Leigh Michaels - The Takeover Bid

More likely, she thought, it was because habit and inertia suggested that staying in a job she’d grown used to was less risky than venturing out into the world to chase a wild dream. But if the price was good enough…

“How much are you offering?” she countered.

“I’m not.”

Melanie was annoyed that she’d let herself consider the possibility, even briefly. There was nothing to be gained by yearning over aspirations which were long gone. “Then what’s the point in having this conversation?” She glanced at the old-fashioned clock mounted high on the wall. “I have work to do, Wyatt. I’ll see you in a month.”

He frowned. “A month?”

“To settle up,” she said impatiently. “Jackson and I have—had—a pretty straightforward agreement. Once a month, I pay the bills and write the employees’ checks. Then I take whatever’s left and split it, half to each owner. Since he just picked up his check last night, the next one’s not due for thirty days.”

Wyatt was looking at her as if she’d snatched his brand-new wad of bubble gum.

“I see he also didn’t tell you that he’d already collected this month’s dividend.” Melanie shook her head, feigning sadness. “You really don’t know Jackson as well as you thought, do you?” The phone rang again and she reached for it. “When you leave, close the door behind you, please.”

It was past noon when Melanie came out of her office, looking for coffee and an aspirin. She had to squeeze past the jutting tail-fin of a red Cadillac, and she wondered how on earth Robbie had managed to maneuver the car into a showroom that was approximately six inches wider than the car itself was. She was mildly relieved that she hadn’t been there to watch.

The coffeepot was gone. The machine was still there, but the carafe to hold the brewed coffee had disappeared.

She growled and headed for the shop to raid the first-aid kit and the soda machine. But when she opened the door between showroom and shop, the mingled scents of engine exhaust, motor oil, and pepperoni almost knocked her over.

Three bays down, Robbie’s guys had spread pizza boxes across the hood of an old Nash and pulled up stools, ladders, and odd parts to serve as chairs. Robbie’s guys—and Wyatt. He was sitting atop a barrel which had once held clean rags, pouring coffee from the missing carafe.

“What are you doing out here?” Melanie demanded.

“Having lunch,” Wyatt said. “We’d have invited you, but you said you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“You know perfectly well I’m not asking about the pizza. Why are you still here?”

“I’m getting acquainted with the employees. Finding out about the business. Waiting for your lawyer to call back and tell you that you can’t throw me out or void Jackson’s deal.”

“How did you—” She stopped herself, but it took a mighty effort.

“So you did try,” Wyatt said.

Melanie decided not to dignify that with a comment. “I said I’d see you next month.”

“That may have been the agreement you had with Jackson, but I don’t happen to be the silent partner type.”

“I’m getting the picture.”

Robbie cleared his throat. “Time to get back to work, guys.”

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt the male bonding process.” Melanie opened the wall-mounted first-aid kit and tore open a packet of aspirin. “If you can spare a cup of coffee, though…”

Wyatt filled a paper cup and handed it to her.

Melanie stared doubtfully at the cup. “You’re sure this is coffee? It looks like ink.” She took a tentative sip and winced.

“If that’s all you’re having for lunch, no wonder you’re so hard to deal with.”

“I am not hard to deal—”

“Let’s talk about it in private.” Wyatt picked up one of the cardboard rounds from a pizza box and chose three slices from the various leftovers.

One of the guys whispered to another, “A buck says he talks her around.”

Robbie glared at him. “No betting on the premises, Karl.”

Melanie led the way back to the office. Scruff sat up in his basket and begged, and Wyatt pulled a scrap of ground beef off the pizza and tossed it to him. He set the makeshift plate on her blotter and perched on the corner of the desk.

Melanie walked around behind it and claimed her chair. She’d better, she figured, or he’d have his name engraved in the back before sundown. “I’m amazed you’re still here. Surely you have other interests which require your attention.”

“Not today. Now that you’ve had some time to think about it, Melanie…”

“What’s to think about? It appears I’m stuck with you.” She sat down. “You’re right about the attorney, by the way. He read me a lecture about not getting a partnership contract drawn up a long time ago, but since Jackson and I have never agreed to any specifics about how to split up the business, he’s perfectly free to sell his half to the first chump who comes along. Sorry—I meant, he’s free to sell it to anybody he chooses.”

“Thank you for telling me that.”

“Why?” Melanie asked dryly. “Because it saved you the trouble of paying your own lawyer?”

“You could have strung me along.”

“Would it have done me any good to try?” She picked a piece of pepperoni off the pizza and munched it absently.

“None at all. But your being honest makes things a little easier. Look, Melanie, this is the way it shapes up. You don’t want me as a partner, but you can’t afford to buy me out.”

“That’s about the size of it. And you don’t want me as a partner—”

“And I don’t want to buy you out. Which leaves both of us in a pickle.”

She fiddled with a strand of cheese. “Are you summarizing for the fun of wallowing in pain, or do you have a plan for what we can do about it?”

Wyatt looked down at her, his eyes almost hooded. “We look for another buyer—and sell the whole thing.”

“Easier to say than to do. Have you got any idea how long Jackson’s been trying to sell out? Besides, I never told you I wanted to sell.”

“Not in so many words, no,” he agreed. “And of course I can’t force you to. But the alternative is that you keep your share and I look for a buyer for my half.”

Melanie shrugged. “Go ahead. I don’t see that I’d be any worse off.”

“Are you certain of that? You just pointed out yourself that without a signed agreement on how to handle a breakup, there’s nothing preventing me from selling it to the first—how did you put it? Oh, yes—the first chump who comes along.”

Melanie shook her head. “Nobody’s going to buy it unless they’re interested in old cars. Well, it’s true you did, but even you have to admit you’re not the average guy running around acquiring businesses.”

“I wondered if you’d think of that. Your next partner might actually be the hands-on type.”

“And even more trouble to have around than you are? That’s hard to believe.” He was right, however, and Melanie knew it. She’d thought Jackson was the world’s worst partner because he hadn’t been involved in the business. Now she was feeling nostalgic for the good old days. “Anyway, your chump will need to have half a million dollars to spend, too. The combination cuts the field down quite remarkably, I’d say.”

“I never told you what I paid for my share. And I never said what I’d sell it for.”

Melanie bit her lip.

“If I don’t find a buyer soon,” Wyatt went on, “I might even cut my losses entirely and give my share to the state prison system.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s a natural. Some of those guys are already experienced at stripping cars down for parts. Of course they’d have to get used to the idea of buying the cars first, but I feel sure that you—as their partner—could persuade them to adjust.”