What's Yours is Mine (32 page)

“So you admit it?”

Stan put his cup down. “I admit nothing. You have no proof, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t have sicced Sheila on me.” He stood up. “Enough fun. You should go. If you breathe a word about this…”

Will took a step toward him, curling his hands into fists. This was the real Stan, then, the man behind the tie-dyed facade. “You’ll what? You have no power over me, not anymore.”

Stan shook his head. “Oh, but I do. You and your sister both. Thanks to your prank four years ago, I have enough to smear you on every job site from here to Humboldt County. Push me, and I might still press charges. The statute of limitations isn’t up yet. You should have come in here with more.”

Perversely, this made Will relax. Far better that Stan threaten and bluster than put on that saccharine saintly act. But Sheila still looked terrified. He winked at her, hoping she’d get the message.
Stay calm. Trust me
.
 

The door swung open. Darcy stepped in, holding a sheaf of folders. Thank God. She held one up, labeled SWW 86. “By
more
, I assume you mean this?” She looked like an avenging angel, every angle of her face sharp and precise, her posture erect, her demeanor strong. She looked spectacular. Like the woman he’d been waiting his whole life for.
 

Stan’s face crumpled, transforming him into a caricature of a sad bear. “Darcy, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for this guy’s baloney.”
 

Sheila jumped up out of her seat when she saw Darcy. “The kids! Where are my boys?” She started for the door.
 

Will gave her a shushing gesture. “They’re with Megan.”
 

Sheila paused, seemingly caught between an urge to go get her kids and a fascination with the drama unfolding in this room. Will knew how she felt.
 

Ignoring the byplay, Stan walked forward, his arms outspread, as if he wanted to hug Darcy and make her see the light. “You know me better than that. You know what it takes to get ahead.” He reached out for the folder. She pulled her arm back.
 

Stan looked sad, as if he was indeed disappointed in his protégé. “This doesn’t prove anything, you know. Or rather, it proves that your product had a little extra additive to help prevent mold. Just a smidge to protect the consumer. What of it? We made that decision together, don’t you remember?”

Darcy blinked. Blinked again, seeming to shake a sadness that had settled over her with her mentor’s words. She pulled a page she’d printed off at home while Will had been negotiating child care with Megan. “This lab work shows otherwise, I’m afraid. It’s not just a smidge of triclosate. It’s also propylene glycol, dimethicone, disodium EDTA, quaternium-15, butylparaben, and BPA, presumably from the packaging.”

Stan laughed nervously. “All that? Still, it’s just one product. Which you were responsible for, let me remind you. And as soon as I found out about it, I pulled the plug.”

“Of course you did. As any responsible, health-minded, eco-conscious hippy would. Which doesn’t explain why the chemicals I mentioned were found in AquaClean, not Slippery Elm.”

Stan stalked to his side table, where he poured himself a golden liquid from a glass bottle. Clearly not just tea anymore. He wobbled, spilling a few drops on the table.
 

Looking stricken, Darcy started toward him. “Look, Stan, I don’t want this to turn into some kind of—”

Stan waved her off. “You’ve got me.” He mimed an arrow through the heart, staggering back. His unsteadiness looked a bit too real. He took a large gulp of the alcohol. It seemed to help. “Still, it’s not illegal.”

Darcy glanced at Will. She was chewing her bottom lip. This was painful for her. Her mentor was falling apart before her eyes. Coming apart at the seams. Her gaze said,
help
, said
I can’t do this.
So Will jumped in. “It
is
illegal. You have several ingredients that aren’t disclosed on the label. That’s actionable. Even if the FDA chooses to ignore it, the bad publicity will ruin your company.” He pitched his voice soft, but it had to be said. “You have a user base that goes out of their way to find healthy products without chemical additives. You’ve been lying to them. When this gets out, it will devastate your stock.”

Darcy nodded, clearly drawing strength from his words. “Plus, the amount of butylparaben is over the legal limit for the EU market, and they’re stricter about penalties. No. It’s over.”

~*~

As Sheila finally slipped out the door to go retrieve her kids, Stan collapsed in a chair and buried his head in his hands. “I thought you were one of mine, the inner circle. I thought I could trust you.”

