Читать книгу The Boss's Daughter - Leigh Michaels, Leigh Michaels - Страница 7

AMY hesitated outside her father’s hospital room. Then she took a deep breath and pushed the door open. No matter what Gavin Sherwood wanted to tell her, she knew that delaying wouldn’t make it any easier to take, so she might just as well get it over with.

Inside the room, she paused to look at the man lying propped up in the hospital bed, surrounded by high-tech equipment. There was less machinery now than there had been three days ago, when she’d seen him in the intensive care unit right after his heart attack. He was still very ill, there was no denying that. But his color was better, and he was no longer nearly as fragile-looking as he had been a few days before. He was going to make it.

So whatever Gavin had on his mind, Amy told herself, she would listen patiently and politely and then do precisely as she pleased. She wouldn’t exactly blow a raspberry at him, of course, no matter what he said—because he was still her father. But she wasn’t going to be manipulated into making any deathbed promises to a man who clearly wasn’t on his deathbed.

Gavin opened his eyes. “You finally got my message, I see.”

He sounded a little querulous, Amy thought, and his voice hadn’t yet regained all its power—or perhaps the feeble quaver was intentional.

Amy moved closer to the bedside. “Message? It sounded more like a summons to me.”

“Took you long enough to get here. Where have you been? Out all night?”

As if he has any right to ask. “No, I got up early and went out for a walk. What is it you want, Gavin?”

“It’s a bit involved, I’m afraid. Sit down, Amy.”

“No, thanks. I didn’t come for a leisurely chat, and I’d just as soon not be here when your fiancée gets back from the cafeteria or wherever she’s gone.”

“Honey went home for a while.”

Amy lifted an eyebrow. So she could rest, or so you could? she wanted to ask.

“This has been an ordeal for her.”

“She was obviously under a lot of stress the night you came into the hospital,” Amy agreed. In fact, she seemed to regard your illness as a great personal inconvenience.

“She’s very young,” Gavin Sherwood said quietly. “She’s never faced serious illness before in anybody she truly cares about.”

And perhaps she still hasn’t. Amy’s tongue was getting sore from biting it, but she knew better than to say what she thought. Her father was already quite aware that his soon-to-be trophy wife was a major thorn in his daughter’s side, so it was unnecessary—and hardly sporting—for Amy to take cheap shots at Honey’s expense. Even more important, if she kept criticizing Honey, her opposition would only drive Gavin into defending his choice, further deepening the chasm between father and daughter.

But as long as Honey wouldn’t be popping in at any moment, she might as well make herself comfortable, Amy decided, and pulled up a chair. “So what did you want to talk to me about? The message you left on my answering machine wasn’t exactly chatty.”

“The nurses were hanging around when I called. How’s the job hunt coming along?”

“Quite well, thanks. Which I could have told you on the phone. So why was it so important that I drive over here?”

Gavin’s fingers plucked at the sheet. “My doctor says I can be released from the hospital in a few days. But of course I’m still facing a long recovery. I won’t be able to do much for myself at first.”

“I’m sure Honey will make a terrific nurse,” Amy said firmly. “It’ll give her a preview of the real meaning of ‘for better or for worse.’ And she looks stunning in white.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about. Of course she’ll be there for me.”

I hope you’re right, Amy wanted to say.

“It’s the auction house, you see. My doctor says I can’t go back to work for several weeks, so someone will have to step in, and of course you’re the obvious choice…” His voice trailed off as he looked up at her.

Amy was already shaking her head, and her voice was steady. “I don’t work there anymore, Gavin. Remember?”

“Officially you’re still on a leave of absence, you know.”

“I told you I quit, and I meant it. It was your choice not to accept my resignation.”

Gavin didn’t seem to hear her. “And if it hadn’t been for that silly misunderstanding, you would still be there. So it’s only sensible that you come back and—”

“Silly misunderstanding? I walked into your office and found you on the couch with Honey, and you call it a silly misunderstanding?”

“Of course you were upset, Amy.”

“Darn right I was. Remember? That was the first clue I had that you were planning to divorce my mother.”

“I know. And I truly wish you hadn’t found out that way.”

“That,” Amy said tersely, “makes two of us.”

“But to actually leave your job, to turn your back on the family business, over something like that…Honestly, Amy, now that you’ve had a chance to cool off and think it over, don’t you agree that you were being a little excessive?”

