Текст книги "Crazy Ever After"
Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Samara set the shoes on the carpet. “What will you wear?” Damn, the words popped out before she could stop them.
“I have a little suit,” Mom said. “It has short sleeves so I think it will be okay, even in the heat.” She hesitated. “Come and see it. I don’t think I need a blouse under it, but come and tell me what you think.”
Samara followed her mother into her bedroom down the hall. Her parents’ bedroom. Now her mother’s bedroom. Mom crossed to the large walk-in closet Samara had loved as a kid. Her gaze brushed over the men’s clothes hanging along one wall, suits and dress shirts, golf shirts and khaki pants. Her throat squeezed, and her mouth trembled.
“This is it.” Mom pulled a suit out from among many garments and held it up. “If I wear a blouse, I can take the jacket off if I get too warm. What do you think?’
Samara liked the suit. It was so cute. “Is it Michael Kors? “
“Yes. I got it at that new little shop I was telling you about it, just a few weeks ago.” She sighed, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “I never dreamed I’d be wearing it to Parker’s funeral.” Her features drew down into such sad lines Samara’s heart gave a little bump.
Her mom had loved her dad. That was obvious. And confusing. Samara had always wondered how her parents had dealt with what had happened, how they’d stayed together. Questions hovered on her lips, but she didn’t utter them. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I think it would look better without a blouse.” A small ruffle edged the collar so it wasn’t revealing.
Mom nodded, her mouth quivering as she clearly tried to control her emotions. Well, that made two of them. “Okay. Thanks.”
Her own grief simmering just beneath the surface, Samara wanted out of there before she broke down and cried in sympathy with her mother.
She knew her mother had always enjoyed clothes, hell, they’d shopped together all the time. She’d never related her own love of fashion to her mother, but she supposed she had to reluctantly admit that her mom had, in fact, influenced her that way. Damn.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Is there anything else we need to do tonight?”
Her mom hung the suit in the closet. “I have some things to do. Ava was getting dishes and silverware ready for the party. I’m going to check on that and maybe arrange some of the flowers. Make sure we have enough ice. If you’re tired, you just go to bed, sweetheart; we’re going to have a busy few days.”
Samara nodded. “Okay. Good night.”
She returned to her own room and sank down on the bed. Bonding with her mother over clothes and shoes was not what she’d expected to happen on this trip.
* * *
Samara clamped down on the nervousness and trepidation coiled tight inside her and drove downtown to the offices of the Cedar Mill Coffee Company the next morning. When she emerged from the elevator on the eighteenth floor of the DeWitt Building, the receptionist sitting in the lobby was someone she didn’t know.
“Hi,” Samara greeted her, leaning on the blonde maple counter. “I’m Samara Hayden.”
The girl nodded, then her eyes widened as she made the connection. “Oh, Miss Hayden!” She blinked at her a few times. “Um...who are you here to see?”
“Nobody in particular.” Samara flashed her a small smile. “I’ll just go back to my father’s office.”
“Uh...okay.” The girl looked taken aback. “Should I call Paulette and let her know?”
“That’s okay.” Samara waved a hand as she headed to the door to the left of the reception desk. “I’ll find her.”
She breezed through the door and started down the carpeted hall, passing various offices on the way. She didn’t look inside because she didn’t want to attract more attention than she needed to. Next to her father’s office, located in the back corner, was Paulette’s own small office. Samara peeked in, but it was empty.
With a frown, she hesitated then turned the knob on the door to her father’s office. Pushing inside, she stopped at the sight of Paulette and Travis sitting at the round table in one corner of the spacious room. They both looked up at her and stopped talking.
An awkward silence expanded while they stared at her, and nerves fluttered in her tummy again. Taking a breath, she smiled. “Hi, Paulette.”
“Samara!” Paulette rose to her feet. Casting a sideways glance at Travis, she crossed the room and took Samara’s hands in hers.
Paulette was in her mid-forties. Her blonde hair was touched with grey, and no makeup adorned her round face. A pair of reading glasses perched on her nose, and her blue eyes held a somewhat stunned and sad expression. She’d worked for Samara’s dad for the last fifteen years. She had to be devastated by this too.
“What are you doing here?” Paulette asked. She glanced again at Travis, who had also stood up.
