Page 50 of Without Regret

She smiled, the action not reaching her eyes. “You can send me the items requested. I’ll be sure to email you the list, so you’ll have my email address. But mostly you’ll be working with Lyle, our forensic auditor, who’ll be traveling in next week.”

“That’s too bad.” He made no attempt to hide his blatant flirting. “All right, gentlemen, guess I’d better get to my computer to supply the beautiful Ms. Emma her documentation.”

After Peter left, Simon took me into his office. I didn’t hesitate to ask the question burning in my mind. “Are we only keeping the software?”

He sighed. “It was always a possibility.”

One I hadn’t really considered. Or perhaps I’d voluntarily blocked it out.

“Let’s call Phillip to discuss,” Simon said.

Now it was my turn to sigh.

***

I needed a drink. Since it was after nine o’clock in the evening, and I was only now leaving the office, I intended to grab one. Unfortunately, the call with Phillip had yielded less-than-favorable results. If we bought the company, we’d keep a team of five support people for now, Peter would take his three programmers, and the rest would be let go. And I was the one who’d get the horrible task of informing them.

I was packing up along with Simon and Emma. Tom had left hours ago, citing a conference call that couldn’t wait. I had no doubt he used the call as an excuse to put in the least number of hours possible. But it was easier to work without him throwing out snippy, peanut-gallery comments, so I think we were all relieved when he’d called it an early night.

While Simon was on the phone as he walked out, Emma fell in step with me. “You okay?” she asked, glancing over.

“I will be. After a beer or two. You want to join me?”

She hesitated, making me realize my mistake. I’d asked while we were leaving work, and she had to return to the hotel with Simon.

“Never mind. Have a good night.” I waved at both her and Simon. He’d hung up his cell phone and was ready to drive them both back to their hotel.

I stopped at a sports pub a few miles outside of town and realized as soon as I stepped inside that I was way overdressed in my suit. Loosening my tie and losing my jacket, I took a seat at the bar. As I looked around, I saw the place was almost empty. Of course, it was a Monday night, so that could have been why.

An old barkeep with a big white beard came ambling over.

Smiling at him, I ordered a shot of Patron along with a Corona chaser. After taking a sip of my beer, I took out my phone and was surprised to see a text from Emma.

“Where are you?”

“Bar called Whiskey Lullaby.”

There was no response, and I knew better than to get my hopes up. Twenty minutes later, though, she walked in. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my heart skipped a beat. Yeah, I was just like the guy in those chick-flick movies my sister made me watch, who tracks the girl walking in, completely and totally smitten.

Damn. I had to swallow hard and clear my head else I send her for the hills by being too obvious. She was still dressed as she had for work, in a killer black suit, with her hair up and her fuck-me pumps on her feet. There was no doubt the few men in the place turned in her direction. But her gaze fixed directly on me, sending the message I was the only one in whom she was interested. I wasn’t sure, though, if her interest went anything beyond my presence in her bed.

“Hi,” I managed as she slid onto the stool beside me.

“Hi. Drinking alone is a clear sign you’ve had a bad day.”

“Is that why you came?”

She gave a little shrug and ordered up a vodka tonic before giving me a smile. “I came because I hoped the invitation was still open. And because I know today wasn’t easy with the arsehole owner.”

“The invitation is always open, sugar.”

I noticed the way her face lit up at the endearment. She was probably thinking what I was, about how I’d first christened her with the name.

“Peter has no regard, no loyalty, and no moral compass when it comes to his employees,” I said.

She held up her glass and clinked it against my raised beer. “Nope, and yet we’re about the profit and have to ignore all of that.”

“Is it bad to want the entire thing to fall through? I realize I should prefer to make money for Phillip and the Stone Group, but I absolutely hate that Peter will win.” I’d rather tell him where to put his two-million-dollar price tag.

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