Past Midnight (28 page)

“Yo,” Fred from shipping yelped at her a moment later.

“The packing lists are ready to print.”

“Cool.”

She clicked off, then hit another button. Bree’s phone rang next door, and when she picked up, Erin got her voice in stereo. “Yes, Erin, what can I do for you?”

“Invoices are ready to print. They need to go out today.”

“Sure.”

Erin clicked off again. The packing lists would go with the equipment, the invoices separately. She’d tried sending them together, but invariably receiving lost the invoices or never bothered to send them to accounts payable.

She sat back, listening to the rain a moment. It was almost peaceful. Even Dominic was too busy playing with the computer geek to bother her.

Last night he’d holed himself up in his lab at home, enraptured with his computer screen. That was fine with her. That way he wasn’t asking her what was wrong. Of course, she could have said it was the patent, the cash, the year-end, any number of work things.

But it was Shane. Not Shane per se, but what Shane represented, a man Dominic wanted to watch her have sex with. Later, she’d lain awake. Did that mean Dominic didn’t want her anymore, didn’t love her? Hell, did the fact that she was actually turned on by whole idea mean she didn’t love him?

She’d spent the sleepless parts of the night thinking about sex, Dominic, and Shane, and somewhere toward morning, she’d experienced a sudden stab of guilt. She’d forgotten to think about Jay.

The outer door opened. She couldn’t imagine who it was. Deliveries were made in receiving, and it was way too early for the mail.

She leaned over her desk to look out.

A courier wearing a white baseball cap. “Erin DeKnight?”

“That’s me.” Rising, she rounded the end of her desk and met him halfway across the roundhouse.

“Sign here.” He passed her a clipboard.

She did, then he handed her a registered letter. Her heart started to beat wildly. The return address was WEU. A registered letter from WEU. Oh God, WEU was taking them to court over the damn royalties. She wanted to scream. Everything just kept going downhill.

Back in her office, her heart pounded more loudly than the rain beating against the window. Her hands shook as she tore the envelope. She scanned the letter, and one sentence stood out . . .

“We’d like to meet to make a formal offer to buy out DeKnight Gauges, Inc., and, frankly, we don’t think you can refuse.”

WEU WANTED TO
BUY
THEM? WHAT THE HELL FOR?

Erin snorted. They hadn’t reacted to the royalty demand, and WEU wanted to get them one way or another. Dropping into her chair, she read the letter again with more focus. They were willing to discuss having Dominic and Erin stay on to run the company, a separate division of WEU. Of course, the royalty issue would be null. Nothing would have to change except the paperwork; they could go on the same as before, yadda, yadda. What a crock. You let a big company in, everything changed. You were forced to adhere to their company policies, then all of a sudden they were siphoning off your profits. It was a scam.

One line grabbed her, flashing at her like neon. “Due to your difficult cash position, we know the relief you will feel having the patent issue off the table.”

Their difficult cash position? How would WEU know
anything
about their cash? They made payroll, paid their bills on time, and had no outstanding debt. She managed the cash scrupulously. WEU was having the cash problem. They were stretching out Leon’s payment terms. So what the hell were they talking about?

She glanced at the signature on the letter. Their CEO, Mr. Garland Brooks. DKG was a very small fish in the pond WEU ruled. In fact, to them, DKG was pond scum. Except for the market share WEU had lost to them on the through-coat gauge.

But how would WEU have any clue about their cash position? Unless someone at DKG told them.

A queasiness started in her belly, spread up through her torso, then into her throat, choking her. Bree had been acting strangely. Yvonne had noticed it. Rachel had seen it. Even Erin agreed that something was bothering her.

Bree wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t.

Erin clenched her teeth. But look at the timing of the offer. Year-end. Which was always harder because companies put off purchases and decision making until the new year and a new budget. Year-end and the holidays. The holidays, which was the hardest time of year for Erin personally.

The letter actually shook in her hand, its crackle and rustle filling the office.

What if someone had told Garland Brooks this was the perfect time to hit them with the royalty demand, then follow it up with an offer, a mere pittance of what DKG was worth, to buy them out when their defenses were low?

