Back Where She Belongs(27)

“If Jeb Harris would let us over there to see what equipment they’re using and how they’re using it, we could clear this up quick.”

“He says it’s proprietary,” Dylan reminded him. Victor thought the Wharton testing manager was a bit high and mighty. “The test results should be enough.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Victor said, fire in his eyes. “I stand by my people and my people stand by their work.”

“I appreciate how you’ve handled it, top to bottom, Victor.” For all his flaws, his father’s scrappy, underdog tenacity and grit had inspired fierce loyalty in the employees all the way down to the warehouse guys. Ryland Engineering was a good company with heart and spirit and Dylan was proud of what they’d built. He would see this through if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

AT 10:00 A.M., TARA STEPPED into the lobby of Wharton Electronics for the first time since she was a kid, awed by the machinery and lights on the factory floor. Her father had been so proud of the place. He came alive within these walls. His voice went lighter and his eyes sparkled. That gave her a stab of grief.

The lobby was impressive, with a high ceiling, huge windows and tons of light. Her steps on the granite floor echoed as if she were in a luxury-car showroom. Photos of Wharton batteries jutted from the wall on 3-D rectangles, so bright and pretty they looked like edible jewels.

The waiting area held low, modern furniture in neon green and yellow, a sleek table and a spiky palm in a tall vase. From the table she picked up a copy of the annual report to read over, then watched a few seconds of the promotional video running on a huge flat-screen TV.

She headed for the front desk. The receptionist was on the phone. Waiting for her to finish, Tara took in the two huge oil portraits on the wall behind her. The first was of Tara’s grandfather. The brass nameplate at the bottom identified him as the company’s first CEO and gave his birth and death dates. Next to him was her father, who’d taken over the plant in 1985 at age forty-five, having worked his way up from the factory floor—Whartons earn their place in this world, he’d always said.

His father’s nameplate was missing. With a jolt, she realized they’d sent it to be engraved with his death date.

Tara leaned against the counter to steady herself. She was never ready for these jolts when they hit.

She sighed. Whose painting would appear beside her father’s? Who would take over as CEO? Faye, if she recovered. Please recover. Please. Certainly not Joseph. He didn’t strike her as a leader. One of the other VPs, she guessed. Offering recommendations on the new CEO might well be one of her tasks as a consultant. The idea was hard to consider, with Faye’s life hanging in the balance.

Her plan was to look around in Faye’s office and her father’s if possible, then drop in on the meeting an hour before lunch to ask about her tour. Sitting through some of the meeting she’d get a feel for the power players. If a tour wasn’t possible today, she’d talk to employees in the cafeteria and stop by managers’ offices for informal chats and generally take the temperature of the place.

The receptionist ended her call and smiled up at Tara. “Can I help you?” She hesitated. “Oh! You’re Mr. Wharton’s other daughter.... You’re...um...”

“Tara.”

“That’s right. Tara. Nice to finally meet you. How is Ms. Banes? Everyone is so worried about her.”

“She’s stable. We’re hoping for the best.”

“We are, too. We really are.” She paused, biting her lip. Tara assumed lots of employees were worried. She accepted the visitor badge the receptionist gave her, then took the winding wood stairs instead of the elevator, to enjoy the sun on her arms and the view of the river through the huge windows.

From the second-floor landing she surveyed the row of offices—empty and dark, since the managers were in the third-floor meeting room. Carol looked up from her desk behind a low fabric wall in front of what must be Faye’s office. She smiled and waved Tara over. “I snitched the key to your father’s office, too,” she whispered. “His secretary takes notes in the meeting.”

“Good work,” Tara said.

Carol opened the door to Faye’s office and they entered. Tara was transfixed by the art on the walls—whimsical collages of words and drawings incorporated into blueprint grids. “Faye’s work, huh?” Tara said.

“She’s very talented.”

“She is.” Tara realized her mother hadn’t put a single one of Faye’s paintings in the house. It didn’t fit with the decor, of course, but the real problem was that neither of their parents had respected Faye’s talent. That had always irked Tara, whose first act whenever she moved was to hang the piece Faye had made for her. She wanted another painting in her condo. If Faye recovered... When she recovered, Tara would ask about that.

While they waited for Faye’s computer to boot, Tara flipped through Faye’s paper files, the notebooks on her desk with quarterly reports, audits, the budget, cost and quality analyses, and a strategic plan—all standard for someone in Faye’s position.

When they turned back to the computer, Carol frowned. “There’s a password now.”

“That’s new?”

“Yes. Faye didn’t want the hassle.”

“Who would have put it on?”

“Probably Mr. Banes asked our IT guy to do it to keep me from snooping.” She sighed.

Or to hide something he wanted no one to know.

“The IT guy can override it for you, but I don’t know if he’d do it without Mr. Banes’s okay.”

“We’ll leave that for now,” she said, frustrated as hell and dying to know what Joseph wanted kept secret.

Her father’s office was neat as a pin, his computer password-protected like the one at home. She looked through the folders in his desk drawers, thinking she might find the missing ones from home, but they were all business-related, as far as she could tell. The file cabinet was locked. “That’s Lisa’s doing,” Carol said. “She gets very officious because he’s the CEO.”

That was that, Tara realized. She’d learned nothing useful, except that Joseph had likely locked down Faye’s computer. On to the next part of her plan...where she hoped for more luck.





CHAPTER TEN



TARA REACHED THE TOP of the stairs to the conference room just as the elevator doors opened and out stepped...

“Dylan!” Heat bloomed in her face at how glad she was to see him. “What are you doing here?”

He raised the stack of stapled pages he held. “I’m on the agenda. You?”

“Popping in to meet the managers, maybe get a tour.”

“You mean snoop around?” he whispered behind his hand.

“We call it observing workplace dynamics, but, okay, snooping.”

“It’s nice to see you,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her with appreciation. “You look good. Very professional...and...good. Very good.”

“Thanks.” She’d worn a conservative gray suit and white silk blouse, but Dylan looked her over like she about to do a striptease around a pole. Her face had to be bright red. She felt feverish. “Thanks for dinner last night.”

“Yeah. It was fun.”

“Fun. Yes. It was that.” And so much more. She flashed on the kiss, the fire in his eyes. She’d felt so alive, so desired, so—

“We should go in,” he said, breaking the gaze.

“We should. Will I make you nervous if I sit in on your remarks?”

“You’ll make me nervous, but not about my remarks.” He ran his eyes down her body again, sending sparks everywhere his gaze landed, then leaned past her to hold the door open.

Everyone at the conference table—all men but one, Tara noticed—looked up as they entered. A second woman sat away from the table typing in a laptop. Lisa the secretary, she assumed.

“Tara!” Joseph lurched to his feet, looking alarmed.

“I stopped in for that tour,” she said. “I wanted to say hello. I ran into Dylan in the hall.”

Joseph smiled queasily. “Everyone, this is Tara Wharton, Faye’s sister.” He stopped, as if that was it.

“Could you introduce me?” she asked politely.

He sighed, resigned to the delay, then went around the table, giving names and titles, ending with Miriam Zeller, the Human Resources manager. “Miriam gives the tours. Miriam, would you mind?”

“Of course.” Miriam rose, smiling in her direction.

“Let’s wait until the lunch break,” Tara said. “I’ll sit in, if that’s okay.”

Joseph clearly wanted her gone. “We’ve arranged for Mr. Ryland to speak to us, so we really should—”

“I’m happy to have her listen in,” Dylan said, backing Tara’s play. “Maybe you could pass these out?” He held out the stack of paper to her, his eyes twinkling in conspiracy.