Where Rivers Part (5 page)

Alexa rewarded him with a wide smile. “The prospect of this deal clinched our merger with Montavan. But Greer's right. The negotiations have been tricky.” She tapped her pen against her open palm and turned to Dale and Juliet. “Surprisingly, Water Circus wants to increase volume immediately to levels far greater than we anticipated. If we can meet the demand, they have agreed to give
us exclusive retail rights for all the bottled water at the park.” As she said this, her eyes took on an excited shine. “All of it . . . Do you have any idea what that means?”

Greer chimed in. “A bottom-line increase of over twelve million dollars annually.”

Dale rubbed his cheek. “And a pretty fair strain on production resources. We're not at capacity yet, but what are we talking here?”

Alexa explained what would be required, adding that she'd make sure he had the equipment and personnel needed to accomplish the job.

Dale slowly nodded. “Well, if necessary, we can lease an additional facility. There's plenty of vacant warehouse space nearby.” His face broke into a grin. “I'm in.”

Alexa clapped her manicured hands. “Excellent. We can look to an outside staffing agency for any administrative support. Now, we need a commitment from the quality assurance area as well.”

All eyes turned to Juliet.

She swallowed, wondering if the people sitting at the table could hear her pounding heart. In her short time with Larimar Springs, she'd worked hard to upgrade the lab and establish expanded protocols. She still had much she wanted to address in terms of developing an audit plan and staff training. A substantial increase in production would slow these critical plans.

As if reading her thoughts, Alexa lifted her chin and pressed for an answer. “Is there a problem, Dr. Ryan?”

“No—no, of course QA will make that commitment,” she assured everyone around the table, willing her confidence to match their own. “Provided we are allowed enough time to maintain our sampling protocols.”

Alexa's eyes narrowed. “Be specific.”

“We can work harder and faster, but incubation periods cannot be rushed.”

“We expect the need to be great and grow rapidly. I can't stress
enough how critical it is for every area to fully support this opportunity.” Greer turned to Alexa, not bothering to stifle his concern. “Dr. Ryan has only been on board a short time. Perhaps we need—”

“Are you suggesting you can't handle the increase?” Alexa asked Juliet.

“I hope that's not what you're saying,” Greer injected. “Because there is an awful lot riding on this deal. For everyone.”

“We'll handle it.” Juliet took a deep breath and glared across the table in his direction. “I assure you, my department will do whatever it takes.”

 5 

J
uliet stepped from the shower and dried off. Still feeling a bit cranky, she wiped steam from the mirror and wrapped her hair in the towel before moving to the walk-in closet. While reaching for her yoga pants, she tried not to look at the unpacked boxes still on the floor. Somehow her mother's organization gene had not gotten passed down. More importantly, she just hadn't had time.

No matter how hard she worked, she never seemed to be able to get ahead of the long list of items needing her attention. And now her workload had just increased exponentially. If that didn't create enough stress, she faced office politics—a QA supervisor who seemed to resent the changes she implemented, and self-serving comments from Mr. GQ in the meeting, casting doubt on her ability.

She shoved her arms into the sleeves of the matching robe and yanked the belt closed, tying it tightly around her waist.

Her only consolation was that no doubt Alexa Carmichael had been kicked around on her way to the top as well and knew just how things were. She'd no doubt faced all this and more before attaining her level of respect.

There would always be men like Greer Latham, friendly in the parking lot and vicious in the boardroom. Thanks to her father, she'd learned to watch for men with ulterior motives whose only
loyalty was to themselves. She dealt with these situations head-on, training herself to use before she got used.

The world was dog-eat-dog and she was nobody's puppy chow.

Of course, the increase in production could be her chance to shine, she supposed. The effort required to keep on top of everything would be exhausting, but she'd move heaven and earth to pull it off.

She'd finished dressing and was lotioning her arms when the doorbell rang. Juliet scowled and flipped the lid closed on the Neutrogena bottle. Who could possibly be at her door this time of night?

