eyes toward the ceiling.
Bering chuckled. “What?”
“People always say that and it’s just such nonsense.”
“What?”
“That business isn’t personal, but that’s really just a way to explain away actions that otherwise would make them feel uncomfortable. The truth is that business is personal. It’s one and the same.”
“You’re joking, right?”
But Emily wasn’t joking. Her work was her life, and she’d been working her entire life. As a child she’d begun doing yard work and other odd jobs for money. By the age of twelve she’d had her own paper route, at thirteen she’d begun working with the janitorial staff at Cam-Field and at fourteen she’d landed a job in the mail room. And on it had gone: from assistant roustabout to training coordinator to her eventual position in Cam-Field’s upper management. She’d never stopped working.
She’d worked all through high school and college until she’d graduated at the top of her class. And then, while earning her MBA, she’d begun climbing her way up Cam-Field’s corporate ladder. She’d nearly reached the top, too, until Jeremy had begun climbing and elbowing his way upward, and as with any good ladder, there’d only been room for one person at the top. Which was why she was here and Jeremy was in San Diego lounging around in her corner rung, er, office.
In spite of her stepfather’s wealth, working hard had been the best way of gaining and then maintaining his approval. The only people she’d ever really had relationships with, friendships or otherwise, had been people she worked with. Even Amanda, whom she considered her best friend, was also her assistant.
Now she stated simply, “No, I’m not.”
Bering was quiet for a moment before he finally said, “Well, then, Ms. Hollings, I think it’s time someone finally showed you the difference.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“EMILY, THESE ARE AMAZING. You’re like a real artist, you know that?” Amanda was busy flipping through some sketches Emily had done. Since her laptop was still down, she couldn’t generate any computer models, so she’d spent a good part of her last two doctor-ordered recuperation days drawing up some illustrations of Cam-Field’s proposed development of Rankins. Amanda had emailed Jeremy another request for an arrangement of stock photos they sometimes used in their presentations but she hadn’t heard back from him. Emily knew that Jeremy had them on his computer, because she had put them there herself. She had a speech to give the next day to the Chamber of Commerce and she needed something to show them.
She smiled at Amanda’s compliment. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you, Amanda.” She did love to draw. It was her one indulgence.
“I love this one of the town and the bay that you did from above. It looks just...idyllic,” she said wistfully. “Like a place where anyone would dream of living.”
Emily peered over her shoulder to look at the sketch. She had drawn it after a stop at the museum, where she’d learned about the town and its fascinating history: Theodore Rankins, an enterprising businessman, had come to the area during the early gold-rush days. He’d constructed a large rough-hewn cabin and hung a sign above the door that read simply Rankins. He set up shop and the miners who flocked to the area soon came to rely upon Rankins for needed supplies. It was probably inevitable that the town itself would come to share his name, as well.
Theodore had chosen the location wisely. The bay was relatively protected by several small outlying islands yet the deep water allowed access for trading ships, and marine life seemed to be thriving in the cold, nutrient-rich waters. The Opal River carved its way through the rugged mountains that served as the town’s backdrop. The river slowed and widened before emptying into the waters of the bay, creating marshy wetlands that provided prime moose and waterfowl habitat. The land reaching inward toward the mountains was richly forested with spruce, hemlock, cedar and hardwoods, interspersed with lush meadows making it a haven for wildlife.
With mining claims widely established in the surrounding area, Rankins became an essential outpost. Homesteaders moved in and began to utilize other resources that the area had to offer—trapping, hunting, fishing and logging. The settlement continued to prosper and grow into the quaint and picturesque town that it was today.
In a burst of inspired spontaneity, Emily had attempted to capture some of the charm of the historic town with her pencil and paper. She was strangely happy that Amanda could see it, too.
“Unfortunately” Amanda added, “it is totally not useful for our purposes here. This really is a beautiful little town, though.” She gave the sketch another admiring glance before setting it aside. She picked up another. “But this one of the community center is perfect. The mom with the kids out front—nice touch. It really humanizes the scene. We can use this.”
Much of the initial groundwork had been laid for this project in advance of their arrival, including obtaining federal and state offshore approvals. It was now their job to secure a majority vote from the town council for the remaining permits for the necessary construction within Rankins. After this final step was achieved, Cam-Field would come to town in force: build an offshore oil platform, pumping facilities, a pipeline, oil storage tanks and support structures in the town.
Because of Rankins’s unique location, bordering both the river and the bay, all onshore facilities would be constructed within the city limits. The pipeline itself would not only travel through the town but would also transverse the entire length of the valley before eventually connecting to the Alaska Pipeline.
In an effort to make all of this construction more palatable to the townsfolk, Cam-Field would implement “community-improvement projects” in the form of new and improved infrastructure, parks and attractive buildings like the community center she’d drawn, which was slated to include a state-of-the-art gym, rock-climbing wall and competition-size swimming pool.
“Yeah, but I wish I had some real photos to show,” Emily said. “Do you think it could be Jeremy?”
Amanda executed an innocent one-shouldered shrug. “I would go so far as to say that old Jeremy is undoubtedly having one heck of a time trying to get anything accomplished right now.”
“Amanda...what did you do?”
“What? Me?” she replied innocently.
“Amanda—”
“Oh, Emily, don’t worry. I didn’t have to do anything. The entire staff can’t stand him and it certainly isn’t my fault if they’ve rather suddenly and collectively come up with a bad case of incompetence.” She shrugged again and suggested, “I hear it’s contagious. I would even be willing to bet that they caught it from him.”
Emily stared at Amanda for a few seconds, eyes wide, mouth agape. Her lips were forming words of disapproval, but instead she burst out laughing. She had gotten tired of constantly holding Jeremy’s hand herself; she could only imagine how the busy, mistreated staff at the home office felt.
* * *
JEREMY STRATHOM WAS PACING in his office, back and forth, back and forth across the two-hundred-dollar-a-yard pressed-wool carpet. Normally he’d be concerned about the destructive impact of such an action upon said carpet and vary his path to avoid an obvious wear pattern, but not now. Not today. His future was at stake here and it was a future which had taken him nearly two years to carefully scheme and meticulously craft.
And now it seemed as if it was all about to tumble down around him like a house of cards in an unguarded sneeze. He walked over to his desk and opened the drawer, extending it nearly to its full length. He stared down at the small velvet-covered box. He’d nearly had everything. He still didn’t understand how this had happened. What he did know was that somehow he needed to get Emily back—back into his arms—and more importantly, back into the office.
He’d had no idea that his getting the promotion over her would result in this