“She’s killing me.” Ford hunched over his scotch on the rocks. His best friend since college, Scott, occupied the barstool next to him.
“We aren’t talking about my sister, are we? ’Cause if we are, I’m out of here.”
Ford shook his head. “No. Ronnie and I are done.” Though he hadn’t spoken with her as he’d planned, he believed their relationship had died a natural death. Her lack of pleading with him to come back to take her to any of her society functions proved she’d moved on. “Haven’t talked in weeks.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry or surprised. Never did think you two were suited.” Scott finished off his drink and signaled the bartender for a refill.
“Really? Why didn’t you say something?” Once, he’d thought he and Ronnie were very well suited. Just went to prove what he knew about relationships. They’d used each other, nothing more.
Scott shrugged then thanked the bartender for the refill she placed in front of him. The woman looked barely legal to work behind the bar, and gorgeous in a way only Texas women could be with her ample cleavage showing, a mane of chestnut hair made for wrapping around a man’s fist. Her smile said she’d give you a ride if you were interested. She didn’t interest him, but he admitted to being surprised when Scott ignored her, too. He waved the girl away, indicating he didn’t want a refill or anything else she might be offering. He’d forgotten their conversation until Scott spoke. “Your relationship wasn’t any of my business. Can’t say I liked the idea of you with my sister, but she’s a grown woman. If she wanted to make a mistake with you, I couldn’t stop her, and likewise, I might add.” He downed half his drink in one gulp and signaled for another.
Ford finished his drink and signaled for the check.
“So, if it isn’t my sister who’s killing you, it must be your partner.”
Maybe he’d been too hasty in requesting the check. He pushed the paper back to the bartender. “Another round,” he said, wagging a finger at both their glasses. Silence reigned until two new glasses sat in front of them. “What makes you say so?”
Scott snorted. “Seriously? Don’t you watch your own show? I keep watching ’cause I don’t want to miss the explosion when it finally happens. The chemistry between you two is off the charts.”
He knew it was, and if the sales figures were any indication, the viewing public knew it, too. He just wished he knew what to do about it. “Wait until you see the shows we taped for next month.” Especially the last one. She’d spun the tables on him, had him panting and ready to blow in his pants. He’d asked Justin to let him see the final edit, but the bastard refused. He’d suggested they add more phone lines then mumbled something about being a millionaire as he walked away.
Ford stroked his pinky finger through the condensation on the outside of his glass. An image of Becky Jean’s tongue licking the hurt away came to mind. He shifted on his stool, making room for his instant wood. Anything would bring the images to mind these days, and every damn time, the results were the same. There would be an explosion alright. It just wasn’t the kind Scott had in mind.
“I can’t wait. Watching the two of you is better than watching porn.”
Ford had nothing to say to his friend’s comment. He’d rather watch Becky Jean than porn any day.
“So, have you slept with her yet?”
He’d never told Scott he was sleeping with Ronnie. The man had correctly assumed it at some point, and they’d never really talked about it until today. If he hadn’t felt the need to tell his buddy he’d slept with the man’s sister, he sure didn’t feel the need to tell him the details about his relationship with Becky Jean. “None of your business.”
“I’ll take your response as a yes,” his friend said. “But I don’t see what the problem is, unless it was one and done on her part.”
Ford stared at his mostly empty tumbler.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You were her one-night stand?” Laughing like a loon, Scott slapped the bar. Ford could feel the gazes of everyone in the place on them.
“Shut the fuck up, man. This isn’t funny.”
“The hell it isn’t. Fuck-and-run Ford Adams has been caught! I bet you can’t even count the number of one-night stands you’ve had, but all of them were on your terms. My sister lasted longer than any of them, but I’m sure she dug her claws in and wouldn’t let go.” He guffawed and shook his head. “Damn. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Ford fished his wallet out of his back pocket and stood. “Like your record is any better, buddy. We called you Scooter because you scooted out of their beds before they finished coming.” He tossed a few bills on the bar to cover their drinks. “See you around.”
Scott couldn’t be more wrong. Becky Jean had every right to take what she wanted. He’d never indicated he wanted more, and neither had she. What really twisted his short hairs was he hadn’t expected her rejection to hurt as bad as it did. Damn it. He wanted more.