A threat? Why would he phrase it that way unless he knew something, unless someone at DKG had betrayed her?

Maybe, if Bree hadn’t suddenly appeared in her office door, Erin would have controlled herself, thought about it first, talked to Dominic, considered it all rationally. Maybe she could have controlled her emotions the way she so scrupulously controlled them with Dominic so she didn’t bite his head off.

But Bree was there, holding a stack of envelopes, the invoices. “Erin—”

Erin didn’t let her finish. “Shut the door, and sit down.”

Bree’s face blanched. “Sure, Erin.” She closed the door and sat.

As if her anger had been bubbling beneath the surface for days, weeks, her emotions were suddenly so high there was nothing except the letter in her hand and the woman in that chair. Erin rose, rounded her desk and stood over Bree. Her skin was hot, her voice cold. “How did WEU know our sales numbers?”

Bree’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”

“WEU. How do they know the through-coat sales? How do they know about our cash position?” Erin took one step closer, glaring down at Bree, her breath like glass in her throat. “Only you and I know about that.”

“I didn’t tell them.” Bree’s lip trembled.

“Then why have you been acting so secretively?” she snapped. “Yvonne saw it. I saw it. I offered you the opportunity to come clean the other day and you just stood there and said nothing was wrong.”

Bree perched on the edge of the chair, her hands clasped. “It’s not about WEU. It has nothing to do with work at all.”

Erin was so angry, she shook the letter before she could physically strike out. “Then what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Bree stared at her, her cheeks two spots of bright red in her otherwise white face, her pupils so wide, Erin could see herself in them. “I—I—” she stammered.

“You what?” Erin spat out. Her vision was red-rimmed, her chest so clogged with emotion, she scared herself.

Bree shifted her eyes, and her body rocked with tension. She dropped her voice to little more than a whisper. “My—my father’s dying of cancer and my mom wants me to come home and help her take care of him. And I’d rather die than do it.”

Bree’s words smacked her in the face and drove her backward. Erin stumbled two steps, clutching the letter to her chest. A tear trembled on Bree’s eyelash but didn’t fall. It simply seemed to get sucked back inside.

“Oh,” was all Erin could manage.

“My mom wants me to ask you for time off, but I didn’t want you to think I was a terrible person because I—I
can’t
do it.”

Erin swallowed. Oh my God. She didn’t have any words. What could she say anyway? She’d yelled at Bree, accused her. And the woman’s father was dying.

She said things when she was angry. She always regretted them, but only when it was too late. Just like she had with Jay.

Oh God, what had she done? What had she said? What was wrong with her? She could only stand there, trembling, hearing her anger, her own voice, shouting at Bree, screaming at Jay.
God forgive me. Please forgive me.
She was always begging, but saying awful things anyway.

Erin cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.” She owed Bree more than that. “I don’t know what came over me. I got this letter, and I just freaked out.” It wasn’t even a good explanation. It was just a pitiful excuse. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Bree said softly. Color was returning to her face.

“It’s
not
okay.” Erin struggled to breathe. “What I did was unforgivable.”

Bree blinked. “You just asked me a couple of questions.”

“I said
fuck
.” It was the least of what she’d said.

Bree stared up at her. “I’ve heard worse,” she said almost calmly. “It’s not a big deal. I was just worried that I’d done something wrong. And if I’d told you when you asked me the other day, then I wouldn’t have seemed so suspicious.”

Erin came down off the adrenaline high, suddenly drained. Shuffling behind her desk, she collapsed into her chair. “I don’t deserve your excuses. I was wrong. I don’t know what came over me.” She apologized to Bree the way she never could to her son. It would never be enough. “And you can have all the time off you need to take care of your dad. I’m so sorry he’s ill.” So sorry he’s dying.

“Thank you.”

There was the other thing Bree had said, too. “I don’t think badly of you for being ambivalent about taking care of him.” Erin drew in a breath, forced the words out. “Dealing with death is hard.”