“I wanted to come and check on how everyone is here.” Samara ignored Travis.
Paulette squeezed her hands and then released them. “Oh, Samara. You don’t need to worry about it. Travis has things under control.”
That was the problem. Not that she didn’t trust Travis. Certainly he knew the business better than anybody besides her father. She trusted him; she just wanted to make sure that everything that needed to be done was getting done. She had no idea why she felt as though she needed to do this, but she did.
“I’m sure he does,” she murmured, flicking a glance his way. He stood there, head tipped to one side, hands in the pockets of his black dress pants, his shoulders wide in a crisp blue dress shirt, his face impassive. She turned back to Paulette. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, Paulette, but my father left his shares in the company to me, so I’ll be stepping into his role.”
Paulette’s eyes widened, and then she looked to Travis for direction, which irritated Samara.
“No, you’re not,” he said.
“Yes, I am.”
They stared each other down while Paulette looked from one to the other.
“Would you excuse us for a few minutes, Paulette?” Travis asked softly.
“Of course.” Paulette booked it out of there, moving as if a snarling beast was snapping at her ankles.
“What were you working on?” Samara asked, dropping her purse onto a chair.
“Nothing much. Paulette is canceling meetings and a trip scheduled for next month.”
Samara nodded. “Seriously. What can I do?”
Travis shook his head. “Samara, you really don’t need to be here. You can’t be in any state of mind to be thinking about the business.”
“I want to make sure that people know the business is safe,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, meeting his gaze. “It is safe, isn’t it?”
Travis hesitated. “Of course it’s safe. But losing a highly visible, charismatic CEO like your father does have potential impacts.”
“Like some of the partners might not want to continue to do business with us, without him there? Is that right?”
“Well...it’s possible. I don’t have any hints of that yet, but of course it’s too soon to tell.”
“What if I called them myself? Reassured them that—”
“I’m doing that, Samara,” he interrupted, his voice hard.
“But you...” She trailed off then tried again. “I’m family. That would carry some weight, wouldn’t it?”
He sighed. “Maybe. But, Samara, you don’t need to do this.”
Why didn’t he understand? She lifted her chin. “I want to, Travis.”
She dragged her gaze away from his look of frustration to study the office. It was just as she remembered, nothing particularly fancy. She wandered over to the big U-shaped desk unit in the corner and stood looking at the framed photographs of her and her mother sitting on one shelf, the computer sitting dark and silent, the various office supplies neatly arranged. Paulette must have tidied up in there because her father wasn’t known for being neat and organized. His desk was usually piled with papers, journals and magazines, even burlap bags of coffee beans.
She nibbled her bottom lip and turned back to face Travis.
“Why don’t you want me here?”
His eyes widened then narrowed. “What makes you think I don’t want you here?”
She laughed. “Come on, Travis. It’s as obvious as a hooker on 82nd Street.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want you here,” he continued patiently. “It’s just that you have enough on your plate right now.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first ten times you said that.”
“Then why aren’t you listening to me?” The words came out from between his clenched teeth.
“Travis.” This time her voice went softer, and she met his eyes. “Seriously. I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass. I really want to help.” She turned back to the neat-as-a-pin desk, walked around behind it, and sat in her father’s chair. She pushed the button on the computer to start booting it up.
“What are you doing?”
“Just going to look in his computer files.”
She glanced at Travis, at the muscle flicking in his tight jaw, almost expecting to see smoke coming out his ears.
“Okay,” he finally said, surprising her. “I’ll finish up with Paulette and see you at home later.”
He picked up some papers from the table and left the office, closing the door with a loud smack.
Samara sighed and watched the computer boot up. She really wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she had to start somewhere.
She logged onto her father’s computer but was halted by the need to enter a password. She nibbled her bottom lip, debating about trying a few options. Then she pushed back from the desk and went to find Paulette.
“Do you know Dad’s computer password?” she asked her.
Paulette gave her a long look, then said, “Yes. I have access to his computer.”
“Can I have the password?” Samara kept a smile in place.
“I should check with Travis...”
“No! You don’t have to check with him.” Samara’s hands curled into fists. “It’s fine, Paulette, you can give it to me.”
“Um. Okay.” She picked up a sticky note and jotted down a series of letters and numbers, then handed it to Samara. “That works for his email program too.”
