Never Forgotten: Second Chances (5 page)

She sighed. "I guess that's how you earn your money."

"It is indeed. We should meet as soon as I have your information."

"Send the worksheet over, and I'll email or courier the information to you today."

"Then let's arrange a meeting for tomorrow. How about at my office at one?"

"Perfect." Megan jotted the time and address on her calendar. She'd give it to Becky, her secretary, who would put it into some computerized scheduling system that produced a daily printout that sometimes seemed a great help and other times a millstone.

"Clear the whole afternoon. We have a lot to discuss."

After she hung up, she called Becky in to tell her about the appointment, and the woman came in with a fax. "This just came in." Megan scanned the worksheet and saw it was pretty much what she expected. Projections of cash flow, revenues, debt load, the ownership of the company, the contracts the company had with suppliers, vendors, distributors and customers, and even with the principles. He even wanted copies of the contracts with the principles——she and Craig. Megan had Becky sit while she dictated assignments for the department heads in legal and accounting. "Tell them this has to be completed before the end of the day. In fact, I'll need it in my hands by four this afternoon so I can put a package together. I'll want a courier pickup at five."

Becky nodded and left, going to crack the whip over the department heads, a job she relished.

As she walked out, Craig came in. "Any progress?"

"Some. I made an initial contact with one broker. While he sounded encouraging. I haven't seen any white knights on chargers yet, but I'm putting together a complete package for this broker, and I'll use it to show anyone else who might be interested. So the first steps down the slippery path have been made."

Craig stared out her window. "That's a nice view. But how can you work in an office with a view? I'd find it distracting."

She glanced at the elms in the courtyard and laughed. "You wouldn't be likely to notice you even had a window. I can focus too, but sometimes it helps me to stare out the window. I look at the trees and think about how long they've been there. It's a way to let off a little pressure."

He grunted. "Will you keep me informed about anything new in the money game?"

"Sure. But I'm surprised to see you showing such an interest."

"Two reasons. I really want to see the program out there, being used." He gave her a sheepish look. "It's just ego, I know, but there's something magical about being recognized for writing a program that becomes popular. It's a different kind of satisfaction than you get from simply writing clean code for business, and I haven't done that yet, haven't experienced that rush. The second reason is even dumber—I'm getting shit from Crystal."

Crystal was Craig's new wife. Megan barely knew her, but she did know she was a society girl, glamorous. Megan found it a real stretch to imagine her dating Craig, much less marrying him. But then that wasn't a story she'd ever been interested in exploring.

"What sort of shit?"

"I made the mistake of telling Crystal the situation, and she sort of panicked, got all worried. I shouldn't have mentioned the worst case—that we could lose it all. That's when she told me I should cash in."

"Cash in?"

"Sell the stock."

"Does she have a buyer in mind? We're open to offers."

His lips twisted. "Yeah, I know. It was just a gut reaction, nothing she'd thought through. Hell, she doesn't understand as much about business as I do, and that's fucking pathetic. She just decided that we could sell out, and get something for the company with the program as it is."

Megan pursed her lips. "It's possible that we could do that, and we need to consider it. I'm afraid doing it that way would mean we'd take a beating, though."

"She says she put up with me burying myself in this project because she thought we could take a trip to Europe once it was done." He gave another embarrassed grin. "I guess I let her think that since it got her to leave me alone and not whine about the late nighters. But it was a mistake to tell her that the launch was iffy. Now she is saying we should either sell the company flat out, or I should sell my stock."

"And do what?"

"Take a break. Travel to the great cities of Europe. Put her up in fancy hotels and visit museums, I guess." He pushed his hair back from his eyes. "Can you see me on vacation in Europe, museum hopping or on a beach in France?" He tried to picture it himself and laughed.

"Not really. Or I can, but in that picture you look miserable." Megan had to admit she had trouble imagining his relationship with Crystal under any circumstances. Even though Craig was good-looking, he'd never been romantic, and he wasn't that great a lover. But he had some attraction for Crystal, and now she seemed to be trying to pry him loose from the thing he loved. They were such different people that Megan couldn't imagine the marriage lasting even as long as hers with Craig. They'd push each other away; the only mystery was what kept them together now.

Crystal was very attractive woman, and Craig liked having a beautiful woman to show off. Maybe, in the same way, Crystal valued her handsome and successful husband for show. That would wear on Craig, and rather quickly unless he'd changed a great deal. "I'm meeting one of the brokers Thom mentioned tomorrow. Maybe it would help things at home if you tell Crystal that I've already assured him that we'll listen to almost any sort of offer. We aren't pushing anything off the table yet. Please don't make it sound like there's an offer, but that we are working on it. Beyond that... I'll keep you informed, but remember that any offers we get are just the beginning of negotiations and not the solution to our problems."

"So we won't know anything until the fat woman sings?"

"Something like that."

"That should be enough to get her to pull in her fangs for a while."

"With our timeline we have to get results quick."

The light silhouetted him when he stood. "Guess I better go make sure my shit is on schedule."

"That would be very nice. Very nice indeed, considering I am going to get back on the telephone and tell people how brilliantly your program works and convince them that they need to get in on the ground floor."

* * * *

Megan Cross sat in a comfortable upholstered chair staring out through the French doors that opened onto the balcony. She stared at, but didn't see the lovely evening. Her view didn't show the setting sun but caught the way it colored the sky over the hill a gorgeous and vibrant deep orange red. That evening she wasn't in a mood to notice. She wasn't in a mood to eat either. In fact, she was feeling damn sulky. Her bar provided a tall, neat, single malt whiskey that she took to the couch, where she sat trying to let her mind drift onto some subject that wasn't about raising money. Preferably a thought that might soar, take her out of muck and more that business seemed at the moment. In the whirl that passed for thought, her simple goal seemed impossible; her head was filled with questions that ricocheted through her, demanding answers she didn't have. It forced her into playing a continuous game where she balanced one possibility against all of the others in a vain attempt to see what outcome each served best. The equation was too complex; too many factors were outside of her control even if she accepted the dangerous and foolish assumption that when (and if) a deal was agreed on, all promises would be kept. As a diehard realist, counting on such optimism went against the grain.

