Page 17 of Mending Our Chance

Marcus sprung from his seat. “How dare you! Where I’m from, those are fightin’ words.” He leaned down into Mr. Stonewell’s face, his drawl coming out thick with his rage.

It was then that I became aware that the whole restaurant was looking at us. I placed my fingers ever so gently on his sleeve to still his curling fists. “Marcus, hold,” I said warningly. Turning to the older man, I said, “Mr. Stonewell, please, we are unaware of what has happened. Could you explain further so that we can clear up any misunderstandings? There is no bidding war, I can assure you.”

“You are right, Ma’am,” the associate replied, not bothering to hide his pompous grin. “Because while you wined and dined us, wasting our valuable time, Glencoe INC. just purchased not only your product, but acquired your company, merging it under their own.”

Marcus was so stunned that he forgot his manners and sat down even though I was still standing.

I blurted out, “What the fuck?” Apparently, my manners had flown as well.

Mr. Stonewell and his junior simply turned and walked away. As I narrowed my eyes at their backs, wishing I could throw them the bird and shout a few additional profanities, my brain combed all possible explanations for their bombshell. The realization came to me at the same time it did Marcus.

“Harold,” I breathed.

Black rage clouded that handsome face. Marcus lifted a fist and ground out, “The fucker is dead.”

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