“Thank you, Paulette.”
She spent the next hour clicking through various files and folders, reading documents, contracts, correspondence, soaking it all into her brain like a sponge. Sure, she didn’t have as much experience as Travis, but she wasn’t stupid. She understood the business, and it wasn’t hard for her to figure things out as she read through agreements and contracts with suppliers and other stakeholders.
When she went into her father’s emails though, she felt a little squirm of discomfort. Emails seemed more personal, more private. When she scrolled through his inbox, she was disturbed to see message after message from Travis, several different threads on various topics that they’d clearly been emailing back and forth about. In fact it looked like the majority of his email was from Travis.
So they had continued to have a relationship. Her brows tugged down into a frown. Had her father forgiven him for what he’d done? She stopped, hesitating to open the emails. Her father might be gone, but Travis was still very much here, and she felt guilty reading their correspondence. But how better to understand what they’d been working on together? She bit her bottom lip then straightened her shoulders and opened the most recent message.
Her eyes moved over the screen. They’d been communicating about the coffee organizations in Brazil and Guatemala. She read through the back and forth messages. Importing coffee was one of her father’s responsibilities while Travis oversaw the wholesale and retail operations from their L.A. office. And yet her dad had been discussing that recent deal in Brazil with Travis.
She clicked to another email. Same kind of thing, different topic. Some customs stuff, problems with grading. Another email was about Parker’s attempts to arrange a meeting with the CEO of Alpha Air about a partnership. She supposed Travis should be in the loop on things like that.
Then she found the email that told Travis Dad had succeeded in meeting with Duane Scanlon, the CEO of Alpha Air, and he’d fill him in on the meeting when he was back from Matagalpa.
Except he never came back. What had happened at that meeting? She would need to follow up on that.
Samara looked through more emails then shut down the computer. She grabbed the papers she’d used to scribble notes, folded them and stuffed them into her purse. Why hadn’t she thought to bring her laptop or a USB drive so she could save some stuff and look at it later? She shook her head. She wasn’t thinking completely clearly. Travis had been right about that, much as she hated to admit it.
She left the office, but paused to poke her head into Paulette’s. She was talking on the phone. Samara mouthed a goodbye and waved at her.
“Could you hold a moment, please?” Paulette beckoned Samara in. She pressed a button on the phone and lowered the receiver. “Are you leaving, Samara?”
“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Paulette nodded, her eyes sad.
Samara paused and sent Paulette a sympathetic smile. Damn. She wasn’t the only one hurting. She had to remember that. “I’m so sorry, Paulette,” she said softly. “It’ll all be okay.”
She just had to keep telling herself that too.
Chapter Eight
The funeral was a blur of people—family she hadn’t seen in years, old friends, business associates, as well as total strangers—hugging and kissing her with whispered condolences. When Travis got up to deliver the eulogy, she watched and listened, mesmerized by his quiet confidence and strong presence as he looked out at the overflowing cathedral and spoke about her father.
He talked about how Parker had lived his life and the way he’d believed it was important to give back not only to the community in which he lived and conducted business, but also to the global community. He’d accomplished this with his commitment to improving the lives of poor farmers in developing countries. When he talked about how Parker had loved his family, her throat started to tighten, but when Travis specifically mentioned how much Parker had loved her, her heart softened and emotion swelled up in her. She bent her head and let her hair fall forward, feeling the eyes of everyone in the cathedral on her. Travis seemed to have intimate knowledge of Parker’s feelings for her, making her wonder how much they’d talked about her and what exactly had been said. It was painfully moving to hear how proud her father was of her, and the way Travis spoke the words made her almost think that Travis shared those feelings.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly as she listened to him talk.
After the service, Samara, her mother, Travis, and some other family members traveled to the mausoleum. There were no remains of Parker’s body, and his memory was marked only by a small plaque on the elegant marble structure.
The party at the house followed that, and again in a haze of emotion, she greeted guests, accepted hugs of sympathy, and took the drink someone pressed into her hand. She chatted and made small talk with people she barely knew, trying to be a hostess as best she could in her fog of sadness and grief.
All the while she was hyperaware of Travis doing the same, mingling with guests easily, standing out in the crowd, his broad shoulders clad an expensive-looking dark suit.
