fully formed, “No. Don't. We're going to look at everything, including all of the original uses. We will do it quietly, with no fanfare other than a quiet little press release, and we're going to pray to God and all that's good and holy that the investors don't catch wind of this. Do you understand, Edward?”
Edward was speechless. Clearly, he thought he could somehow skate around this, and everything would come out perfectly, despite what he'd done.
“And then, when I get back from this conference,” Emily continued, “you and I are going to have a long, time-consuming discussion about ethics and good corporate citizenship. Nod once if you understand me, Edward.”
Edward nodded once.
She got up from the conference table and tucked her files and papers beneath an arm. Edward was nearly a foot taller than her, even when she was standing. “We might be on the hook for all sorts of liabilities and exposures on this,” she said as she looked up at him. “I want you to contact legal, and divulge everything off the record with them, so they can start putting a plan together, so we can move forward with damage control. Do you understand? We need to maintain deniability, even though you screwed the pooch on this.”
“Yes ma'am, Ms. West,” he said, nodding.
She could tell that she had him spooked. But, still, there was something off with him, besides that. Something she didn't like.
But there wasn't much she could do about it now; not until legal got finished looking at the situation. Then, after they had what they needed from Edward, BioSphere would have to cut him loose. This kind of malfeasance at the top wouldn't stand, especially not when it opened the company up to this much litigation.
Besides, Emily had an appointment to keep several states away. She was a keynote speaker at one of the biggest conferences of the year, and she had a plane to catch.
Too bad she wasn't going to make it there.
Chapter Two
Emily
“It's always lonely at the top.” That's what her mother, Geraldine West, had told her. Mother had been a Hollywood starlet, and was still tough as nails. She'd had to be, in that industry of snakes and backstabbers.
Anyone who thought a top actress' life was easy, or not fraught with personal and financial dangers, was deluding themselves. Her mother had shown Emily that on plenty of occasions. And, the moment you showed weakness, there was always someone there willing to take advantage of it.
Geraldine had raised her to be hard, driven, and focused, but to still be able to entertain and dazzle.
“Be hard as diamonds, dear,” Geraldine would tell her, “But never forget to sparkle like them, too.”
Accordingly to Geraldine, a woman had to be everything to have it all. Not only did you have to be twice as tough as the competition, you had to hold up every ideal society shoved on a woman. To the point where people pointed at you as the ideal.
Of course, her mother had exemplified her own advice, especially when it came to raising her daughter. There was no affection in their home, no love, or care. Just cool distance. Cool as the diamonds she aspired to.
Now, as Emily closed her corner office door behind her and rested her head back against it, she took a deep, centering breath. She had to be strong, because she was just as alone at the top as Geraldine had been. No man beside her, no friends, no family left, and no women to hold her up.
When she'd looked around the meeting today, she'd realized, not for the first time, that she was one of the only women in the room. Statistically speaking, it should have been a fifty-fifty split. Of course, life didn't always match up with statistics. Unless you were in the lab.
Emily went over to her big mahogany desk and dropped the files and paperwork on it. She settled down in front of her computer and tried to get the last of her emails read and answered before she left before the day.
Still, though, her thoughts returned to Dane Bishop, and his brother, Benton. Her heart went out to them both. One brother in prison, desperate to pin the blame on someone—anyone. The other brother grasping at straws, desperate to get him out.
Quickly, though, she squashed that sentiment. Her mother hadn't had empathy, something that many people would point to as weakness. Emily, on the other hand, saw the value in it. But the less you felt, the fewer chinks in your armor for an enemy to exploit.
Yes, it was lonely at the top.
But, still, Emily West meant to stay there, one way or another. And if that meant closing herself off from emotion and feelings when dealing with other people, so be
it. She could live without a heart. Her mother had, hadn't she?
# # #
Dane
He realized a long time ago that the easiest way to get where you were going was to just look like you belonged there already. With that in mind, he'd shaven, brushed his teeth, and pulled on his best suit—the same suit he'd worn to Marianne's funeral, and to all of Benton's court dates.
He strode through the front area of the building, hit the elevator, and rode it all the way to the top floor. Because where else would the CEO be, but at the top of the steel and glass spire? It was only natural that someone vaulted to the figurative top of a corporation would also sit at the literal one.
“Excuse me,” he said to the first office drone he saw as he stepped off the elevator, “I'm looking for Emily Winter's office. I have a one o'clock meeting with her.”
“Really?” the young woman asked, cocking her head to the side. “At one o'clock?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding emphatically. “One o'clock.”
“Well, I'm her assistant, Jasmine. Jasmine Robertson. I don't recall making an appointment for today. Are you sure? Did we speak on the phone already?”
“Well,” Dane said, smiling the broadest and most genuine smile he could muster with a pistol tucked against his shoulder, “I remember making the appointment. Do you not?”
Emily's assistant laughed, the sound a little uneasy and confused. “Well, maybe I didn't remember exactly. There's just been so much going on with this conference coming up and my own vacation time. Come on over to her office, and let's see if we can't figure out what the problem is.”
Dane raised his eyes to the heavens and silently thanked whatever was out there as he fell in line behind Jasmine and headed down the office corridor. A minute later she was circling around her desk and taking a seat as she pulled out her day planner.
“What was the name on the appointment, again?” she asked, as she flipped through the book.
“Dane. Dane Bishop.”
She twisted her lips to the side and bit them, concerned and confused that the appointment wasn't in the book. “Well,” she said, flipping back and forth between the pages, apparently trying to see if she'd written the time in on the wrong date, “I'm not finding you at all in here, Mr. Bishop.”