Amy considered. “Yes,” she said finally. “I was a little excessive. I should have gone back to my desk and written you a polite resignation letter instead of screaming ‘I quit!’ at the top of my lungs in the middle of the executive suite while Honey was still trying to get her sweater back on. My technique left a lot to be desired, I admit—put it down to the shock of the situation. But if you’re asking whether I have regrets over my decision—no, I don’t. After a display of that sort of bad judgment, I’d have trouble trusting any boss.”

Gavin looked at her shrewdly. “You can’t expect me to believe that you don’t miss the auction house.”

He was right about that, Amy conceded. She couldn’t honestly say that she didn’t miss Sherwood Auctions. She’d worked in her father’s business, in one capacity or another, ever since she could remember. Before she was a teenager, she’d been running errands, cleaning offices, watching the cloakroom. Later she’d moved up to writing catalog copy, spotting bids during auctions, and researching merchandise. And as soon as she had her degree she’d joined the full-time staff, though she’d still moved from department to department—taking a hand wherever she was needed.

Leaving a firm which had occupied so much of her life wouldn’t have been easy under any circumstances, but that fact didn’t mean she was sorry she’d done it. Once she was finally settled in a new job, she’d be contented again.

“It was time for a change, and I’m looking forward to new challenges.” She knew she sounded evasive.

Gavin bored in. “Doing what?”

“I’m not absolutely certain yet. But just because I haven’t accepted a job doesn’t mean I don’t have any prospects.”

“But the bottom line is that you’re still out of work,” Gavin mused. “Even after more than two months of looking.”

“Blame yourself for that, because you paid me well enough that I could take my time and look around instead of jumping at the first possibility. And if you’re speculating on why no one seems to want me—as a matter of fact, it looks as if I’m going to have three different offers any day now. Good offers, too. I’ll have a hard time figuring out which one I want to take.”

Gavin said slowly, “And each of them will give you a big change and a new challenge? Is that really what you want, Amy?”

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry, but—” She could afford to be gentle, now that he finally seemed to be hearing her.

“That’s exactly why you should come back and run the auction house instead,” Gavin pointed out brightly. “That’ll be a big change and a new challenge, too, because you’ve always worked in the separate departments. You’ve never before tried being in charge of everything.”

“And that’s why I’m the wrong person for the job. You’ve got a personal assistant who already oversees all the details. Why not promote him?”

“His name isn’t Sherwood.”

“So maybe he’ll change it if you ask him nicely.”

Gavin looked at her narrowly. “You still haven’t forgiven me for hiring Dylan instead of giving you the job, have you, Amy?”

“Where did you get that delusion? I didn’t want to be a glorified secretary, making phone calls and excuses.”

“Dylan is not a glorified secretary.”

“Great. If he’s been so involved in the business, he’s capable of taking over for a while. I don’t know why you wanted a personal assistant in the first place if you aren’t going to use him to advantage.”

“Dylan is very good,” Gavin said, but Amy thought the tone of his voice sounded far less certain than the words. “But you know how personal the auction business is. It’s a matter of trust, and I’ve worked for decades to build up that trust. My clients trust Sherwood Auctions because they trust me.”

“So if you’re saying that no one can take your place, Gavin, what’s the point of asking me to try?”

“Because the next best thing to the Sherwood they’re familiar with is a different Sherwood. It’s just the same as when my father handed the business down to me, back when we were still selling farm machinery and odds and ends instead of antiques and fine art. His clients were willing to give me a try, because I was his son. And you don’t only have the name, Amy, and the instincts—you’ve got twenty years of experience in the business.”

“Only if you count when I was six years old and I handed out catalogs to bidders as they came into the auctions,” Amy muttered. “I had to stand on a chair.”

Gavin smiled. “And our auctions in those days were still small enough that a child could handle the weight of a stack of catalogs.”

“Nostalgia is not going to change my mind, Gavin. Give your personal assistant a chance. If this hadn’t happened, you’d have counted on him to keep the place running while you were on your honeymoon. What’s so different about letting him take over now? It’s just a little longer, that’s all.” Amy stood up and firmly changed the subject. “Speaking of honeymoons, is the date firm yet? Though I suppose it would be chancy to choose a day for the wedding before the divorce is final.”