Erin should know, she hadn’t dealt with it at all. She wouldn’t even let Dominic say Jay’s name. She couldn’t say it now either, not even when Bree needed her empathy.

“Please forgive me,” Erin whispered. She should have said it to Jay. To her husband. But she couldn’t. She would have had to tell Dominic what she’d done, the things she’d said.

“It’s okay, Erin. Honestly. I’m over it now. And I’m glad you made me tell you because I feel a lot better. Really.” Bree rubbed her hands on her pants as if her palms were sweaty.

“You’re not a terrible person for having feelings you don’t know what to do with.” Erin wished she could say the same thing for herself. But she
was
to blame.

Bree suddenly waved the stack of envelopes. “I was just going to let you know everything’s ready to mail. I ran them all through the mail machine.”

“Thank you.” Erin paused. “I really am sorry, Bree.”

Bree stood. She was statuesque, lovely, but there was still a shadow in her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Erin stopped apologizing. She couldn’t fix it anyway. “If you need to talk, my door’s always open.” Erin didn’t think Bree would use it, especially not after what she’d just done to her.

For a long moment after Bree left her office, Erin stared at WEU’s letter.

She’d been so good controlling herself the past few days, hardly snapping at Dominic, sounding like a reasonable person, even having a lovely time with him up in Napa, seeing Shane in the coffeehouse notwithstanding. Then she’d completely lost it with Bree. She closed her eyes. God.

More than anything in the world, she wanted to pick up the phone and call Garland Brooks.
Yes, please, take it all. Take everything. I don’t even care how much you pay for it. I’m so tired, I just want it all to go away.

 

 

“HOW DID IT GO WITH AL? DID HE FIND ANYTHING?” SEATED AT THE kitchen table, Erin’s voice was neutral, not enthusiastic but not tuning him out either. A case of mild interest.

They’d let everyone go after lunch. All the shipping that could be done had been, the invoices were in the mail; there was nothing else to be done this year. Erin had remained in her office the rest of the afternoon checking and rechecking the rates, routings, and raw materials before the standard cost roll. Dominic spent the afternoon working with Al.

“Nothing yet,” Dominic said as he opened the pizza box he’d set on the kitchen counter. “The computers all checked out. He’s going to work the logs over the weekend.”

“Doesn’t he have a life?”

He was surprised she hadn’t asked if he’d be paying Al holiday rates. “It’s a puzzle. He wants to figure it out.”

She waited for him to put her pizza in front of her. He’d offered to get the takeout on his way home. She hadn’t protested. She’d been listless with a “whatever you want, I don’t care” attitude. He’d gotten half combination and half Hawaiian because she didn’t like so much sausage and pepperoni.

Jay had taken after both of them, wanting a slice of each.

Jesus. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten pizza.

The silence was loud in the kitchen. He didn’t ask her what was wrong. She wouldn’t tell him. Instead, he hitched his hip and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolding and sliding it across the table.

“What’s this?” She didn’t bother to read it for herself.

“Train tickets.” They were will call.

“For where?”

“Reno. I want to ring in the New Year up there.” It had taken him hours on the Internet over the last two days to come up with the idea. He’d gotten them tickets to a New Year’s party at one of the big casinos, two nights’ accommodations included.

She closed her eyes a moment, swallowed, then opened them again and looked straight at him. “Okay. That sounds like fun.” Her voice was so flat, it was scary.

She didn’t protest, didn’t ask why the train, why Reno, nothing. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t total acquiescence.

“It’s supposed to snow tomorrow, and driving over Highway 80”—which was the fastest route through the Sierra Nevadas to Reno—“would have been a bitch. So I picked the train.”

“That was a good choice.” She rose. “Do you want another piece?” she asked, though he still had a full one on his plate.

“No, I’m fine.” He didn’t trust her politeness. Something was going on in that mind of hers. She was pissed . . . or remembering stuff. Just as the pizza had reminded him.

But all she did was come back with another slice of Hawaiian. “Is it a fancy party? Should I bring the dress you bought me in Napa?”