“Dane, please,” he said, smiling again. “You said she had a conference to leave for?”
She nodded. “Yep, she has a flight to catch in just a few hours, and will be out of pocket for most of next week. Would you like to reschedule your appointment?”
“Would it be possible for me to just pop in?” Dane asked, trying that smile of his again. It had worked to get him this far, hadn't it? “Our matter should just take a few minutes to discuss.”
Jasmine looked up at him from the daily planner, and the look in her eyes was uncertain. “Well, let me see if she's available, since you came all the way up here. Worse she can do is say no, right?”
Dane laughed. “Right.”
Emily Winter's assistant grabbed the phone and dialed her extension. “Ms. West? I have a gentlemen named Dane Bishop here to see to you. He says he had an appoint-” She paused like Emily had cut her off mid-word. “Oh? Yes, ma'am. Should I just send him in, then?” She placed the phone back in its cradle and shrugged. “She said to go right in.”
“Thank you,” Dane said, grinning so wide his cheeks were starting to hurt.
He hadn't realized how stressful this would all be, especially after having confined himself to his apartment for the last few weeks. Of course, this was all spur of the moment, too. He was used to having plans—some sort of operational guideline when it came to life.
This was all off the cuff, and he was playing fast and loose with what he could get away with.
He just hoped he wasn't going to have to move to Plan B.
“Mr. Bishop,” Emily said, as he opened her door and stepped inside her giant corner office. She was busy packing up her leather briefcase behind her desk, probably getting ready for her out-of-state conference, “I've heard a lot about you already. Honestly, didn't expect to see you here today.”
Dane was stunned by her looks. The TV screen hadn't done justice to just what kind of presence she'd have in real life. Her eyes were large and striking, even from across the large office. As she glanced his way, he just felt his own eyes drawn to them. And, damn, that business dress hugged every curve on her petite body. Sure, she was small, but he could tell that she had a spirit ten times her size and a kind of strength you didn't find in every woman on the street.
“Yes,” Dane said, holding his folder down in front of him. She'd heard about him? Already? What was that supposed to mean? “Um, I was wondering if-”
“Mr. Bishop,” Emily said as she came around from behind her desk and brushed past him as she went for the office door. “I can't wait to hear what you have to say, but I'm on a timetable here. As a vet, I'm sure you understand. If you want to talk, we'll have to move at the same time.”
“Oh,” Dane said, nodding. “Yes, absolutely, Ms. West.”
“Emily, please,” she said offhandedly as her eyes gave him a once over. “Now, come on. Walk and talk, Mr. Bishop.”
“Dane,” he said as they walked out to her assistant's office, “Please.”
Emily smiled and flicked her hair behind her ear as she turned to her assistant. “Jas, I'll be gone for the rest of the day. Everyone knows you'll be gone, too, while I'm out of town, so don't worry.”
Jasmine, or Jas, stood, and the two women hugged. “Thanks again, Em,” she whispered.
“Don't mention it,” the CEO whispered back as they parted, “To anyone. They need to think I'm the Ice Queen, remember?”
Her assistant laughed. “It's just between you, me, and Mr. Bishop, here.”
Emily turned back to Dane, and he smiled again.
Her interaction with her assistant told him one thing, at least. She might have seemed tough as nails on the surface, but she still had a heart. He understood that. Part of being an officer was having to act like an officer, even if you didn't feel like one. She was a new CEO, and female to boot, so she had to project that persona as much as she could.
He'd had to do the same thing for the first couple years in the military. There were expectations from your commanding officers, your fellow officers, and from the men below you, that you had to meet and exceed. The moment you stopped being the best at your job and let your guard down in public, was the moment you stopped going anywhere.
“All right, Mr. Bishop, are you ready?” Emily asked as she started to move through the office at a quickened pace. “I walk fast,” she said as she glanced back over her shoulder, “So you've got to keep up.”
And keep up, he did.
Chapter Three
Dane
The words formed and flowed from his mouth as quickly as Dane could manage. “Benton and I are twin brothers. I went Air Force as a fighter pilot, and he went Army as infantry. Between the two of us, he faced a lot more combat.”
They stopped in front of the elevator. As they waited, Emily nodded attentively to his words. “Keep going,” she said.
“When I came back a few years ago, after my discharge, Benton seemed off. My contract had been a little longer than his, by about a year. By the time I'd come home, he was already settling back into life with his wife, Marianne, and trying to make a go of it.”
The elevator bell rang, and the two of them entered. Emily shot a look at the two employees who tried to slip on as well , giving them a quick shake of her head. Clearly, she wanted to keep this discussion private.
Dane, for his part, didn't seem to notice. He was too wrapped up in having to tell Benton's story in such a short amount of time. He knew this was important, and that it could be the missing piece in all the efforts he'd already made. If he could convince her between now and the time she got in her car to leave, maybe he could do something to help Benton.
“He had all the symptoms of PTSD, though,” Dane con
tinued, after the elevator door closed behind them, sealing them in. “I could see it, his wife could see it, and even he could see it. He couldn't get to sleep and had night terrors when he could. He was removing himself from life, and he had anxiety in crowds and around loud noises. He still couldn't get the proper treatment through the VA system. Everyone was trying to get appointments back then, and he had to wait nearly a year. So, he went into a private care practitioner, under his wife's insurance, and managed to see someone in order to get a diagnosis.”
The elevator stopped again, just a few floors down, and Dane stumbled to a stop. When the doors opened, Emily shook her head at her employees and hit the “close doors” button again. “Continue, Mr. Bishop. Please,” she said, as the elevator hummed along on its downward trajectory.