Gavin didn’t seem to hear her. His hand went out to clutch at her sleeve. “All right. I didn’t want to tell you this, Amy, but I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

Now what was he going to try? Hadn’t he already run the gamut of persuasive techniques?

“You know, of course, about the financial settlement your mother and I have agreed to as part of the divorce.”

“I know you made an agreement,” Amy said slowly. “She didn’t give me the details, and I didn’t think it was any of my concern as long as Mother was satisfied.”

“Well, that’s the problem, you see. She may not be satisfied for much longer.”

Amy sat down again. “Perhaps you’d better take this from the top, Gavin.”

“We agreed to split our assets as equally as possible. After being married so many years, I felt it was the only arrangement that was fair to Carol.”

“Also the only arrangement she’d have accepted, considering that you were the one who wanted out of the marriage,” Amy said, almost under her breath.

“But it was impossible to split everything straight down the middle. For instance, Carol wanted the house and I—of course—wanted to keep the business. But because the values of those two things weren’t anywhere near equal, I agreed to make her a lump sum payment as compensation for her share of Sherwood Auctions. It’s quite a large amount, and it’s due pretty soon.”

“If you’re threatening to withhold that payment unless I cooperate,” Amy said, “you’d better think again.”

“I’m not trying to blackmail you, Amy.” Gavin fidgeted a little. “The fact is I can’t pay Carol, because I don’t have the money. My expenses these last few months have been heavier than I anticipated. All the attorneys’ fees, you know…. I’ve ended up paying your mother’s as well as my own, and the legal bills are still coming in. And of course it isn’t cheap setting up a new apartment from scratch.”

“To say nothing of the cost of tickets for a honeymoon in Italy,” Amy agreed. Poor Daddy—Honey’s obviously been a lot more expensive than you anticipated.

“It isn’t as if I haven’t been working on it,” Gavin said. He sounded almost defensive. “There are a number of potential clients I’ve been working on for some time. You know the routine, Amy—it takes people time to decide to part with treasures they’ve collected. Time, and gentle handling, because they have to be comfortable with the decision. I was planning to see several of those people again in the next couple of weeks because I think they’re ready to confirm some deals. But then this happened.” He waved a hand at the machinery that surrounded him. “And I’m stuck.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be making any goodwill calls for a while,” Amy agreed.

“Without the personal approach, those people are likely to change their minds altogether, or else take their business to another auction house. I can’t really blame them for thinking that they might not get the kind of attention at Sherwood that they would if I was there.” He shot a sideways look at her. “Unless you take over, Amy. Because you’re my heir, you see, the reputation of the firm is just as important to you as it is to me, so you’ll work just as hard to uphold it.”

“Or at least the clients will believe that,” Amy murmured. “How could they possibly know the truth?—that Dylan is probably a lot more concerned about the reputation of the auction house than I am. It’s his bread and butter, after all—not mine. Not anymore.”

“You already know, Amy, that perception is everything in this business. What the clients believe is important. And in any case, it’s true—you’ve lived and breathed the auction business all your life, my dear, and whatever you say, you don’t want to see it destroyed. All I’m asking is a few more weeks. And it’s really more for your mother’s sake than mine.”

Cunning of him, to put it that way. Amy shrugged. “Now that’s a thought. You could just turn the business over to Mother for a while. After all, she’s lived and breathed it even longer than I have, and with her financial future at stake—”

Gavin’s eyebrows tilted. “You’re joking, surely.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I am,” Amy admitted. “But couldn’t you just talk to her? Explain what’s happened?”

Gavin shook his head. “I can’t see her being very understanding. And I can’t blame her, exactly—I got myself into this predicament.”

He was no doubt right about his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s lack of sympathy, Amy thought. Who could blame Carol Sherwood for still being furious over her ex-husband’s behavior? Amy didn’t think her mother would actually be shortsighted enough to put revenge ahead of her own financial interests. But Amy could understand why Gavin was hesitant to confess his predicament to Carol. If she did become vindictive, she’d be within her rights to demand her money even if it required Gavin to liquidate everything he owned, and he didn’t want to take the slightest chance of having that happen.

“And postponing the payment for a few weeks wouldn’t help much anyway,” Gavin said heavily, “if the business I’ve cultivated so carefully goes somewhere else in the meantime.”

