What's Yours is Mine (11 page)

“No, it’s true. When our mother left, I was only fourteen, and that’s how she sees me still. She was all of eighteen, but she had to be the adult. It’s my fault she dropped out of college and didn’t get to have fun when she was younger. She was too busy being breadwinner and caregiver, too grown up. And I think—.” He stopped abruptly. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to hear about my family’s problems.” He piled his computer and phone, empty water glass, and lunch plate together. “Thank you for explaining. I appreciate it.”
 

Will the Baffling Dougherty went inside and put his things down, but then he came back. She thought he was going to speak again, to reach out, but instead he slid the glass door closed, leaving her outside, alone and confused. He’d opened up for a split second, but then closed himself up just like that sliding glass door.

~*~

Darcy wanted to give his sister advice now? What did she stand to gain from it? It wasn’t like he was about to agree to move out if Sheila got a job. Could Darcy Jennings have a soul?

Darcy’s phone rang. “Ride of the Valkyries”
again
.
Will glanced out the window. Darcy was carefully picking her way, barefoot, down the path toward the beach.
 

He picked her phone up. “Hello?”

Silence.
 

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Is this Darcy Jennings’s phone?” The male voice sounded familiar, but he was having trouble placing it.
 

“Yes, who should I say is calling?”

A longer pause. “Never mind. I’ll call back later.”
 

And the man hung up.
 

Will contemplated the device in his hand. That voice. He should have placed it immediately, but it had, after all, been four years.
 

Without thinking, he thumbed through until he found the recent calls, then hit Send.

“Hello?”

“Stan Golden, right?” He could hear the anger in his voice, tried dampening it.

“Who is this?” Stan’s voice quivered. He was lying. Will knew it with absolute certainty.

“You know who it is. And you know why I’m calling.”

“No, I really don’t.” Stan’s voice was flat.

“You said you’d fire her. Darcy. It was the only justice in that whole mess, that she’d be gone too.”

“I never said any such thing, William, my boy. I never would. She’s like my own kin. No matter what she did or—” Stan paused. “What you think she did.” He sounded so gentle, so understanding, so condescending, Will wanted to punch the phone in the jaw. “And now I think we should say good-bye. I showed tremendous restraint when I let you walk away from the company and not right into jail. I’d hate to have to change my mind.”
 

The world was wavering, out of focus, pulsing in time with the angry throbbing in his skull. “Bullshit. I don’t know if you don’t remember or if you’re covering for her, but I’ll leave it alone. Under one condition.”

Stan sighed but said nothing.
 

Will gripped the countertop like it was going to give way. “You get her out of my condo by tomorrow, and I’ll consider us done.”

He hung up and threw the phone on the floor, an ugly welling of red-tinted rage threatening to overwhelm him. He slammed his fist into the kitchen counter. It hurt. Good. He slammed it again. And again, relishing the sting.
 

Heat suffused him, roiling his stomach, closing his throat, narrowing the world down to the latex-encased glass-fronted phone lying there so innocently on the kitchen tile, with the raw sharpness of pain in his knuckles echoing the raw memory of Mathias coming into the shared design and packaging office on a sunny, chilly day in February. The huge magnolia outside the window had been in full bloom, its white flowers surreal and sexual. Mathias’s face was tight, his expression even more dour than usual. “We’re shutting down the Slippery Elm account, effective immediately,” he’d said. “You need to be gone by the end of the month.”
 

Will had frowned, baffled. “Me? But it’s not my only account. I’m working on—” He’d swept his hand across his desk, indicating the half-dozen projects in various stages of completion.
 

Mathias shook his head. “It’s not just you. Stan said we have to slash our operating budget. Shutting things down mid-production screws up our numbers big-time.”

“Did he say why he’s shutting it down?” But he knew why.

Darcy. It was true. She’d adulterated the lotion.
 

Darcy.
Everything she’d said to him, her vulnerability, her honesty, her softness, all an act.
 

DARCY.
He’d nearly given his heart to someone who didn’t even exist, except in his febrile imagination.
 

He should have known better.
 

