Home At Last Chance (Last Chance #2)(38)
Author: Hope Ramsay

Onetime flings were supposed to sneak out in the wee hours. They were not supposed to hang around in the morning.

How on earth was she going to get Tulane out of the apartment before Dad ate him for lunch?

Tulane stepped into his jeans and cursed. He needed the intrusion of a preacher like he needed a hole in the head. He’d had all these plans to drive to Dunkin’ Donuts and Walgreens and bring back coffee and food and condoms. And then awaken Sarah with breakfast in bed.

He didn’t need the sudden, unexplained appearance of the God Squad. He was buckling his belt when Sarah slipped through the door.

She looked like a little mouse caught in a trap. What the heck was going on?

“Who was that?” Tulane asked, his voice telegraphing his annoyance at having his romantic plans interrupted. “I hope it was just someone collecting for the widows and orphans. I mean, the last person on the face of the planet I expected to see this morning was a preacher.”

Her warm hazel eyes filled with unshed tears and Tulane went on guard. “What is it, honey? Something bad?”

“Um…” A tear leaked out the corner of her eye. Damn, this was not going well.

“Hey, honey, it’s okay.” He pulled her into a hug. She felt warm against him, and she smelled sexy as hell. He wanted to hold her there forever.

She pulled away before he was ready to let her go. “The man in the living room isn’t exactly a stranger.”

Wariness prickled his skin. “No?” he asked carefully.

“Uh… no. You see… um…” Her jaw tightened.

“Spit it out, honey.”

She tried to unclench her jaws. “Well, you know how your father’s occupation embarrasses you?”

Adrenaline hit his bloodstream. Oh, holy crap. This wasn’t happening. “Are you telling me that man is your daddy?” Tulane managed to say around the knot in his throat.

She nodded.

“Sarah, you told me he was a bull rider. You lied to me.”

“He was a bull rider, once,” she whispered. “I don’t think I ever told you his occupation.”

“Why not?” Anger started to boil in his gut.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was an issue. I never planned for you to meet him. Ever.”

His fists balled up. “You never meant for me to meet him?”

“No. Why would I? Tulane, this is not a serious thing between us, you know. And well, Dad can be kind of straitlaced.”

All Tulane’s plans for the morning went up in smoke. He was a class-A fool. “Shit.”

Her eyes widened just a little bit. “Look, Tulane, I’m a grown-up woman. You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves. We set very clear ground rules. And besides, if I’d told you the truth, you wouldn’t have come up here last night. Would you?”

“No,” Tulane said through the haze of anger. Why did he feel so used? “I reckon I can understand that, especially when all you wanted was to go out slumming with a bad boy.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Uh, well, that’s kind of true, but—”

“I had a good time, Sarah,” he said as he headed for the bedroom door. “I hope I taught you what you needed to know. But I swear, all that crap about how I should be honest about my daddy while you were lying about yours? Honey, that was not nice.”

Sarah’s daddy hovered in the living room like a bird of prey. The man even resembled a bird, with his dark eyes, bushy brown eyebrows, and hawkish nose. There wasn’t a soft thing about him.

This was not your ordinary Boston patriot or preacher of the Word. In fact, on closer inspection, the man seemed more Wyoming bull rider. Thank goodness he didn’t have a shotgun like Old Man Nelson that time.

Nope, he did not look like a preacher, but then appearances could be deceiving. Sarah, it turned out, was hardly a nice girl.

Well, the joke was on Tulane, wasn’t it? He didn’t really know Sarah after all. How could he be falling in love with a woman he didn’t even know?

That scared the crap out of him. He needed to hit the brakes. Hard.

The minister put out his hand as if he expected Tulane to shake it. “Thomas Murray,” he said.

Tulane shook the preacher’s hand. Sarah’s father had a firm and honest grip. “Tulane Rhodes.”

Tulane sidled toward the door. “I’m… uh… sorry I don’t have time to visit, but—”

“Hold on one second there, son. You aren’t getting away that easy.”

Damn. “No, sir.”

“You can call me Tom.”

“Tom.”

“Have a seat.” Tom gestured toward the couch.

“No, sir, I think I’d rather stand.”

An enigmatic smile crossed Tom’s face. “Well then, I’ll be brief.”

“That would be appreciated.”

“I’ll bet. Just one question.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What, precisely, are your intentions toward my daughter?”

Tulane let go of a bark of laughter.

Tom gave him a strange look. “Son, I don’t think that was a funny question.”

Tulane sucked it up. “Ah, no, sir, it wasn’t. Look, I like your daughter. A lot. But Sarah just made it clear to me that she’s not serious about what happened last night.”

“She’s not?”

“No, sir, she’s not. She was just looking for a bad-boy experience, and it’s amazing how often I get nominated to play that role. So, if ya’ll don’t mind, I’ll just be leaving you two to catch up on old times.”

