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Authors: Patricia Rosemoor
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somehow sneaked up on him, made him feel as if he was at the disadvantage.
Sweat gathered on his forehead, along his neck, under his suit. He wasn't good
at confrontation, especially not with someone as tough as his business partner.
Brock knew that very quality had spelled their success...but had also caused
his own discontent.
"I think
the mailman was here a few minutes ago," Alma was saying. "Sara is
probably still sorting. Should be up any time now."
"Let me
know as soon as you get it, then." Ty's voice drew closer.
"Waiting
for something in particular, Mr. Leighton?" the motherly receptionist Ty
had hired after her husband left her called after him.
"Just let
me know."
In command, as
usual, Ty took ownership of the office the moment he walked in the door. He
didn't look like a man who was suffering, Brock mused from his position at the
window. Not at all like a father who feared he might have lost his only child
for good.
Then Ty
noticed him and frowned. "Brock. What are you doing in here?" He set
his briefcase on his desk.
"Waiting
to continue the discussion that got interrupted yesterday."
"I asked
you to give me time."
"Time
isn't going to fix things." Though guilt sneaked along his nerves, Brock
wasn't going to back down now.
Ty sat, stared
at him pensively. "I thought we were friends."
"We were.
Hell, we are. I feel for you. You know I do. But this is business."
Brock wanted
more than a partnership in which he faded into the woodwork. An opportunity had
come up, one too good to let slip through his fingers or he wouldn't be so
fixed on leaving now. If Ty got a whiff of his plans...
"Right at
this moment, I'm having trouble believing you consider us friends."
"Let's say
both the friendship and the partnership are strained. Maybe the first can be
recovered if the second is dissolved amicably."
"A friend
would put this on the back burner until we get Cheryl home."
"Which
could be never."
A thick
silence followed, and Brock would swear that Ty paled. He went stiff as a
corpse. Cold. His light blue eyes reminded Brock of shards of ice. He shifted
uncomfortably under their glare. He'd seen that particular look before, but
never aimed at him. He didn't relish being the recipient of the other man's
ill-will.
"Don't
ever intimate such a thing again," Ty warned him in a low, menacing voice.
"I'll bring my daughter home, and in one piece. You can bet your half of
the business on that."
"I'm not
betting my half of the business on anything. I just want to pack it up and
leave." Despite his growing discomfort, Brock pushed forward. "I want
half of everything. Split right down the middle. Clients, contacts, assets.
Everything."
"I
promise you, we'll talk about it. When I'm ready."
When he was ready. Wasn't that just like Ty.
Decisions were always his call, Brock fumed, frustration getting the best of
him. Without another word, he stormed out of the office.
Coming up the
stairs, mail in hand, Pam gave him an intense, inquiring look. Not wanting her
to guess what had gone on in there – how, once more, Ty had taken the upper
hand – he turned his face away and escaped into his own office.
The one with
the view of congested Clark Street rather than the tranquil park.
Brock's
insides felt as knotted as the traffic tie-up at the intersection, but he was
determined for once to get what he wanted. Cheryl really was Tyler Leighton's
weak spot and Brock knew it. He loved the kid, he really did, and he didn't
want to have to use her disappearance as leverage.
But if it came
to that...
For once in
his life, he wasn't going to back off because something was too tough.
"MAIL CALL." PAMELA BROUGHT
IN half an armload and set it on Tyler's desk. "Alma said you were anxious
for something or other this morning."
Tyler was
already flipping through the letter-sized envelopes when he grunted,
"Thanks."
He hadn't
thought to disbelieve Keelin about the ransom note when she'd seemed as shaken
as he. At first, he'd
Sweat gathered on his forehead, along his neck, under his suit. He wasn't good
at confrontation, especially not with someone as tough as his business partner.
Brock knew that very quality had spelled their success...but had also caused
his own discontent.
"I think
the mailman was here a few minutes ago," Alma was saying. "Sara is
probably still sorting. Should be up any time now."
"Let me
know as soon as you get it, then." Ty's voice drew closer.
"Waiting
for something in particular, Mr. Leighton?" the motherly receptionist Ty
had hired after her husband left her called after him.
"Just let
me know."
In command, as
usual, Ty took ownership of the office the moment he walked in the door. He
didn't look like a man who was suffering, Brock mused from his position at the
window. Not at all like a father who feared he might have lost his only child
for good.
Then Ty
noticed him and frowned. "Brock. What are you doing in here?" He set
his briefcase on his desk.
"Waiting
to continue the discussion that got interrupted yesterday."
"I asked
you to give me time."
"Time
isn't going to fix things." Though guilt sneaked along his nerves, Brock
wasn't going to back down now.
Ty sat, stared
at him pensively. "I thought we were friends."
"We were.
Hell, we are. I feel for you. You know I do. But this is business."
Brock wanted
more than a partnership in which he faded into the woodwork. An opportunity had
come up, one too good to let slip through his fingers or he wouldn't be so
fixed on leaving now. If Ty got a whiff of his plans...
"Right at
this moment, I'm having trouble believing you consider us friends."
"Let's say
both the friendship and the partnership are strained. Maybe the first can be
recovered if the second is dissolved amicably."
"A friend
would put this on the back burner until we get Cheryl home."
"Which
could be never."
A thick
silence followed, and Brock would swear that Ty paled. He went stiff as a
corpse. Cold. His light blue eyes reminded Brock of shards of ice. He shifted
uncomfortably under their glare. He'd seen that particular look before, but
never aimed at him. He didn't relish being the recipient of the other man's
ill-will.
"Don't
ever intimate such a thing again," Ty warned him in a low, menacing voice.
"I'll bring my daughter home, and in one piece. You can bet your half of
the business on that."
"I'm not
betting my half of the business on anything. I just want to pack it up and
leave." Despite his growing discomfort, Brock pushed forward. "I want
half of everything. Split right down the middle. Clients, contacts, assets.
Everything."
"I
promise you, we'll talk about it. When I'm ready."
When he was ready. Wasn't that just like Ty.
Decisions were always his call, Brock fumed, frustration getting the best of
him. Without another word, he stormed out of the office.
Coming up the
stairs, mail in hand, Pam gave him an intense, inquiring look. Not wanting her
to guess what had gone on in there – how, once more, Ty had taken the upper
hand – he turned his face away and escaped into his own office.
The one with
the view of congested Clark Street rather than the tranquil park.
Brock's
insides felt as knotted as the traffic tie-up at the intersection, but he was
determined for once to get what he wanted. Cheryl really was Tyler Leighton's
weak spot and Brock knew it. He loved the kid, he really did, and he didn't
want to have to use her disappearance as leverage.
But if it came
to that...
For once in
his life, he wasn't going to back off because something was too tough.
"MAIL CALL." PAMELA BROUGHT
IN half an armload and set it on Tyler's desk. "Alma said you were anxious
for something or other this morning."
Tyler was
already flipping through the letter-sized envelopes when he grunted,
"Thanks."
He hadn't
thought to disbelieve Keelin about the ransom note when she'd seemed as shaken
as he. At first, he'd
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