When Darcy’s number showed up on Will’s cell a week later, he’d thrown his phone in the ocean. He couldn’t bear to hear her lies, her justifications. Couldn’t bear to hear her voice at all.
 

Now he stared down at Darcy’s phone. It was unharmed by its fall. Just like her. Untouchable. In all the commotion today, he’d started treating this condo battle almost like a game. He’d nearly forgotten that moment in his office, that feeling of utter sick disbelief. Even though he’d been the one to point to the possible corruption, it was true. It was all true.
 

He wasn’t proud of what he’d done next, but it was nothing compared to what she’d done.
 

No matter how nice she might be to his sister, Darcy wasn’t someone he could trust.
 

As if he’d conjured her by thinking too hard, the glass door to the patio slid open and Darcy stepped inside.
 

His fists clenched. With effort, he unclenched them, then very deliberately leaned against the kitchen counter as if he felt nothing.
Act as you wish to feel.
 

This too would pass.
 

Darcy’s gaze flicked over his raw knuckles. “Are you okay?” She spotted the phone. “That’s my phone!” She bent down and scooped it up. “What happened?” She looked up from the device, a question clear in her gaze.
 

He couldn’t answer. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. He had to get outside. This minute, or he might yell. Or worse. Make a bigger mess of things. The rage felt like a tangible thing, a churning ball of sparks and darkness in his abdomen, making him feel shivery and sick.
 

As Will brushed past her, Darcy looked up from her phone, her eyes narrowed and her expression dark. “Stan called, I see. Is that why you—”
 

He kept going, on out the back door. Fortunately, Darcy didn’t follow.

~*~

Darcy sat on the front stoop to call Stan. Not exactly private, but nowhere was truly private in her supposed new home, not even the freaking bathroom. Will could come back any minute, and she wasn’t ready to face him. Her fingers were shaking as she poked the phone’s smooth touchscreen, cycling through menus. Not good. She had to be professional, a sharp businesswoman, a vice president. Instead, she felt like a little girl who wanted to cry over a stupid boy.
 

Get a grip.
It was Will Dougherty, not exactly angel material. Hardly a walk-on-water guy. How dare he look at her so accusingly?
 

What had Stan said that had gotten him so riled up?
 

The phone rang once, then a male voice answered. “Stan’s line.”

“Mathias? What are you doing in Stan’s office? Is he around?”

“Hi, Darcy. He’s out to lunch.” Mathias chuckled. “And for once, I don’t mean that metaphorically. So I hear you’re staying home again today. This a long-term thing?”

Darcy glanced back over her shoulder at the condo living room. Will was still absent. Probably down by the water, handsomely brooding. “I’m not sure how long. But I’m digging through all the start-up plans for Jefferson StarSoap and the California Dreamin’ shampoo from home.”

“I’m sure you are.” Mathias sounded almost annoyed. Why? She was just doing her job. The smile returned to his voice with his next sentence. “Stay at home as long as you like, far as I’m concerned. Pave the way for telecommuting. I could use it.”

Oh, right. Didn’t he have a kid who had cerebral palsy or cystic fibrosis or something?

“How’s your son doing these days?”

Now he sounded surprised. “Good, thanks for asking. He got fitted with a leg brace that’s helping a lot, and his new PT is—” He stopped, and when he spoke again, his tone was wary. “Why do you want to know? It’s not taking any time away from my work, I assure you. Never has, never will.”

Darcy bit her lip. “I didn’t think it was, Matt.”

“Then why bring it up?”
 

Was it that unusual for her to ask her coworkers about their personal lives? “I was…it’s been…I haven’t been back to the office in a while, just wanted to catch up.”

“Mmm.” He sounded noncommittal. “I hear you’re living with Will Dougherty. In a manner of speaking.”
 

“Thora tell you?”

“She might have mentioned. Be careful with that, okay? The guy is a pain.”

Darcy frowned at the phone. “Tell me about it.”
 

“He’ll shaft you when you’re not looking.”

She’d thought so too, but… “You mean the embezzlement?”

“Embezzlement? I meant—. Never mind. Just don’t let yourself get in too deep, that’s all. What did you want to say to Stan, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m just calling him back. Tell him I’ll teleconference into tomorrow’s meeting, okay?”