Amy sighed. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Gavin gripped her hand. “That’s my girl,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”

Amy paused for a full fifteen seconds on the sidewalk, looking up at the block-square brown-brick building—originally a warehouse—that housed her father’s auction business, before she took a deep breath and pulled open the main door.

It had been nearly three months since she had set foot inside Sherwood Auctions, and just an hour ago, she’d have sworn that she would never walk through those doors again. But here she was anyway—pretty much resigned to the fact, if not precisely happy about it.

She stopped in the small entrance lobby. The half-dozen comfortable chairs opposite the reception desk were all empty, but that wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t exactly early, but the auction business didn’t really get moving till at least the middle of the day.

Behind the reception desk, a man in a dark suit was on the telephone, obviously scheduling an appointment for the caller with one of the auction house’s expert appraisers. That might take a while, Amy knew. Though she tapped the toe of her sandal on the marble floor, the action was more to give her something to do than because she was feeling impatient.

“Mrs. Gleason will see you on Thursday morning at ten,” the man at the desk said. “Thank you for calling Sherwood Auctions, Mrs. Carter.” He stood up. “Good morning. How may I help—” His question broke off abruptly as he got a good look at Amy, and he went on disbelievingly, “Ms. Sherwood?”

She didn’t blame him for being startled. “In the flesh, Robert.”

“But your father isn’t—” He sounded a bit apprehensive. “I mean, you do know about…don’t you?”

“About his heart attack? Relax, I haven’t been that far out of the loop. I just came from seeing him in the hospital. I’m here because…” She paused. Because I’m taking over. She hadn’t even said it out loud to herself, and at the last moment she realized she couldn’t get her tongue around the words to explain it to anyone else just yet. Not till she’d had a little more time to get used to the idea herself. So instead of telling Robert the truth, she said, “Because I need to see Beth Gleason. Has she come in yet?”

Robert nodded. “Go on up, Ms. Sherwood.” He pushed a button on the desk and the inner door unlocked with a soft buzz.

Amy was just a little startled that he hadn’t phoned Beth to come down to greet her. No one but the staff was supposed to wander around the building without an escort. In fact, considering the way Amy had departed almost three months ago, she wouldn’t have been too surprised if instead of casually letting her enter, Robert had vaulted the reception desk, seized her by the neck, and thrown her out onto the street. Even if her father had sentimentally left her name on the employee roster, the rest of the staff had to know the truth.

Amy stepped through the doorway and into the main lobby. While the reception area was elegant in a very understated way, the two-story-high lobby on the other side of the locked door—where no client or bidder or visitor ever went without an escort—had been deliberately designed to overwhelm. Though it contained nothing but a branching staircase with a cloakroom tucked underneath and a matched pair of elevators, the room often drew gasps from the first-time visitor. Quite an understandable reaction, Amy had always thought, since the staircase had been salvaged from a centuries-old manor house, the linen-fold paneling which covered the elevator doors from a minor palace, and the arched ceiling from a small cathedral. None of them were the sort of thing often seen in Kansas City.

Perception is everything in this business, Gavin had said, and he was right. It had cost him a fortune to create the image of a solid, wealthy, timeless business, but the investment had more than paid for itself. When clients who had been doubtful about what to do with their treasures saw this lobby, they abruptly relaxed, certain that they and their possessions were in good hands. Amy had seen it happen a hundred times.

She could have taken the elevator from the lower lobby all the way to the top of the building where the executive offices were located, but she much preferred to climb the stairs as far as she could. She liked to let her hand trail along the satin-smooth railing as she climbed, liked to see the view from the top step as a second and even larger lobby opened out in front of her. To one side, across what seemed an acre of carpet, was a pillared archway leading into the auction room where the rare and unusual items that were Sherwood Auctions’ specialty were put under the hammer. On the other side of the lobby, smaller doors led into a series of museum-like showrooms where prospective buyers could inspect the merchandise days or even weeks before the actual auction.

This morning the auction room was empty and the showrooms quiet. Amy paused just long enough to glance into the showrooms before she went on upstairs. The next scheduled auction, she concluded, must be furniture, for a classic highboy occupied the place of honor just inside the main showroom.

