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First, though, she’d suggested to her father that someone get Collins to sign that noncompete clause and let him know he wasn’t on the brink of being fired. Half an hour later she received a call from him, saying that Collins had just come out of Bill Coniff’s office and that Coniff had the signed form in his possession. Smiling as she hung up, she was satisfied with her day’s work.
And happier than she should be to know that the man she’d so recently met was no longer worrying about being gainfully employed. Flint Collins had enough to deal with at the moment.
She couldn’t go soft on him, though. That was how a lot of white-collar criminals succeeded in their fraudulent efforts. By charming those around them, winning the trust of those they were cheating.
At the same time, the guy was human, not yet proved guilty of anything other than wanting to branch out on his own, and deserving of some compassion on the day he’d buried his mother.
She looked away from the computer screen in her compact new office on the third floor of the building her father owned. She had a feeling it had been a big storage closet of some kind prior to being hastily converted for her. Howard knew better than to lay down the red carpet for a paid consultant he supposedly didn’t know other than by reputation.
At least the room was private.
She’d had worse in the two years she’d been on the road.
A window would have been nice.
Oh, God... That baby...
Glancing at the time in the corner of her computer screen, she picked up the phone. She’d left one message for Mallory. But it was five o’clock now. Most of the children would have been picked up. And Flint Collins would be calling, if he hadn’t already.
She needed to speak with her friend.
“I was about to call you,” Mallory said when she answered. “I got your message, and I have one from Mr. Collins, too. He needs to speak with me by tomorrow afternoon, he said.”
She’d given him a deadline to talk to her father. Not that he had to have day care arranged before letting his bosses know that he’d just become a father. Of sorts.
“So you haven’t spoken with him?”
“No, your message said I should talk to you first.”
Tamara nodded. She thought she’d asked that but couldn’t be sure. She’d been a bit off her mark when she’d made the call, having come directly from Flint Collins’s office.
Where she’d had a newborn baby snuggled against her chest.
A chill swept through her and her insides started to quake again. Until she focused on the computer screen. The rows of numbers she’d been studying.
It was all about focus.
When she could feel the bands around her chest loosening, she told Mallory about Flint Collins suddenly finding himself the sole caregiver of a newborn baby. She didn’t include the personal details. That was for him to share, or not, as he chose. His personal situation wasn’t why she was calling.
“I held the baby, Mal,” she said in the very next breath. “I was in his office and I didn’t know she was there. I heard her cry and saw that he was just standing there, in front of her carrier. Maybe he was rocking it or something, I don’t know. But without thinking I went right up and unstrapped her and picked her up.”
The silence on the other end of the line wasn’t a surprise. Mallory’s calm tone when she said, “What happened next?” was different than Tamara had expected.
Only a handful of people knew the true extent of her struggles, how close she’d come to thinking she’d never have another happy moment. Mallory was one of them.
Because Mallory had been there, too, a few years before. They’d met in a small counseling group designed solely for young mothers who’d lost a baby.
“I started to unravel,” she admitted. “Not as quickly as I would’ve expected, but I was working and it took a while for that barrier to break down.”
She could feel the bands tightening around her lungs again. Her entire chest. Her ribs. Physical manifestations of the panic she fought, less often now, but still regularly enough that she’d stayed in touch with her support group.
“So, basically, you held it together.”
“On the surface.”
Their psychiatrist had offered them all medications, individually, of course. She and Mallory had preferred not to depend on drugs and opted to fight the battle on their own. And because neither one of them had ever remotely considered actually taking her own life—on the contrary, they’d both been in possession of enough equilibrium to maintain careers—they’d been left to their decisions without undue pressure.
“And what about now? How do you feel?”