“Your father would have loved this.” Samara turned to see Paulette, looking sad but approving. She gave her a hug.
“Thanks for coming,” Samara said for about the hundredth time.
“A celebration of his life is so appropriate,” Paulette murmured. “He wouldn’t have wanted a lot of wailing and crying.”
Samara smiled. “That’s true.” She paused. “Paulette, I want to know more about what Dad was working on in Matagalpa. Are there files somewhere?”
“Um...well, yes, there are. But don’t worry. Travis will take care of it.”
Samara wanted to scream. Travis, Travis, Travis! “I want to know about it, though,” she said, trying to sound pleasant even though she wanted to grind her teeth.
Paulette patted her hand. “Well, I’m sure Travis can tell you anything you want to know.”
Yeah, right. Travis seemed determined to keep her out of things. But she nodded, forced a smile, and moved on to another group of business associates.
The party went on into the evening, with her father’s closest friends among the last to leave. They’d taken advantage of the generous open bar and were reminiscing about her father, all sitting in the den shouting with laughter at the stories they shared. Travis was right in there with them, and Samara went over to the bar and set down her empty wine glass, watching them with poignant amusement.
She could just picture her dad in the thick of things too, telling stories, Lagavulin flowing freely, and having everyone laughing uproariously. One of his favorite things to do. With a shrug, she picked up a bottle of Pinot Gris and poured another glass, lifting it in a silent toast to her father.
Exhausted from the efforts of socializing through her grief, she wandered outside onto the patio. She closed the door but could still hear bursts of laughter as she sank down onto the low stone wall where Travis had sat just the other night. Remembering the embrace they’d shared that night and the overwhelming attraction he still had for her made her shiver.
“You should have a jacket or something on.”
Travis’s voice startled her. She hadn’t heard him come out.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s cool out here.”
Her bare arms did tighten up into tiny goose bumps, but it wasn’t from the cold. She set her glass down and rubbed her arms. Travis shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
She wanted to shrug right back out of it, but it was warm from his body and smelled like him. She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly through her nose, absorbing his scent, dark, smoky, earthy, like dark Arabica coffee mingled with warm ambergris and musk.
He undid the buttons of his cuffs and rolled back each sleeve twice, revealing his strong wrists and forearms sprinkled with golden hairs. Then he did the same at his throat, undoing the top button and tugging his tie loose. In seconds he’d gone from impeccable businessman to laid-back and sexy.
“Everything went fine today,” he commented, sitting on the wall, turning his body to face her. She picked up the wine glass that sat between them.
“Yes.” She sighed. “It was fine.”
“You look exhausted.”
She smiled wryly. “Thanks. I can always count on you to keep my ego in check.”
He ran a hand through his hair and was that much closer to the youthful surfer-dude he’d been back when she’d first met him. His gold hair stuck up in all directions, appealingly tousled. “I don’t mean you don’t look good. Jesus.” He shook his head. “You look gorgeous as always. I’m just saying.” He tipped his head as he looked at her.
Her stomach swooped at hearing him say she was gorgeous. “I am tired,” she admitted, peering down at her wine glass. She couldn’t look at him anymore or she might jump onto his lap. “It’s exhausting. Thanks for doing the eulogy. It was...” She paused, unable to find the right words. She didn’t want to admit how much his words had meant to her. “...good.”
He gave a short laugh. “And likewise, my ego is firmly put in place by you.”
She lifted her eyes, surprised. He was smiling, eyes glinting. She’d always liked how he didn’t take himself too seriously, and the flash of humor made her relax minutely. Godfrey, he was sexy. Her body wanted to lean in closer, and she tightened every muscle she could. An urgent yearning for him burned low inside her.
“Are you seriously going to stay here?” he asked.
She held his gaze. “Yes.” Then she said, “What about you? You’re not going back to Los Angeles?”
“No.”
He too held her gaze. She lifted her chin. He lifted his. Sparks damn near flashed between them
She stood to face him, but as she did so, one of her spiky Jimmy Choo heels slipped on the rough stone patio.
Travis reached out and caught her arm. “Whoa.” His hand was big and warm on her bare arm, and his jacket slid off her shoulders to the patio. Startled by the rush of pleasure she felt at his touch, she wrenched her arm away from him and almost lost her balance again. Wine sloshed in her glass.