Upstairs, where the clients seldom came, the image of ancient success abruptly gave way to practicality. The fourth floor was a warren of offices, storage closets, and workrooms; she walked down two long corridors before stopping to tap at the door of a cramped office. A young woman wearing a lab coat and white cotton gloves looked up from a china figurine standing on her desk, her mouth dropping open as she saw Amy.

“Sevres?” Amy asked, pointing at the figurine.

Beth Gleason stripped off her gloves. “No. Unfortunately, it’s just a darn good imitation.”

“And now you have to break the news to the owner, who expected to make a small fortune on it?”

“My favorite part of the job,” Beth said dryly. “What are you doing here? You told me you’d only come back over your father’s…” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry. That’s not very funny just now.”

“Well, he’s not dying. In fact, for a guy who had a heart attack just a few days ago, he’s looking incredibly good.” Amy brushed packing fibers off a chair and sat down. “He wants me back on the payroll, only this time I’m supposed to run the whole show.”

“Take Gavin’s place? For how long?”

“Until he’s able to work again. A few weeks, he said.”

Beth picked up a box and nestled the pseudo-Sevres figurine into it. “It makes a lot of sense,” she said slowly.

Amy’s jaw dropped. “From whose point of view? I’ve spent more than two months cultivating new job possibilities, but now that I’m finally getting nibbles you think I should be pleased about turning them all down so I can fill in for my father?”

“If the people who have offered you jobs really want you, surely they’ll wait. A few weeks, you said? They’d have to wait that long if they hired someone who had to give notice before leaving a job.”

“The museum would wait,” Amy mused. “And probably the college, too. But the magazine…I don’t think the editor of Connoisseur’s Choice will have much patience, and I can’t blame him. He needs a replacement for his roving expert before long.”

Beth shot her a shrewd look. “So you have made up your mind which job you want.”

Amy frowned. “I guess I have,” she said slowly. “I didn’t even know that I was leaning in that direction, until it was snatched away from me.”

“So you’re going to come back?”

“Do I have a choice? He’s still my father.” There was no need to go into the rest of it, she thought. The Sherwoods’ divorce settlement was not the world’s business.

“Talk to the people at the magazine. You might be surprised.” Beth sealed the box with tape and set it aside. “Or maybe there’s another way. Something you haven’t thought of yet.”

“Like turning myself into twins?” Amy said.

She went on up to the sixth floor, to the corner occupied by the executive offices. The lights were on, but the rooms seemed to be empty. Her father’s personal assistant was nowhere to be seen. Amy hesitated outside the half-open door of Gavin Sherwood’s corner office, remembering what had happened the last time she had come into this room. Her father, with Honey…The scene had scorched itself into her mind, and it still had the power to make her face burn with anger and embarrassment.

Don’t dwell on it, she told herself. It’ll only make the job harder. She gave the door a push and went inside. Two feet into the room, she stopped dead.

Behind her father’s enormous desk sat a man, dark head bent over an open drawer. Even half-hidden as he was by the desk, there was no mistaking the power and fitness of that lean frame. He looked up almost casually as she came in, but as his gaze fell on Amy, she thought she saw his body tighten, as if every muscle was coiling, ready for action.

Was he surprised to see her, then? If he hadn’t been warned, he must be even more startled at her sudden appearance than Robert and Beth had been. After all, neither Robert nor Beth had actually been a witness to that climactic confrontation between Amy and her father, while Dylan Copeland had.

Or perhaps he wasn’t surprised that she’d turned up, but he was bracing himself for what she might do.

Dylan stood up slowly, with a grace which looked effortless. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but the fact that he’d discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt emphasized his powerful build and made her feel very fragile. Or was that just her imagination at work?

Not that she was fantasizing about Dylan Copeland’s body, Amy told herself tartly. Any inclination she might ever have had in that direction had dissipated within a week of his coming to work for Gavin—when it became apparent that Amy amused rather than intrigued him. It was just the uncomfortable position she’d suddenly found herself in that was making her feel so brittle, not some overwhelming masculine appeal of Dylan’s.

“Good morning, Amy,” he said mildly. “It’s a surprise to see you here. Last time you set foot in this office, you told your father you wouldn’t be back until hell froze over.”

“Is that what I said? I didn’t remember, exactly.”

“Not a very original expression, I must say. I was disappointed in you, because even under those circumstances I expected you to come up with something much more striking. But it seemed to make your point adequately.”