She made her way down the hall and to the front door of her condo. Leaning forward, she peeked through the tiny security lens.
Oh
, great.

She clicked the lock and opened the door. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Well, that's some greeting.”

“After today, what would you expect?”

“Oh, c'mon. May I come in?”

Juliet stepped aside, allowing Greer entrance. He was wearing jeans, a light-blue button-down, and a remorseful look. “Look, I'm sorry. Really. I only wanted to make sure you carefully considered everything that was at stake while in that meeting.”

Juliet pulled the towel from her head and shook out her wet hair. “You could have warned me that was coming. The deal points, I mean.”

“You know I couldn't,” he explained in a tone Juliet considered dangerously close to what a person would use with a child. He followed her into the open kitchen area.

“I was about to make tea.” She grabbed the teapot from the stainless steel stove. “Want some?” She moved to the sink and turned on the faucet. “And I'm fully aware of the implications at work, thank you.”

Greer held up both hands. “Hey, I'm not the enemy, babe. I'm the one who told you about the job opening and arranged for that interview. Remember?”

Her hand slammed the faucet off. She turned. “I landed that position because I was qualified.”

Greer shook his head. “I know that. And let me remind you I'm not the one who decided to hide our relationship from everyone.”

“I told you. I'm not ready to go public.”

He looked at her dubiously. “Who cares what Alexa and everybody else thinks?”

Irritation swelled, causing her to choose her next words carefully. “It's different for a woman at work. I don't want anyone doubting my credentials because of our personal relationship. But that's off point and doesn't excuse your raising doubts about my ability to handle the increased production.”

Greer moved forward and placed his hands at her waist. “What do I have to do to convince you I'm your biggest fan? There's no doubt in my mind you can hold your own at Larimar Springs—which is why I treated you no differently in that meeting than I would've any other person in that position.”

Juliet stared into his steel-blue eyes. Should she remind him he hadn't put the vice president of operations through the wringer?

Greer's fingers laced through her damp hair. “I'm not your father. You can trust me.”

She ignored the fact he smelled like soft leather and spice, and warm male skin. “This isn't about my father.”

He leaned closer. She could feel his breath against her cheek, his chiseled chest against her own. He paused, slipped the teapot from her hand, and placed it on the counter.

Time seemed to slow down. Her legs trembled beneath her.

Outside the windows of her condominium, the lights of downtown San Antonio shimmered in the far distance. “You can trust me,” he whispered, taking her face in his hands.

As Greer's lips melted into her own, Juliet shut her eyes and tried to remember why she'd ever doubted.

 6 

A
utumn in San Antonio barely differed from any other season. Sure, the grass color faded and the leaves on the oaks grew thinner, but unlike the golden-leafed months she'd spent up north while in college, often the only real sign of fall in Texas was shorter days.

Juliet drove north on 287, past the Pearl and across the San Antonio River. Out her passenger window, the sky turned dusk and she could barely make out the trees in Brackenridge Park. Traffic at this time of night was often heavy, with downtown workers migrating home to the suburbs, a fact that should've prompted Juliet to leave earlier, had she not been so slammed at work. She glanced at the digital clock on the dash. No doubt she'd be late to her mother's birthday party.

Last week she'd been out for a quick dinner with friends when her iPhone buzzed. She'd been startled seeing her father's name appear. Rarely did she talk to him over the phone, and she couldn't recall a time when they'd texted.

Throwing a birthday party for your mom at
the Quarry. Fri 6:00. Hope you'll come help celebrate
her 57th.

Juliet's face immediately tightened. She worked her thumbs across the screen, typing out a quick response.

I
'll be there. And she's turning 58.

She muted her phone and tossed it in her purse.

One of her friends shouted over the noise in the restaurant. “Who was that?”

Juliet shook her head. “No one important,” she'd answered, and zipped the bag closed.