Suddenly on his feet, Travis made a grab for the glass and for her at the same time, his big hard body crowding her. “Samara.”
He held her by her upper arm, his grip tight. His mouth pressed into a tight line, he took the wine glass and poured the contents into a plant. He set the goblet down on the table and took hold of her other arm.
“Let go of me,” she muttered, her face so close to his she could see the glints of gold whiskers in the faint light from the house.
“Are you okay?”
She was not okay. She was a wreck. She was strung out, her emotions a twisted knot of confusion, fear and frustration. And she was hot. “I’m fine,” she said through her teeth, trying to pull away from him. His hands tightened, and she shifted against his hard body. Heat radiated off him in waves.
The voices inside had disappeared. Had the party finally ended? Then faintly, the sound of voices, car doors slamming, and engines starting drifted on the evening breeze from the front of the house.
“I should be saying good night to the guests,” she choked out.
“Your mother will do it.”
They stood like that, bodies touching, faces close, staring at each other for long, stretched-out moments. Samara’s heart was pattering so fast she couldn’t tell one beat from the next. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed with difficulty, licking her lips without conscious thought.
Travis’s eyes went to her mouth, and hot liquid pooled down deep inside her between her legs. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tingled, and her lips parted as she watched his eyes darken, still fixed on her mouth.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” he muttered. He gave her body a hard little jerk, bringing her right up against him, and it felt so good to press her aching breasts against his hardness. She felt his arousal against her and wanted to feel it lower, deeper. Involuntarily her hips arched against him, and he groaned.
* * *
He shouldn’t have come out here. Travis knew he should keep his distance from her. The sparks that flew between them got out of control so easily, igniting into a goddamn wildfire. But he’d been worried about her, about the grief and fatigue that had shadowed her face. She still looked too thin, fragile, like she could snap, but yet, in his arms, she felt just right—delicate but strong, soft but resilient.
A shadow fell in the light that spilled through the French doors from the den. He couldn’t tell who it was.
He maneuvered Samara backward, still grasping her arms, deeper into the shadows up against the house. He pressed her body against the cool smooth stucco, pinning her there with his hips.
She mumbled some sort of protest—of course—at his movements. “What—”
“Someone was at the door,” he whispered, setting his forehead against hers. He felt her indrawn breath and her breasts pressed against him. Then he had to taste her, and he found her mouth with his. Her small mouth opened under his, and he groaned. He held her up against the wall, pressed his throbbing erection against her, and released her arms to take her face in his palms. He tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss.
Her hands slid over his shoulders then into his hair. He couldn’t stop. She tasted so sweet, felt so right, smelled like heaven. His mouth devoured hers, and he swept his hands from her face down over her shoulders, skimmed over full breasts and narrow waist until he reached the flare of her hips to grip her sweet little ass. He lifted her against him, filling his hands with lush firm curves, sensation pouring through his veins like electricity sizzling along wires.
Her honey-velvet tongue swept against his as she opened wider, and he hardened even more. He gasped into her mouth and shared her breath then leaned his forehead against hers as he panted. Then the silky fabric of her dress slipped under his fingers, and he urgently needed to feel her skin. His fingers dug at the dress, tugging it higher and higher until at last firm, warm flesh met his fingertips. He stroked the backs of her thighs, the hot crease where they met her buttocks, and she writhed and moaned and arched into him.
He thrust a thigh between her legs, the dress now up around her waist, and she moved against him, riding his thigh, and he knew what she was seeking. Christ, he wanted it too, sweet release from this exquisite torturous longing. His skin buzzed as he kept his thigh against the damp heat between her legs.
“Christ, Samara, you make me crazy.”
She moaned again, and her head thunked back against the wall. He took the opportunity to bury his face in her neck and inhale the exotic vanilla and spice scent of her, the feminine scent of her arousal inflaming his senses. He kissed her soft skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses, licked her there to taste her, and sucked gently.
She was still riding his leg, making little whimpers of need, her hands still tugging on his hair. “Oh god!” she cried softly, and her body went tight against his then twitched hard. Twitched again. Jesus, she was coming. He kept the pressure of his leg firm, caught her mouth again with his, and swallowed her cries of pleasure, almost losing it himself.