Darcy’s throat clogged. “I thought I could trust you too.” She looked at Will over Stan’s head. He agreed with her, she could tell from the pained downturn of his mouth and the compassion in his eyes. So she took Stan’s hands in hers. “Retire now. You’re old enough. It’ll look like you simply wanted to spend time traveling. And you do, don’t you? You could follow your favorite bands all over the world.”

Stan raised his head. “It wasn’t like I set out to corrupt the product line. But the company was foundering. The creams weren’t creamy enough. The shampoos didn’t form suds. And do you remember the Grateful Head shampoo recall, with that moldy batch? People don’t want pure products. They think they do, but they don’t. It’s like everyone says they’ll eat better after the holidays. Do you have any idea how many New Year’s resolutions are broken? Ninety-nine percent. And the ones that are kept are stupid things like ‘I’ll try a new haircut this year,’ and ‘I’ll finally read
Moby Dick
.’ Nobody keeps the hard ones about cleaning up their act.”

Darcy looked at Will. He had kept his resolutions. He was painfully, beautifully moral, fully aware of who he was and what was right. Now he was looking at Stan with disgusted comprehension in his eyes. “So you cut corners. You cheated.”

“I gave people what they really wanted. It worked. The company took off. Who are you to tell me I was wrong?”

Darcy shook her head. “I don’t have to. You know it.”

Stan sighed, a deep, shattered soul of a sigh.

The door swung open, and Thora came in. She stopped halfway across the threshold. “Whoa, hey. You’re back. And you, good-looking dude, you’re here too. Hey, Stan, man, you okay?”

Stan tried for a smile. “I’m good, I’m fine, I’m sunshine.”

“You’re groovy, man.” Thora winked at him. “I have a bunch of faxes for you, but your new assistant did a disappearing act. Do you want them or should I leave ’em on her desk?”

Stan started to answer but dissolved into loud sobs.
 

Thora came closer, unsure, glancing at Darcy and Will. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just faxes.”

Stan wiped his eyes and beckoned her over. “I want you to be the first to hear this. I’m retiring after this year.”

“Hey, man, sorry to hear it. Are you okay? Are you sick or something?”

Stan glanced at Darcy and Will, then sighed heavily. “My doctor says…” He shook his head. “I want to go on a world tour before I—while I still can.”

Thora looked aghast. She clutched the pages to her chest. “I’ll come back later, okay?” And she fled.
 

 
As the door closed behind her, Stan stood up. He looked frail, as if he genuinely was terminally ill and had just discovered it. “I forgive you, Darcy.” His voice wavered. “But you’re fired. I hope you understand. I love you, but I can’t trust you. I’ll retire.” He laughed, a sour sound. “It’s true, you know. I have a heart condition. I should retire. I once thought you could lead the company when I did. But now…” He shook his head.
 

She understood. Nothing more needed to be said.
 

Darcy walked out of the building hand in hand with Will into the slanting afternoon sun. An odd feeling rose in her, giddy and awful, and she started laughing. Laughing and laughing. Laughing so hard she was crying. Laughing so hard her chest hurt and her stomach hurt and her head hurt and oh God, she was staggering, holding Will for support. He gently guided her to sit on the edge of the tinkling fountain in front of the building. Everyone could see them, but she couldn’t stop sobbing. No better than Stan. Broken like him.

Then Will kissed her, smoothing the tears off her cheeks, and she kissed him back. It was different this time. Not soft, not hard, not hungry, not demanding. A soothing kiss, a healing kiss. A loving kiss.
 

She pulled back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I guess this makes me officially homeless and jobless. At least I still have my car.”

Will started to speak, then stopped himself, apparently changing his mind. He didn’t disagree with her assessment. That was bitter too. “Let’s go to your car, then.”

He insisted on driving, and she let him. She gazed out the window at the undulating golden hills dotted with dark green scrubby trees. She didn’t belong here after all. Stan and now Will had made that abundantly clear.

Maybe she’d move back to New York. Find a job there. Or Chicago. Or Shanghai. Start fresh. Clean slate and all that. Maybe she could start her own business somewhere far away.
 

Her chest hurt.
 

