Mary Anne Wilson - Winning Sara's Heart

Martin’s phone rang as E. J. got out, and then the attorney was beside him on the sidewalk, holding up a hand to get E.J’s attention. Martin frowned but didn’t say anything as he listened to the caller. “Oh, for—” Martin finally muttered, his words stopping abruptly as he listened some more. “This stinks. It’s not what we signed on for. I’ll be right up,” he said, and flipped his phone shut.

“What’s going on?” E. J. asked.

“That was Ford. He just found out the deal leaked and the word is on the street. It’s making the rounds.”

E. J. had actually liked what he’d heard of Ford. When they’d spoken, E. J. got the sense that Ford stood by his word. Had he been mistaken? “What happened?”

“He doesn’t know, but it’s out and the sharks are circling. It’s just what you thought. They’re seeing it as a weakness in the structure, and they’re going for blood.” He motioned to the building. “It’s not going to be pretty, but we need to get this done. Come on.”

Suddenly a child screamed and E. J. flinched at the piercing sound. He glanced to his left and saw a harried-looking young woman in jeans and a loose T-shirt trying to carry a squirming toddler toward the entrance to the building. “Hush, Walker, Mommy’s inside. I promise.”

The little boy, with wispy blond hair and a good set of lungs, let out another ear-piercing scream. “Hush, hush, hush,” the woman kept saying as she hurried into the lobby of the LynTech building.

“Sorry, sir,” the security man said. “He’s going to the day-care center inside. Those kids can be a handful,” he said with a shake of his head. “Sure glad I don’t have any.” Then he realized he might have been out of line and backtracked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that kids are bad or anything. I mean, you each probably have lovely children.”

“Two girls,” Martin said as he glanced at the closed entry doors. “You say they’ve got a day-care center in there?”

“Yes, sir. Have for a while now, but I never thought kids should be around business stuff. Just my opinion.”

E. J. didn’t care about the kids or why a corporation like LynTech would even have children on the premises. He sure as hell didn’t want to talk about them or where they should be. Kids didn’t matter to him. He didn’t care if LynTech had a high school tucked away in the building. What he cared about was a rotten deal, and he didn’t want any part of what was waiting for them on the top floor.

“Call Ford back and tell him we’re on our way back to Dallas.” He wanted complications out of his life. But that wasn’t going to happen here and now. “We’re cutting our losses and getting out of town.”

Martin didn’t move. “We can’t just walk away without a face-to-face.”

“Ford and Holden both promised it was going to be closed, that we wouldn’t have to go public with the negotiations.”

Martin shook his head. “E. J., in business you have to see things through to the end. You need to tell them—”

“You go and see them if you want to. See what the hell happened, but I’m leaving it.” Frustration was growing in him, along with impatience. He turned to the security man, who was trying to pretend that he wasn’t listening to their conversation. “Where’s the nearest place to get a drink?”

“Coffee?” he asked.

When E. J. nodded the man said, “Over there, in the Lennox Building,” he said, motioning to the structure south of LynTech. “They just put in a sort of bar and restaurant on the ground level. Everyone’s been saying it’s good. Just inside the main doors to the left.”

E. J. glanced at a twin to the LynTech Building, all glass and steel with a sweeping entry and the name Lennox carved into a heavy slab of marble used as a cross support over the doors. He turned to Martin. “Give me some cash?”

Martin tucked the phone back in a side pocket of his briefcase, then reached for his wallet. “I wish you’d carry cash, E. J. Do you know how much more bookkeeping I have to do to account for the dribs and drabs you take off me?” he muttered, then looked up at E. J. as he opened his wallet and held it out to him. “Why don’t you just take what you need?”

E. J. took a few bills, then said, “Put it on my tab.”

“Of course,” Martin murmured as he tucked his wallet back in his pocket. “So, you’re not coming up with me?”

“No, just let me know when you’re ready to head back to Dallas. I’ll be at the bar.”

Martin nodded, then headed into LynTech.

“Can my driver stay where he is?” he asked the security man.

“Sure, no problem.”

“We should be out of here soon,” he said, and was a bit surprised that he felt so let down as he headed toward the next building. He approached the glass doors and caught a flash of his image in the expansive surface. Six feet tall, lean, wearing casual clothes, he didn’t look like a company president, not even like an average businessman. At thirty-nine, he was too old to start wearing pin-striped suits and wing-tipped oxfords, and getting razor haircuts.

His brown, sun-streaked hair was a bit too long, a bit too unstyled, and it swept back from a face that was a bit too angular and showed his aversion to shaving, with the shadow of a day-old beard at his strong jaw. He realized he needed that drink, but coffee would have to do.

He hit the door with the heel of his hand and stepped into a vast reception foyer. Glass, marble, wood and plants were everywhere. He glanced at a massive information desk to the right, set on a highly polished marble floor.

E. J. caught a hint of brewing coffee in the air and spotted the restaurant entrance. Between two immaculately trimmed topiary plants in brass pots, a frosted-glass wood door was labeled in gold-leaf script. The Lennox Café. He crossed to it, pushed it back and stepped inside. The cold marble and the glass and steel from outside were replaced by plush burgundy carpeting, polished wood and brass, accented with crystal and mirrors.

There was only one customer at the bar and two customers in the restaurant. The man at the bar was reading from his Palm Pilot while nursing a drink, and the other two men were at a round table near tinted windows, talking business with open briefcases in front of them along with drinks.

A slender blond waitress glanced in his direction while she juggled a tray laden with food. Her startling aquamarine eyes dominated a finely boned face that was slightly flushed. “Someone will be right with you,” she said in a breathless voice, then headed into the restaurant.

She moved quickly, weaving her way through the empty room, approaching the customers. At the same moment she got to the table, one of the two men pushed his chair back, stood and turned, running right into the waitress. The peace was shattered by the crashing sound of impact, falling food and dishes, a startled scream that probably came from the waitress and a jarring expletive that obviously came from the customer.

As if everything had shifted to slow motion, E. J. saw the waitress jerk backward and fall out of sight behind the nearest table. The customer took the full brunt of flying food, and a plate bounced off his shoulder before shattering as it hit the edge of the table. A small man, totally bald, with a dark goatee and wearing a somber black suit, rushed toward the table.

The customer stood there, covered with pieces of food and drenched with what had to have been coffee, while his friend, still seated at the table, hurriedly rescued papers and checked them before putting them back in his briefcase. None of the three men gave the waitress more than a cursory glance as she struggled to her feet, her face crimson and her pale hair falling loose in a tangle around her shoulders.