The exit leading to Alamo Heights loomed ahead. Juliet turned on her blinker and cut into the right-hand lane, then pulled off the freeway. The Quarry Golf Club was located on Basse Road, not far from the Alamo Quarry Marketplace with its landmark smoke stacks.

Her parents had moved to this neighborhood seven years ago. Here locals were known as “oh-niners,” representing the trendy zip code with its upscale shopping and eclectic restaurants.

When Juliet visited, she'd often join her mother for her weekly shopping at Central Market, where the two of them would lunch on samples handed out at the end of nearly every aisle. Sometimes they would circle back to the deli twice when the bald-headed deli manager offered up a sampling of his olive selection—Arbequinas, Cerignolas, and Kalamatas. Her mother's favorites were the small, tart-flavored Picholines. “They taste just like Granny Smith apples,” she often claimed, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

Juliet pulled into the already crowded parking lot, relieved to be late by only twenty minutes. Inside, she was greeted by the restaurant manager, a friend of her mother's who pointed to where the birthday girl stood in the corner of the room surrounded by friends, laughing and talking. Above their heads, a massive banner lined the wall: C
AROL
R
YAN
—B
IRTHDAY
G
IRL
! When her mom looked up, Juliet smiled and gave a little wave.

The room was packed, with the crowd spilling out onto the large patio overlooking the abandoned limestone quarry that had been transformed by savvy investors into a top-rated golf course. Through the windows, Juliet spotted several members of her mother's church
standing out on the patio near large terra-cotta pots filled with yellow and rust-colored mums and cascading bright green potato vine.

Just inside the door, Frank Warren from their old neighborhood grabbed two chicken wings from a server passing a platter of hors d'oeuvres. Frank's wife elbowed him as he slid a quick third before the server moved on.

On the other side of the room, her mom's best friend chatted at a table with two women who were on the board of the new birthing center. Sandy looked in Juliet's direction, smiled, and wiggled her fingers.

Juliet waved back, then turned and headed for the bar. “Hi, Clarence. I'll have a club soda with lime, please.”

Despite the noise, she could hear her father's laughter. He remained out of sight, hidden in part by an enormous platter of cheese and fruit sitting on the corner of the bar. Juliet waited for her drink, then stepped back and stole a glance in that direction.

Her father sat on a stool, surrounded by three women, one with her arm casually placed on his shoulder. He said something, his hands waving wildly, and they all laughed.

Her father noticed her then.

Juliet gave him a hard look, one he'd seen from her before.

Her father scrambled up, excused himself, and quickly moved in her direction. “JuJu, I'm glad you could make it.”

Words piled up in her mouth, colliding with disgust. “Nice party,” she hissed.

Looking confused, her father glanced at the women, then quickly focused back on Juliet, his eyes raw with emotion. “You've got it wrong.” When she said nothing, he gripped her elbow, nearly causing her drink to splash from the glass, and guided her to where the women stood.

“Ladies, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Dr. Juliet Ryan.” He forced a smile. “Honey, this is Carla Montgomery, Patty Blake, and Janice O'Brien.”

The woman with the wandering arm grinned. “We've been held captive to your father's awful jokes.”

Her father stubbornly lifted his chin. “These women are on the board at the institute. We work together.” He pointed his glass toward a group of men approaching. “And these gentlemen are their husbands.”

“Juliet, sweetheart.” Her mother walked up then, open arms extended, but not before quickly glancing between her husband and daughter.

Juliet moved into her mother's embrace, giving her a tight hug. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

Outside on the patio, a band warmed up. The lead singer tapped on the microphone a couple of times. “Testing, testing. One, two.”

A couple of chords drifted through the open double doors leading outside, where strings of lights hung in the air, gently swaying in the breeze coming off the golf course. “We're going to play a little song dedicated to the birthday girl.”

Juliet's mom laughed and covered her mouth with her hand. She shook her head in tickled disbelief as the lead singer leaned close to the microphone. “Carol Ryan, this is for you . . . WILD thing, pum, pum . . . You make Bennett's heart sing, pum, pum . . .”