Will cleared his throat. “What if…” He swallowed convulsively, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.
 

“What if what?” Her voice was hoarse. Probably all that crying.
 

“What if you stay in the condo?”

“If you get the Calderon job, you mean? You’d move to Chicago and leave it to me after all?”

“If I get the gig, I’ll fly back and forth. My home is here. No, I mean, what if you stay and I do too?” He gazed intently through the windshield, concentrating all his attention on driving as if to avoid an impending accident. Thing was, the road was nearly clear of traffic.
 

Darcy was stunned. “You mean that?”

Will gave her a quick sideways glance. “Seems like the only fair arrangement.”

“It would be temporary, then?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

He fell silent.
 

Darcy felt dizzy. She turned back to looking out the window. Maybe this was home after all. Maybe she belonged here. With Will?
 

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but she had a feeling it was more than he’d ever said before.
 

Still, was it enough?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Darcy seemed distant and a little sad. She hadn’t said a word for the rest of the ride home. As if he’d hurt her. He was offering her his heart. Couldn’t she see that?

As they walked from the condo parking lot through the short alley lined with fescue grass and dandelions, he replayed the conversation. He hadn’t exactly sounded warm and welcoming, had he? He’d made it sound more like a business arrangement. “Darcy, when I said live together, I meant—”

He trailed off as they emerged into the courtyard. Tim was perched on their stoop. A locksmith knelt by the door.
 

Will started running, Darcy close behind.
 

Tim grimaced as they arrived at their doorway. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be back for a while longer.”
 

Darcy clenched her hands into fists. Afraid she might punch Tim in the nose, Will stepped forward, blocking her access. “What are you doing, Tim? This seems, if not illegal, then highly questionable.”

Tim shook his head regretfully. “Legal, or so I’m told. I’m taking back possession. Since it was erroneously sold to both of you, neither title to the property is valid.”

Darcy stepped around Will. “I seem to remember you giving us a deadline. Which hasn’t passed yet.”

Tim looked sadder, if anything. “The deadline passed four hours ago.”

“No, it was until midnight tonight.”

Tim sighed, a mighty exhale. Milking his
Woe-is-me, I-have-to-be-a-bad-guy routine. “The deadline was based on the twenty-four-hours-in-a-day presumption. Midnight would add fourteen hours to that. But how will that help? If you were going to come to an understanding, you would have by now.”

Darcy glanced at Will but remained silent. He cursed himself. He’d bungled his proposal. If that was what it was. And yeah, it kind of was.
 

“What about possession? It’s nine-tenths of the law, they say.” Darcy gestured toward the living room window, where a floor lamp and a framed painting were clearly visible. “We’re clearly in possession.”

“Funny thing. You’re not. You’re out here.” Tim crossed his arms.

Darcy crossed hers. Standoff.

A tornado flew across the yard. “Uncle Tim! I didn’t know you were here!”

Tim closed his eyes, gathering himself, then put on a smile for his niece. “Hey, Brianna, shouldn’t you be in school?”
 

“We have the day off. It’s a teacher in-service day, whatever that means. What are you doing on Darcy’s steps? She should invite you in.” The girl turned to Darcy. “You should invite him in. He doesn’t like sitting on the ground. He has a bad leg.”
 

Darcy ruffled the girl’s hair. “I would, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my keys.”

“Is that what he’s doing here?” She pointed to the locksmith. Darcy shrugged, a nonanswer that looked like an answer.
 

Will saw a shadow flit across the other man’s face. It looked a lot like guilt. “Tim, what’s really going on? This isn’t you.”
 

 
“Trust me, this is not my idea of a good time. But you weren’t getting it done, so I have to.”

Darcy looked at him. “Is it your mother?”

Tim frowned, irritated. “She has nothing to do with this. It’s the backers. The bank. I’m starting to hear whispers. I have a business to run.” He gestured toward Brianna. “People relying on me. I have to be responsible if you won’t.”

Finished, the locksmith dropped the key in Tim’s outstretched hand. Darcy made a grab for it, but her fist closed on empty air. Tim pocketed the key and got up.
 

“What on earth, Tim?” Megan came up, standing behind her daughter. “Give the woman her key.”