“And of course you were listening to every word.”

“I could hardly help it,” Dylan pointed out. “People in west Texas might have had to strain to hear you, but for anyone who was closer than that it was no effort at all. Have a seat and tell me why you’ve come back.” He sat down again.

“You weren’t expecting me?” Amy walked across the room and perched on the corner of the desk closest to him, pushing aside a pre-Columbian statuette that her father used as a paperweight. She’d chosen the position very carefully, so she could look down at him. “I thought perhaps Gavin had phoned to warn you I was on my way, and you’d come in to clear out the personal things that you’d already moved into his desk.”

“I see you still have an imagination. What a nice picture you’ve created of me—the moment I heard your father was tethered to a heart monitor, I made a slick play for his job.” He leaned back in Gavin Sherwood’s chair, appearing completely at ease.

“You’re twisting my words. That’s not what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it?” he said dryly. “So you’re here to take over. And whose idea was that, I wonder. Hasn’t the job hunt been successful?”

He’s just trying to needle you, Amy told herself. And he’s succeeding. “Are you volunteering to advise me about which offer I should accept? Because if that’s the case, I should warn you—”

“That you’d rather flip a coin, I suppose.”

“Coins don’t have enough sides.”

His dark eyebrows arched. “More than two? You are in demand, I see.”

Amy held up a finger. “One, the art museum is considering me for a position as assistant curator in the textiles division.”

“Only an assistant?” Dylan murmured. “I’m disappointed.”

Amy ignored him and put up a second finger. “Two, I’ll probably be asked to join the art faculty at the college.”

“You should hold out for the dean’s job.”

She waggled her hand at him, three fingers extended. “And third, I could be the new roving expert for Connoisseur’s Choice.”

“A stuffy old magazine about antiques and collectibles.” Dylan shrugged. “No wonder you’re coming back here instead.”

“Look,” Amy said. “It’s already apparent that you’ve got a chip on your shoulder about me being here. So let’s get one thing straight. It wasn’t my idea to come back, because I don’t want this job. As far as I’m concerned, Gavin should have turned the whole works over to you till he’s back on his feet. You’ve been his personal assistant for six months now, and if you can’t run this business on your own for a while he ought to fire you.”

“Thank you,” Dylan said.

His tone was meek, but Amy saw a glint in his eyes that she thought must have been anger. But why should she be surprised? Of course he was irritated that Gavin had preferred to trust her—despite her long absence from the business—instead of him. And since Gavin wasn’t around, of course Dylan was taking that irritation out on her.

“At least,” he went on, “I think there may have been a compliment buried somewhere underneath all that.”

Amy wasn’t listening. She had suddenly remembered what Beth had said—Maybe there’s another way.

And maybe she didn’t have to turn herself into twins in order to have it all.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she said suddenly.

Dylan looked around the room. “Perhaps there’s something in the ventilating system,” he mused. “Because propositions seem to be part of the atmosphere in this office.”

Amy willed herself not to turn pink. “I’m certainly not talking about Honey’s kind of proposition. Gavin’s got a fixation that I’m the only one who can run this place, which is absurd.”

Dylan didn’t speak, but she thought she saw a gleam of agreement in his eyes.

“But frankly, I have a lot of things I’d rather do. So let’s make a deal. I’ll be enough of a figurehead to keep Gavin happy, but you’ll be the boss in everything but name. You can run the place as you see fit, I’ll go take on my new job, and we’ll both have what we want.”

Dylan was shaking his head.

“Why not?” Amy asked crossly. “If you’re holding out for the title of acting CEO, believe me, I’d give it to you if I could.”

“Titles never appealed to me much. And I’m not fond of being a sacrificial lamb, either.”

Amy gasped. “What on earth—”

“This plan of yours is a pretty nice setup—for you, that is. If I pull it off, you get the credit. But if I don’t, you can tearfully confess to your father that it wasn’t your fault because I was really the one at the helm all along.”

“He’d be furious at me for ignoring his wishes and putting you in charge.”

“Not as angry as he’d be if you screwed things up personally. No, Ms. Sherwood, you’re not dumping this one on me. Because if you try, I’ll hand you my keys—and quit.” He rocked a little farther back in the chair. “So what are we going to do about it?”