~~~
So far, so good. Becky Jean rocked back in her desk chair. It had been three days since she’d made the monumental mistake of taking Ford to her bedroom, and she hadn’t relapsed since. Oh, she’d wanted to, and judging by the leering glances and innuendo coming from her business partner, he did, too.
But they couldn’t. She couldn’t. Once had been a mistake. Twice would be insane.
The company was doing exceedingly well. Yes, they were spending lots of money, but their expenditures were nowhere near the amount coming in. If she figured in the new real estate acquisitions, and what those would add to their bottom line, Ford had to be well on his way to becoming a billionaire. Hell, he might already be one. Which meant, he’d be looking for a way out soon. He’d never made any promises about staying, and since Adams Manufacturing had a solid future, he had to be planning to return to his other life. The one-year stipulated in his father’s will would be up soon. When the date arrived, she could kiss her partner good-bye.
Becky leaned forward and flipped the pages on her old-fashioned desk calendar. Had he already talked to potential buyers? Would he do so without telling her?
She’d known the day would come when she’d have to decide whether to sell or not. The last few months had flown by faster than debris in a twister, leaving her disoriented. If one of Ford’s buyers wanted her share, too, would she sell? And if she didn’t, would they want her to remain in her current position? She couldn’t imagine they would. Anyone who owned the majority of a company would want to bring in their own people to make sure things were done according to their wishes. Her opinion, backed by her very small minority share, wouldn’t mean a thing.
Once again, she found herself in a position where none of the choices were hers. Her future hinged on the decisions of someone else. Deep inside, she realized her father’s illness had been beyond his control, but the result was the same. Choices had been taken out of her hands. Then Ken Adams had died, locking her into a situation where she had no choice but to help Ford. She wanted the roller coaster to stop so she could get off. She didn’t mind a fun ride, but for once, she’d like to choose the ride for herself.
She glanced over the contract in her hand—the one linking Adams Manufacturing to Scott Ramsey’s new leather factory for the next ten years. Scott had made a commitment to live in Butte Plains for the next decade, but Ford, his best friend, had made no such commitment. Maybe she’d misread her partner’s intentions. It had been months since he’d mentioned selling out. But yet… the calendar stalked her, the one-year mark creeping closer with every turn of the page.
Becky shuffled the papers on her desk. Poised to launch their shopping network into a twenty-four hour business, HR had been working overtime to narrow down possible spokespersons for the various new programs designed to showcase their competitors’ products. She’d promised she and Ford would sort through the prospects today so they could be called in for personal interviews. Gathering the headshots and resumes to discuss with Ford, she stopped in her doorway.
Carolyn’s distinct voice floated down the hallway. “Like I said, Mr. Adams is in a meeting. You’ll need to make an appointment for another time.”
The receptionist never raised her voice to a level to be heard this far away. What the heck? It wasn’t like Carolyn to be rude.
“If you aren’t going to tell him I’m here, I’ll find him myself!” The clear, cultured, feminine voice reminded Becky of someone, but she couldn’t pinpoint who. She changed direction, intending to add her support to the young woman at the front desk. They didn’t pay her enough to put up with pushy people. She’d taken one step when a woman turned the corner, heading straight for her. Tall and sophisticated. Beautiful. No, stunning. Perhaps one of the models being considered for the network shows? Deciding right there to remove the woman from the list of possible hires, Becky used her body to block the hallway.
“You can’t go in there,” she said.
The woman had a few inches on Becky, even without the spiked heels she had on. She stopped, gave Becky the once-over, and, from the expression on her face, found her lacking in everything from appearance to the way she smelled. “And you’re going to stop me? I don’t think so.” The interloper swept past in an invisible cloud of expensive perfume. “Ford Adams? Where the hell are you?”
Becky sneezed then followed the stranger. Rounding the corner into Ford’s office, Becky stopped in her tracks. She blinked once, twice, but the image of her partner lip-locked with the strange woman didn’t go away.
Carolyn skidded to a halt behind Becky. “I told her she couldn’t disturb Mr. Adams.”
Becky turned to the receptionist. “It’s okay… I think. It seems Mr. Adams knows this woman.”
Ford pushed the newcomer away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the hell?”
“You have some nerve, Ford Adams.” The woman pulled a rolled up magazine out of her designer handbag and waved it in his face.
“Have you seen the cover of Forbes this month?” She tossed the periodical on Ford’s desk. “They’re calling you The Backdoor Billionaire!”
