Part 19 (1/2)

Chapter Fifteen.

Sooner or later, trouble is bound to knock on your door. Welcome it. Then poison it.

-Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman's Journey Del wasn't in his office. Again. ”When will he be back?” Samantha asked p.i.s.sy.

”By noon, but he has a lunch date so he's not going to be able to talk to you.”

”I'm sure he can spare a minute,” Samantha said, and plunked herself down on a chair to wait. This time she was not leaving until somebody told her something about those permits.

p.i.s.sy shrugged. ”Suit yourself.” Then she went back to her desk and got busy looking busy.

Really, if people could get a degree in immaturity, p.i.s.sy would have a doctorate. Samantha took out her phone and began checking email.

She'd barely gotten started when Elena called. ”You'd better get back here.”

The urgency in her voice made Samantha's heart stop. ”What's going on?”

”Something fishy. The manager from the bank is here with two other men and they want to inspect the factory.”

”What?” Samantha bolted from her seat and hurried out the door. ”Where are they now?”

”I sent them to the gift shop for some free samples. I didn't know what else to do.”

”You did the right thing,” Samantha said.

”Why are they here? Does this have anything to do with your meltdown a couple weeks ago?”

”Yes, but it's under control. Don't worry.”

”Don't worry? Estas demente? I know a shark when I see one. What's going on, chica?”

”Nothing I can't handle,” Samantha a.s.sured them both. Oh, Lord, she hoped she was right. She ended the call and broke into a run.

But when she reached her street she realized she needed to face these buzzards from a position of strength, not weakness. Entering her business establishment breathless, sweaty and panicked was no way to put up a strong front. She slowed down, finger-combed her hair and found a tissue in her purse to blot her damp forehead. Then she took a deep breath and marched into battle.

She'd expected to see Blake the Snake and maybe another bank manager, but not the third man, and her heart seized at the sight of him. She knew this man, just like she knew all her compet.i.tors. She'd made it her business to check out the compet.i.tion. Trevor Brown was a busy boy. Every year he lobbied for Madame C to become the official candy of Was.h.i.+ngton State, as the Liberty Orchards people who made Aplets and Cotlets did, and Brown & Haley, producers of Almond Roca-as if he was even in their league-and Sweet Dreams, the chocolate contender. He had big suppliers and a big appet.i.te. He'd already gobbled up two small companies, and now he was looking to swallow hers. Well, he wasn't going to get it.

She donned her business smile and forced herself to move forward, hand out. ”I heard we had visitors.”

Blake shook her hand. She felt a jolt at the contact and told herself it was rage, pure rage.

He looked embarra.s.sed. He should. He should be mortified by his behavior. Entering the Mr. Dreamy contest and now bringing the vultures for a little deathbed visit. She ended the handshake as quickly as possible. Shaking hands with the other two men as he made introductions wasn't any more pleasant. No jolt there, just panic. Don't panic!

”Nice to meet you,” she said to Trevor Brown even though they both knew it was a lie. ”Your reputation precedes you.” As a maker of inferior chocolates.

”Does it?” He smiled and took another bite of the pecan b.u.t.ter crunch fudge Heidi had given him.

Meanwhile, Heidi was standing behind the counter, a question mark in her big blue eyes.

Samantha smiled rea.s.suringly at her, then returned her attention to the trio of vipers in front of her. ”So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

”Actually, we're here to tour your facility,” said the man Blake had introduced as Darren Short.

”I'm afraid we don't give tours.” Samantha smiled with faux regret.

”To the bank that's calling in your note you do,” Darren said pleasantly.

Samantha's veins turned to ice. Heidi's shock came at her like a wave; before the day was over, all her employees would be in a panic. She suddenly felt like the proverbial little Dutch boy trying to plug a mult.i.tude of holes in the dike. ”The bank doesn't own Sweet Dreams.” Not yet, anyway.

”No,” Darren said, ”but as holder of the note we do have the right to inspect the facility at any time and make sure it's in good working order.”

”Then I suggest you send in someone who's qualified to do so.”

”We have,” Darren said. ”That's why Trevor is with us.”

This had to be how a cat felt when it was cornered by a pack of dogs. Both Darren Short and Trevor Brown were s...o...b..ring to devour her, and Blake the Snake stood there, his jaw clenched like he wished she'd just shut up and die and be done with it.

Well, she'd be d.a.m.ned if she would. She raised her chin. ”I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm afraid Mr. Brown doesn't qualify as an inspector.” The only t.i.tle he qualified for was king of mediocrity. ”If you're concerned about the condition of our building or equipment you can, of course, send someone appropriately qualified, although I can a.s.sure you everything is in perfect working order.” Now she smiled, the charming businesswoman offering hospitality. ”Mr. Brown, I know you've got a long drive back to Seattle, but I'm sure you'll want to check out one of our fine restaurants. Zelda's is popular, and if you like Mexican there's Der Spaniard. And Schw.a.n.gau can give you some wonderful authentic German fare.” She moved to the door and opened it.

”Now, wait a minute,” Darren sputtered.

”Gentlemen, I think it's time for lunch,” Blake said, moving to the door.

Trevor shrugged. ”I've seen enough. Great chocolate, by the way,” he said to Samantha as he sauntered past.

Darren wasn't such a good sport. He punched a finger at her. ”I want reports on all your equipment and the condition of your building on Blake's desk by the end of business today. Got it?”

In his dreams. Samantha glared at him. ”Get. Out.”

He stormed off, but Blake lingered. ”Samantha, this was not my idea.”

She glared at him, too. ”But here you are, anyway.”

”Not by choice.”

”Said the hangman to the prisoner,” she retorted.

”Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you.”

”Yes, I can tell,” she said through gritted teeth. She nodded at his departing partners in crime. ”You'd better hurry and catch up. I'd hate to see the vultures start lunch without you.”

For a moment he stood there, his jaw working.

”I guess that was too polite. Let me translate. Leave.”

He nodded curtly and strode off down the street and she closed the door behind him, then collapsed against it.