When she roused herself from the painful reverie to take a sip of her drink, she realized her glass was empty. She got up, noticed that it was dark and refilled her glass. Going to bed was a waste of energy. She was too wound up to sleep, so she forced herself to sip her drink.

As she tossed around scenarios, she realized someone was in the room with her. She looked up. Sal stood behind her chair, looking down at her. He rested his large, powerful hand on her shoulders and smiled. "Well, Megan, you seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a mess."

She sighed and reached up, touching his hand. It felt real, tangible, and, as she always did when Sal's memory grew this vivid, she wondered if she was going crazy. It seemed more than odd that the man who gave her the most comfort was one who wasn't even there, just a projection of remembered strength and comfort onto the shadows. "I can't get a handle on it."

"Do you want my help?"

"Of course." She'd take anyone's help. Why not that of a fantasy lover? Even as a ghost Sal was stronger than most men she knew. And he was the only person she ever seemed to dream about. Perhaps he'd been gone a long time, but he'd never be forgotten, and she wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. He seemed to help her, but did she still rely on him too much? Was he holding her back?

"I think you're trying to work your way out of a problem from the middle, untangle a knot that is set. You need to step back and ask yourself what price you're willing to pay to save the company. While you are thinking about that, you need to consider radical alternatives. Is there something, anything, you might want that would make saving the company irrelevant?"

"Irrelevant?"

"Something else that might make saving the company not that important. I know your ego is on the line, but sometimes you have to walk away from one thing to gain something more precious."

She laughed. "Well, Sal, if you wanted to come into my life again and make me an offer, I'd consider it—even if it meant abandoning the company."

"Would you? You are already wondering about depending on me so much. So if I did show up, came out of the blue to help, you'd face a real test, I'm afraid."

"A real test? A test of what?"

"Of you. Of what you've become and what you really want." Then she heard him say the words she hoped never to hear because they echoed her deepest fear. "If I came back, you'd compare me to the man you imagined all these years. No one can stand up to that comparison. You've changed. We can't go back. We'd meet as the people we've become, and that would add to the confusion, the volatile mix of emotions."

"I think I'd like to have the choice."

"You always want the choice. That's the kind of person you are. And yet, I hear you complaining that you find yourself in the middle of too many choices."

He raised his hand, touched her cheek, with his ethereal finger and walked away. She wanted to follow him and started to get up, but she woke, and stumbled, falling out of the chair. She didn't bother to get up. A laugh seemed to leak out of here, making way for a creeping sadness that filled her, threatened to overwhelm her. In the emptiness left by the departure of Sal's memory, his ghost, she allowed weakness, a sense of defeat win out for a moment. Then she found it easier to cry, sobbing while sitting on the floor than to stand up and be brave or even go to bed. Besides, she saw the sky beginning to grow light. It was almost dawn.

Megan didn't like failing the way some people can't abide a dirty house or being forced to go to the opera. Even the thought that she might not live up to her commitments, reach her goals, made her stomach knot up painfully. And although she would consider any reasonable business deal, part of her resisted the idea of losing control of her company—it had far too much in common with failing, and anything that moved in that direction would have to offer something quite special. She was sure Craig felt the same, which was why Crystal's nagging to sell bothered him. He'd chafed under the yoke when working for other companies, being told what programs to write. Going back to that would be hard, just as it would be hard for her to be a management employee again, dealing with executing other people's dreams. Dreams meant a lot to Megan.

She could be strong and she would have to be. Craig's strength lay in his ability to create code. Lenora was an employee and was doing her job—she shouldn't be counted on for more than that. Thom just wanted his money. That left finding a solution to her. There was no one else that would make things happen. No matter how much there were moments when she wanted to run away, hide from the way things were, she needed to be the one who took responsibility, the one who made things happen. She knew how things worked in the world. Some of the things a person needed to do were unpleasant. Going on without Sal was a good example. She'd done it even though at times she thought it would tear her apart. You had to be strong, focus on the outcome you wanted.

Focus on the outcome
. An unpleasant thing that achieved the desired result was good. Sal had shown her how even pain could lead to pleasure, that pleasure sometimes took effort. When she'd been with him, his pleasure had always been the outcome she sought—and he brought her the most intense pleasure she'd ever known.

It had been so much easier to be strong when she'd had Sal to tell her what to do, but he wasn't there. Letting that be a reason for failing was exactly what weak people did. Sal's absence didn't excuse her from succeeding.

What outcome do you want, Megan?

* * * *

Megan always got to the office early. In the first few hours of the day things would be quiet, most of the lights still off, and even the air still. In those morning hours, before the creaking machinery of the day began its noisy work, sequestered with a good cup of coffee, she had the peace and time to think through her agenda, pick the most important things that had to be accomplished that day. It was in the softness of mornings that she gained her focus.

Waking before dawn, she dressed carefully, making sure she looked serious and businesslike and went to the office.

This morning the spell was broken immediately. Lenora sat in the chair opposite her desk, obviously waiting for her. Lenora, the woman who seldom seemed to wake up before nine or so, even though she was seldom late arriving. Her body seemed to show up as a placeholder for her mind. This morning, however, Megan saw a brightness in her eyes, and sensed that Lenora was a woman with a purpose—a purpose that required face time without the ears of the office around them.