Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(4)

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 lawyers. 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?”