Mathias grunted and hung up. Wow. That hadn’t gone well.
 

A car pulled up on the street in front of the condo. A little girl popped out of the backseat, the same kid she’d seen out the back window creeping in the grass. She was maybe eight or nine, with her hair in five pigtails of uneven lengths held back with barrettes, and glasses that she pushed up on her nose. Darcy watched as the girl’s mother got out of the driver’s side, went around to the trunk, and started unloading canvas grocery bags.
 

Darcy’s phone sang her work ringtone. She thumbed it on. “Hello?”

“My dear, I hear you’re spending today at home again. Are you sick?”

“Hi, Stan. Nothing like that, I’m keeping up with work, not to worry.”

He snorted. “You sure you’re not playing hooky? Should I come over and smell your breath?” He sounded hopeful.
 

She laughed. “Sorry, Stan. Clean and sober and working like a dog.”

“Pity. Have some fun sometime, would ya?” His sigh whuffled through the phone line. “Seriously, though, what have you gotten yourself into over there?”
 

“You spoke to Will Dougherty, didn’t you?”

Silence on the line. Then, “I did.” His voice sounded heavy.

Done with her unloading, the mother pointed toward a condo a few doors down from where Darcy was sitting and handed the girl a key ring. She spoke rapidly. The girl nodded.
 

“He was…unpleasant. It sounds like it’s even more of a mess over there than the way he left here. You do remember that fiasco, right?
 

“He embezzled money from the Slippery Elm account. That
is
what happened, isn’t it? You never pressed charges.”

“You know me.” Stan’s sigh turned into a hacking cough. “Sorry, something went down wrong.”
 

She did know him. “You felt bad for him. For Will.”

Across the complex, the mom spoke again. The girl rolled her eyes— Well, it was impossible to tell from this distance, but her stance said it all. The mom got back into the minivan and drove away, no doubt heading for the parking lot around the side of the complex. The girl headed through the courtyard, stopping to twirl around the banana tree.
 

On the phone, Stan said, “What Dougherty did was wrong, no question, but everyone makes mistakes, right?”

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “So they say. Speaking of which, I heard the strangest thing the other day. Do you know much about triclosate?”

The girl was now crawling under the ficus, acting as if it were enemy territory and she was a sniper or a spy, Darcy wasn’t sure which.
 

“Triclosate? You know how I feel about those chemical concoctions. Other companies may take shortcuts, but we’re different. Skin is like the heart; it needs loving nourishment.”

She’d accidentally pressed the Canned Lecture button. “There’s no chance it could have somehow contaminated one of our products, is there?”

Stan’s sharp inhale told her all she needed to know. “You’ve heard something? Which product? Concrete or rumor? What did you hear, exactly?”

“Nothing solid, it’s just…”

He made a hmm noise. “Is this through your Shanghai contacts, or Dougherty?”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, you did right. I believe in open lines of communication, you know that. If there’s something amiss, we should get to the bottom of it. But it was Dougherty, I gather? He said something about that back when he was working here. I didn’t pay it much mind. You know I’d never authorize something like that. It’s against my religion.”

“I know.” It sounded so thin, now that she said it aloud. An embezzler accusing the company—well, accusing her, in point of fact. And she’d taken it seriously. Her stomach felt sour.
 

The pigtailed girl arrived at her front door, across the courtyard. She stuck the key in the lock, but she was staring at Darcy.
 

“Look into it if you need to ease your mind, but I’m not too worried, and you shouldn’t be either. Our products are clean. Customers love ’em. Speaking of which, I’m afraid Johanna is floundering a bit with the Deep Velvet launch. Think you could give her a call, help her out?”

“Sure, of course.” Darcy gritted her teeth. Deep Velvet skin cream. Which bore a remarkable resemblance to one Slippery Elm lotion in texture, uses, and even ingredients. But that was Johanna.
 

She and Darcy had started at Golden Organics two weeks apart. Johanna was just out of business school, while Darcy had been on Wall Street for a hectic, overwhelming year. After that experience, Golden had felt so mellow, so cheerful. Like slipping into a warm, soothing bath, only they were making the bath soaps too. It felt fulfilling. Right.