The crowd broke out in laughter. Juliet's father stood and scooped his wife close with his arm. He led her to the patio, and Juliet watched through the glass windows as he swung her around to the music.

Juliet smiled despite herself. Her mother was beautiful tonight. And she looked radiantly happy.

When the music finally died down, Juliet shifted through the crowd and returned to the bar.

“Another club soda?” Clarence asked, drying a glass with a towel.

She nodded before glancing up at the television mounted on the wall. On the screen, two attendants in white coats pulled a gurney from an ambulance and wheeled a young child into a hospital
emergency department. A silent ticker slowly scrolled across the bottom of the television.

Child taken to Children's Hospital with severe
diarrhea, abdominal cramping, and vomiting.

A graphic flashed onscreen listing E. coli symptoms, while the ticker below continued.

Undercooked hamburgers
at backyard barbecue suspected.

Juliet's heart sank. “When will people learn to fully cook their ground beef?” she muttered, angry that someone's carelessness had sickened another child.

“Dr. Ryan?”

She turned to find Dr. O'Brien standing beside her. “I'm afraid we got off to a bad start.” Her father's friend extended her hand. A collection of gold bracelets dangled against a petite gold Rolex.

Juliet took her refreshed drink from Clarence, thanked him, then turned and shook the woman's hand. Not knowing what else to say, she let the notion that she may have misread the earlier situation temper her response. “It's nice of you to join in celebrating my mother's birthday.”

“Glad to be invited. This is some party.” Dr. O'Brien's brightly colored lips broke into a smile, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. “Your father thinks very highly of you. He brags regularly about his daughter the scientist.”

Her father joined them, still breathless from dancing. “That's right,” he said. He lifted his finger to Clarence, indicating he needed another drink. Clarence nodded, wiped his hands on a towel, and grabbed a glass from the shelf behind the bar.

Her father slid onto a barstool. “I keep telling everybody how hard I try to convince you to come work at the institute.”

“I have a job.” Juliet reached for the nearby tray on the counter, lifted a toothpicked cube of cheese, and slid it in her mouth.

“At Larimar Springs? NAFSI filed two formal requests for an independent audit of their QA facilities last year. Refused us both
times.” He turned to Dr. O'Brien. “Alexa Carmichael hired Juliet, likely figuring I won't take my own daughter to task.”

Juliet felt her whole body heat up. “Did it ever occur to you I'm a highly qualified microbiologist? And a respected quality assurance director?”

He swished the liquid in his glass. “You should be—I raised you.” He lifted the drink to his lips.

“No, Mother raised me.” She glanced in Dr. O'Brien's direction, then back. “You were always far too busy.”

Carol Ryan looked across the car seat at her husband. “For goodness' sake, Bennett. Whose side are you on?”

Bennett gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “She hates me.”

“She doesn't hate you,” Carol argued. “She's angry. There's a difference.”

Bennett shook his head. “I'm telling you, I've met that Carmichael woman she's working for, and I don't like her. Companies driven by the almighty dollar always put safety in the backseat.”

Carol pressed her head against the headrest in frustration. “I love you, but you are a self-righteous man.”

“So I'm the bad guy?” He checked the side mirror before switching lanes.

She glared in his direction. “And you think our brilliant daughter won't uncover a problem if there is one? Bennett, that isn't what this is about, and you know it.” She rubbed at her forehead. “I prayed in time you'd both come to your senses and quit acting like two bickering children. I should have locked the two of you in a room long ago . . . made you work this out.”

“I've tried to work things out with our daughter. Many times.”

Carol shook her head. “Yes, and then you go and stir up the pot again. Like you did tonight. When will you ever learn, Bennett?”

They rode in silence for several minutes.

Finally, he reached and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I can't believe a pretty girl like you still hangs around an old poop like me.”

Carol covered his hand with her own. “Please, Bennett. I'm asking you again. For all our sakes—please back off.”