And with that, Tulane turned and ran from the apartment like it was a house afire.

Chapter 18

At eight o’clock on Friday morning, Steve Phelps straightened his tie and made a quick assessment of himself in the mirror of the National Brands executive washroom. He looked cool, competent, and in control.

He squared his shoulders and headed off toward David Ahearn’s office. The summons to the CEO’s office was not entirely unexpected.

Steve stepped into the executive suite and was ushered into the inner sanctum, an area on the seventieth floor that commanded an amazing view of midtown Manhattan.

The old man stood up and smiled a cadaverous smile. Boy, the guy needed to give it a break and spend some time on the golf course. He looked like a bald troll, with a pair of reading glasses perched on his forehead, held up by a pair of dark, bushy eyebrows.

“Steve, please, sit, I have something difficult I need to speak with you about.” Ahearn gestured toward a genuine black leather Bauhaus chair.

Steve sat. The chair was surprisingly uncomfortable. No doubt that’s why Ahearn’s interior designer had put it there.

The CEO of National Brands took his seat behind a chrome-and-glass desk the size of an aircraft carrier. He leaned back in his chair.

“Steve, we have a problem.”

“Sir?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of this negotiation Deidre has been involved with.”

“With Penny Farthing Productions?”

“Yes. I’d like to know what you think about it.”

Steve clamped down on the smile that wanted to come out. This was not the time to gloat. “Well, I don’t know much about it, David. Deidre has been pretty tight-lipped about things. I gather the negotiation is at a delicate phase. That Arnold Simons blog had Deidre in a total snit on Monday, I can tell you that. She’s been acting a little erratically, if you want to know. I figure it must be stress.”

“Well, that article was a valid concern. But I don’t think it was entirely accurate. It seemed to be based in large part on a bunch of local gossip. Besides, Rhodes has an amazingly positive image with our core customer. That blog hasn’t dented his positives.”

“Exactly my point, sir. Deidre made a mountain out of what was basically a molehill.”

“So what do you think about this idea to change the Cottontail Disposables logo?” Ahearn asked.

“It’s something of a gamble, isn’t it? And it’s not as if we haven’t been gaining market share in the disposables sector. Have you seen the mail we’ve been getting about those baby-changing races?”

“Yes, I have. Very positive. Rhodes may be eccentric, but apparently he has a real touch with the kiddies.” David’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t exactly smile. “Which brings me to why I asked you up here so early. Your ideas for the baby-changing races and the entire Cuppa Java campaign have caught just about everyone’s attention. We’re very pleased.”

“Thanks.”

“So I need you to take on a difficult and sensitive assignment.”

The CEO leaned forward and picked up a small stack of papers stapled at the corner. “Someone in the research department…” He wiggled his eyebrows, and his glasses fell down onto his nose. He leaned back in his chair again and tilted his head to read the name on the memo. “A person named Sarah Murray. You know her?” He looked up from the papers.

“Yes, I do. She’s a competent researcher.”

“Well, Sarah Murray from the research department has written a very interesting memo. Unfortunately, she e-mailed it to the entire Board. The Board is not used to getting e-mails from the research department. That’s not exactly how we do things around here, you know?”

“I understand. Do you want me to fire her? She’s in—”

Ahearn threw up a hand. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t fire this woman. I think she probably needs a promotion. I gather she’s in South Carolina serving as sponsor liaison to Ferguson Racing.”

“She is. That was Deidre’s idea.”

“I see.”

“To be honest, David, I don’t think Sarah is all that happy living in South Carolina.”

“Of course she isn’t. Who would be? And I’m sure that explains her memo, which, I might add, is very insightful.”

“What memo is that, sir? I don’t think she copied me on it.”

Ahearn looked over the tops of his reading glasses. “No? Hmmm. She’s playing a very high-stakes game, isn’t she? I like a person who does that. Deidre is much the same way. Unfortunately, this researcher has not learned the finer points of how the game is played, I think. It’s an excellent memo, but it has not made me a happy man.”

“Sir, what exactly has Sarah done?” Steve played the innocent.

Ahearn leaned forward, handing Steve the papers he’d been waving around. Steve took the papers, looked down at them, and pretended to study them. He knew exactly what was in that memo. It had Sarah’s name on it, and it had been sent from Sarah’s old workstation in the research department, but Sarah had not written the memo.

Steve finally looked up. “This is terrible,” he said.

“Yes, it is. And unfortunately the entire Board knows about it. And that’s bad. I can only assume that this researcher has a serious bone to pick with Deidre.”

“It would appear so.” Steve nodded his head like a good yes-man.

Ahearn continued, “And you know, if her research wasn’t so good, I would have this Sarah Murray woman fired on the spot. But unfortunately, everything in that memo has been verified. It paints a very unflattering picture.”