“Oh, god,” she moaned, long moments later, burying her face against his neck. “Oh god, I can’t believe I did that.”
He slid one hand from beneath her bottom and cradled her head, holding her against him as her body continued to quiver in twitchy little spasms. “Samara,” he whispered. “Christ, Samara.” He couldn’t believe it either.
They stayed like that for long, throbbing, panting moments. He wanted to finish, wanted to take her upstairs and roll into her bed with her, wanted to do everything to her and make her come again every way he knew how. He was thick and hot inside his pants, so hard he hurt, and if he moved, if he even breathed, he was done.
The chirruping noise of a cricket nearby registered faintly in his fuzzy brain. A light went out in a window above them, which he knew was the hall. Dayna was going to bed. Luckily her room was at the front of the house. He moved back from Samara, and she smoothed her dress down over hips and thighs. Still leaning against the wall, her eyes closed, she lifted her hands, covered her face and rolled her body over the wall so that her forehead pressed to the stucco. Her slender ribcage rose and fell with the quick rhythm of her breathing. He set his hands on her hips, moved up behind her again.
“Don’t,” she said in a choked voice.
He bit his top lip. Was she embarrassed by what had just happened? Should he apologize? He closed his eyes, afraid to say the wrong thing. Knowing Samara, anything he said at this point was bound to be the wrong thing.
“I have to go in,” she choked out. She slipped beneath his arms, dashed across the patio, yanked open the door and disappeared into the house.
* * *
After successfully avoiding Travis most of the weekend, Samara arrived early Monday morning at the Cedar Mill Coffee Company offices, dressed in a suit and heels and ready to kick some butt. She came to a halt in the area outside her father’s office where Travis leaned against Paulette’s desk. Damn. He’d beat her there.
“Good morning,” he said, straightening.
He looked, as usual, delicious in his dark dress pants and crisp gray shirt. Heat flashed beneath her skin as she remembered the night of the funeral and what he’d done to her out on the patio. Godfrey, she’d thought about it all weekend as she’d sneaked around the house making sure she didn’t run into him. She’d wavered between hot embarrassment and melting arousal ever since.
She ignored him and smiled at Paulette. “Good morning.”
Paulette’s gaze flicked back and forth between them.
“Let’s go into my office,” Travis suggested.
“Your office?” She glared at him. It wasn’t his office. It was her father’s. Now it would be hers. But she turned on one spiky heel and marched in there. He followed and shut the door behind them.
“This isn’t your office,” she began heatedly. “My father has been gone just over a week. I think you could at least show some respect by finding another office...”
“Samara, I have another office. I use it when I’m in town. That’s the office I was talking about.” His voice was silky smooth. “You’re the one who came in here.”
She remained standing, arms crossed, foot tapping on the thick carpet, lips pressed together.”Oh.”
“Samara, have a seat. We have to talk.”
“You’re not getting rid of me,” she told him, advancing across the room to the chair behind the desk.
A frown creased his brow. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. But we have to talk about the management structure of the company. It’s not just up to us. You have to be realistic here. You have to think of the big picture—what’s best for the company.”
“I can do that.” She blinked at him. “My father built this company, and I intend to run it the way he would have wanted.”
Travis’s lips compressed, and he sighed again. “That’s great. But he didn’t build this company alone. He and I did it together, and you have to recognize that.”
“I do.” Anxiety gnawed at her stomach. She was intelligent, educated and knowledgeable about the coffee business. She’d grown up talking about the coffee business and had worked hard since college to learn more. But deep down inside, a tiny niggling doubt squirmed around inside her. “So what do we have to do? Let’s start planning. We should put together a proposal and take it to the board and the shareholders. Right?”
He stared at her. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his mouth a straight line of grimness. “I suppose that would be a start. We’ll need to include others—Simon, Alex, Hank, Daniel.”
Hell. The more people involved in the decision, the less control she felt she had, although, she apparently had no control over this. Travis would make the decision. She felt helpless, like she was slamming herself up against the brick wall of his assured confidence and implacable will.
If it came down to a vote—and it appeared likely it would—she needed her mother on her side. She had no doubt Travis would get the other shareholders onside with his taking over, but her mother....