Ford smiled and reached for the magazine. “Really? That’s awesome!”
“Are. You. Kidding. Me?”
Ford scanned the cover, then held it up for Becky to see. “Becks! Did you see this?”
The woman spun around. The way her eyes drilled into Becky made her want to make a cross with her index fingers to ward off evil spirits. “No. We were supposed to get an advance copy.” Maybe they had. She didn’t have much time for reading magazines these days.
“Who’s this?” Evil Woman demanded, half turning to look over her shoulder at Ford.
He cleared his throat and stepped around the woman. “Becky Jean, Carolyn, this is… Veronica Ramsey, Scott’s sister. Ronnie, I take it you’ve met our receptionist, Carolyn, and this is my partner, Becky Jean Parker.”
Ronnie. So, the phantom girlfriend materialized. The one who couldn’t be bothered to stand beside Ford at his father’s funeral or support him in his struggle to save his family business. Unable to meet Ford’s gaze, to see whatever emotion might be there, she focused on Ronnie’s face and, with clenched fists, held on as the roller coaster nose-dived, leaving her stomach behind.
“Why didn’t you just say you were his girlfriend?” Carolyn asked.
Mustering every scrap of professionalism she could find, Becky jumped in. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Ramsey. We all think a lot of Scott around here.” Can’t say the same about you, though. What could Ford possibly see in her?
“Where is my brother?” Veronica stared down her sharp nose at them. She was on a mission. Just what it could be, Becky had no idea. One thing she knew for certain—Ronnie would not fail, and the woman didn’t take prisoners.
“I believe he’s at the new leather goods factory he purchased. I’m sure Carolyn can give you directions.” Of course, they’d be driving directions, not broomstick directions.
“No need. I’ll give you a ride.” Ford reached for his keys in the center desk drawer.
“But, we have to go over these applicants. I promised HR—”
Ronnie’s laugh cut Becky off. She turned on Ford. “Are you serious?” This is what you’ve been doing down here in Butt Plug, Texas, for all these months, deciding which machine operator to hire?”
“Come on, Ronnie.” Ford grabbed the witch by her elbow. Becky and Carolyn cleared a wide path to the door. “I’ll give you a tour of the town, then we’ll hunt up your brother.”
As Ford ushered the woman out, Becky heard her say, “Really, Ford? That mouse is your business partner? How have you managed—”
The front door swallowed the rest of the woman’s rant, then Becky became deaf to her surroundings. The derisive tone of the woman’s voice made her furious. Mouse? Who did Ms. Expensive Designer Everything think she was anyway?
“Ms. Parker?”
“Hmm?” Becky forced her attention to the young woman beside her. “What? No worries, Carolyn. You did the best you could.”
“Are you going to be okay? I mean, who does she think she is? I guess I just thought you and Mr. Adams—”
“Are business partners. That’s all.” If she’d ever hoped for more, those dreams had been thoroughly crushed under four-inch stilettos.
“But—”
“But nothing. Mr. Adams had a life he had to temporarily give up to come here. Seems his life has come to take him back.”
She hadn’t meant to be harsh, but she didn’t want to discuss her and Ford’s relationship, or lack thereof, with the staff. Besides, as of the moment Scott’s sister walked in the door, any relationship other than a professional one between Becky and Ford became impossible. Whatever feelings she had for the man were never hers to have. He belonged to another.
The idea of being the other woman made her sick to her stomach.
Becky waited until Carolyn left before sitting behind her partner’s desk. She glanced at his latest drawing and contemplated how her life had come to this. Instead of inventory sorted into domestic and agricultural, she thought in terms of insertables, vibrating, stationary, and portable. She dropped the head shots she’d hoped to discuss with Ford in the center of his desk. This time last year, she’d worried about hiring the right sort of person to operate dangerous machinery, and today? The HR department that hadn’t existed a year ago expected her to decide which drop-dead gorgeous models would represent the company on television.
“This is insane.” She advanced Ford’s calendar two months to today’s date then thought better of it and returned the pages to their original position. Did he even realize it had almost been a year since his father passed? All the reminder he needed had just walked in the front door.
She thumbed through the model’s photos, selected her six favorites, and moved them to the top, securing them with a paperclip she found in his top drawer. Ford would probably be grateful she’d done the onerous job herself, saving him the trouble of participating in the decision. After all, he had his hands full with the wicked witch of the east.