desk, looking for the report that she’d had Amanda copy only moments before. The papers swam before her eyes and she blinked hard to clear her vision.
She pinched her fingers over the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for what she thought was just a few seconds. But when she opened them there was a very large man standing very quietly in front of her desk. He was tall and so broad-shouldered that Emily took a second to wonder how he’d managed to fit through the doorway. His dark brown hair curled on his forehead and around his ears. He had a sprinkling of stubble on his strong square jaw, and Emily stared up into his brown eyes just long enough for an awkward moment to coalesce. He cleared his throat, which finally prompted her to rise clumsily to her feet and extend a sweaty hand. She tried inconspicuously to blot her palm on her skirt before offering it again.
She swallowed, or tried to anyway, because...
What in the world was wrong with her tongue? It felt absolutely enormous in her mouth, which had suddenly gone dry.
“I, uh, hello, Mr. James? I’m Emily Hollings. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Uh, have a seat.”
He nodded and smiled a stiff greeting that didn’t even come close to dampening the intensity shooting from his eyes. His handshake was firm but quick. He lowered himself into the chair directly across from her, leaned back, folded his arms over his chest and then didn’t utter a single word.
Oh, great, another hostile, Emily thought dejectedly. She didn’t know if she had the strength for yet another confrontation. Ever since she’d arrived in Rankins, she’d been met with fierce resistance and resentment from the local community. In spite of the huge opportunity for economic growth that Cam-Field was offering this little town, a vocal and powerful coalition of the local population appeared to be staunchly opposed to the development of the oil and gas deposits hidden beneath the waters offshore. She’d fought some tough battles during her years with Cam-Field, but she had a feeling this one was shaping up to be one of the most contentious. And normally she would relish the challenge, but right now she just wanted to get through this meeting.
She stiffened her spine and said, “Okay, then, Mr. Buh, er, James, let’s just jump right in here, shall we? I’m assuming that you are going to want a copy of the economic projections as well as a summation of the estimated environmental impact of the potential oil extraction and pipeline infrastructure—”
“You’re assuming wrong, then, Ms. Hollings,” he interrupted smoothly. “We both know that that report is completely disingenuous.”
“Excuse me?” Emily replied, trying to sound surprised, even though she knew very well where the conversation was now headed—due south. Come to think of it, that was where she should be—south, way down south, all the way to Mexico. Warm sun, white sand, cold, fruity drinks—now, that was where ice really belonged, in a blender with fruits and juices....
“You heard me,” he said. “That report is dishonest, deceitful and embellished. It means nothing to me and to the rest of the community, for that matter.”
Emily furrowed her brow as if thinking hard about what he’d said. In reality she was stalling, trying to gather her thoughts and her argument—Cam-Field’s argument—together for the development of this little Alaskan village. But for some strange reason, she was finding it rather difficult. Emily excelled at her job as vice president of North American operations, and this was her element, normally anyway. And she should have had this presentation memorized by now. But... And why was it that she couldn’t seem to keep a thought in her head?
She attempted another swallow, but there was now a large lump in her throat, a perfect match to her oversize tongue. Amanda was right; she didn’t feel good. She probably should go home and...and...get these clothes off. Yes, definitely! She would feel so much better if she could just cool off. She was literally burning up....
Mr. James shifted in his seat, reminding her that in order to do that she first needed to deal with this combative man perched in front of her.
“Um ...what?” she asked.
Bering leaned forward and placed his forearms on his knees. The movement seemed to bring him about ten feet closer but Emily resisted the urge to scoot back in her chair. What was that old saying about never letting them see you sweat? Well, that might not be literally possible for her at this moment, but she certainly wasn’t going to act intimidated. She steeled herself and tried to concentrate on the subject at hand.
“That report is gibberish—it’s bogus, crap, bunk. It’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. I take that back—Tess down at the Cozy Caribou is making targets for the dartboards out of them, so I guess they’re worth, what?” He answered his own question with a careless shrug. “About two cents a sheet.”
“Is that why everyone and their uncle, or some other shoestring relation, has come into my office over the last week requesting a copy?” Emily countered smoothly, relieved that she’d managed such a snappy retort.
“Probably,” he shot back. “The old targets had so many holes in them you could barely see the bull’s-eyes anymore.”
Emily smiled faintly and then met his eyes, and the sarcasm in his tone. “Well, Cam-Field is eager to help the community in any way we can, Mr. James, even its most desperate of dart-throwers. But what I really meant is, if the report is so worthless, then why is everyone so eager to read it and then discuss it with me?”
Emily saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and guessed that Mr. James was struggling to keep his anger in check. He was obviously passionate about this quaint piece of primitive hinterland. He could have it as far as she was concerned, but of course that wasn’t the position that she’d been sent here to advocate. Which reminded her, she also wasn’t supposed to get into a verbal sparring match; her job was to win him over.
“Because, Ms. Hollings, it’s the only thing they can think to do. This community feels threatened, and don’t think I don’t know exactly what Cam-Field’s strategy is in handing it out so freely. By issuing this report, Cam-Field is trying to make people think that they have some control over the situation. It’s an illusion created by you, by Cam-Field, to pull the wool over our collective eyes. You will say and promise anything necessary until the town council passes your resolution and then you will do whatever you want—including destroying the environment and this town along with it.”
Emily plastered on a benign smile and said calmly, “Come on, Mr. James, don’t you think you may be overreacting a bit here? Cam-Field only wants what’s best for the citizens of Rankins. And we—”
Bering interrupted with a snort of disbelief. “No. And I mean no to both of those ridiculous statements. What Cam-Field wants is what is best for Cam-Field—money. You may be able to bamboozle a few ignorant fools and some desperate souls around here with the sheer abundance of dollar signs in that report, but just so we’re clear here, Ms. Hollings, it’s my mission to get the facts across to the good people of this community. And by the time I’m through, you—and the rest of your Cam-Field crew—will be nothing but an unpleasant memory that we’ll all shake our heads and share a chuckle over.”
Emily had heard similar arguments before and she automatically opened her mouth to deny the accusation. But for some reason, this time the words wouldn’t come; she knew that what he said was largely the truth.
Cam-Field’s operating strategy was, essentially, just as Mr. James said: to get the community on board for their development projects with help from a carefully executed marketing plan. They would send in a “landing party,” in this case her and Amanda, to feel out the local opinion and ingratiate themselves into the community. Their usual procedure included holding and attending public meetings, issuing informational brochures and reports about the exciting improvements Cam-Field would bring to the community, outlining exciting job opportunities, and quoting generous estimates of the amount of money that would be poured into the economy. If things proceeded well, the communities would be nearly begging for Cam-Field to come in and “save” them. If not, as appeared to be the case here in Rankins, it took a bit more convincing. And while the economic projections were essentially accurate,