elevator dinged and the doors parted, allowing Sheryl to step into the reception area she knew so well. When they’d moved into this building from the tiny space HGS had occupied before, Sheryl and her roommate, Meka, an interior decorator, had helped Brad pick out the furnishings. Right down to the blue leather upholstered chair the plump receptionist, Denise Avery, was currently standing on.
“Morning,” Denise said from around the thumb-tacks clenched between her lips.
In her hands the receptionist held a shiny red-and-green garland that she was pinning onto the wall in one remaining bare corner of the room. Clearly in the spirit of the season, Denise looked adorably younger than her almost-forty years in a red jumper and green sweater, a piece of plastic ivy tucked into her bouncy blond ponytail. Her festive mood was also evident in the pot of poinsettias sitting on the small rectangular coffee table and the fake snow that adorned the window of the executive conference room.
“Brad asked for you to report to his office immediately,” the receptionist continued before Sheryl could voice a greeting. “Unless, of course, you haven’t had coffee yet, in which case see him immediately after your stop to the breakroom.”
Sheryl grinned and held up the fortifying cappuccino. Her favorite thing about this city, a caffeine-addict’s nirvana, was that no street corner was without either a Starbucks or Seattle’s Best Coffee. She’d had two cups of coffee at home, naturally, but that was to get her through personal grooming and the drive to the office. Each day, she needed at least one cup post-drive, and then she was good to go until afternoon fatigue set in. Woe to anyone who encountered her on a morning she didn’t get that crucial third cup.
Her grin faded as she considered Denise’s announcement. Brad wanted to see her immediately? What an uncommonly executive order…unless he wanted to once again try to convince her to rehash each second of their brief, passionless relationship. “Did he say why he wanted me?”
“Nathan Hall,” Denise replied, an edge to her chirpy voice.
Exasperated, Sheryl ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair. “Right.” She’d temporarily pushed aside Henry’s comment about a new story. “I’m just going to make a quick stop in the breakroom and see if there’s a copy of this morning’s Sojourner.” She personally didn’t want to buy a copy and give the paper her money, but she should read the latest piece so that she knew what she was up against.
As she headed down the carpeted corridor, Sheryl thought to herself that there was at least one Hall she might like to deck.
WEDNESDAY EVENING, Sheryl unknotted the belt at her waist, then threw her overcoat onto the buttery soft sectional sofa with a vengeance that was probably unfair to both jacket and couch. “Argh!”
Inside the kitchen adjacent to the living room, Tameka Williams glanced up from the island countertop where she was chopping carrots. Her thin, elegant eyebrows arched over teasing hazel eyes. “Bad day at the office, dear?”
Despite her mood, Sheryl laughed. Her best friend often had that effect. Sheryl couldn’t think of anyone in the state of Washington who’d make a better roommate than Meka, but after growing up in a big family and having roommates since her freshman year of college, Sheryl was ready to be alone. Especially now that Meka and Tyler McAfee were practically engaged, often unintentionally making Sheryl a third wheel in her own apartment.
Abandoning her demiboots, Sheryl padded in stocking feet to the kitchen. “I don’t know which of them is driving me crazier—the Columnist who Stole Christmas, or the Boyfriend of Christmas Past who’s haunting me.”
“Okay, the boyfriend is a certain blond software genius who gets weepy after Leonardo DiCaprio films, right? And the reporter would be…what’s his name? Nate?”
“Nathan. Hall. My nemesis. I get paid to make the company look good, and this jerk seems determined to paint us as evil.”
“Evil sells papers,” Meka said with a shrug of her graceful shoulders. Everything about Meka was graceful, and she looked absurdly elegant in a red-velour two-piece lounging set.
Opening the refrigerator, Sheryl hunted for a bottle of wine. After the day she’d had, she could use a glass. Unfortunately the closest thing they had was the cooking sherry Meka had pulled out to use for dinner. Still, Sheryl stared hard at the fridge’s interior for a moment, as though she could summon a nice Chardonnay through sheer willpower.
“I saw that piece he wrote today,” Meka continued. “He made some good points, about why does society reward wrongdoing? You guys have been accused of basically stealing Xandria Quest, yet sales are actually up for the game right now, making—”
Abandoning the attempted Chardonnay telepathy, Sheryl whirled around. “Reward wrongdoing? We didn’t do anything wrong!”
And sales might be up in the short run, but Sheryl was worried about the long-term results. If this case actually went to court and they lost…People in the industry had predicted Hammond Gaming Software would be the Next Big Thing, but the company wasn’t big yet and couldn’t afford any substantial financial setbacks. Or a damaged reputation.
Dropping her knife, Meka held up both hands in an I-surrender pose. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I am on your side. He’s just very persuasive.”
“I know.” Sheryl narrowed her eyes. “That’s what bothers me about him—his talent. He doesn’t sensationalize, he’s careful to use the right words like alleged, but it’s not those words that stick with you, it’s the overall impression. The impression that he’s a man of integrity on the side of justice.”
“You sound almost admiring.”
“Hardly!” Sheryl poured herself some apple juice, deciding to pretend it was hard cider. “It’s just that it would be easier to get the public to hear our side if Hall didn’t seem so damned credible. We’re the victims here!”
“Not to change the subject from the nemesis you’re all fired-up about while we’re in a room full of sharp utensils or anything, but what’s Brad doing that’s making you crazy?”
“Two things. One, he asked me to go on a date.”
“Oh, no!” An expression of amused horror settled across Meka’s pretty mocha-colored features. “Don’t tell me that incompetent shrink of his convinced Brad he can win you back.”
Laughing, Sheryl clarified, “You don’t understand, he wants me to go along on his date with another woman.”
“Didn’t think our man Brad had it in him to be kinky.”
Another laugh, this time with the unpleasant side effect of choking on apple juice. “He wants me to try to spot possible trouble areas in the relationship. He says it’s the least I can do since I won’t commit a few hours of rehashing our relationship. I told him this prospective new relationship wouldn’t go anywhere if he brought along an ex to chaperone.”
“For a boy who’s such a genius in some areas…”
“Tell me about it.”
“So what’s the second thing?”
Sheryl’s fingers tightened, and she was glad the glass in her hand was actually made from shatterproof plastic. “He wants us to extend an olive branch to Nathan Hall.”
Reaching
